Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. 126, No. 3 (Fall 2007)

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VOLUME 126, NO. 3 “The Levite in Your Gates”: The Deuteronomic Redefinition of Levitical Authority Mark Leuchter 417–436 Reading Ruth through a Bakhtinian Lens: The Carnivalesque in a Biblical Tale Nehama Aschkenasy 437–453 Revisiting the Prologue of Proverbs Timothy J. Sandoval 455–473 The Postexilic Exile in Third Isaiah: Isaiah 61:1–3 in Light of Second Temple Hermeneutics Bradley C. Gregory 475–496 Jonah Read Intertextually Hyun Chul Paul Kim

497–528

Encomium versus Vituperation: Contrasting Portraits of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel Jerome H. Neyrey, S.J. 529–552 The “Works of the Law” in Romans and Galatians: A New Defense of the Subjective Genitive Paul L. Owen 553–577 The Syntax of ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Thessalonians 4:16 David Konstan and Ilaria Ramelli 579–593 Lion and Human in Gospel of Thomas Logion 7 Andrew Crislip 595–613 US ISSN:0021-9231

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JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 417–436

“The Levite in Your Gates”: The Deuteronomic Redefinition of Levitical Authority mark leuchter [email protected] University of Sydney, Sydney NSW 2006, Australia

I. Scholarship concerning the Levites in Deuteronomy The attention given to the Levite in the book of Deuteronomy has always prompted scholars to question the motives of the authors responsible for the book. No other work, save that of the Chronicler, so consistently returns to the question of the social status of the Levite as a central pillar of its discourse. But whereas –2 Chronicles define the status of the Levites in the Zadokite cult and political realm, the Levite in Deuteronomy appears rather distant from the cult, though Levitical tradition seems fused into the rhetoric of the book itself. In the first half of the twentieth century, Gerhard von Rad suggested that the form of Deuteronomy reflected a long history of religious exhortations bound to the rural cult that he A version of this article was presented in the Deuteronomistic History section of the 2005 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Philadelphia. I wish to thank Mark Smith, Shaye Cohen, Jeff Geoghegan, and two anonymous reviewers at JBL for their suggestions on earlier versions of this manuscript. I also wish to dedicate this paper to Larry Stager, in appreciation of his support and insights as my thoughts on the subject matter of this article developed over the course of the last year.  For the political and social dimensions of Deuteronomy, see S. Dean McBride, “Polity of the Covenant People: The Book of Deuteronomy,” in A Song of Power and the Power of Song: Essays on the Book of Deuteronomy (ed. Duane L. Christensen; Sources for Biblical and Theological Study 3; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 993), 62–; Marvin A. Sweeney, King Josiah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 200), 3–69. For an overview of scholarship, see Mark A. O’Brien, “The Book of Deuteronomy” CurBS 3 (995): 95–28; Thomas C. Römer, “The Book of Deuteronomy,” in The History of Israel’s Traditions: The Heritage of Martin Noth (ed. Steven L. McKenzie and M. Patrick Graham; JSOTSup 82; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 99), 8–22; Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 5; New York: Doubleday, 99), –22.



Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

8

entitled “Levitical Sermons,” arguing for Levitical origins for the book.2 More recent examinations, however, have provided compelling reasons to question this theory.3 The idea of an exclusively Levitical origin to the book does little to explain why Deuteronomy moves the Levite away from the cult: Deuteronomy emphasizes the more generic nature of Levitical figurehood as opposed to “priesthood,” a status reserved only for those Levites who are active at the central sanctuary. This element, among others, has led many scholars to view Deuteronomy as stemming from the reign of Josiah, when local cults were eradicated in favor of the single, central sanctuary in Jerusalem. In his examination of the literature of the Josianic period, Marvin Sweeney has suggested that Deuteronomy’s position regarding Levites represents an attempt by the Josianic establishment to curb the authority of the hitherto autonomous Levitical orders, reducing them to wards of the state akin to the strangers, widows, and orphans reliant on the social welfare system.5 Although the Deuteronomic law appears to safeguard their interests in light of this cultic design by providing them with social security, Sweeney argues that its primary strategy is to place severe restrictions on their religious influence, facilitating the centralization efforts of the royal court.6 This elucidates the tension inherent in the Josianic reform as legislated in Deuteronomy, where traditional countryside Levites would find themselves without a means of priestly sustenance, all material tributes being directed to Jerusalem. The interests reflected in the text, Sweeney notes, are Josianic, veiled by the attribution of the law code to Moses and the use of northern lexemes and themes from an earlier period. The single Jerusalem sanctuary would have catalyzed a paradigm shift of unprecedented proportions among Israel’s clergy and their parishioners both in Jerusalem (with the leveling of Levitical candidacy for service in the Jerusalem temple) and in the satellite communities of Judah (with the suppression of local cults). Yet the Deuteronomic presentation of the Levite does not necessarily attempt to reduce them to a state of powerlessness as part of a Kulturkampf between local Levitical orders and Josiah’s Jerusalem establishment. Jeffrey C. Geoghegan’s recent 2 See

Gerhard von Rad, Studies in Deuteronomy (trans. D. M. G. Stalker; London: SCM, 953), –2 (Levitical sermon form), 66 (Levitical authorship). See also Jack R. Lundbom, “The Inclusio and Other Framing Devices in Deuteronomy i–xxviii,” VT 6 (996): 3–5, for a recent adjustment to von Rad’s theory. 3 Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 99); Marc Z. Brettler, “‘A Literary Sermon’ in Deuteronomy ,” in A Wise and Discerning Mind: Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long (ed. Saul M. Olyan and Robert C. Culley; BJS 325; Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2000), 33–50.  The one notable exception to this trend in Deuteronomy is the old poetic passage in 33:8– , which identifies the cultic characteristics of the Levites. 5 Sweeney, King Josiah, 5–53. 6 Ibid., 62–63.  Ibid., 9–59.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

9

study of the Josianic redaction of the Deuteronomistic material demonstrates strong sympathies with non-Jerusalemite Levitical heritage and tradition, pointing to the authors’ great interest in the welfare of these Levites.8 It is therefore neither likely that the authors sought to cripple or marginalize the countryside Levites throughout Josiah’s realm, nor would it have been politically expedient to do so. Deuteronomy deliberately adopts familiar lexemes and literary topoi from older law codes and traditions in order to facilitate a sense of continuity between the religion of Josiah’s realm and that which preceded it (even if such a continuity was a literary veneer);9 it would work against this literary logic to cripple politically the hitherto recognized Levitical bearers of those older traditions. The rhetoric of Deuteronomy evidences a desire to appeal to public memory, and part of that appeal would have necessitated some continued role for the local Levites still among the public, though it is clear that this role could in no way be cultic in nature.

II. The Redefinition of Levitical Authority The key for ascertaining the role of the Levite in Josianic Judah is to be found in the full appellation of this recurring character as he is presented in the Deuteronomic text: he is the Levite “in your gates” (‫)בשעריך‬. The phrase speaks decisively to the traditional locus of regional jurisprudence taking place at the village gates.0 What is noteworthy is that, although the gates saw the regular assembly of clan elders convening for juridical purposes, there is little to suggest that this was ever the traditional locus of regional Levitical orders. The textual evidence points to local Levites acting as priests in family shrines within the extended family compound (e.g., Judges ) or taking up posts at the regional shrine shared by the villages that constituted a clan. In these latter cases, the shrines are presented as requiring the

8 Jeffrey

C. Geoghegan, “‘Until This Day’ and the Preexilic Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History,” JBL 22 (2003): 20–2. 9 Levinson, Deuteronomy, passim. 0 Ibid., 0; Baruch Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages in the th Century bce: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability,” in Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel (ed. Baruch Halpern and Deborah W. Hobson; JSOTSup 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 99), 52–53. It is clear from elsewhere in Deuteronomy that the village gates were not reserved solely for juridical processes, but served as the locale for public meals and gatherings (e.g., Deut 2:5; see also below). Nevertheless, the administration of jurisprudence at such a locale is consistent with Deuteronomy’s mandate for national standards of law to be applied over all aspects of social life, including those once bound to regional cults. On Deuteronomy’s social concerns, see most recently Moshe Weinfeld, The Place of the Law in the Religion of Ancient Israel (VTSup 00; Formation and Interpretation of OT Literature ; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 200), 88–90.  On shared clan-based shrines, see Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages,” 52–53, 58, 59. See also Lawrence E. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260 (985): 20–22.

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

20

villager to travel a modest distance to approach Yhwh with his/her offering, which would be given to the Levites in attendance to prepare for sacrifice (Exod 23:). In none of these passages do we encounter a Levitical presence at the village gates, and it is here where we may detect the concern of the Josianic scribes responsible for the Deuteronomic law code. The institution of clan elders is eliminated from the national judiciary as outlined in Deut 6:8–8:22; replacing the elders are “judges and magistrates” (‫)שפטים ושוטרים‬.2 Alexander Rofé notes that the Hebrew term ‫ שוטר‬may be translated not simply as “magistrate” but as “scribe,” an observation supported by an independent examination of the terms by Moshe Weinfeld.3 Both scholars emphasize that these terms designate roles that are official in nature and subject to the central juridical authority in Jerusalem, which regulated local jurisprudence. Furthermore, Rofé points out that ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬may refer to a single typological figure rather that separate categories. In this case, the people are commanded in Deut 6:8 to recognize the authority of a royally appointed figure who can serve as both adjudicator and scribe, that is, someone who can preserve, administer, and adapt the written corpus of national law.5 At this point, we must consider the social conditions that would favor or perhaps necessitate the creation of such an office. Rofé’s observations concerning these features of the office would decrease the likelihood that the ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬could have been appointed by or drafted from the local population, as the position would require scribal training and a high degree of literacy. We may here adopt one of two positions. The first is that of Ehud Ben Zvi, who has argued that the broad Israelite population was largely illiterate down to the Persian period.6 If this was 2 Jeffrey

Stackert has recently argued that the elders retain a judicial function in the Deuteronomic legislation (“Why Does Deuteronomy Legislate Cities of Refuge? Asylum in the Covenant Collection and Deuteronomy,” JBL 25 [2006]: 2–3, esp. nn. –5). Stackert is certainly correct to question the logic of a total replacement of traditional village/clan figures in matters of local justice; however, a distinction should be drawn between juridical and executive functions, the latter of which more appropriately describes the characterization of the elders in Deuteronomy. In this way, the Deuteronomic legislator would be able to establish a federal presence on the regional level without completely marginalizing familiar regional fixtures or institutions. See below for additional discussion. 3 See Alexander Rofé, “The Organization of the Judiciary in Deuteronomy,” in The World of the Aramaeans, vol. , Biblical Studies in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion (ed. P. M. Michèle Daviau et al.; JSOTSup 32; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 200), 96–98; Moshe Weinfeld, “Judge and Officer in Ancient Israel and the Ancient Near East,” IOS  (9): 65–88.  Rofé, “Judiciary,” 9. 5 Thus Levinson’s observation (Deuteronomy, 26) that the basis of the local judiciary in the regional clan populations renders them independent of the central judiciary in Jerusalem must be qualified: the local juridical figures are distinct from their counterparts in Jerusalem but not independent of them; a single national law is to be administered in a consistent manner on the regional level in written form “in your gates” (‫ בשעריך‬. . . ‫ )וכתבתם‬in Deut 6:9 (see also Deut :20). 6 See, e.g., Ehud Ben Zvi, “Introduction: Writing, Speeches, and the Prophetic Books—

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

2

the case, then only the social elite would have had the requisite skills to carry out this office; on the regional level (identified as the concern of the Deuteronomic legislation by the repeated use of ‫ )שעריך‬one would expect the local clergy to be the bearers of the office, as priesthoods served as the locus of literacy throughout the ancient Near East. The second position is that represented by William M. Schniedewind, who has recently made the case for widespread literacy in the Josianic period. This, however, does not necessarily equal widespread literary sophistication; Schniedewind discusses the dramatic increase of epigraphy that emerges during this time, but the examples he cites reflect writers with only a rudimentary education and limited command of grammar.8 The Deuteronomic legislation may address this issue by specifying that only officials with an advanced scribal and juridical background are allowed to engage, interpret, and apply the law on the regional level, as this would have been beyond the skill of the typical literate Israelite. One would therefore once again look to local clergy to fill this role, and Schniedewind indeed suggests that local Levites had a major hand in the administration of the law code throughout the land.9 Whatever position we adopt concerning why the ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬should be identified as local Levites, their incorporation into a federal system bound to the central sanctuary would ensure that the regional interpretation/institution of the law would be consistent and would benefit the monolithic interests of the state. Deuteronomy :8–3 and 8:–8, two closely related passages, speak to this very concern.20 In the latter, Levites are permitted to ascend to the central sanctuary in Jerusalem and function as priests; in the former, these same priests are charged with teaching the law generated by the “chief justice” of the central sanctuary, which must then be implemented throughout the realm on a regional level. In short, the regional ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬of Deut 6:8 and the Levitical priests of Deut :8–3 Setting an Agenda,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and M. H. Floyd; SBLSymS 0; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 6–6. For the royal appointment of these figures, see Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages,” 8–9.  William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book: The Textualization of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 200), 9–; see also David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 2–22. 8 Schniedewind, Book, 0–. 9 Ibid., . 20 Levinson (Deuteronomy, 98, 2–3) and Norbert Lohfink (“Die Sicherung der Wirksamkeit des Gotteswortes durch das Prinzip das Schriftlichkeit der Tora und das Prinzip der Gewaltenteilung nach der Ämtergesetzen des Buches Deuteronomium [Dt 6,8–8,22],” in Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistichen Literatur, vol. [SBAB 8; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 990], 305–23) have noted that these two passages appear within the same rhetorical unit that deals with the theocratic and juridical dimensions of the state, though they offer dramatically disparate readings of this unit.

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

22

appear to be drawn from the same social class—the local Levites of Deut 8:–8. All three passages are marked by recurrent terminology: Deut 6:8

‫שפטים ושוטרים תתן לך בכל שעריך‬

You shall appoint judges and magistrates in all your gates. . . .

Deut :8

‫ דברי ריבת בשעריך‬. . . ‫כי יפלא ממך‬

If a matter is too difficult for you . . . such disputes in your gates.

Deut 8:6 If a Levite leaves any of your gates . . . .

‫וכי יבא הלוי מאחד שעריך‬

It is no surprise, then, that these same individuals are repeatedly presented as “the Levite in your gates” elsewhere in the Deuteronomic material, for it is precisely in the village gates where the local judges/magistrates/scribes of Deut 6:8 are stationed and where the problem leading to central appeal in Deut :8 arises. If the ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬of 6:8 are understood as the once-independent local Levites, then we may find an explanation for the relationship between the process described in Deut :8–3 and the permission granted to the Levites to make the trek to Jerusalem in Deut 8:6–8. In Deut :8–3, the individual case at the village gate is not covered by the extant law code, which necessitates an appeal of the case to the national level in Deut :8 (‫וקמת ועלית אל המקום אשר יבחר יהוה אלהיך בו‬, “you shall immediately go up to the place that YHWH your God will choose”). Consequently, the Israelite’s interaction at the central sanctuary broadens the scope of the national religious constitution (‫ובערת הרע מישראל‬, “you shall purge the evil from Israel” [Deut :2]). We are specifically informed that the Levitical priests at the central sanctuary have a genetic role in the teaching of new law, expressed through the careful chiastic structure of the passage binding regional justice to central jurisprudence: A v. 8: B v. 9: C vv. 0–: B´ v. 2: A´ v. 3:

local dispute beyond extant law appeal to the judge and the Levitical priests (‫)הכהנין הלוים‬ generation and instruction of new national legislation appeal to the judge and the Levitical priests (‫)הכהנין הלוים‬ local implementation of new legislation (v. 3)

We find in this passage a strictly delineated set of instructions regarding the centrality of the Levitical priests in the process of creating and establishing law, especially in vv. 0–, the centerpiece of the passage. According to these verses, the role of the Levitical priests is to teach/instruct the petitioner with respect to the newly generated ordinance (‫ משפט‬in v. ), one that is syntactically equal to the extant ‫ תורה‬preserved and administered by the Levitical priests (Deut :8).2 This pas2 For the syntactical features of vv. 0–, see Mark Leuchter, Josiah’s Reform and Jeremiah’s Scroll: Historical Calamity and Prophetic Response (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2006), 35–36. The

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

23

sage, then, specifies the juridical/administrative role of the Levites serving as active priests in Jerusalem; if the local Levite in Deut 8:6–8 is indeed allowed to serve there as well, a background in juridical and legislative processes would appear to be a prerequisite for the job. Such a background in the local/regional sphere is mandated in only one place in the Deuteronomic corpus, and that is the ‫שפטים ושוטרים‬ passage in Deut 6:8. That the Levites are part of this official echelon tied to the implementation of the Deuteronomic legislation may be implied in Deut 2:, which specifies that due justice shall not be denied to the stranger, the orphan, or the widow (‫לא תטה‬ ‫משפט גר יתום ולא תחבל בגד אלמנה‬, “You shall not deprive a stranger or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge”). Notably absent from this otherwise familiar list is the Levite, which suggests that the Levite is on the other side of the equation, that is, the figure who administers law and is involved with the preservation of the legitimate justice that is due these other marginal characters. Of equal significance in this verse is the phrase ‫“( לא תטה משפט‬you shall not turn aside justice”), introduced earlier in Deut 6:9 as part of the instructions regarding the local ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬in Deut 6:8; it also characterizes the activity of Samuel’s sons in  Sam 8:–3, an old tradition filtered through the pen of a later Deuteronomistic author. Here Samuel’s sons function as local Levitical figures charged with the execution of juridical responsibility, but they fail to carry out their charge (‫)ויטו משפט‬. The terminology used to reflect their shortcomings is woven from the same ideological fabric as that of Deut 6:9 and 2: and speaks to a common understanding of Levitical juridical responsibilities permeating Deuteronomistic consciousness. Deuteronomy may therefore engage in a dramatic reform of regional jurisprudence by federalizing the local judiciary,22 but the actual juridical agents selected for this process would have been the local Levitical priests of the pre-Deuteronomic era, regional fixtures divested of cultic authority but granted executive and juridical duties paralleling their confreres serving at the central sanctuary in Jerusalem. Such parallelism is found in subsequent passages relating to the rules of warfare and military engagement on national and individuated levels. Deuteronomy 20:– 9 places the priest (‫ )הכהן‬and the magistrates/scribes (‫ )השוטרים‬in parallel functions, the former addressing the nation as a collective entity (vv. 2–) and the latter addressing the individual in relation to his domicile (vv. 5–8). It is only after the judges/scribal magistrates have addressed individual cases in the preparation for warfare that the captains of the host are to ascend to lead the entire people into battle (v. 9).23 One may reasonably surmise that if a parallel is suggested between the

unit forms a mini-chiasmus of its own, fusing the notion of juridical declaration and written preservation of that declaration as a teaching. 22 Pace Levinson, Deuteronomy, 26. 23 Sweeney notes that “various passages in Deuteronomy demonstrate that the Levites also

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

2

central priests and local Levites in Deut 8:–8, a similar parallel relationship obtains between the ‫ כהן‬and the ‫ שוטרים‬in this episode as well. The identification of local jurists as Levites is indeed all but spelled out in Deut 2:–9, which presents the legislation for dealing with a newly discovered corpse (whose murderer is unknown). Here the elders are to act as representatives of the village nearest to the location of the corpse, and their oath of innocence must be proclaimed before “the priests, the sons of Levi” (‫[ הכהנים בני לוי‬v. 5]), who are to oversee the swearing of the oath of innocence.2 This cannot refer to the Jerusalem priests, for the action depicted in these verses lacks the ‫מקום‬/‫ שם‬formulae associated with Jerusalem elsewhere in the Deuteronomic corpus; the locus of the action, in fact, is specifically bound to the unspecified satellite communities of Judah (vv. –3). Rather, the phrase ‫ הכהנים בני לוי‬serves an emphatic purpose. It makes perfectly clear who, in this circumstance, are to serve as the juridical administrators of the matter, in concrete terms that the rural Israelite would recognize. The reference to the once-priestly status of the Levites reinforces their qualifications in v. 5 by the additional clause “for Yhwh your God chose them to minister unto him and bless in the name of Yhwh” (‫כי בם בחר ה׳ אלהיך לשרתו ולברך‬ ‫)בשם ה׳‬. This does not highlight any specifically cultic responsibility but, in context, attempts to limit the authority of the elders in a circumstance that likely fell under their jurisdiction in earlier times. It is therefore notable that in this same verse, these very Levites are described as overseeing “all matters of strife and stroke” (‫)כל ריב וכל נגע‬. These are the same categories of matters that are stated at the outset of Deut :8–3 as taking place in the gates at the hand of the local judges/ scribes/magistrates: Deut :8b

‫בין נגע לנגע דברי ריבת בשעריך‬

. . . between one kind of assault and another—any such matters of dispute in your gates.

Deut 2:5b

‫ועל פיהם יהיה כל ריב וכל נגע‬

and by their decision all cases of dispute and assault shall be settled.

We may observe in 2:5 the deliberate reference to :8, conforming to Seidel’s Law of intertextual citation by reversing the order of the lexemes (‫ריבת‬/‫ נגע‬in :8; ‫נגע‬/‫ ריב‬in 2:5).25 The reader is in essence directed back to the legislation estabplayed a role in the administration of justice together with the šopetîm and šoterîm” (King Josiah, 6). 2 The Levites here occupy a passive position, but this appears to be modeled on a NeoAssyrian administrative prototype; see below. 25 For a discussion of Seidel’s Law, see Levinson, Deuteronomy, 8–20. A similar instance of Seidel’s Law obtains in Deut :5, part of a unit that requalifies the process depicted in Deuteronomy 3 concerning sedition. Here the lexemes of the earlier unit (‫כדבר הרע‬/‫ וסקלתו באבנים‬in Deut 3:–2) are reversed in the subsequent text (‫וסקלתם באבנים‬/‫ הדבר הרע‬in Deut :5).

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

25

lishing the parameters of the Levites’ new juridical position. In this episode and in others (e.g., Deut 22:5–28), the role of the elders is not eliminated but redefined. The elders do not retain their old juridical authority but rather assume an executive position (though under the auspices of the Levites). Such a shift also appears to characterize the moving of the Levites from a cultic position to one that is strictly juridical and administrative, but a significant theological implication may be drawn from this example. The ‫ שרת‬terminology that had once referred to a Levite’s cultic activity (e.g.,  Sam 2:, 8) is here deployed to address the Levite’s administration of Deuteronomic policy (‫[ כי בם בחר ה׳ אלהיך לשרתו‬Deut 2:5; see also 8:6),26 following the deeply entrenched impulse running throughout Deuteronomy of defining new concepts through the hermeneutical transformation of older lemmas. The Levites’ new role is no longer cultic, but it is still sacral. Ministering to Yhwh and securing divine blessing now take place through administering the law.

III. Pre-Deuteronomic Levitical Tradition and Assyrian Prototypes The antecedents of this redefinition of the Levite’s role may be found, in part, in the juridical traditions already associated with Levitical orders in the pre-Josianic period. Early jurisprudence was cultivated among the Shilonite tradents, which involved an analysis of circumstances, a consultation of extant tradition, and the codification of the resulting decree.2 At the same time, additional rulings were generated through divination, notably involving the Urim and Thummim closely associated with Levitical figurehood from an early period (Deut 33:8).28 These decisions ranged from matters of warfare to matters of personal liability and talion and were generally relegated to the precincts of the local shrine and the Levites who ministered therein.29 These rulings would likewise have been preserved at the local shrines, which typically served as the repository of written records entrusted to the local priesthood for consultation and teaching.30 This is implied in the old covenanFor the hermeneutical relationship between Deut :2– and Deuteronomy 3, see Levinson, Deuteronomy, 0–3. 26 Rodney K. Duke has argued that the ‫ שרת‬terminology does not relate exclusively to the pre-Deuteronomic cultic activity of Levites (“The Portion of the Levite: Another Reading of Deuteronomy 8:6–8,” JBL 06 [98]: 99), but this position is tenuous. For a critique, see Mark S. Smith, The Pilgrimage Pattern in Exodus (JSOTSup 239; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 99), 25–58 n. 22. 2 Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, 2–36. 28 See above for the role of this passage in the Deuteronomic corpus. 29 Levinson, Deuteronomy, –6. 30 This ancient Near Eastern norm is presupposed by Deut 3:25–26, where it is the Levites who are charged with handling the written law code and placing it alongside the ark in the tab-

26

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

tal ceremony tradition reflected in Deuteronomy 2, wherein the Levites play a central role in mediating the stipulations of the covenant by proclaiming the blessings and curses bound to the written law code at Mt. Ebal.3 Similarly, in the old tradition in  Sam 0:25, Samuel, an archetypal Levite, writes the law code of the monarchy (‫ )משפט המלוכה‬and deposits it “before Yhwh” in the cult structure at Mizpah.32 Indeed, the oldest traditions concerning Moses as a Levite associate him with the generation, teaching, and preservation of ‫תורה‬.33 The impulse for scribal activity and juridical evaluation was therefore already a feature of local Levitical orders,3 facilitating their transition from independent priests to agents of the central judiciary now stationed in the village gates. We may therefore see how the Josianic scribes envisioned the Levites as suitable candidates for the position of official regional jurists, yet we may question how the very concept of federalizing the local judiciaries arose in Deuteronomic consciousness. The answer may be found in the administrative records of the NeoAssyrian period. It is generally accepted that the Josianic scribes responsible for the Deuteronomic Torah were strongly influenced by the literature of the NeoAssyrian royal courts, especially the vassal treaties of King Esarhaddon (68–669 b.c.e.), which informed the ideology, terminology, and rhetorical form of the biblical work, as Weinfeld has discussed in his seminal work on Deuteronomic treaty forms.35 More recently, Sandra L. Richter has identified the direct reliance of the Deuteronomic scribes on the Akkadian phrase šuma šakanū (“to set up/establish a name”) in the development of the “name” theology permeating the Deuteronomic

ernacle. The “answer” to this event unfolds in 2 Kgs 22:8, where the Torah is “discovered” deep in the recesses of the temple. The Deuteronomistic note in  Kgs 6:–3 also points to this feature, embedding itself within the chapter’s description of the temple and concerning itself with divine law. These passages draw from earlier narrative examples (see below). 3 See Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 0–2. 32 The divination method in  Sam 0:20–2 is decidedly pre-Deuteronomic; divine consultation is therein limited to the Mosaic prophet alone (Deut 8:9–, 5–20). On the antiquity of  Sam 0:25, see Baruch Halpern, David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King (Bible in Its World; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 200), 5–2; Z. Ben-Barak, “The Mizpah Covenant (I Sam 0,25): The Source of the Israelite Monarchic Covenant,” ZAW 9 (99): 30–3. 33 See Geo Widengren, “What Do We Know about Moses?” in Proclamation and Presence: Old Testament Essays in Honour of Gwynne Henton Davies (ed. John I. Durham and J. R. Porter; London: SCM, 90; repr., Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 983), 3–0; James W. Watts, “The Legal Characterization of Moses in the Pentateuch,” JBL  (998): 22–26. 3 I agree with Schniedewind, however, that the impulse toward scribalism in these earlier periods is of a far narrower scope than the literary culture emerging in the eighth–seventh centuries (Book, 8–63). 35 Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 92) 82–38. See also James Muilenburg, “Baruch the Scribe,” in Proclamation and Presence, ed. Durham and Porter, 25–20, for comments on the general trend toward literacy and scribal culture in the seventh century b.c.e.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

2

and Deuteronomistic literature (Deut 2:5, 2; :2;  Kgs 9:3; :36; :2; 2 Kgs 2:, ).36 The Neo-Assyrian influence is not limited to literary sources. The Josianic scribes appear to have been familiar with Neo-Assyrian administrative tactics, and several parallels emerge when the Deuteronomic legislation concerning the Levites is compared to the record of regional governance in the West Semitic territories under Assyria in the eighth and seventh centuries.3 The strongest parallels involve the shift from vassal state to imperial province insofar as the dynamic between satellite community and central authority is concerned. Far from the relative isolation of the vassal states—which had only to pay tribute and support the local military presence from time to time—the regional governors administered central policy in the satellite provinces including the characteristic deportation of the native dynasty and dissolution of the native socioeconomic infrastructure.38 The differences between the Assyrian vassal and province systems may have inspired Josiah’s own efforts at cultic centralization and monolithic legislative standards, though the parallels are more general than direct.39 The Deuteronomic reform program’s imposition of Jerusalem policy over satellite communities more closely resembles the regulation of law and commerce once an Assyrian vassal territory was turned into a province, with a much more thorough administration of central policy in the regional districts.0 Insofar as the new role of the Levites is concerned, 2 Kgs :2–28 and Akkadian sources relate that native priests were employed as regional administrators to facilitate the transition from the chaotic circumstances of massive deportations and resettlement, and regional governors 36 Sandra

L. Richter, The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology: Lešakken šemô šām in the Bible (BZAW 38; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2003), 2–8. For an Aramean parallel relying on this same Akkadian semantic construct, see D. M. Gropp and T. J. Lewis, “Notes on Some Problems in the Aramaic Text of the Hadd-Yith'i Bilingual,” BASOR 259 (985): 6. 3 The familiarity with Assyrian culture in Judah during this period is well attested through epigraphic evidence and its direct influence on Israel’s literary culture. See Bernard M. Levinson, “Is the Covenant Code an Exilic Composition? A Response to John Van Seters,” in In Search of PreExilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (ed. John Day; JSOTSup 06; New York/London: Continuum, 200), 293–9. Peter Machinist notes Isaiah’s reliance on Assyrian propagandistic inscriptions in “Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah,” JAOS 03 (983): 2–3. 38 For an overview, see Jana Pečírková, “The Administrative Methods of Assyrian Imperialism,” ArOr 55 (98): 66–. For Judah’s experience as a vassal state, see Mordechai Cogan, “Judah under Assyrian Hegemony: A Reexamination of Imperialism and Religion,” JBL 2 (993): 03–. 39 Patricia Dutcher-Walls addresses the influence of Neo-Assyrian political structures on Josianic policy, and specifically in Deut :6– (“The Circumscription of the King: Deuteronomy :6– in Its Ancient Social Context,” JBL 2 [2002]: 62–5). See, however, Marvin A. Sweeney, “The Critique of Solomon in the Josianic Edition of the Deuteronomistic History,” JBL  (995): 60–22, for a different background and reading. 0 Pečírková, “Administrative Methods,” 69–; Dutcher-Walls, “Circumscription,” 6–2.

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

28

were appointed from among the captive peoples. In many cases, regional governors would engage in the workings of their office under the supervision of royal agents to safeguard against independent interests or agendas, and eunuchs would periodically be appointed as new provincial governors to marginalize the influence of the powerful provincial families.2 These latter two practices seem to relate especially to the redefined role of the Levites: the Levites marginalized the juridical influence of the clan elders at the village gate (Deut 6:8), and though these same elders were still permitted some executive role, the responsibilities took place under the federal auspices of the Levites-as-local-jurists (Deut 2:5). Given the high degree of Assyrian influence throughout the Deuteronomic/Deuteronomistic corpus and the general familiarity with Assyrian culture in eighth- to seventh-century Judah, it is difficult to ignore the likelihood that the Josianic scribes drew on the Assyrian prototypes in their strategy involving the new standards of Levitical authority.

IV. The Implementation of the Legislation: 2 Kings 23 and Jeremiah The account of Josiah’s reform in 2 Kings 23 provides some limited evidence for the realization of the legislation concerning the Levites as regional jurists. 2 Kings 23:8–9 reports that Josiah brought the local “priests” to Jerusalem to minister at the temple, but that the “priests of the high places” remained in their home districts. The verse is often read/translated in the following way: 2 Kgs 23:9:

‫אך לא יעלו כהני הבמות אל מזבח ה׳ בירושלם‬ ‫כי אם אכלו מצות בתוך אחיהם‬

The priests of the high places did not come up to the altar of Yhwh in Jerusalem, but ate unleavened bread among their kindred.

A reading of this verse as a refusal of the reform is inconsistent with the glowing evaluation of Josiah and the thorough nature of his successes. Josiah’s failures are muted, not overtly expressed.3 Rather, the verse suggests compliance with the  For the Assyrian sponsorship of provincial cults, see Grant Frame, “The ‘First Families’ of Borsippa during the Early Neo-Babylonian Period,” JCS 36 (98): 6–80. For the appointment of governors from the subjugated peoples, see Pečírková, “Administrative Methods,” . 2 Pečírková, “Administrative Methods,” 68, . 3 Jack R. Lundbom views 2 Kgs 23:9 as admission of Levitical refusal of the reform (Jeremiah 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 2A; New York: Doubleday, 999], 0), but the account of 2 Kings 22–23 excludes any potentially negative evaluation of Josiah such as the circumstances leading up to his premature death. See Baruch Halpern, “Why Manasseh Is Blamed for the Babylonian Exile: The Evolution of a Biblical Tradition,” VT 8 (998): 50–3.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

29

dynamic of Deut 8:–8 and the implied administrative role of the regional Levites in Deut 6:8–20. The grammatical features of 2 Kgs 23:9 suggest that the administration of the Deuteronomic Passover legislation in the rural villages was a prerequisite for these Levites eventually to be free to migrate to Jerusalem and serve at the temple. The phrase ‫ כי אם‬implies conditionality in other contexts and addresses the need of these former high-place Levites to subordinate their affiliation to Deuteronomic ideology, perhaps as a pledge of allegiance. The verse should thus be read: “The priests of the high places did not go up . . . until they ate unleavened bread among their brethren [= fellow Israelites].” Given the centrality of the Levites in Deuteronomy 8 to Josiah’s program of reformed jurisprudence, the inclusion of these rural priests in the account is meant to signify their acceptance of its principles.5 2 Kings 23:9 is a proleptic reference to Josiah’s Passover celebration (2 Kgs 23:2–23) according to the Deuteronomic legislation,6 and attempts to present it as thoroughly successful in the communities beyond Jerusalem. That these Levites partake of the Passover ceremony “among their brethren” (‫בתוך‬ ‫ )אחיהם‬recalls the same Deuteronomic language that identifies the king as being from within the same community of brethren (‫ מקרב אחיך‬in Deut :5), that is, the covenantal community to which all regional populations belonged.8 More substantial evidence for the implementation of the legislation concerning the Levites is found in the early oracles of Jeremiah, which may be dated in part to the Josianic period.9 These references appear in Jeremiah 30–3, directed to the

 See the detailed discussion by W. Boyd Barrick, The King and the Cemeteries: Toward a New Understanding of Josiah’s Reform (VTSup 88; Leiden/Boston/Cologne: Brill, 2002), 89–93. 5 Pace Sweeney, King Josiah, 50–5. 6 Though only three verses are dedicated to the narration of Josiah’s Passover, the prolepsis presupposes the centrality of the event in the consciousness of the reader and the deliberate intention of the author in highlighting this fact, building on an earlier account. For an earlier stratum of the account, see Lauren Shedletsky, “Josiah’s Reform and the Dynamics of Defilement: A Phenomenological Approach to 2 Kings 23” (Ph.D. diss.; New York University, 200), 59– 200.  For prolepsis as an editorial/compositional device, see Brian Peckham, “Writing and Editing,” in Fortunate the Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. A. B. Beck et al.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 995), 369–. On the significance of the term mas is iôt as part of the Josianic fusion of prior tradition, see Levinson, Deuteronomy, 53–9. The new meaning given to this term in the Deuteronomic Torah would be operating in this brief passage, any other understandings of the term would undermine the success of its Deuteronomic transformation. 8 See Richard H. Lowery, The Reforming Kings: Cults and Society in First Temple Judah (JSOTSup 20; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 99), 53–55, for a discussion of the leveling of kinship ties via broad application of the Deuteronomic law (so also Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages,” 3– 5, though he traces the origins of this Deuteronomic tradition to Hezekiah’s anti-Assyrian policies). 9 Though most scholars agree that the majority of Jeremiah’s oracles postdate the Josianic period, many have identified Josianic material in the early layers of certain Jeremianic texts. See

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

30

northern population generally and to the Shilonites of Anathoth specifically. The historical background of the composition of this Jeremianic material is strongly bound to the account of Josiah’s annexation of the north in 2 Kgs 23:5–20, where we are told that the king eradicated the northern priesthoods. In contrast to Judah, priesthood in the north was not exclusively Israelite: many Israelite priestly groups in the north would have either been deported during the Assyrian crisis of 22/2 b.c.e. or fled to the south for asylum, and the remaining population would have amalgamated with foreign cultures (and, presumably, foreign clergy) imported by the Assyrians (e.g., 2 Kgs :2, 2–33). In this situation, the northern priests were not incorporated into the Josianic program but slaughtered on their own altars (2 Kgs 23:20), which resulted in an absence of suitable priesthoods among the northern populations and created an obstacle to the regional implementation of Deuteronomic policy. Josiah therefore called on Jeremiah to address his Shilonite kinsmen, descendants of a once-powerful northern Levitical priesthood that had cultivated a theology ultimately inherited by the Jerusalemite establishment.50 References in the early layers of Jeremiah 30–3 repeatedly stress the centrality of the Josianic court and the Zion tradition but are set alongside the divine desire for these Shilonite Levites to assume a position of leadership in the establishment of Jerusalemite policy. Jeremiah 30: makes reference to the need for such leadership via a double entendre implying the centrality of Zion to the restoration of Ephraim (‫ציון היא דרש‬ ‫אין לה‬, “She is wounded [it is Zion]; no one cares for her!”),5 followed by overt statements in Jer 30:2a specifying priestly leadership: Jer 30:2a

‫והיה אדירו ממנו ומשלו מקרבו יצא והקרבתיו ונגש אלי‬

Their prince shall be one of their own, their ruler shall come from their midst; I will bring him near, and he shall approach me.

The terms ‫“( קרב‬to bring near”) and ‫“( נגש‬to approach”), generally associated with priestly activity, are here redefined as federal and executive rather than merely culSweeney, King Josiah, 208–33; Norbert Lohfink, “Der jungend Jeremia als Propagandist und Poet: Zum Grundstock von Jer 30–3,” in Le Livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu, les oracles et leur transmission (ed. P. M. Bogaert; BETL 5; 98; repr., Leuven: Leuven University Press, 99), 35–68; Ulrich Schroter, “Jeremias Botschaft für das Nordreich, zu N. Lohfinks Uberlegungen zum Grundbestand von Jeremia xxx–xxxi,” VT 35 (985): 32–29; Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 6–69. 50 The early oracles to the north repeatedly invoke priestly terms and concerns and draw from literature and traditions associated with northern Levitical heritage, especially that of Shiloh. For a full discussion of Jeremiah’s address to the Shilonites of Anathoth, see Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, 0–86. See also idem, “Why Is the Song of Moses in the Book of Deuteronomy?” VT 5 (200): 295–3, for the old poem in Deuteronomy 32 as emerging from the Shilonite tradition. 5 See Howard Jacobson, “Jeremiah xxx  ‫ציון היא‬,” VT 5 (200): 398–99.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

3

tic by the terms ‫“( אדירו‬his leader”) and ‫“( משלו‬his governor”). Some scholars have criticized the dating of this material to the Josianic period, citing the difficulty in reading the administrative terminology against the explicitly cultic language that might otherwise point to a much later period of composition.52 If these verses are viewed as a Josianic-era appeal to the Shilonites, however, the terminological difficulties dissolve. As William L. Holladay has recently pointed out, this verse has strong affinities with Deut :5, part of the law concerning the king (Deut :– 20) that appears in the center of the juridical legislation of Deut 6:8–8:22.53 The specific stipulations in Deut :–20 contribute to a critique of Solomon, the royal figure who had alienated the north and marginalized the Shilonites from Jerusalem centuries earlier.5 Deuteronomistic literature attempts to mend fences with the north (and with the Shilonite priesthood in particular) by relying on northern tradition,55 pointing to Jerusalem as the inheritor of Ephraim’s religious culture. Jeremiah’s rhetoric in Jer 30:2a appears to do the same via its explicit pairing of priestly and administrative terminology in an oracle that is overtly directed to the north. The emphasis on the Shilonites’ Levitical heritage continues in the following chapter, where the call to recognize Josianic authority in Jer 3:5 is voiced by Rachel, the materfamilias of the Joseph tribes, and emanates from Ramah: Jer 3:5:

‫כה אמר ה׳ קול ברמה נשמע נהי בכי תמרורים‬ ‫רחל מבכה על בניה מאנה להנחם על בניה כי איננו‬

Thus says YHWH: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping, Rachel is weeping for her children she refuses to be comforted for her children because they are no more.

Ramah was the geographic region where the Shiloh sanctuary originally stood before its destruction circa 050 b.c.e. and the dispersal of its tradents.56 The verse 52 See, e.g., Geoffrey Parke-Taylor, The Formation of the Book of Jeremiah: Doublets and Recurring Phrases (SBLMS 5; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 0; Robert P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 986), 583. 53 William L. Holladay, “Elusive Deuteronomists, Jeremiah and Proto-Deuteronomy,” CBQ 66 (200): 6–68. 5 See Sweeney, “Critique of Solomon.” Though Deut 6:8–8:22 (and :-20 in particular) ostensibly limits the power of the king to engage in jurisprudence, Josiah’s interests are indeed served throughout the entire Deuteronomic law code, and the laws that define the monarch’s role are situated precisely in the center of Deut 6:8–8:22. 55 For a general discussion of northern traditions in Deuteronomy, see Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 0–3, –5. 56 See John Day, “The Destruction of the Shiloh Sanctuary and Jeremiah vii 2, ,” in Studies in the Historical Books of the Old Testament (VTSup 30; Leiden: Brill, 99), 8–9. The dis-

32

Journal of Biblical Literature 26, no. 3 (200)

therefore makes an overt reference to Shilonite tradition, but the references also operate hermeneutically. Strong allusions to both Hosea’s oracles and the Elohistic tradition—both of which reflect northern Levitical perspectives—emerge in this verse, binding not only the geography but also the literary heritage of Shiloh to the prophet’s pro-Josianic rhetoric.5 Through his agent Jeremiah, Josiah attempted to restore the Shilonites to a position of authority, though refracted through a Deuteronomic lens. The prophet appeals to the Shilonites to return to their posts in the Ephraimite hinterland and function as administrators of Josianic policy to the northern population akin to the Levitical ‫ שפטים ושוטרים‬mandated in Deuteronomy and operating in Judah.58 We should also note the variety of instances throughout the book of Jeremiah where the prophet draws on his own background as a Levite in exegetically expanding the Deuteronomic laws.59 The Temple Sermon adjusts Deuteronomic law and ideology through the methods of lemmatic transformation that are evident in Deuteronomy itself.60 This conforms to the paradigm of Levitical-scribal qualification of the law within the parameters of the Deuteronomic paradigm, and it is significant that the prophet delivers this decree in the gate of the temple (Jer :2). Another pertinent example of the Levite-prophet exegetically adapting the law may be found in Jer :9–2,6 also delivered in the city gates, and a similar setting persal of Shilonite tradents is evident in later passages in  Samuel, as they surface in Naioth ( Samuel 9), in Nob ( Samuel 22) and eventually, of course, in Jerusalem under David.  Kings  reports that a contingent of Shilonites regrouped and maintained a presence at the remains of the old shrine, though there is no indication that the Shiloh of Jeroboam’s day was an active cult site. 5 For the connection to Hosea and Elohistic tradition in Jeremiah, see Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, 83–8. For Hosea’s connection to a marginalized northern Levitical order (the outstanding prototype of which would have been the Shilonites), see Stephen L. Cook, “The Lineage Roots of Hosea’s Yahwism,” Semeia 8 (999): 5–59. 58 It is clear, however, that Josiah’s northern agenda was not successfully implemented, as the monarch was unable fully to incorporate the former Assyrian territory into his realm. For a full discussion, see Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, 8–0; Sweeney, King Josiah, 233. 59 For other oracles that draw from Jeremiah’s Levitical background, see Marvin A. Sweeney, review of Martti Nissinen, C. L. Seow, and Robert K. Ritner, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (WAW 2; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), Review of Biblical Literature (2005), www.bookreviews .org. The role of the Levites in the covenant ceremony in Deuteronomy 2, for example, appears to have influenced the prophet’s personal role in Jeremiah  as well as the purpose of that chapter in an early collection of the prophet’s oracles (Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, 60, 3). 60 Leuchter, Jeremiah’s Scroll, –5. 6 There is little agreement concerning the degree to which this passage preserves authentic Jeremianic sentiments or teachings, or to which period this passage should be dated. Our concern here is not to determine the compositional origins of the passage but simply to note that whoever the author was, he presents the prophet delivering the sermon in the city gates. For an overview of scholarly views on the passage, see Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20, 802–8.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

33

obtains in the prose introduction to the royal oracles in Jer 22:2–, precisely where Deuteronomy stations the Levitical scribal-magistrates. Finally, it should be noted that the scribal officers in Jer 26:0 engage in juridical evaluation of Jeremiah’s prophetic legitimacy “in the entry of the new gate” in the temple, and that the scribal chamber of Gedaliah where Baruch reads the Urrolle in Jer 36:0 is located in the very same location. These scribal officers are presented in decidedly Levitical terms throughout a number of episodes in Jeremiah 26–5.62 Considering the strong connection between these scribal officers and the Deuteronomistic tradition that they likely shaped and promoted,63 it can be no coincidence that they are as closely associated with the institution of the gates in a manner pursuant to the Deuteronomic model of Levitical scribal magistrates.

IV. Conclusion: Levites after 587 b.c.e. It is obvious that the Deuteronomic redefinition of Levitical authority was conceived for secure residence in the land; it is also obvious that the conditions of exile severely challenged the viability of Deuteronomistic ideology. The destruction of Jerusalem and deportation of a large number of Judah’s inhabitants put an end to the Josianic-era dream of a centralized religious and political administration. Yet it is clear from the postexilic literature (especially Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles) that the scribal administrative role of the Levites persisted as a major feature of the restoration period and beyond.6 The conditions of exile would have precluded the ongoing role of the Levites as regional agents of a central royal establishment in Jerusalem, especially at a time when many Judeans were tempted to 62 Scholars generally recognize the commonalities between Jeremiah 36 and 2 Kings 22, which establishes parallels between Jeremiah’s Urrolle and the (Deuteronomic) law book of Josiah’s day. The scribes who interact with the Urrolle in Jeremiah 36 fulfill the Deuteronomic charges for Levites to administer the tôrâ to the king (Jer 36:20–2; cf. Deut :8–20) and for the public (Jer 36:0; cf. Deut 3:9–3). This follows a larger pattern within the book that characterizes the Shaphanide scribes (and their associates such as Baruch) as executors of Levitical responsibilities. J. Andrew Dearman makes brief allusions to this connection (“My Servants the Scribes: Composition and Context in Jeremiah 36,” JBL 09 [990]: 09 n. 6, 8 n. 39), but does not discuss its role in the larger rhetorical aim of the Jeremianic corpus. For a full discussion, see Leuchter, The Polemics of Exile in Jeremiah 26–45 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). 63 Dearman, “My Servants the Scribes,” 8–2. 6 The locus classicus for Levites as scribal instructors is the narrative of Nehemiah 8. See Michael Duggan, The Covenant Renewal in Ezra-Nehemiah (Neh 7:72b–10:40): An Exegetical, Literary, and Theological Study (SBLDS 6; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 200), 22. Mark S. Smith notes that Levites are responsible for the redaction of the Psalter (“The Levitical Compilation of the Psalter,” ZAW 03 [99]: 258–63), and the Chronicler highlights the scribal and administrative role of the Levites on the regional level ( Chr 26:29; 2 Chr :–9; 9:5–; 3:3), making explicit the implicit dimensions of the earlier Josianic literature.

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turn away from Deuteronomistic tradition.65 How may the Deuteronomic outline for Levitical responsibility have been preserved against the difficult background of exile in Babylon? In this regard, Lee I. Levine’s suggestion that the early origins of the synagogue are to be identified with the institution of the preexilic village gate provides an attractive model for the background of the role of the Levites during the exile.66 Sustaining some similar form of gatherings in the new Mesopotamian locale would indeed lend a sense of familiarity and stability to an otherwise tragic upset in the rhythm of life for the exiled Israelite. The Levitical activity grafted onto this institution during the Josianic period would likewise retain a measure of prominence, with no shortage of confusing legal and religious matters in need of Levitical adjudication in every Judean community along the rivers of Babylon.6 The Levites themselves would have promoted the Deuteronomic model during the exile; prohibited by geography from returning to the ancestral land and rebuilding the local shrines, Deuteronomistic tradition would possess strong appeal to the (onceregional) Levites seeking to retain some authoritative voice. Among the various responses to the conditions of exile, Levitical interpretation and development of Deuteronomic law would have provided one option for the survival of Israelite tradition.68 Moreover, already entrusted with exegetical authority, the Levites could reenvision the legislation pertaining to their role at the village gate in the ancestral homeland as an ongoing sacral office for the communities now separated from the village. As several scholars have noted, the Shaphanide scribes of the Judean royal court remained closely connected to the family of Jehoiachin once taken into exile 65 Evidence for these alternatives emerges in both the Jeremiah and Ezekiel traditions (Jer :5–9; Ezek 20:39). See also the recent discussion by Elie Assis, who notes the uncertainty regarding any traditional Israelite form of covenant/covenant behavior following the deportations to Babylon and literary strategies for addressing the problem (“Why Edom? On the Hostility Towards Jacob’s Brother in Prophetic Sources,” VT 56 [2006]: –9). 66 Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2000), 26–. See also idem, “The Nature and Origin of the Palestinian Synagogue Reconsidered,” JBL 5 (996): 32–36. 6 Levine’s analysis confirms some aspects of earlier studies regarding the antecedents of “synagogues” during the exile or even during the late preexilic period. See Jacob Weingreen, From Bible to Mishna: The Continuity of Tradition (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 96), 5–28; Ernest W. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (New York: Blackwell, 90), 32–35; Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 8–8. 68 One salient example of the reinterpretation of Deuteronomic law for the exilic circumstance (and from the pen of a Levite, no less) may be found in Jer 29:5–, where the prophet’s letter to the exiles of 59 reapplies the rules of warfare of Deut 20:5– to their new Mesopotamian environs via lemmatic transformation of the source text; see Adele Berlin, “Jeremiah 29:5–: A Deuteronomic Allusion?” HAR 8 (98): 8–. The methods of lemmatic adjustment used by Jeremiah here very closely match those found in the Temple Sermon, and both carry forward characteristic modes of Deuteronomic legal discourse.

Leuchter: “e Levite in Your Gates”

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and likely stand behind the exilic redaction of the Deuteronomistic literature.69 If the Levites of the exile also emulated Deuteronomistic ideology and literature, then an alliance may have evolved between them and the Shaphanides residing with Jehoiachin in Babylon.0 Preexilic antecedents of such a relationship would already have existed in the Josianic period; Geoghegan has shown that the scribes behind the preexilic Deuteronomistic History demonstrate strong Levitical interest and may themselves have possessed a Levitical heritage. In this way, the pre-exilic Deuteronomic model would have survived, with the innovations of a central scribal authority somehow tied to the satellite communities now found throughout the regions controlled by the Babylonians. It may be for this reason that Ezekiel, the chief representative of the Zadokite opposition party, polemicizes against the Deuteronomistic tradition in one breath and the Levites in another (Ezek :–2; 20:25–26; :0–3).2 Ezekiel’s persistent engagement of the community elders of the exile (Ezek 8:; :; 20:) may reflect a Zadokite attempt to gain their support in the face of a Deuteronomistic/Levitical countertradition.3 The development of competing authoritative textual traditions would be a natural result of both sacral groups suffering from a compromised position (i.e., priests divested of local shrines or central sanctuaries). The development of texts that legitimized Levites on the one hand and Zadokites on the other would explain the emergence of two historiographic works, a Deuteronomistic History and a Priestly Pentateuch, both competing for the same audience but ascribing different ranks to the book of Deuteronomy within each collection. This would also explain 69 Schniedewind,

Book, 9–5; Dearman, “My Servants the Scribes,” –20.

0 Stephen L. Cook has arrived independently at a very similar conclusion, identifying Levite

scribes with the exilic Deuteronomistic circles (“Micah’s Deuteronomistic Redaction and the Deuteronomists’ Identity,” in Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism [ed. L. S. Schearing and S. L. McKenzie; JSOTsup 268; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 999], 228–3).  Geoghegan, “‘Until This Day,’” 225–2. Geoghegan’s conclusions regarding the preexilic redaction of the Deuteronomistic History are applicable to the Shaphanide circles if the latter are to be identified with this redaction and the orchestration of Deuteronomy (Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20, 92; Dearman, “My Servants the Scribes”, –20). 2 For Ezekiel’s polemic against the Deuteronomistic tradition, see Scott W. Hahn and John S. Bergsma, “What Laws Were ‘Not Good’? A Canonical Approach to Ezekiel 20:25–26,” JBL 23 (200): 2–8. Considering Ezekiel’s antipathy toward Deuteronomy and the exilic polemics that developed between the Zadokite and Deuteronomistic camps, we are justified in viewing Ezek :–2 as referring back to the year 622 as the beginning of the end for Judah from a Zadokite perspective. 3 For a discussion of the competitive traditions during the exile, see Paul D. Hanson, “Israelite Religion in the Early Post-Exilic Period,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. Patrick D. Miller et al.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 98), 85–506.  The Deuteronomistic History begins with Deuteronomy and emulates its essential principles, while the Priestly Pentateuch ends with Deuteronomy and subordinates it to Zadokite discourses and themes; see Leuchter, “Song of Moses,” 300. For the Zadokite redaction of the

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the background for the tensions between Zadokites and Levites during the early decades of the Second Temple period,5 evidenced in part by the reticence of Levites to return to the homeland and Malachi’s pro-Levite and anti-Zadokite polemic (Mal 2:–8).6 It would only be with Ezra, a trained scribe and Zadokite priest, that the Deuteronomic image of the Levite would be reconciled with the Priestly establishment in Jerusalem, forming the basis for the normative modes of Judaism that would emerge from Ezra’s mission and innovations. Alongside Levine’s observations regarding the preexilic antecedents of the synagogue, the Deuteronomic redefinition of the Levite must be recognized as a major source for the development of exegetical traditions that would eventually find a place in the synagogue culture of the Second Temple period and beyond.8 Pentateuch, see Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress, 995), 95, 03. The redaction, however, should not be attributed to the Holiness School. See Saul M. Olyan, “Exodus 3:2–: The Sabbath according to H, or the Sabbath according to P and H?” JBL 2 (2005): 20–9. 5 For a discussion of the tensions between Levites and Zadokites in the Restoration era, see Gabriele Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 52–55. 6 On Malachi’s diatribe against the Zadokites, see Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 985), 332–33.  The antecedents of Ezra’s activity in the Deuteronomistic tradition are discussed by Timo Veijola, “The Deuteronomistic Roots of Judaism,” in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume; Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (ed. Chaim Cohen, Avi Hurvitz, and Shalom M. Paul; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 200), 59–8. See also Duggan, Covenant Renewal in EzraNehemiah, 22. 8 M. 'Avot . ties the tradition of rabbinic exegesis directly to the institutions of the preexilic period, originating with Moses. While Boccaccini and others correctly point to the propagandistic and hermeneutical purpose of this passage (Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 203), it may symbolically reflect the authors’ recognition that rabbinic methods of exegesis derive from the prototype of Levitical scribal authority (it is perhaps telling that this passage makes no mention of the Zadokite priesthood as part of the line of tôrâ transmission). The parallels are significant, as the Levites-qua-scribes are empowered to provide additional rulings on written scriptural texts that are to be viewed as binding explications (Deut 6:8–20; Neh 8:–2), much the way rabbinic texts characterize the teachings of the scribes in later generations (b. Eruvin 2a).

JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 437–453

Reading Ruth through a Bakhtinian Lens: The Carnivalesque in a Biblical Tale nehama aschkenasy [email protected] University of Connecticut, Stamford, CT 06901

Reading the book of Ruth within the framework of the Bakhtinian theory of carnival and the dialogic imagination illuminates the subversive elements in this ancient Hebrew masterpiece and highlights the semantic and semiotic codes of cultural exchange between authority and the marginalized inherent in the work.1 The Bakhtinian paradigm also centralizes the end-of-harvest celebration, followed by the climactic scene between Boaz and Ruth at the threshing floor, as a minicarnival in which existing structures are mocked and parodied, bringing about a social, psychological, and theological transformation. I would argue that the tale as a whole, framed by the spring festivities, is narrated from a carnivalesque perspective in two ways: First, the language of heteroglossia is evident in this tale, which gives voice to multiple and contradictory points of view expressed across a broad spectrum of dialect, from high to low, from elegant and euphemistic to direct and physical. Second, the spirit of revelry, mockery, and defiance underlies the entire Ruth narrative and is not limited to the night of drinking and merrymaking. Fore1 Mikhail Bakhtin developed his theories of the carnivalesque and the dialogic imagination

in Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics (ed. and trans. Caryl Emerson; Theory and History of Literature 8; Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984); Rabelais and His World (trans. Hélène Iswolsky; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984); and The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays (ed. Michael Holquist; trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist; University of Texas Press Slavic Series 1; Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981). For illuminating analyses of Bakhtin, see Gary Saul Morson and Caryl Emerson, Mikhail Bakhtin: Creation of a Prosaics (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990); and Michael Holquist, Dialogism: Bakhtin and His World (New Accents; London: Routledge, 1990). This is not the place to discuss the political context of Stalinist oppression in which Bakhtin’s theories were formulated. For Bakhtin, the more oppressive a system was, the more robust its carnival festivities were. It is not my intention to suggest an analogy between Israelite God-fearing community in ancient Israel and Soviet brutality, but to offer a reading that borrows some of the more universal, less politically and historically specific aspects of Bakhtin’s thematization of the carnival, which undoubtedly opens a new window to our own understanding of Ruth.

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grounding the polyphonic tenor of the tale’s language and the comic, folksy situations and characters in it goes against the grain of traditional commentary, which has emphasized the seriousness of the religious-legal issues at the heart of the tale and Boaz’s lofty manners and speech. From a Bakhtinian perspective, Boaz’s language is “unitary” and “correct,” an expression of “the historical processes of linguistic unification and centralization . . . of the centripetal forces of language.”2 However, the public nature of the narrative in Ruth, seen in the several appearances of the community and its voices, makes this narrative a site where the Bakhtinian dialogue is possible. A Bakhtinian reading uncovers the polyphonic sounds heard in the story—the comical being among the loudest—which counterpoint Boaz’s “monologic utterance.” It also points to the interaction between the tale’s literary and cultural dimensions and offers explanations for several puzzling elements in the text and in Boaz’s conduct that have not been adequately addressed so far.3 A carnivalesque reading also buttresses a feminist interpretation of the story because it juxtaposes the established cultural hegemony with the social and religious margin and restores a dialogic relationship between them.4 It gives voice to the subclass, here embodied in (though not limited to) Ruth, who is thrice a stranger by virtue of her ethno-religious origins, gender, and socioeconomic status. Bakhtin’s idea of dialogism in general is valued by feminist theoreticians because it offers an opportunity for “recognizing competing voices without making any single voice normative.”5 The comic element appears as the subtle strategy of the

2 Bakhtin,

Dialogic Imagination, 270. biblical scholars have suggested Bakhtin’s dialogism as a useful paradigm for biblical theology. For a good summary, see L. Juliana M. Claassens, “Biblical Theology as Dialogue: Continuing the Conversation on Mikhail Bakhtin and Biblical Theology,” JBL 122 (2003): 127– 44. The most comprehensive discussion of the applicability of Bakhtin’s theories to biblical scholarship so far is offered in Barbara Green, Mikhail Bakhtin and Biblical Scholarship: An Introduction (SemeiaSt; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000). Green focuses on speech and the dialogic rather than on Bakhtin’s theory of the comic. She also offers a succinct summary of Bakhtin’s philosophy and his literary ideas, focusing on those that are especially of interest to biblical scholars. The only application of the theory of carnival to the Bible so far is presented in Kenneth M. Craig, Reading Esther: A Case for the Literary Carnivalesque (Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995). 4 Among feminist studies of Ruth that include both scholarly and more popular perspectives, see Reading Ruth: Contemporary Women Reclaim a Sacred Story (ed. Judith A. Kates and Gail Twersky Reimer; New York: Ballantine, 1994); see also Ruth and Esther: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, Second Series (ed. Athalya Brenner; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); Nehama Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window: Biblical Tales of Oppression and Escape (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998), 145–56; Ellen von Wolde, “Intertextuality: Ruth in Dialogue with Tamar,” in Feminist Companion to Reading the Bible: Approaches, Methods and Strategies (ed. Athalya Brenner and Carole Fontaine; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 426–51. 5 Dale M. Bauer and Susan Jaret McKinstry, “Introduction,” in Feminism, Bakhtin, and the 3 Several

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numerous minority groups represented in the tale—the seasonal field-workers, the poor of the town, women of various social and economic groups, and the religious and ethnic other.6 The book of Ruth is currently enjoying a flow of commentaries, yet its comic underpinning with its potential for chaos leading to the overturning of the status quo has not yet been sufficiently explored.7 A confluence of several current trends in literary-cultural research makes Ruth a fertile ground for scholarly exploration, above and beyond its potential for use in preaching within religious communities. The study of the Bible “as literature” opens the recognized narrative genius of the tale to added scrutiny, while feminist theories are able to utilize the apparent conflict between the centrality of female protagonists in the tale and the textual and cultural traditions that marginalized women. Research in cultural studies can benefit from the tale’s depiction of everyday life in ancient times and its wealth of anthropological and ethnographic materials and issues relating to ideology, ethnicity, social class, gender, legal and business transactions, and marriage customs.8 The postmodern interest in uncovering the voice of the marginalized by deconstructing a reading from the exclusive point of view of the ruling class also makes the tale of Ruth of special contemporary significance. Bakhtin’s theory, which dates the rise of the carnivalesque to medieval culture yet recognizes its roots in ancient nature festivities, encompasses several of these approaches while at the same time helping to identify a voice hitherto unrecognized in the tale: that of the comic.

I. The Barley Celebration in Ruth as a Mini-carnival Mikhail Bakhtin’s thematization of humor and the comic has made him popular in postmodern critical circles precisely because his studies expand the theory of carnival beyond a single folk event and identify the carnivalesque as a semiotic cultural code, signifying more than just texts that focus on the specific popular tra-

Dialogic (ed. Dale M. Bauer and Susan Jaret McKinstry; SUNY Series in Feminist Criticism and Theory; Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991), 6. 6 For more on women and humor in the Bible, see Athalya Brenner, Are We Amused? Humour about Women in the Biblical Worlds (JSOTSup 383; Bible in the 21st Century 2; London: T&T Clark, 2003). 7 For a study of Ruth in light of theories of comedy and drama in general, starting with Aristotle’s Poetics, see Nehama Aschkenasy, “Ruth as Comedy: Classical and Modern Perspectives,” in Scrolls of Love: Ruth and Canticles (ed. Peter Hawkins and Lesleigh Cushing; New York: Fordham University Press, 2006), 62–85. 8 For a most comprehensive and helpful scholarly study, see Edward F. Campbell, Ruth: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 7; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975); see also Scrolls of Love: Ruth and Canticles, ed. Hawkins and Cushing.

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dition in medieval Europe.9 Bakhtin’s theory of carnival, manifest in his discussions of Rabelais and “forbidden laughter” in medieval folk culture, argued that folk celebrations that allowed for rowdy humor and the parody of authority offered the oppressed lower classes relief from the rigidity of the feudal system and the church and an opportunity to express nonconformist, even rebellious views. The carnivalesque spirit, therefore, is a form of popular, “low” humor that celebrates the anarchic and grotesque elements of authority and of humanity in general and encourages the temporary “crossing of boundaries” where the town fool is crowned, the higher classes are mocked, and the differences between people are flattened as their shared humanity, the body, becomes the subject of crude humor. Moving beyond the Freudian view of jokes as a form of emotional release from existential and social anxieties, Bakhtin saw in carnivalesque humor a social force that allowed a text to enter a sociopolitical discourse while enjoying impunity, and thus to bring about cultural transformation. Although there is no indication in Ruth that its narrator(s) aims at radical cultural transformation, the tale represents several cultural adjustments undergone by the Bethlehem community, such as the acceptance of the foreign wife, the condoning of women’s sexual trickery, and the expansion of the meaning of the familial redeemer to include kin other than the brother-in-law. The barley celebration of the Bethlehem community functions as a minicarnival in the Bakhtinian sense. Naomi, a native Bethlehemite, knows that on the night of the winnowing of the grain there will be communal festivities with excessive drinking that may render Boaz intoxicated and vulnerable, unable to return home to his own bed (3:3). Indeed, Boaz is not only satisfied, but actually “his heart was merry” after he ate and drank. Although the terse narrator of Ruth does not elaborate on the festivities (perhaps because the details of the custom were known to the audiences of this tale), several of Bakhtin’s elements of the carnival are present here. There is a democratizing spirit in process: Boaz, the venerable, wealthy pillar of the community sleeps in the field among his laborers. Thus, the public celebrations bring about an inversion of the social hierarchies established early in the tale. Boaz and the other men are under the influence of wine (otherwise Ruth could not have sneaked unobserved to his side), and there is a spirit of bawdiness and some breaking of rules, which allows Naomi and Ruth to risk their feminine reputation in a dangerous scheme.10 Bakhtin’s sense of the “liberating” and “pluralizing” force of the carnival is also in evidence, as both Naomi, an older, respectable woman, and Ruth, a stranger who is constantly at risk in a hostile envi9 On the differences between Bakhtin’s theories and the philosophical foundations of post-

modernism, see L. A. Bulavka and A. V. Buzgalin, “Bakhtin: The Dialectics of Dialogue Versus the Metaphysics of Postmodernism,” Russian Studies in Philosophy 43 (2004): 62–82. 10 Jack M. Sasson discusses the role of inebriation in this context as well as its link to the impregnation of women in ancient folklore in Ruth: A New Translation with a Philological Commentary and a Formalist-Folklorist Interpretation (JHNES; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 73.

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ronment, become bold enough to engage in their plan. Naomi may also count on the general feeling that on this particular night of public tumult and reveling, psychological boundaries are broken and some lawlessness is tolerated, so that both Ruth and Boaz will be freed of the shackles of convention and act more boldly than usual. A crudely physical humor is introduced when the elderly Boaz, startled (by his own nakedness or by the exposed woman lying next to him, as will be explained later), becomes disoriented and fails to recognize Ruth. The events of the threshing floor, meant to take advantage of Boaz’s already loosened inhibitions, thus conform to Bakhtin’s definition of the carnival as an arena where social decorum is rejected and violated and scandalous behavior is overlooked, providing release from oppressive etiquette.11 Another element of the carnival manifest in Ruth, the valorization of Eros and the life force, makes Ruth’s success and the submission of Boaz to her scheme possible. In fact, the tale ends with the birth of a male child to Boaz and Ruth, the foreigner, thus confirming Bakhtin’s notion of the power of Eros to destroy boundaries and create “misalliances.” This male child, perceived as a substitute (grand)son for Naomi’s dead son by the joyous community, highlights the intertwining of life and death that characterizes carnival celebrations and marks the triumph of life over death in the communal sense. Thus, the death of Naomi’s son becomes the Bakhtinian “cheerful death” because the birth of the child assures the survival of the people.12

II. The Carnivalesque in Ruth The crucial night that marks the height of barley celebrations, when prevailing rules are suspended, identifies the carnival at the heart of the book of Ruth and offers, to use Bakhtin’s language, “a completely different, nonofficial, extraecclesiastical and extrapolitical aspect of the world, of men, and of human relations.”13 It also directs us to review the total narrative of Ruth in light of the comic tone underlying it and to uncover the subtle tension that exists in this community between high and low, rich and poor, resident and alien. These oppressive distinctions call for a carnivalesque perspective on life and society (not limited only to the time of official festivities) to alleviate their harsh impact both on the ones who benefit from this hierarchical system, the ruling class, and on its victims, the poor and marginalized. According to Bakhtin, the carnivalesque emerges in those moments in history when an oppressive system begins to crack and the “decentralization of a cul11 For a helpful summary of the basic characteristics of Bakhtin’s carnival, see M. W. Smith, “Embracing ‘other’: Dialogism and the Carnivalesque in Nadine Gordimer’s A Sport of Nature,” Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction 39 (1997): 41–48. 12 Bakhtin, Dialogic Imagination, 198. 13 Bakhtin, Rabelais, 6.

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ture has undermined the authority of social establishments.”14 The biblical narrator places the tale of Ruth during the period of the judges (1:1), perhaps the most unruly and chaotic time in ancient Israel. In this respect, the carnivalesque unmasks the forces of upheaval and lawlessness at work in the seemingly solid, God-fearing, charitable society depicted in this tale. The carnival threatens the very fabric of established society, but since it allows for the venting of all rebellious and oppositional sentiments, it also brings about social harmony and peace, such as that described at the end of the tale. The date of the story’s composition is even more relevant to its Bakhtinian nature and the antinomianism inherent in it. Several scholars have argued that the story of Ruth, the Moabite convert to Judaism, was composed during the times of Ezra and Nehemiah, when a fierce debate was raging between those who returned to the land with foreign wives and the nationalists who wished to cleanse the community of foreign influences.15 Thus, the marriage of the foreigner to the pillar of the community is a semiotic support of a political view that opposes official “monologic” policy and enforces a dialogue with the other. According to Bakhtin, “monologism, at its extreme, denies the existence outside itself of another consciousness with equal rights and equal responsibilities. . . . With a monologic approach . . . another person remains wholly and merely an object of consciousness, and not another consciousness. . . . Monologue pretends to be the ultimate word.”16 On the other hand, “the dialogic means of seeking the truth is counterposed to official monologism, which pretends to possess a readymade truth.”17 The locus of the carnival in Ruth is the open field on the night of the barley feast, yet from the very opening of Ruth, its carnivalesque subtext is evident, allowing counter-hegemonic, subversive, and mocking voices to run parallel to the official, serious, and pious tone of the ruling class. This tone emphasizes heterogeneity and misalliances, puts social decorum and norms to mockery, and sanctions the comic release of the forces of disorder, thus reaching at the end a state of collective healing and communal union. The constant presence of the community and its diversity of voices create the Bakhtinian heteroglossia, mixing in their tenor and tone the lofty and the low, the serious and the mocking, the sympathetic and the condemning, the masculine and the feminine, the higher classes and the field laborers, the landowner and the poor, the judges and the street crowds. The opening words of the tale bespeak famine, desertion, and death, yet their tone is easily recognizable as carnivalesque; that is, the storyteller is the communal voice, the folk, relishing the subversive elements in a familiar tale, told in anticipation of public 14 Ibid.,

37.

15 Campbell is in favor of an earlier date. For a summary of all arguments regarding the date

of composition, see Ruth, 23–28. 16 Bakhtin, Dostoevsky, 292–93. 17 Ibid., 110.

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seasonal celebrations or during the actual festivities. Jewish tradition assigns the reading of the book of Ruth to the holiday of Shavuot, the Day of the Giving of the Torah, but behind the sacred event lies the seasonal holiday, dating back to pagan times, that celebrates nature’s bounty, fertility, and Eros. Thus, the setting of Ruth as a tale orally transmitted is undoubtedly the public square. If the story of the untimely death of all males in a family is horrifying, it is being told and retold within the framework of merrymaking and groups partying, thus allowing the communal body to overcome its fear of death and destruction even while narrating the catastrophic events that befall the family. There is even a sense of Schadenfreude— the simple folk are not above gloating at the fall of a once-mighty family; they identify with the masses of Bethlehem who, unlike the patrician landowner Elimelech, did not have the means to leave Bethlehem during the time of famine. The storyteller(s)’ voice is heard in the sons’ rhyming names, which appear to be contrived, a concoction of a comic/macabre mind: ‫מחלון‬, which may be translated as “a little illness,” and ‫כליון‬, “destruction.” These names sound more like nicknames given by the mocking collective narrative voice in retrospect, after the sons’ demise, than names given by loving and hopeful parents. There is more than a shade of dark humor here, setting the tone of crudeness and farce that travels through the narrative. It becomes clear that the teller of the tale is not one but many, an amalgam of the many voices of community people who transmitted the story orally through the ages, so that the narrative fabric bears the marks of multiple voices, men and women (the latter, Edward F. Campbell suggests, were the locus of storytelling in ancient Israel), over many generations.18 The written narrative is the product of both the biblical historian, who connects the events narrated here to a great personality, King David, and of the folk, imprinting on the text their polyphony, with its antiestablishment, parodic view of “serious” events and personalities. The chilling name-giving is the common people’s commentary on the selfish aristocrats, but it is also in line with the spiteful carnivalesque spirit that laughs in the face of death. In fact, a satirical or even farcical view of people’s names continues in the tale: Orpah’s synecdochic name is also comical (suggesting ‫ערף‬, the back of the neck that Orpah showed her mother-in-law when she turned to go back home), for we will forever see her not as a full human being, but as a “back of the neck” disappearing into the horizon. This, too, may very well be an after-the-fact nickname given by the flippant voice in the public square, using a measure of humorous “poetic license” while recounting the family’s saga to the audience gathering for the festivities. At the end of the tale, the near-kin who refuses to redeem Ruth also gets a carnivalesque treatment by the storyteller(s): he is not deemed important enough to be named, or he is punished for his failure to do the right thing by being referred to with the comic moniker ‫פלוני אלמוני‬, “so and so.” 18 Campbell,

Ruth, 23–28.

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Naomi plays with her own name in a carnivalesque manner when she says to the women of Bethlehem not to call her Naomi (“sweet, pleasant”), but Mara (“bitter one” [1:20]). On the face of it Naomi argues that her name should be altered, but she actually challenges God to change her situation so that there will be agreement between her name, denoting comfort and pleasure, and her fate.19 There is no denying the bitterness in Naomi’s voice, yet it seems as if, in the midst of her sorrow, Naomi realizes the irony or even comedy in her name and momentarily engages in self-ridicule, essentially parodying the discrepancy between the optimism implied in her name and her dire current situation. The spirit of carnival permeates the scene of Naomi and Ruth’s arrival in Bethlehem in the midst of barley harvesting. It seems that the town’s streets are bustling with life, and the whole community is in the open square, enjoying the spring season. So while the community is abuzz about Naomi and the changes in her circumstances and her looks (1:19), it cheerfully confirms its own good fortune. The presence of women suggests the marketplace, which, according to Bakhtin, always had a carnivalesque nature: “[The] marketplace was the center of all that is unofficial; it enjoyed a certain extraterritoriality in a world of official order and official ideology, it always remained ‘with the people.’”20 Naomi expresses her grievances to the town’s women in a tone that is at once tragic and comic. The scene she envisions, of the heavenly court that sits down in judgment of her (1:20–21), may reverberate with Jobian echoes, but it is also so exaggerated that the discrepancy between the miserable woman and the august court that has been convened to deal with her case becomes comical.21

III. Boaz: The Patriarch as Fool The fields of Bethlehem, like the open streets and the marketplace, are public domains where diverse economic, gender, and ethnic groups are present. When Boaz appears there, the Bakhtinian contrast between the carnival as the feast of the people and the monologic authority of the governing class is in evidence: Boaz’s stock address to his laborers is serious, official, and standard, evoking the highest authority, God, and thus subtly reaffirming the hierarchical nature of life. Boaz’s role within the carnivalesque scheme of things helps explain some of the puzzling elements in his conduct throughout the tale and opens a window to a deeper understanding of his personality. Studies of the nature of comic types, the origins of laughter, and the Christian/humanistic tradition of the fool complement 19 For more on Naomi’s and Ruth’s language as a source of female empowerment, see Aschkenasy, “Language Is Power,” in Woman at the Window, 145–56. 20 Bakhtin, Rabelais 153–54. 21 For more on Naomi’s Jobian language and stature, see Aschkenasy, Woman at the Window, 148.

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Bakhtin’s conception of carnivalesque humor. Northrop Frye discussed the Saturnalia, named after Saturn, the Roman god of agriculture, as a site of chaos that is characterized by the breaking of all boundaries, merrymaking, and indulgence in food and wine. Often one of the participants leading the festivities assumes the role of the Lord of Misrule.22 It is undeniable that throughout the narrative Boaz represents the heights of seriousness in language and manners, yet it is equally possible to view him as a comic character. Traditional commentators on Ruth see Boaz as a dignified, composed, and staid pillar of the community, but in a carnivalesque reinterpretation of Ruth, posited on the overturning of social norms, Boaz joins the revelries like one of the commoners, or even leads them. Without the atmosphere of unrestrained revelry that is expected to envelop all celebrants during the spring festivities, the scheme of Naomi and Ruth would never have worked. Indeed, Naomi must be acquainted with the custom of reversal of normal behavior during the harvest festivities, when the most respectable and disciplined citizen of the community becomes the leader of rowdy celebrations and loses control of his senses. In his early appearance, Boaz, the elderly patriarch, seems immune to the carnivalesque; yet he is actually seen as a somewhat comical figure long before Ruth manipulates him at the threshing floor. Henri Bergson has suggested that the comic writer uses several tricks, including discrepancies, deceptions, misunderstandings, mistaken identities, the unexpected, and stock comic types.23 The latter are embodied in the three main protagonists in Ruth, appearing as variations of the conventional types featured in classical comedy and in comic narratives in general. Boaz plays the senex, the comic old man; Ruth is the virgo, the young girl often inaccessible for a variety of reasons; and Naomi is the servus callidus, the clever slave, or the servus delusus, the crafty servant whose inspired planning and improvisation bring about the happy comic resolution.24 The discrepancy in age and status between Boaz and Ruth, reflected also in the marked differences in their speech, is rife with comic promise. The attraction that a young woman holds for an old man has often been used by writers and tellers of popular jokes for its hilarious, farcical possibilities. When the older Boaz notices Ruth among the people in his field, it is because he finds the young woman interesting, unusual, or perhaps even attractive. Furthermore, Boaz’s lofty rhetoric, imbued with the concepts of morality, goodness, and charity, contrasts with his inaction through most of the story. I read Ruth’s words to Boaz during their initial 22 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 171; see also Caesar L. Barber, Shakespeare’s Festive Comedy: A Study of Dramatic Form and Its Relation to Social Custom (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959), 15, 36. 23 See Henri Bergson, “Laughter,” in Comedy (ed. Wylie Sypher; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1956), 79–86. 24 See Robert S. Miola, “Roman Comedy,” in Shakespearean Comedy (ed. Alexander Leggatt; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 18. Also John Creaser, “Forms of Confusion,” in ibid., 82.

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encounter, when she asks him why he has singled her out from among the poor gleaning in his field, as filled with a playful, even teasing tone under their thankful facade. The old man embarks on a lengthy speech about how he has already heard of Ruth; his stilted, effusive language contrasts amusingly with Ruth’s easy and straightforward tone. We can only imagine Boaz’s young workers laughing and sneering at their old master behind his back. Further, Ruth gently extricates from the unsuspecting Boaz the admission that he has known for some time about her arrival in Bethlehem with Naomi, his kin. The question that arises in this context is how to reconcile Boaz’s public standing as a benefactor of the poor with his neglect when it comes to his two female relatives. Boaz emerges as a pompous old man for whom talk is easy, but who is awkward and hesitant when it comes to interaction with a young woman whom he obviously likes. In public, he praises Ruth for her good deeds, but he is reluctant, perhaps afraid for his good name, to visit the women’s home in private. For all his respectable standing in the community, the carnivalesque voice identifies in him a “comic flaw,” an excessive concern with his public image, an inclination to make grand public gestures on which he does not follow through. To further his comic role, one may locate his flaw more specifically in his timidity with women, his sexual shyness, which creates a comic discrepancy between his status as a wealthy, powerful figure and his diffidence with women in private. Ruth and Naomi use these weaknesses to their own advantage; like all oppressed minority groups, they are revealed to be attuned to the carnivalesque possibilities in the high and mighty and to the farcical side of life and of people, which coexists with the serious. Boaz’s stale and rigid style adds to his comic stature. He uses a set format of greetings, addressing his workers with the conventional formula “God be with you,” to which they respond with “God bless you” (2:4), and customary blessings (“May God grant you due recompense”; “May your payment be full from the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to seek refuge” [2:12]). The old man sounds like a puppet repeating familiar formulae, rather than expressing his own original sentiments. This renders him mechanical, robotic, and therefore comical in the Bergsonian sense.25 In his discussion of comic types Frye distinguishes between the eiron, the creator of comedy, and the alazon, the butt of it.26 The eiron, according to Frye, may often be the heroine, who brings about the dramatic resolution through disguise or some other trickery. According to this description, Ruth is the perfect eiron. Frye also speaks of the eiron as “the type entrusted with hatching the schemes which bring about the hero’s victory,” often a female confidant; in Ruth this type of eiron is Naomi.27 In this comic scheme of things, Boaz plays the alazon, so that although 25 See

Bergson, “Laughter,” 79–86. Frye, Anatomy, 172–75. 27 Ibid., 173. 26

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he holds so much power over people—his workers, the poor he allows into his field, and his female relatives—the narrative’s carnivalesque spirit positions him at the same time as the comic victim and the butt of jokes in his environment. Ruth’s strategy of gently embarrassing the old man, who is so obsessed with his status in the community, culminates in the scene at the threshing floor, which displays a classic example of the comic situation known as the “bed trick,” or the fooling of the powerful male.28 This, again, reinforces the inversion of hierarchical distinctions between the ruling class and the marginal, the patriarch and the woman. The alazon, says Frye, is often the “heavy father” or a surrogate of this character (Boaz addresses Ruth as “my daughter”), who often displays “gullibility.” Frye further describes the alazon as a “man of words rather than of deeds.”29 As noted, Boaz often uses highly rhetorical language, lauding charity and good works, and yet he stays within the realm of speech, not that of deeds; it is the women who drive him to action. The climactic moment at the threshing floor, while carrying serious risks for Ruth and Naomi, can easily develop into physical farce as the old man, usually buttoned-up and proper, wakes disheveled from his drunken stupor, alarmed to find a strange woman at his feet in the open field. Ruth, on the other hand, is sober, controlled, and purposeful; she asks, in fact orders, the old man to “redeem” her. The comic possibilities envisioned by Bergson are numerous here. We find disguise, pun, comic repetition of verbal formulas, inelasticity of the body, and manipulation of one person by another so as to appear “as a mere toy in the hands of another.” First, Ruth expands on her mother-in-law’s initial plan. Naomi had instructed Ruth to wait for the man to speak when he discovers her, but Ruth says more than the man’s question warrants. In response to Boaz’s startled “Who are you?” Ruth not only identifies herself, but makes an almost audacious suggestion: “I am Ruth thy handmaid: spread therefore thy skirt [or wing] over thy handmaid; for thou art a near kinsman [or, a redeemer]” (3:9). A woman asking a man to marry her reverses the norms of patriarchal society and is inherently comic. The seasonal festivities usually ended with the expulsion of a comic scapegoat, a ritual whereby, as Frye explains, society purges itself of the spirit of chaos that has temporarily seized it. With moderation and harmony reestablished, according to both Fry and Bakhtin, a far better and well-integrated society emerges.30 We find evidence of this in Ruth in the scene that takes place at the city gate (4:1–12), which concludes the tale. Here we witness a public ceremony in which Naomi’s male kin draws off his shoe, signaling that he wishes to excuse himself from performing the rite of yibbum, thereby “expelling” himself, if not from the community at large, from his role as redeeming kinsman. This nameless man, humorously

28 See Harold Fisch, “Ruth and the Structure of Covenantal History,” VT 32 (1982): 425–37. 29 30

Frye, Anatomy, 172. Ibid., 165.

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referred to as ‫פלוני אלמוני‬, quickly disappears, and his departure ushers in the festivity in which the elders and the crowd gather at the gate to bless and embrace Ruth.

IV. The Intertextual Dialogue Bakhtin’s theory of dialogue is useful also in illuminating the narrative art within which the biblical idea is couched. The story of Ruth is in many ways an ideal example of Bakhtin’s dialogic paradigm because of the many levels of dialogues it offers. First, Ruth provides an arena for polyphony of voices across the social, economic, and ethnic spectrum. Further, there is a constant internal discourse among the idioms, metaphors, and utterances that make up the fabric of the Ruth narrative, as well as external dialogues between Ruth and other biblical narratives. One such discourse is between Ruth and the stories in Genesis of the fooling of Lot by his daughters (ch. 19) and the fooling of Judah by his daughter-in-law, Tamar (ch. 38). These three biblical tales revolve around central scenes of drinking and merrymaking that reduce the elderly patriarchs, Lot, Judah, and Boaz, respectively, to bumbling fools, ruled by their sexual needs, and taken advantage of by younger women. The stories are also tied genealogically: Ruth is a descendant of Moab (“from the father,” Moab being the issue of the incestuous relations between Lot and his daughter), and Boaz is a descendant of Perez (one of the twins born to Tamar from her incestuous sexual encounter with Judah). Structurally, all three stories consist of the same narrative elements, starting with a patriarch separating himself from his group (Lot departs from Abraham; Judah from his brothers; and Elimelech from the Bethlehem community); the latter two tales are concerned with the levirate law and the redemption of women. From a woman-centered viewpoint, each tale culminates in the triumph of the young woman over the family patriarch. The tales of Tamar and Ruth record community festivals that punctuate the rhythm of country life. Judah’s and Boaz’s intoxications are connected to seasonal public celebrations—sheep shearing in the case of Judah and the conclusion of barley harvest in Ruth—while Lot is made drunk with wine by his conniving daughters, probably taking advantage of the shock he suffered from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and his wife’s being turned into a pillar of salt. Studying literary patterns in the Bible that are imbued with covenantal significance, Harold Fisch has strung together these tales by focusing on the diachronic trajectory from the two Genesis tales to Ruth, which clearly displays an evolutionary cultural line.31 It starts with the crudest possible story told rather 31 Fisch, “Ruth and the Structure of Covenantal History.” See also Aschkenasy, Eve’s Journey: Feminine Images in Hebraic Literary Tradition (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986), 85–88.

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graphically in the case of Lot, where the daughters, under the impression that all life has been extinguished, find shelter with their father in a cave and behave like barbaric cave people. The diachronic track moves up to the somewhat more civilized ambience of the tale of Judah and Tamar (Judah, at least, commits incest with his daughter-in-law, not his daughter) and culminates with the “cleaned up” tale of Ruth’s successful efforts to make Boaz recognize his familial responsibilities and “redeem” her. Thus we move from incestuous relations to covenantal marriage, from illicit sexual encounters occurring at night and in secrecy, to a marriage ceremony conducted in public with the blessings of judges and the entire people. Fisch persuasively suggests that whereas Boaz redeems Ruth, and the newborn son redeems Naomi, Ruth herself “is the redeemer of the unnamed ancestress who lay with her father,” and that the story of Ruth offers a tale of “salvation history,” purged of the unseemly elements of the two previous tales and “looking forward to what is to be disclosed of the house of David.” The diachronic track follows the progress from Lot’s daughters, acting out of a blind biological urge to procreate, to Tamar, driven by the same feminine need as well as economic necessity, to Ruth, who aspires to enter the Hebrew family through the biblical law of yibbum. Boaz commends Ruth for not going after the young men who have shown an interest in her but looking for a “redeemer” instead (3:10), thus making it clear that Ruth wished for more than material and female salvation. The ascending line from Lot’s daughter to Tamar to Ruth becomes emblematic of the human evolution from barbarism to civilization, from sex as a mere physical act that appeases the man’s physical desires and the woman’s sense of emptiness (to use Eriksonian language), to the spiritual and religious union of a divinely and communally sanctified marriage.32 It starts with the breaking of taboos and ends with adherence to God’s laws and social norms, impelling the reader to leave behind the early precedents and look toward the redemption and healing offered at the end of the tale. The genteel language of the encounters between Ruth and Boaz stands in contradiction to the graphic and crude lexicon of the two precedents and thus points toward a more cultured and advanced society. In the tale of Lot, the daughters discuss that there is no man left on the earth “to come in to us” and therefore they “lay” with their father to “preserve” his “seed” (Gen 19:30–35). In the story of Judah and Tamar, the woman dresses, acts, and talks like a prostitute; she asks Judah: “What will you give me, that you may come in to me?” (Gen 38:16). Ruth, on the other hand, asks Boaz to spread his “wing” over her and be her “redeemer” (Ruth 3:9). Thus, semantically as well there is progress from a graphic, debased depiction of the sexual act, to the elegant, metaphorical, and covenantal vocabulary of the story of Ruth. But if we read the three tales side by side, synchronically, the opposite occurs: 32 See

Erik H. Erikson, Identity, Youth, and Crisis (New York: Norton, 1968), 261–94.

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the physical semantics of the two early tales reverberate and echo in Ruth’s actions and language and transform the Ruth text to a different text altogether. Bakhtin emphasized the importance of the body and its physicality to carnival’s challenge of authority, pointing out that Rabelais wanted to “return a reality, a materiality to language and to meaning.”33 The body brings the world back to a physical level, moving it away from dogma and authoritarianism.34 Indeed, we see that Ruth (perhaps more subtly than her two predecessors but as daringly) introduces carnival physicality to her exchanges with the reluctant patriarch, who is late in joining the carnival spirit and suffers shame when he wakes up from his drunkenness. The standard translation of Ruth 3:7 suggests that Ruth came secretly to where Boaz was lying, uncovered his legs (or feet), and lay down. The euphemistic meaning of uncovering the legs in the Bible is clear: Ruth uncovered more that the man’s feet. But an alternative reading of the Hebrew verb ‫ ותגל‬would be “she uncovered herself,” with ‫ מרגלותיו‬indicating where this action takes place, at his feet, rather than functioning as the syntactic object, “his feet.”35 Thus, Ruth, together with the jubilant storyteller(s) and her/their festive audience, engages in a Bakhtinian dialogue with the Lot and Judah texts and creates a new text; the semantics of her vocabulary are euphemistic but the semiotics are not. Ruth makes a bold physical move: she uncovers her body and exposes herself to the man. And when she tells (in fact, commands) Boaz to “spread” his “wing” over her, her language may again seem metaphoric, but its semiotic code points to the literal and physical. She uses the word “wing” not only as a metaphor of protection, the way Boaz used it in an earlier scene, but in the physical sense of “the corner” of his blanket, or robe. Plainly put, Ruth insists on the physicality of the moment and brazenly suggests to Boaz that he take her under his blanket. Ruth is somewhat mischievous when she repeats the ceremonious phrase that Boaz himself had uttered earlier—“under [God’s] wings” (2:12)—and jokingly alters the overstated, abstract “God’s wings” to the word’s literal meaning, “wing” as the corners of a garment or a blanket. Bakhtin has pointed out the dialogic nature of the word or utterance, “the word . . . weaves in and out of complex interrelationships . . . and all this may crucially shape discourse . . . may influence its entire stylistic profile.”36 Ruth’s use of “wing” displays this: first, it harks back to Boaz’s previous “God’s wings” in his blessing of Ruth, critiquing it as too lofty and insubstantial and implying that the only wings that matter to Ruth in her present predicament are not the esoteric “God’s wings” but Boaz’s “wings”—the protection that he can give her through marriage. It further peels the metaphoric shell of “wings” and brings it down to earth, to the literal, physical meaning of Boaz’s blanket or robe, suggesting physical contact. 33 Bakhtin,

Dialogic Imagination, 171. Rabelais, 3. 35 See von Wolde, “Intertextuality,” 444, 445. 36 Bakhtin, Dialogic Imagination, 279. 34 Bakhtin,

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In the spirit of the carnival, Ruth reduces the “high” concept implied in Boaz’s “God’s wings” to the crudely physical. Bergson has suggested that a comic moment occurs when “our attention is diverted to the physical in a person when it is the moral that is in question” (and when a person is “embarrassed by his own body,” which applies if it is Boaz who finds himself naked).37 Ruth’s linguistic manipulation agrees with Julia Kristeva’s assertion that “carnivalesque discourse breaks through the laws of a language censored by grammar and semantics and, at the same time, is a social and political protest.”38 Boaz attempts to regain his status as the figure of law and authority by ignoring Ruth’s semantics of the body and engaging, again, in a flowery speech, blessing and commending her profusely. But in spite of this we are now aware that Boaz’s “monologic” language has been broken and has entered into a dialogue with Ruth’s carnivalesque language. The comedy of the body continues when Boaz, in a theatrical gesture, measures out a significant portion of barley and tells Ruth to hold up her apron so that he can fill it up (3:15). Boaz’s commendable action is reduced to physical farce: one can only imagine the bawdy visual possibilities, the semiotic signification, of Ruth returning home with her apron bulging provocatively. Ruth the woman emerges as the breaker of etiquette; Naomi sends Ruth to glean, but Ruth oversteps her boundaries and enters into dialogue with Boaz. Naomi instructs Ruth to uncover Boaz’s legs and wait for the man to talk; Ruth (most probably) uncovers herself, and when Boaz asks her who she is, she does not merely identify herself, but proceeds to name Boaz a “redeemer,” although technically he is not her redeemer since he is not her brother-in-law. By reassigning a new meaning to the term “redeemer” and broadening it to a near kin, Ruth dissolves a fixed legal term and engages in a form of Bakhtinian “dialogic heteroglossia” that resists the idea of a unitary language. The woman Ruth teaching the patriarch a lesson in the humanitarian interpretation of the law is a carnivalesque reversal of roles, a universal comic element, akin (to use Bergson’s own examples) to a student teaching his teacher or the criminal chastising the judge. Naomi, too, engages quite early in the tale in creative manipulation of language combined with a challenge to authority—in fact, the ultimate authority, God. Even before her dialogue with the women of Bethlehem, Naomi displays irreverence to the established meanings of words and a tendency to explore the heteroglossia of language, the multiple voices that exist in human utterance. Indeed, from the moment Naomi opens her mouth she displays bitter humor that consists of both protest and mockery and wreaks semantic havoc with established terms. Naomi is first heard when she pleads with her daughters-in-law to return to their mothers’ homes. In two quite elaborate speeches (1:8-9, 10-13) she thanks them for their past kindness, urges them to leave her and turn back, and wishes 37 The

three citations are from Bergson, “Laughter,” 111, 135, and 93, respectively. Kristeva, Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art (trans. Leon S. Roudiez; European Perspectives; New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 65. 38 Julia

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them well. Her explicit argument is that she is past her childbearing years, that therefore her daughters-in-law cannot be redeemed by any son of hers. But Naomi’s elaborating on the impossible is so outrageously exaggerated that it points to a subtext quite different from the point that is ostensibly being made. Her protestations create an imaginary world in which the unlikely might indeed come true; behind the language of seeming desperation lurks the vision of a potential miracle. Naomi’s comically absurd scenario of sleeping with a man that very same night and immediately becoming pregnant and producing “redeemers” to her daughters-in-law is a moment of grotesque comedy, but it reveals her hidden desires and hopes for a miracle. Moreover, while dismissing the possibility of a levirate marriage for Ruth and Orpah, Naomi in fact introduces the concept into both the tale and the consciousness of the reader. To further build up her vision of the possible, to enhance her subliminal message, and to create a world out of the word, Naomi names the relationship between the two young widows using a term that technically does not denote the link between women whose husbands are brothers. Naomi tells Ruth to follow Orpah, who has taken Naomi’s advice and headed back to Moab. In the Hebrew, Naomi does not use the term “sister” or “sister-in-law” (the standard translations) but rather the term ‫ יבמה‬to describe the familial relationship between Ruth and Orpah. In Biblical Hebrew, this noun designates the childless widow in relation to her dead husband’s brother, not to her sister-in-law. He is the ‫יבם‬, the levirate redeemer, and she is the ‫יבמה‬, the feminine form of the same noun. This misnomer should not be taken as a slip of the tongue, a careless mistake on the part of a distraught woman. Naomi has taken comic liberty with the language, using the noun ‫ יבמה‬sarcastically, in an improbable context (as we would call an idiot “genius”). But in the process, she has created a new frame of reference within the tale by filling the dialogue with intimations of yibbum, levirate marriage, thus mitigating the language of the unattainable. Naomi creates a world with the force of her tongue; her semantic malapropism is a semiotic code that transmits her true desires. As in the case when she protests the inappropriateness of her name to the women of Bethlehem, the literal meaning of Naomi’s speech—that her name should be changed— is in fact a semiotic message to the deity that God should make her life pleasant again, in conformity with the meaning of her name. Thus, in terms of Bakhtin’s dialogism, both Naomi and Ruth force their own language on the official lexicon and adjust the specific meanings of semantic terms, which carry well-defined cultural significance, to fit their own needs.

V. Conclusion Applying Bakhtin’s theory of dialogism to a biblical narrative does not suggest reading the Bible as a postmodern “indeterminate” text. Bakhtin defined great

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works as those that continued to live in the distant future by virtue of the dialogic quality of their utterances: “Even past meanings, that is, those born in the dialogue of past centuries . . . will change in the process of subsequent, future development of the dialogue.”39 In a way, Bakhtin’s dialogism employs the same premise that the ancient Jewish rabbis adopted when they opened the way for an exegetical elasticity with their famous phrase “turn it [the biblical text] and turn it, for all is in it.” Further, a carnivalesque reading should not be mistaken for an irreverent look at a sacred book. Bakhtin and others have shown that humor and comedy, while producing laughter, are very serious business. The comic view illustrates the absurdities of the human condition and the pretentiousness of humanity; it is produced by very important and essential human needs to cleanse inner demons, control existential fears, make life under oppression possible, and protest against injustice. This essay is not meant as a validation of Rabelais’ or Bakhtin’s worldviews, nor is it a blanket endorsement of Bakhtin’s ideas of the “unfinalized” nature of humanity. It certainly does not mean to suggest that the book of Ruth is exclusively Saturnalian in nature. Scholars have pointed out the ethical and humanistic problems of Bakhtin’s Saturnalian laughter and the limitations inherent in Bakhtin’s glorification of carnival dialogism as a tool of breaking down hierarchies.40 Extricating Rabelais’ world from its own specific time and culture and placing it side by side with the biblical world represented in Ruth is undeniably problematic as well. We may also criticize Bakhtin for not adequately addressing the danger that exists when festive misrule turns from harmless activity into deadly riot and anarchy.41 Yet Bakhtin’s wide-ranging ideas, by their very nature, have opened up for contemporary critics, including biblical theologians, interesting avenues of discoursing with the ancient text, one of which is exemplified in this essay. Ruth may represent the benign and healing impact of the carnival, where the boundaries of transgression are clearly delineated and are held back by the overall purpose of the story; where a certain amount of misrule does not lead to chaos and anarchy but offers a kind of safety valve that channels protest and rebellion into a redemptive vision, thus assimilating the narrative into the larger biblical meta-story. 39 Mikhail

Bakhtin, Speech Genres and Other Late Essays (ed. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist; trans. Vern W. McGee; University of Texas Press Slavic Series 8; Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986), 170. 40 For a skeptical view of Bakhtin’s helpfulness to the basic premises of feminism, see Wayne C. Booth, “The Freedom of Interpretation: Bakhtin and the Challenge of Feminist Criticism,” in Bakhtin: Essays and Dialogues on His Work (ed. Gary Saul Morson; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 145–76. On some of the ethical problems and limitations inherent in Bakhtin’s theory of carnival humor, see Michael Andre Bernstein, “When the Carnival Turns Bitter,” in ibid., 99–121. 41 Among the studies dealing with this problem, see Hilda Hollis, “The Other Side of Carnival: Romola and Bakhtin,” in Papers on Language and Literature 37 (2001): 227.

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JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 455–473

Revisiting the Prologue of Proverbs timothy j. sandoval [email protected] Chicago Theological Seminary, Chicago, IL 60637

The prologue of Proverbs (1:2–6 [7]) is widely regarded as a neatly structured introduction to the book that reveals the text’s intended audience and articulates the book’s purpose(s).1 There is substantial agreement regarding the grammatical structure of the lines. Most scholars suggest that the prologue articulates the book’s purpose via a series of infinitive constructions (vv. 2a, 2b, 3a, 4a, 6a), which are dependent on v. 1 and are interrupted in v. 5 by a set of finite verbs.2 Verse 5 itself is regularly considered to be an interpolation, and its presence is taken as evidence Some material in this article was presented in an earlier form in a paper entitled “A Reconsideration of the Prologue and Purpose of Proverbs” that I delivered at the international meeting of the SBL in Groningen, The Netherlands, July 28, 2004. I am grateful to my colleagues in that session who engaged me in discussion around some of the issues I raise in the article. Aspects of the argument and portions of the text also appear in my The Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in the Book of Proverbs (BIS 77; Leiden: Brill, 2006), which is a slightly revised version of my Emory University Ph.D dissertation (2004). Esther Menn, Melody Knowles, and Ajay Rao also read and helpfully commented on early drafts of the article. I am grateful as well for the comments of the anonymous readers from JBL, which proved of value in structuring the argument of the article. 1 Raymond C. Van Leeuwen, “Proverbs: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” NIB 5:32; Roland E. Murphy, Proverbs (WBC 22; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 3; Otto Plöger, Sprüche Salomos (Proverbia) (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984), 8; Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 18A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 58; William McKane, Proverbs: A New Approach (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), 262; Richard J. Clifford, Proverbs (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999), 32. 2 McKane, Proverbs, 263; Murphy, Proverbs, 3–4; Clifford, Proverbs, 35; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 58; Plöger, Sprüche Salomos, 9; L. Alonso Schökel and J. Vilchez Lindez, Proverbios (Nueva Biblia Española, Sapienciales I; Madrid: Ediciones Cristiandad, 1984), 154. Hans F. Fuhs, however, understands the infinitives of the prologue to be dependent on the finite clause of v. 5 (Das Buch der Sprichwörter: Ein Kommentar [FB 95; Würzburg: Echter, 2001], 37). It is also sometimes suggested that v. 5 was inserted in the prologue under the influence of 9:9. See, e.g., Crawford H. Toy, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Proverbs (1899; ICC; repr., Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 8; R. N. Whybray, Proverbs (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 33.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

of the prologue’s literary-historical development.3 The relationship of v. 7 to the infinitive-based introduction in vv. 2–6 is not entirely clear, and it is often said to state the book’s “motto.”4 There is also wide agreement among interpreters that the prologue identifies the book’s addressees not merely as simple youth (1:4) but as sages as well (1:5).5 There is considerably less agreement, however, regarding the precise nature of the purpose(s) the prologue articulates. Leo G. Perdue, for instance, has suggested that the prologue reveals seven distinct intentions, while William P. Brown highlights the text’s focus on intellectual values, the literary expression of wisdom, instrumental virtues, and especially moral-communal virtues.6 In this article I argue that the prologue of Proverbs serves not merely as the book’s introduction but as the hermeneutical key to the entire literary work. This contention is not entirely novel,7 but it is a claim that is rarely developed. Hence, in order to sustain the assertion that Proverbs’ opening lines serve as an important interpretive key for reading the book I offer an interpretation of the prologue’s structure that builds on, but is distinct from, those that regularly appear in the secondary literature. Rather than regarding all of 1:2–6 (7) to be articulating the book’s purposes through a smart chain of infinitives, as do most interpreters, I contend that vv. 2–4 alone sketch the text’s purpose(s). Verses 5–6 serve as an invitation to the reader to engage this purpose. This understanding of the prologue’s structure supports three further, but intimately related, sorts of arguments about Proverbs’ opening lines. First, I contend 3 See the works cited in n. 2. Whybray believes that an original form of the prologue comprising vv. 1–4 and 6 introduced only chs. 1–9, but in its current form vv. 2–6 introduce the entire book (Proverbs, 31). Similar positions are not uncommon. Fox, for instance, contends that the prologue is one of the latest units of the book (Proverbs 1–9, 72–78, esp. 76). Though v. 5 may be an interpolation (Whybray, Proverbs, 31; Toy, Proverbs, 8), the line nonetheless can be recognized as “a logical continuation of the grand promises of the Prologue” (Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 62). 4 Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 67; Plöger, Sprüche Salomos, 13; Van Leeuwen, “Proverbs,” 33; Murphy, Proverbs, 4; Toy, Proverbs, 10. I adopt this view as well and hence will not be considering 1:7 in my analysis of Proverbs’ prologue. See further Alonso Schökel and Vilchez Lindez (Proverbios, 158), who call v. 7 “the great principle” (el gran principio). Fuhs (Das Buch der Sprichwörter, 42) declares it the book’s “thesis” (These). For some interpreters, however, v. 7 is an integral piece of the prologue. See, e.g., William P. Brown, Character in Crisis: A Fresh Approach to the Wisdom Literature of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 23–30. 5 Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 53, 58; Fuhs, Das Buch der Sprichwörter, 38; Plöger, Sprüche Salomos, 10; Van Leeuwen, “Proverbs,” 32; Clifford, Proverbs, 35; Alonso Schökel and Vilchez Lindez, Proverbios, 157; Leo G. Perdue, Proverbs (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 2000), 69; Christine Roy Yoder, Wisdom as a Woman of Substance: A Socio-Economic Reading of Proverbs 1–9 and 31:10– 31 (BZAW 304; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 3. 6 Perdue, Proverbs, 70–75; Brown, Character in Crisis, 23–25. 7 See Roland E. Murphy, The Tree of Life: An Exploration of Biblical Wisdom Literature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 16; Fuhs, Das Buch der Sprichwörter, 12, 37.

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that the identity of the text’s imagined addressee is more subtly constructed than is usually realized. Rather than merely affirming that the book primarily addresses simple youth but at the same time recognizes that wiser adults can also benefit from its instruction, I argue that the prologue (and subsequent material in Proverbs) constructs its ideal addressee rhetorically through images of young males who are just reaching adulthood. The entailments of these images suggest that the prologue imagines the book’s primary or ideal addressee as anyone who is able simultaneously to assume the readerly subject position of one who is simple and in need of instruction and the subject position of one who possesses the intellectual capacities to progress in the teachings that follow the book’s opening lines. Second, I argue with others, but through an analysis of the literary structure of the prologue that is distinctive, that the book’s own articulation of its purpose is to promote certain types of values and virtues, preeminently the social values and virtues of justice, righteousness, and equity (1:3). Third, I argue that three key terms in v. 6 reveal that the instruction that follows Proverbs’ prologue is not a simple one. Rather, this instruction is understood by the prologue to take the form of a complex literary text comprising various types of figurative speech (‫משל‬, ‫מליצה‬, ‫)חידה‬. It hence requires the kind of reader who is both open and able to explore the book’s symbolic and literary textures. Although the key terms in v. 6 are usually recognized as regularly connoting some sort of literary discourse, the significance of the line for the interpretation of Proverbs is almost never emphasized. The verse, however, alerts the reader of Proverbs, at the outset of the reading project, that an understanding of this text will require a significant interpretive effort. This analysis of the prologue’s structure thus will suggest that v. 6, with its emphasis on the book’s tropes and figures, functions together with especially the prologue’s concern for virtue as a kind of hermeneutic cue that ought to guide the reader in the interpretation of aspects of the remainder of the book. The reader, who ideally is one who both embraces the need for instruction and possesses the intellectual ability to progress in it, will encounter in Proverbs an instruction that is both regularly concerned with virtue and requires some hard thinking about the figurative structures of the literary text. In contending that the prologue functions as the hermeneutical cue to the entire literary work that is Proverbs, I am self-consciously privileging the final form of the text. Others have carried out, and continue to carry out, the important work of considering the prologue, and the book more generally, in literary-historical terms. There are, however, other good reasons, both positive and negative, for concentrating attention on the final form of the book, including the final form of its prologue. On the one hand, the canonical shape of the text encourages a reading of the book in an undivided manner. The evidence for a certain amount of editorial unity and even literary integrity that scholars increasingly are recognizing in and between

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Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

the book’s different collections also suggests some merit to this approach.8 On the other hand, there are several theoretical and methodological limitations to privileging a historical-literary approach to the study of Proverbs, including analysis of its prologue. For instance, it is clear that what is now preserved in the written text of Proverbs is the product of scribal activity.9 Although Proverbs likely preserves verses that in some form originated in an oral context, whether among the rural folk or in the royal court, it is unclear whether the book faithfully preserves an earlier oral text (or texts).10 There are, moreover, no unproblematic criteria for reconstructing an original oral utterance (or the kernel of such an utterance) from the written words that have been transmitted on the pages of Proverbs. Nor is it selfevident how we are to imagine the oral context against which the sages might have desired their now written instruction to be read.11 Compared with the hypothetical (though often plausible) theories of different oral and literary stages of the text that scholars imagine and often favor in interpretation, the final literary text (and

8 Diane Bergant, for instance, notes that there appears in the book “a definite structural framework that bespeaks editorial intentionality” (Israel’s Wisdom Literature: A Liberation-Critical Reading [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997], 78). See also Patrick W. Skehan, “A Single Editor for the Whole Book of Proverbs,” CBQ 10 (1948): 115–30; R. B. Y. Scott, Proverbs. Ecclesiastes: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 18; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1965), 22; Fuhs, Das Buch der Sprichwörter, 172–73. Note further Raymond C. Van Leeuwen’s structuralist and semantic study of chs. 25–27, in which he discerns several “proverb poems” (Context and Meaning in Proverbs 25– 27 [SBLDS 96; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988]) and see Knut Martin Heim, Like Grapes of Gold Set in Silver: An Interpretation of Proverbial Clusters in Proverbs 10:1–22:16 (BZAW 273; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2001). See also Claudia V. Camp, Wisdom and the Feminine in the Book of Proverbs (Bible and Literature Series 11; Sheffield: Almond, 1985). For an overview of the modern discussion surrounding the structure of Proverbs, see R. N. Whybray, The Book of Proverbs: A Survey of Modern Study (History of Biblical Interpretation 1; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 34–61; and Whybray, Proverbs, 15–17. Whybray’s own statement regarding the structure of the text is The Composition of the Book of Proverbs (JSOTSup 168; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994). 9 Although the clear differences between the material that constitutes chs. 1–9, on the one hand, and most of the material in chs. 10–29 (31), on the other hand, complicate matters, my methodological and theoretical concerns pertain to assertions about the orality of both. 10 For contributions pertinent to the long debate in studies on Proverbs regarding whether the book primarily preserves the oral sayings of the folk or more literary proverbs produced in the royal court, see Hans-Jürgen Hermisson, Studien zur israelitischen Spruchweisheit (WMANT 28; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1968); Claus Westermann, Roots of Wisdom: The Oldest Proverbs of Israel and Other Peoples (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995); Friedemann W. Golka, The Leopards’ Spots: Biblical and African Wisdom in Proverbs (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993); Michael V. Fox, “The Social Location of the Book of Proverbs,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (ed. Michael V. Fox et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 227–39. 11 See esp. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 75.

Sandoval: Revisiting the Prologue of Proverbs

459

context) of Proverbs is what is most unproblematically available to us. It thus merits at least as much attention as literary-historical interpretive endeavors.12

I. The Prologue of Proverbs The text of Prov 1:2–6 reads:13

‫להבין אמרי בינה‬

‫לדעת חכמה ומוסר‬ ‫לקחת מוסר השכל‬

2 3 ‫ לתת לפתאים ערמה לנער דעת ומזמה‬4 ‫ ישמע חכם ויוסף לקח ונבון תחבלות יקנה‬5 ‫דברי חכמים וחידתם‬ ‫ להבין משל ומליצה‬6 ‫צדק ומשפט ומישרים‬

2For

knowing wise instruction, for understanding words of insight;14 gaining instruction in wise dealing: righteousness, justice, and equity;15 4For giving to the simple cunning; to youth, knowledge of shrewdness.16 5Let the wise person hear and gain learning and the understanding person acquire skill,17 6To understand a trope and figure, the words of the wise and their riddles.18 3For

Structure Most commentators understand Prov 1:2-6 to be skillfully sketching the purpose of Proverbs via a chain of infinitives (v. 2a, 2b, 3a, 4a, 6a) that are dependent on the claim in v. 1 that the book contains “the proverbs of Solomon, son of David, King of Israel.” The series, however, is interrupted by a set of finite verbs in v. 5, which is often considered an interpolation.19 12 Specifically,

I will be considering the MT represented by the Leningrad Codex printed in

BHS. otherwise indicated, all translations are my own. translation of the phrase ‫ חכמה ומוסר‬as hendiadys (“wise instruction”) follows Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 58–67. 15 The rendering of v. 3 follows the NRSV. 16 The translation of the phrase ‫ דעת ומזמה‬as hendiadys (“knowledge of shrewdness”) follows Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 58–67. 17 The verb ‫ יוסף‬in v. 5 should be understood as jussive. See GKC §69v; see also Toy, Proverbs, 7; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 53, 62. This suggests that the other prefixed verbs in the line also ought to be regarded either as jussive (‫)ישמע‬, or as an imperfect that expresses a kind of wish or desire (‫)יקנה‬. See GKC §107m, n; §151a and the discussion below. 18 On the rendering of ‫ משל‬as “trope” and the proverbial hapax legomenon ‫( מליצה‬cf. Hab 2:6) as “figure,” see Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 54–56, 63–64 and the discussion below. 19 See the works cited in nn. 2 and 3 above. 13 Unless 14 The

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Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

The view that the infinitives in vv. 2–6 neatly sketch the purpose of Proverbs has much to commend it. For instance, all but one of the infinitives in the book’s opening lines are infinitive constructs with prefixed lamed, a grammatical structure that in Biblical Hebrew is often deployed to express purpose. There are also good extrabiblical parallels for this sort of infinitive-based introduction to a wisdom text, most prominently in the Egyptian Instruction of Amenemope. Moreover the grammatical observation that the prologue is constructed via a series of infinitives can lead scholars to other important observations, like those offered by Brown, regarding the literary structure of the prologue and the manner in which it reveals the specific moral purposes of Proverbs. For Brown, whose analysis of the prologue includes v. 7, the “arrangement of ethical terms embedded in these introductory six verses exhibits a tightly wrought concentric structure.” This concentric structure, moreover, reveals that an important purpose of Proverbs, at least as far as the prologue is concerned, is to offer its reader instruction in virtue.20 Yet despite important insights such as those Brown offers, the usual proposal that the prologue offers a neatly organized infinitive-based structure interrupted by v. 5 is overstated. One can note, for instance, that the passage’s initial two infinitive constructs (‫ לדעת‬and ‫)להבין‬, written with prefixed lamed, introduce half verses (vv. 2a and 2b). The third (‫)לקחת‬, by contrast, introduces all of v. 3. That is, unlike v. 2, where both halves of the verse begin with an infinitive construct with lamed, the second stich of v. 3 (v. 3b) begins with neither a lamed nor an infinitive (though the final term of the first stich is the infinitive absolute ‫)השכל‬. The prologue’s fourth infinitive construction with lamed (‫)לתת‬, in v. 4, again introduces a half verse (v. 4a), but the lamed joined to the term that introduces the second stich of this verse (‫[ לנער‬v. 4b]) is not part of an infinitive construction. The infinitive of v. 6 (‫ )להבין‬again begins an entire verse. Whether one considers v. 5 secondary and intrusive or not, Prov 1:2–6 is hardly the smartly structured, infinitive-based introduction it is sometimes reckoned to be. Having established the fact that the infinitive structure of Proverbs’ prologue is not as tight as sometimes thought, it is thus possible to suggest a different structure for the book’s introduction. Rather than regarding all of 1:2–6 (7) to be articulating the book’s intention(s), it is better to understand vv. 2–4 of ch. 1 alone to be sketching the educational “purpose” of the book. Verse 5, with its finite verbs (‫ישמע‬, ‫יוסף‬, ‫ )יקנה‬and v. 6, with its infinitive construct (‫)להבין‬, by contrast, serve as an “invitation” to the addressee to engage this purpose—to choose the way of wisdom and undertake the exercise of interpreting Proverbs.

20 Brown, Character in Crisis, 24–25. Others likewise offer different sorts of interesting pro-

posals regarding the structure of the prologue (e.g., Alonso Schökel and Vilchez Lindez, Proverbios, 154–55) and at points also allude to the ethical nature of some of the language in the prologue (e.g., Clifford, Proverbs, 36; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 53, 58).

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Purpose Although Prov 1:2–4 does make use of infinitive constructions to articulate the book’s purposes, this infinitive structure is not thoroughgoing and not the key to understanding the structure of these lines. As noted above, neither v. 3b nor v. 4b commences with an infinitive, as do vv. 2a, 2b, 3a, and 4a. Recognizing the limits of the infinitive structure in these verses, however, paves the way for a different sort of literary observation that focuses on what one might call the aesthetic aspects of the lines. With the exception of the second stich of v. 3, each half verse in Prov 1:2–4 is introduced by a prefixed lamed, though not necessarily in an infinitive construction (e.g., ‫ לנער‬in v. 4b). The absence of the lamed in the second stich of v. 3 is anomalous. It marks or highlights this verse-half as articulating a matter particularly important to the book’s wisdom project. The literary-aesthetic structure of 1:2–4 thus makes clear that these verses can well be read together as a unit. Subsequent observations indicate that these lines, on their own, articulate well the text’s intention to present to its addressee a complex world of moral discourse that focuses on instruction in virtue.21 Although ancient writers and audiences may not have made the following distinctions by means of the same ethical categories, Prov 1:2–4 articulates precisely the book’s moral purposes. Verse 2 of the prologue suggests that one purpose of the book is to transmit “intellectual virtues.” It is “for knowing wise instruction” (‫ )לדעת חכמה ומוסר‬and “for understanding words of insight” (‫)להבין אמרי בינה‬. Verse 4, by contrast, intimates that a further purpose of the book is the acquisition of “practical virtues.” The instruction is “for giving” (‫ )לתת‬to the text’s addressee(s) “cunning” (‫ )ערמה‬and “knowledge of shrewdness” (‫)דעת ומזמה‬. Between the intellectual and practical virtues of vv. 2 and 4 respectively is the purpose articulated by v. 3. According to this line the instruction is “for gaining instruction in wise dealing” (‫[ לקחת מוסר השכל‬v. 3a]). This wise dealing, moreover, is immediately defined in terms of the social virtues of ‫צדק‬, ‫משפט‬, and ‫( מישרים‬righteousness, justice, equity [v. 3b]). The importance of the virtues articulated in this verse in particular is highlighted by the break in form identified above, namely, the absence of an introductory prefixed lamed in v. 3b. Structurally the line thus stands at the pinnacle of the prologue’s poem, and the virtues it mentions are marked as especially valuable.22 Subsequently the infinitive absolute ‫ השכל‬in 1:3, which introduces the three virtues of v. 3b, is appropriately rendered by the NRSV as “wise dealing” and not something like “success,” as Clifford and some translations (e.g., NJPS) pro21 See

Harold C. Washington, Wealth and Poverty in the Instruction of Amenemope and the Hebrew Proverbs (SBLDS 142; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 1; Brown, Character in Crisis, 23–30. 22 Brown’s different analysis of the prologue likewise highlights the virtues of v. 3b, which he calls “moral-communal virtues.” See Character in Crisis, 23–30.

Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

462

pose.23 The three substantives provide the content of what is meant by ‫השכל‬, and their strong ethical connotations indicate that the infinitive should be rendered in English by a term that likewise captures this moral substance. The relationship of the three sets of virtues articulated by the prologue to each other, as well as to a broader notion of “wisdom” and a vision of a good and flourishing human life, is intricate and multifaceted in Proverbs. However, if the prologue is indeed to serve as a guide to the purpose(s) of Proverbs, a reader of these lines ought to expect the instruction that follows in the book to highlight the intellectual, practical, and especially social virtues, which the text at its very outset intimates are so central to wisdom’s way.

Invitation The literary-aesthetic structure of Prov 1:2–4 thus suggests that these lines alone sketch the prologue’s vision of the book’s purpose(s), namely, to offer instruction in intellectual, practical, and especially social virtue. Subsequently, vv. 5–6 should be regarded as articulating an invitation to the book’s addressee to pursue this purpose. The prefixed verbs of v. 5 (‫ישמע‬, ‫יוסף‬, ‫ )יקנה‬ought to be reckoned as expressions of desire or wish. This is clear from the fact that ‫יוסף‬, the second verb in line five, is very likely a jussive, as GKC and some commentators indicate.24 This detail suggests that the first verb in the line, ‫ישמע‬, though ambiguous in form since in isolation it can be read as either an indicative or a jussive, ought to be understood as jussive as well. Subsequently, the final verb in v. 5, the imperfect ‫יקנה‬, should likewise be regarded as expressing a kind of desire or wish, as do the jussives.25 Together with line 6, the finite verbs of v. 5 thus exhort the addressee to read further in Proverbs in a manner that complements, rather than disrupts, the articulation of the book’s purpose(s) in vv. 2–4. They do not imply merely that the wise and understanding person who engages the text will “hear” and “increase learning” and “acquire skill” as might any other person. Rather they express the hope or desire that the reader will engage the book’s purposes (vv. 2–4). The addressee “who would be wise” is enjoined to hear and increase learning and acquire skill in order to understand (‫)להבין‬, as v. 6 suggests, the sophisticated literary-symbolic discourse that follows Proverbs’ opening lines (see below). Verses 5 and 6 together serve as an invitation to the reader, who has just learned of the text’s educational purposes 23 Clifford,

Proverbs, 33. §69v. See also Toy, Proverbs, 7; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 53, 62; see n. 17 above. Although the lexica reveal an instability to the prefixed verbal forms of the I-weak root ‫יסף‬, the imperfect would likely be ‫( יוסיף‬yôsîp) rather than ‫( יוסף‬yôsep), which the MT records. 25 See GKC §107m, n; §151a. 24 GKC

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in vv. 2–4, to continue reading and interpreting and thereby attain status as a wise (‫ )חכם‬and understanding person (‫)נבון‬. It is of course possible that, when v. 5 is viewed from a literary-historical perspective, it can be judged to be an interpolation that interrupts a longer and earlier infinitive-based introduction that once ran through vv. 2–4 to v. 6 (though not seamlessly in any case; recall the absence of infinitives in vv. 3b and 4b and see the discussion above). It is not necessary, however, to favor this conclusion if one (a) recognizes that the literary structure of lines 2–4, by themselves (without the infinitive of v. 6), articulates well the prologue’s view of the book’s moral purpose(s), and (b) reckons the finite verb forms in v. 5 as terms that exhort and invite the reader to continue the educational project. Proverbs 1:2–4 and 1:5–6 hence cohere well. They offer the reader an “introduction” to Proverbs that consists of both a sketch of the text’s purpose and an invitation to continue the study of what v. 6 describes as a complex literary text.

Addressee Before considering v. 6 more closely, it is important, however, to say more about the audience envisioned by the prologue, especially as the question of the imagined addressee relates to vv. 5 and 6. As virtually all commentators recognize, v. 4 explicitly notes that the book’s instruction is at least in part designated specifically for the “simple” (‫[ פתאים‬v. 4a]) and the young (‫[ נער‬v. 4b]). Many suggest, however, that v. 5 indicates that the prologue is also recognizing the possibility of a secondary audience, the wise and understanding person. That is, although the text seems primarily directed toward simple youth, even sages more advanced in wisdom, it is claimed, can benefit from the text.26 A good literary-historical argument coheres with the suggestion that v. 5 points to wise and discerning persons as further members of the audience the prologue imagines Proverbs to be addressing. Those who take this approach contend that more ancient forms of the book (or at least chs. 1–9)—versions whose material was closer to their presumed oral origins—were designed primarily for the instruction of unlearned youth, as v. 4 implies. However, as the book developed, study of the now-elaborated literary text was seen to benefit even more advanced students, as v. 5 appears to indicate.27 Neither the contention that the prologue might be a text from which simple youth as well as sages can benefit nor the literary-historical explanation for the emergence of this dual audience is, in itself, an unreasonable proposal. I suggested, however, that vv. 5–6 function as an invitation to the hearer “who would be wise” to continue reading the text. It might thus be inferred that the prologue is imagin26 See 27 See

the works cited in n. 5 above. esp. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 74–76; cf. Whybray, Proverbs, 30–31.

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ing its addressee in terms of a single audience, as one who is not yet wise (or at least as one who could be wiser). Hence, if my understanding of vv. 5–6 (as invitation) is to be sustained, the double audience thesis needs to be refined. If Prov 1:5 exhorts the book’s addressee to be wise and is not merely an articulation of a second sort of audience, the only potential addressee remaining in the prologue is the simple youth of v. 4. Yet, as Claudia V. Camp has observed, the poetic nature of much of the book of Proverbs in fact “suggests a context rather less constrained than that of the classroom,” where one might expect to encounter such youths in need of instruction.28 Moreover, I too have already intimated (and will argue below) that 1:6 indicates that the book’s instruction can be rather complex, perhaps to the point of being not fully accessible in all its dimensions to all potential readers. It is thus necessary to ask who precisely the prologue’s “simple youth” are. An answer to the question of the identity of the prologue’s simple youth can in part be discerned through a consideration of the nature of the instruction and images that follow the book’s opening lines. In the chapters subsequent to the prologue, the instructing voice of Proverbs imagines as its addressee a male who is potentially physically able to rob and murder (e.g., 1:10–19); who understands the value of material wealth (e.g., 3:14–15); who might go surety for a neighbor (e.g., 6:1–5); who possesses strong sexual appetites and is of marriageable age (e.g., 6:24– 35).29 Although one might argue that such teaching could be addressed to young boys in anticipation of their coming of age, it seems most appropriate to older males—those who have at least reached puberty and adolescence, if not young adulthood. The images associated with students in certain Egyptian wisdom texts sometimes suggest a similar kind of audience. Without drawing strong conclusions from the comparison or identifying the addressee(s) in these texts (a task for Egyptologists), one can at least note the following passage from Papyrus Lansing. The text, which begins at 8.4, addresses a student, stating: “You follow the path of pleasure; you make friends with revelers. You have made your home in the brewery as one who thirsts for beer. You sit in the parlor with an idler. You hold writings in contempt. You visit the whore. Do not do these things! What are they for? They are of no use. Take none of it!”30 Like the images in the passages from Proverbs cited above, the images in this Egyptian text—for example, of sexual activity and consumption of alcohol—seem most appropriately associated with young adult males. The terminology of “youth” (‫ )נער‬in 1:4, because it is somewhat ambiguous— 28 Camp,

Wisdom and the Feminine in the Book of Proverbs, 58. have highlighted a similar range of images in Proverbs that implicitly sketch the book’s addressee. See, e.g., Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 62. 30 The translation and text citation are from Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings (3 vols.; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973–80), 2:171. 29 Others

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or, better put, multivalent—is also suggestive when one considers the nature of the addressee imagined by Proverbs’ prologue. In the Hebrew Bible the term ‫ נער‬can clearly often refer to quite young persons; however, as Hans-Josef Fabry points out, the upper age boundary seems to vary from text to text: twenty (e.g., Exod 30:14), twenty-five (Num 8:24), thirty (Num 4:3, 23; 1 Chr 23:3).31 The Midrash on Prov 1:4 likewise asks: “How many years is one called a young man? R. Meir said: Until he is twenty-five; R. Aqiba said: Until he is thirty years of age; R. Ishmael said . . . until one is twenty years old, for [not] until he is twenty and onward are his sins counted against him . . . .”32 Given the nature of the instruction that follows Proverbs’ opening lines, as well as the suggestive parallel from Papyrus Lansing and the multivalency of the term ‫ נער‬in v. 4, the “simple youth” of Proverbs’ prologue are probably young males who are just reaching adulthood. This conclusion regarding the audience that the prologue imagines for Proverbs is not entirely dissimilar to Brown’s characterization of the text’s addressee as a “youth” whom he calls a “silent adolescent.”33 It is perhaps closer, however, to the addressee of the Egyptian Satire of the Trades, who, according to Miriam Lichtheim’s rendering, is imagined as “barely grown” but also “still a child”—a unique formulation that captures this person’s position in and between adulthood and adolescence or childhood.34 By describing its addressee as a young man just coming of age, in and between adulthood and adolescence or childhood, Proverbs employs an image whose entailments construct the addressee simultaneously as one in need of instruction and as one who possesses the age and attendant mental ability to advance in it. This is vital, for v. 6 (again, as we will see below) suggests that a full interpretation of Proverbs will not be a simple matter. It may in fact be beyond the cognitive capacity of younger adolescents and children.35 Fabry, “‫נער‬,” TDOT 9:480; cf. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 62. Midrash on Proverbs: Translated from the Hebrew with an Introduction and Annotations by Burton L. Visotzky (Yale Judaica Series; New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1992), 21. Cf. Fabry, “‫נער‬,” 480. 33 Brown, Character in Crisis, 45. 34 Satire of the Trades, 5. The translation and text citation are from Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 1:186. The Egyptian, however, could be translated differently from Lichtheim’s interpretive rendering and could subsequently carry connotations different from those I suggest. “Barely grown,” for instance, might be alluding to the addressee’s youth, as one who is “just beginning to grow.” For the transliterated text of the Satire of the Trades, see Wolfgang Helck, Die Lehre des Dw3-H~ tjj (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1970). The question of the best rendering and interpretation of the figure addressed in the Satire of the Trades must be left to specialists in Egyptology. I introduce Lichtheim’s translation simply as a formulation that can spark one’s interpretive imagination when thinking about the addressee(s) of Proverbs. 35 Without evaluating the merits of each position, it can be noted that certain modern discussions of developmental psychology have intimated that it is not until some point in adolescence at the earliest that youths develop the capacity for cognitive abstraction, including the ability to 31 Hans-Josef 32 The

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The prologue of Proverbs thus is not necessarily merely imagining two distinct audiences, the foolish youth in need of instruction and the wise sage who might return for a refresher course. Although simpletons and sages, and everyone in between, might read and learn something from the book, the text imagines its ideal addressee as one who is able, at one and the same moment, to occupy different subject positions vis-à-vis the book’s instruction. In offering its invitation to the hearer to continue reading and embark on the task of attaining wisdom, the prologue, on the one hand, encourages an anticipated reader, whoever this might be, rhetorically to occupy the readerly subject position of a young, unlearned person (‫;פתאים‬ ‫ )נער‬in need of instruction, as v. 4 implies. On the other hand, and at the same time, vv. 5–6 exhort the addressee to assume the subject position of the wise and understanding person (‫[ נבון ;חכם‬v. 5]) he in fact will become if he accepts the text’s invitation, stays the course, and strives to understand Proverbs’ wisdom—a wisdom, as v. 6 implies, that may take the form of a ‫“( משל‬trope”) or a ‫“( מליצה‬figure”), or may even appear as a ‫“( חידת‬riddles”).

The Key Terms of Proverbs 1:6 After Prov 1:2–4 articulates the nature of the book’s purposes (to instruct in virtue), v. 5 initiates the prologue’s “invitation” by exhorting the addressee to assume the subject position not merely of a simple youth (v. 4) but also of a wise and discerning person. If he does, he will “gain learning” and “acquire skill.” Verse 6 next indicates that he should do all this in order “to understand a trope and figure, the words of the wise and their riddles” (‫)להבין משל ומליצה דברי חכמים וחידתם‬. Although the three important terms in this verse (‫משל‬, ‫מליצה‬, and ‫ )חידה‬initially appear to allude to literary forms that might be absent from the body of Proverbs, they ought not to be narrowly construed as referring only to such forms. Nor do they represent literary or interpretive activities beyond the reach of the text’s imagined addressee. Rather, they indicate that the discourse that follows the prologue will be a complex, literary-symbolic one. Because of their association with one another in the prologue of Proverbs and elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, the three important terms in v. 6—‫משל‬, ‫מליצה‬, and ‫—חידה‬are often discussed together. Of the three, however, ‫ משל‬has garnered the most attention in the secondary literature. Etymological and literary-historical

reason metaphorically (e.g., Jean Piaget), and subsequently, the ability to engage in moral reasoning (e.g., Lawrence Kohlberg). These views, however, have been critiqued for, among other things, their universalizing of the experiences of European males and North American males of (primarily) European descent. For an overview of the work of Piaget, Kohlberg, and others, see William Crain, Theories of Development: Concepts and Applications (3rd ed.; Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1992).

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concerns are regularly treated. Much, however, has also been made of the fact that the term ‫ משל‬can be deployed to speak of a variety of types of speech and does not denote a single literary form.36 Although these words have been translated in various ways, commentators nearly always recognize that each of the key terms in v. 6 (not merely ‫ )משל‬regularly connotes cryptic or opaque and obscure utterances. More than a century ago, Crawford H. Toy, for instance, glossed ‫ משל‬as “an enigmatical saying,” called ‫מליצה‬ a “figurative saying” that “looks toward another sense,” and noted that ‫“ חידה‬signifies some sort of deflected discourse.”37 Others offer similar evaluations.38 Indeed, although the usage of ‫ משל‬in the Hebrew Bible suggests a range of meanings for the word—“by-word,” “saying,” “parable,” “proverb”—that the term can connote a kind of figurative speech is particularly clear from its usage in Ezek 17:2 and 24:3. In both of these passages, Ezekiel’s cryptic oracle is introduced as a ‫משל‬. In 17:2 the term is paralleled with ‫“( חידה‬riddle”), a word that in the Samson tale in Judges (see esp. Judg 14:12–19) likewise alludes to enigmatic speech. The term ‫ מליצה‬is a hapax legomenon in Proverbs and, according to C. Barth, is best understood to be derived from ‫“( מלץ‬slide, slip by”) rather than ‫( ליץ‬qal, “talk big, boast”; hiphil, “mock, deride”).39 In any case, ‫ מליצה‬otherwise appears in the Hebrew Bible only

36 See,

e.g., the etymological and literary-historical study of Otto Eissfeldt, Der Maschal im Alten Testament: Eine wortgeschichtliche Untersuchung nebst einer literargeschichtlichen Untersuchung der genannten Gattungen “Volkssprichtwort” und “Spottlied” (BZAW 24; Giessen: Töpelmann, 1913). Cf. A. R. Johnson, “‫ָמָשׁל‬,” in Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East: Presented to Professor Harold Henry Rowley by the Society for Old Testament Study in Association with the Editorial Board of Vetus Testamentum, in Celebration of His Sixty-fifth Birthday, 24 March 1955 (ed. M. Noth and D. Winton Thomas; VTSup 3; Leiden: Brill, 1955), 162–69; A. S. Herbert, “The ‘Parable’ (Māšāl) in the Old Testament,” SJT 7 (1954): 180–96. Hans-Peter Müller’s point of departure is the ‫“( חידה‬Der Begriff ‘Rätsel’ im Alten Testament,” VT 20 [1970]: 465–89). David Winston Suter, in his study of the ‫ משל‬in the Similitudes of Enoch, speaks in a Wittgensteinian vein of “the māšāl family” and strives to understand the multifaceted use of the term by attempting to identify “resemblances between various examples” of ‫“( משלים‬Māšāl in the Similitudes of Enoch,” JBL 100 [1981]: 193–212). Timothy Polk, by contrast, emphasizes the “reader-involving quality” of different sorts of ‫ משלים‬and their “hermeneutical” function, or the fact that “when used in and as religious discourse, the māšāl wants to do something to, with, or for its hearers/readers” (“Paradigms, Parables, and Mĕšālîm: On Reading the Māšāl in Scripture,” CBQ 45 [1983]: 564–83, esp. 567; italics original). 37 Toy, Proverbs, 4, 8. 38 Fox, for instance, recognizes in the range of meanings of ‫משל‬, “trope,” which as such “may be a symbol” or an “enigma.” For him ‫ מליצה‬is best rendered as “epigram,” though following Toy he recognizes the term may point to a “figurative saying” or “trope.” Though ‫ חידה‬can be a “riddle,” Fox suggests that it is most fundamentally “an enigmatic, difficult saying that requires skilled interpretation” (Proverbs 1–9, 54, 63–65). See further Whybray, Proverbs, 34; Perdue, Proverbs, 73. 39 C. Barth, “‫ליץ‬,” TDOT 7:547–52.

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in Hab 2:6, again in conjunction with ‫ משל‬and ‫חידה‬.40 Although Hab 2:6 is difficult, the association of ‫ מליצה‬with two other terms connoting cryptic speech suggests that it carries similar nuances. The fact that the well-known hiphil masculine singular participle ‫ מליץ‬can mean something like “interpreter” also underscores the likelihood that ‫ מליצה‬refers to some sort of deflected discourse that requires a significant interpretive act.41 Yet despite the fact that commentators regularly recognize that the three important terms in v. 6 connote obscure speech in need of some sort of interpretation, this insight rarely carries much weight in subsequent explications of the book of Proverbs. The reason for this lack of attention seems to be twofold. On the one hand, the assumption that Proverbs is primarily addressed to a young and simple audience, and only secondarily to sages, facilitates this approach, since one might not expect an audience of youths to be asked to discern tropes and figures and wise riddles. As another ancient voice, Plato’s Socrates in the Republic, states: “A young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal.”42 As we have seen, however, the prologue constructs its presumed addressee much more subtly. This person is imagined to be not merely an unlearned youth but one who ideally possesses the capacities to engage the book’s instruction in a significant way. On the other hand, the interpretive significance of the important lexemes of v. 6 is not regularly addressed because the terms generally are thought to denote exclusively specific literary types or genres.43 They are not viewed as describing the discourse that follows as one that requires significant interpretive effort. Although nearly all commentators recognize ‫ משל‬as a plastic term that can refer to more than a single form of speech, it is regularly, and most fundamentally, associated in Proverbs with the sentence sayings that dominate the book from 10:1 through at least the end of ch. 29. These short sayings, moreover, are reminiscent of oral, folk proverbs known from a wide range of cultures. They are thus regularly understood 40 The term ‫ מליצה‬also appears in Sir 47:17, again in conjunction with ‫חידה‬. See Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 63. 41 Barth (“‫ליץ‬,” 547–52) contends that the hiphil participle ‫“( מליץ‬interpreter”) must be derived from a root ‫ ליץ‬II, rather than ‫ ליץ‬I. Together with the fact that ‫ מליצה‬is perhaps derived from ‫מלץ‬, this creates some uncertainty as to the relationship of ‫ מליץ‬to ‫מליצה‬. See H. N. Richardson, “Some Notes on ‫ ליץ‬and Its Derivatives,” VT 5 (1955): 163–79; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 64. Yet regardless of whether ‫ מליץ‬and ‫ מליצה‬are derived from different roots, their homophonic relationship and the association of each with some sort of discourse in need of interpretation make it likely that the connotations of each would leave traces on the meaning of the other. 42 Plato, The Republic 2.378d (trans. B. Jowett; Modern Library; New York: Random House, 1941), 74.. 43 Toy, for instance, states that the three terms in v. 6 “describe the form of the sage’s instruction” (Proverbs, 8). Clifford likewise writes: “Verse 6 states that it is part of wisdom to understand aphorisms and wise sayings, presumably those in chaps. 10–31” (Proverbs, 35). Other commentators imply the same; see Murphy, Proverbs, 5; Van Leeuwen, “Proverbs,” 33; Perdue, Proverbs, 73; Whybray, Proverbs, 34–35.

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in terms of these oral, folk proverbs, which have been extensively studied by folklorists who emphasize proverb use and proverb performance when considering how proverbs communicate meaning.44 In contrast to the great number of sentence proverbs in the book of Proverbs, however, it is regularly noted that no example of the ‫“( חידה‬riddle”) or ‫“( מליצה‬figure,” “puzzle”)—conceived in formal terms—is evident in the chapters that follow the prologue.45 Hence, because they are thought to refer to specific genres or forms that are either well understood (‫ )משל‬or absent from the book (‫חידה‬, ‫)מליצה‬, the import of the cluster of terms in 1:6 for the interpretation of the book is undervalued. However, the very fact that the prologue explicitly mentions literary terms, formal examples of which are not to be found in the book, should give us pause. The absence of such literary types suggests that the important terms in v. 6 are not intended to name specific literary forms. Rather they function to highlight the figurative and literary qualities of the book’s discourse.46 They alert the reader to the interpretive efforts one will need to undertake as one continues reading the book.47 Upon reflection, this is not surprising. The proverbial speech of folk proverbs, which formally are similar to the sentence sayings that constitute the bulk of Proverbs, is generally understood to be metaphorical speech. Folk proverbs not only employ metaphors, but they are regularly deployed in specific oral contexts to say something metaphorically about human life or the concerns and values of 44 For a convenient introduction to the contemporary study of proverbs, see Wolfgang Mieder and Alan Dundes, eds., The Wisdom of Many: Essays on the Proverb (New York: Garland, 1981). 45 Murphy, for instance, writes: “The riddle . . . and the puzzle [i.e., ‫ מליצה‬and ‫]חידה‬, if these are correctly translated, are hardly in evidence in the collections” (Proverbs, 5). See the similar conclusions of Fox (Proverbs 1–9, 65–67) and Van Leeuwen (“Proverbs,” 33). Van Leeuwen surmises, however, in a manner analogous to the argument I am developing here, but without including ‫ מליצה‬in the discussion, that the term ‫ חידה‬in v. 6 more broadly “refers to any puzzling, thought-provoking utterance.” 46 Fox likewise recognizes that the key terms of v. 6 point to literary activities and abilities. He, however, believes that the literary impulse revealed by the verse is not true to the original nature of Proverbs as oral literature but is the effort of a redactor. In regard to v. 6 he writes: “The author of the Prologue is thus reinterpreting the book by describing its contents and goals in new terms and from a new perspective.” For Fox, to seek wisdom means—despite the Prologue’s emphases on the book’s tropes and figures—“to assimilate the values of the teachings and to be wise, not to work hard to get at their message. Basically the father’s words of wisdom need only be heard and obeyed, not probed and interpreted” (Proverbs 1–9, 74, 76; italics added). Fox himself emphasizes the oral dimensions of the written text of Proverbs (at least chs. 1–9) not merely because he believes this accords best with the original oral nature of the book’s instruction, but because he argues that the sages themselves desired their written text to be interpreted as a kind of oral instruction. 47 Cf. Sir 39:2–3, which describes the efforts of a sage in similar terms. He is one who “penetrates the subtleties of parables” and who “seeks out the hidden meanings of proverbs and is at home with the obscurities of parables” (NRSV).

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humans.48 Understanding an oral proverb in its performative context is itself a complicated interpretive act of construing symbolic relations between the statement uttered and the context in which it is spoken and which it is meant to illumine. Consequently, if one takes seriously the final form of Proverbs and its status as a literary document, it is necessary to ask how the material that follows the prologue’s opening lines, whether short sentence sayings or longer instructional poems, functions now that it is divorced from whatever original oral (or prior literary) context may have spawned it. That is, one must inquire after the figurative and literary-symbolic relations between any particular statement in Proverbs and the myriad other statements to be found in the literary context of the book. This can prove a difficult first step if the key terms in v. 6 of the prologue are understood primarily to connote literary forms that are believed to be well understood (‫)משל‬, or are believed to be absent from the body of the text itself (‫חידה‬, ‫)מליצה‬. It is a much less difficult step if these expressions are regarded as intentionally sketching the nature of the literary text that follows as one that is constituted by tropes and figures and significant symbolic interrelations. Moreover, there is some precedent in Ezekiel for understanding the terms to be functioning in this broader way.49 Timothy Polk calls attention to the description of Ezekiel’s oracle in Ezekiel 17 as both a ‫ משל‬and a ‫( חידה‬v. 2). For Polk “the term ‫ משל‬points to the paradigmatic-parabolic quality of the chapter as a whole,” while ‫“ חידה‬suggests that the chapter as a whole and in its present form is to be read as having a riddling quality, as if it entailed a mystery to be discerned.” The two terms “serve to characterize the material that follows and to emphasize its highly reader-involving dimensions.”50 In a different context, Paul Ricoeur has likewise suggested that metaphorical or figurative language actually works like “the active resolution of an enigma.”51 This appears, in part at least, to be precisely what the prologue intimates that the reader of the book of Proverbs must do—engage in a dynamic interpreta48 See Archie Taylor, “The Wisdom of Many and the Wit of One,” in Wisdom of Many, ed. Mieder and Dundes, 5 (reprinted from Swarthmore College Bulletin 54 [1962]: 4–7); Peter Seitel, “Proverbs: A Social Use of Metaphor,” in Wisdom of Many, 126–28 (reprinted from Genre 2 [1969]: 143–61); Ruth Finnegan, “Proverbs in Africa,” in Wisdom of Many, 17 (reprinted from Finnegan’s Oral Literature in Africa [Oxford: Clarendon, 1970], 389–418). See further George Lakoff and Mark Turner, More Than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 166, 174. 49 At least ‫ משל‬and ‫חידה‬. Recall that ‫ מליצה‬appears in the Hebrew Bible only in Prov 1:6 and Hab 2:6. 50 Polk, “Paradigms,” 578; italics original. Like others, Müller does not find the literary form of the riddle present in what he calls courtly-school wisdom literature. He, however, also suggests that the association of riddles with wisdom reveals the sages’ concern with a broader interpretive activity, namely, the quest for analogies (“Der Begriff,” esp. 488). 51 Paul Ricoeur, “Biblical Hermeneutics,” in Paul Ricoeur on Biblical Hermeneutics (ed. John Dominic Crossan; Semeia 4; Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1975), 79. Cf. Polk, “Paradigms,” 564, 567, 570.

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tion of the language that follows in the literary artifact in order to interpret and understand the sages’ instruction. The prologue’s v. 6 thus suggests that a full understanding of the book of Proverbs will require—as a trope or a figure or a riddle does—a reading beneath the surface or literal meaning of the text. The one who reads past the prologue should expect to encounter a complex piece of literature and a challenging interpretive process. Yet not all who stumble across the pages of Proverbs will be able to act like a ‫ חכם‬or a ‫ נבון‬and construe the meanings to which the book’s tropes and wise words, together and in interaction with one another, point. Rather, they will engage the text in a more elementary way. The prologue thus reveals what might be called a subtle esoteric bias to the book’s wisdom instruction. Indeed, as George M. Landes has suggested in a related manner for the book of Jonah, the book of Proverbs as a whole might itself be said to function as a kind of complex trope or ‫משל‬.52

II. Conclusions The understanding of the prologue of Proverbs offered here claims that this introduction to the book consists of a statement of purpose (vv. 2–4) and an invitation (vv. 5–6). This view is more adequate than proposals that regard all of vv. 2– 6 (7) to be sketching the book’s purpose. It suggests an alternative description of the structure of the prologue that does not overemphasize its infinitive construction. Rather, it underscores other elements in the poem that might be called the text’s literary-aesthetic aspects. Although vv. 2–4 do employ infinitives to express purpose, more important is the fact that each of the half verses of vv. 2–4, with the exception of v. 3b, begins with a lamed. The absence of this formal feature in v. 3b highlights this stich as particularly important. This literary structure of the prologue reveals the subtle contours of the prologue’s articulation of the book’s purpose. It indicates that in the material that follows the text’s opening lines, Proverbs will be interested primarily in offering instruction in virtue, and especially instruction in the social virtues noted in v. 3b. This analysis of the prologue of Proverbs also makes good sense of v. 5—a verse usually regarded as an interpolation—without appeals to more speculative 52 George M. Landes, “Jonah: A Māšāl?” in Israelite Wisdom: Theological and Literary Essays

in Honor of Samuel Terrien (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978), 137–58. With such a view, the absence of the literary form of the ‫ חידה‬in the text is, in one other sense, perhaps not as anomalous as it may initially appear. In Biblical Hebrew riddles can, of course, be associated with sexuality, as the celebrated case of Samson reveals. Given the significant erotic rhetoric that Proverbs employs (e.g., in regard especially to the strange/foreign woman, Woman Folly, and Woman Wisdom in chs. 1–9), the mention of riddles in the prologue may intimate that the reader, who is to discern the book’s figurative language, ought to attend, among other topics, especially to the “riddle of the women”—that is, which way or manner of life each represents or symbolizes.

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(though not necessarily illegitimate) literary-historical arguments. The finite verbs in this line, which are often viewed as disrupting the prologue’s chain of infinitives that runs from v. 2 to v. 6, serve as an invitation to the reader. Rather than interrupting the text’s statement of purpose, they join with it to summon the addressee to continue reading and to grapple with Proverbs’ instruction. Finally, the view of the prologue offered here reveals that rather than imagining two easily distinguished audiences—the simple youth (v. 4) and the sage (v. 5)— the text’s ideal addressee is more subtly constructed. The prologue’s imagined audience is anyone who is able simultaneously to assume the subject position of one who is in need of instruction and of one who is able to engage in the interpretive work that will be necessary to understand the book’s instruction (v. 6). Indeed, a consideration of the string of important terms in v. 6 (‫משל‬, ‫מליצה‬, and ‫)חידה‬, usually glossed over by interpreters, reveals that the book’s instruction will require the reader to grapple with a complicated literary discourse, similar to the manner in which one might strive to interpret any sort of ‫משל‬, but on a much broader scale. The prologue’s concern with virtue, as revealed in vv. 2–4, thus functions especially with the emphasis in v. 6 on Proverbs’ figurative-literary dimensions as a kind of hermeneutic cue. This interpretive signal ought to guide the reader in discerning meaning in the remainder of the book. This reader or addressee, who ideally is one who both embraces the need for instruction and possesses the intellectual ability to progress in study, will encounter in Proverbs an instruction that is both regularly concerned with virtue and requires some hard thinking about the metaphorical and literary structures of the text.53 In light of the above discussion and by way of conclusion, the text of Prov 1:2– 6 can be schematized as on the following page:54

53 The

conclusions of this article can and ought to be tested through analysis of different aspects of Proverbs’ instruction that follow the prologue. For an initial attempt, see my Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in the Book of Proverbs. 54 See the translation of and notes on Prov 1:2–6 at the beginning of this article.

Sandoval: Revisiting the Prologue of Proverbs

I. The Purpose of Proverbs (vv. 2–4) A. To instill intellectual virtues (v. 2) —for (‫ )ל‬knowing wise instruction ‫לדעת חכמה ומוסר‬ —for (‫ )ל‬understanding words of insight ‫להבין אמרי בינה‬ B. To instill social virtues (v. 3) —for (‫ )ל‬gaining instruction in wise dealing ‫לקחת מוסר השכל‬ —namely: righteousness, justice, and equity. ‫צדק ומשפט ומישרים‬ C. To instill practical virtues (v. 4) —for (‫ )ל‬giving to the simple cunning ‫לתת לפתאים ערמה‬ —to (‫ )ל‬the youth, knowledge of shrewdness ‫לנער דעת ומזמה‬ II. The Invitation A. The call to assume the position of the wise person (v. 5) —let the wise person hear and gain learning ‫ישמע חכם ויוסף לקח‬ —let the understanding person acquire skill ‫ונבון תחבלות יקנה‬ B. The tasks of the one who assumes this position (v. 6) —to understand a trope and figure ‫להבין משל ומליצה‬ —the words of the wise and their riddles ‫דברי חכמים וחידתם‬

473

Anselm C. Hagedorn, Zeba A. Crook and Eric Stewart (eds.) IN OTHER WORDS Essays on Social Science Methods and the New Testament in Honor of Jerome H. Neyrey Jerome H. Neyrey, professor of New Testament at Notre Dame since 1992, is widely recognized for his groundbreaking contributions to social-scientific criticism of the Gospels and the Epistles. In this Festschrift the contributors (including David Aune, John H. Elliott, Philip Esler, Bruce Malina and John Pilch, Halvor Moxnes, Carolyn Osiek, Gerd Theissen) notably advance the same cause. hb $47.50 (list $95.00) xii + 263 pp. ISBN 978-1-905048-39-7 Tim Meadowcroft HAGGAI Organized around a distinctive discourse analysis of Haggai, this new commentary shows how rebuilding the temple, which must happen within a fraught imperial context, will foreground a tension between institutional life and the life of the Spirit. In the prophecy Meadowcroft hears a challenge to rediscover humanity’s priestly role in the temple of an environment under threat of desolation. 276 pp. pb $25.00 (hb $60.00) ISBN pb 978-1-905048-60-1 hb 978-1-905048-59-5

Prices are Individual Scholar Discount prices, available only from Sheffield Phoenix Press (www.sheffieldphoenix.com)

Jacqueline C. R. de Roo WORKS OF THE LAW AT QUMRAN AND IN PAUL At Qumran, the ‘works of the law’ are deeds of obedience to God’s law, and are ultimately inspired by God. For Paul, on the other hand, they are quintessentially the works of Abraham, the good deeds of a sinful man, and so incapable of making atonement. This closelyreasoned study proposes an alternative both to traditional interpretation of Paul and to the ‘New Perspective on Paul’. Stephen D. Moore EMPIRE AND APOCALYPSE Postcolonialism and the New Testament The most complete introduction yet to the emergent field of postcolonial biblical criticism, showing how postcolonial studies provide fresh conceptual resources and critical strategies for rethinking early christianity’s complex relations to the Roman Empire. Mark, John and Revelation, Moore argues, mimic and replicate fundamental facets of Roman imperial ideology even while resisting and eroding it. pb $25.00 (hb $75.00) x + 160 pp. ISBN pb 978-1-905048-86-1 hb 978-1-905048-85-4 Martin O’Kane PAINTING THE TEXT The Artist as Biblical Interpreter In this masterly study, artists at work are presented as readers of the Bible and not simply as illustrators of biblical scenes. Ranging widely over mediaeval, Renaissance and modern art, O’Kane focuses on certain biblical themes, especially the deception of Isaac, the depiction of Isaiah’s suffering servant, the visit of the Magi and the flight into Egypt. hb $35.00 (list $70.00) xiv +234 pp. ISBN 978-1-905048-36-6

hb $47.50 (list $95.00) xiv + 280 pp. ISBN 978-1-905048-30-4 Barry D. Smith WHAT MUST I DO TO BE SAVED? Paul Parts Company with his Jewish Heritage How can one escape God’s wrath and gain eternal life? On this crucial theological question, Paul differs from other members of the Second Temple Jewish community. Contrary to the current consensus, Smith argues that while their soteriology is synergistic, the divine and the human co-operating, Paul knows only of a salvation independent of all human effort. hb $45.00 (list $90.00) xiv + 285 pp. ISBN 978-1-905048-82-3

JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 475–496

The Postexilic Exile in Third Isaiah: Isaiah 61:1–3 in Light of Second Temple Hermeneutics bradley c. gregory [email protected] University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556

Isaiah 61 is a text that has received an enormous amount of attention in the history of interpretation and in modern scholarly discourse. In Christian circles, this is no doubt due in large part to its use in Luke 4 to refer to the ministry of Jesus. Although the passage seems rather straightforward at first glance, further inspection shows it to be a complex text that articulates its message through a collage of allusions to prior texts and traditions. In addition, developing an understanding of its present canonical function in the book of Isaiah is an arduous task and is open to a variety of interpretations.1 In this article, I will examine Isaiah 61 in its postexilic context, a context that is not just historical but also theological and hermeneutical. I will argue that Isaiah 61 provides one of the earliest attestation of the idea of a theological exile that extends beyond the temporal and geographical bounds of the Babylonian captivity. Furthermore, the subsequent appropriation of the text by later authors of the Trito-Isaianic corpus and its redaction into the canonical form of Third Isaiah and the book of Isaiah as a whole reveal a development of this concept of the ongoing exile that would flourish in later Second Temple writings. Thus, Isaiah 61 plays an important and pivotal role in the development of theological motifs and hermeneutical methods during the postexilic period. I would like to thank Gary Anderson for his helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay. 1 The fact that all structural analyses of Isaiah, or any other biblical book, derive largely from the concerns of the interpreter is aptly demonstrated by Roy F. Melugin, “The Book of Isaiah and the Construction of Meaning,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah: Studies of an Interpretive Tradition (ed. Craig Broyles and Craig Evans; 2 vols.; VTSup 70; Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature 1; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1:39–55.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

476

I. Isaiah 61 in the Compositional History of Isaiah Ever since Bernhard Duhm first suggested that Isaiah 56–66 presupposes a different historical setting from that of Isaiah 40–55,2 a postexilic provenance for Third Isaiah has met with general assent in critical scholarship.3 Ironically, however, since Duhm’s work scholarship has moved in two opposite directions. For the majority of scholars, despite the relative lack of argumentation that Duhm presented in defense of his thesis of a Third Isaiah, the differences between Isaiah 56– 66 and 40–55 are substantial enough to require different authorship.4 Differences include a shift from speaking of the “Servant” to speaking of a group of “servants,”5 a reorientation of theological concepts,6 the use of allusion to tie together passages in chs. 1–39 and 40–55,7 and a sectarian tendency to differentiate between the righteous and the wicked in Israel. Yet, within this strand of scholarship, even the designation of this material as the work of “Third Isaiah” became a misnomer as it was increasingly concluded that the material in Isaiah 56–66 consists of a literary composite.8 The other direction scholarship has moved since Duhm’s thesis, especially in recent years, is the contention that not only are chs. 56–66 from a single author but 2 See

Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892). dissenters have included Charles Cutler Torrey, James D. Smart, and Yehezkel Kaufmann. More recently, Christopher R. Seitz and Benjamin D. Sommer have expressed reservations about the separation of chs. 56–66 from 40–55. See Charles Cutler Torrey, The Second Isaiah: A New Interpretation (New York: Scribner, 1928); James D. Smart, History and Theology in Second Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 35, 40–66 (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1965); Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Babylonian Captivity and Deutero-Isaiah (trans. C. W. Efroymson; New York: Union of American Hebrew Congregations, 1970); Christopher R. Seitz, “The Book of Isaiah 4066,” NIB 6:309–552, esp. 309–23; Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Contraversions; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 187–95. 4 For an overview of the discussion, see Brooks Schramm, The Opponents of Third Isaiah: Reconstructing the Cultic History of the Restoration (JSOTSup 193; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 11–52. 5 Joseph Blenkinsopp, “The Servant and the Servants in Isaiah and the Formation of the Book,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah, ed. Broyles and Evans, 1:155–75. 6 Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19B; New York: Doubleday, 2003), 30–34; Walther Zimmerli, “Zur Sprache Tritojesajas,” reprinted in Gottes Offenbarung: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (Munich: Kaiser, 1963), 217–33. 7 See John Oswalt, “Righteousness in Isaiah: A Study of the Function of Chapters 56–66 in the Present Structure of the Book,” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah, ed. Broyles and Evans, 1:177–91. 8 See Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 13–21. The most forceful defender of the unity of chs. 56–66 as the work of a disciple of Second Isaiah remains Karl Elliger, Die Einheit des Tritojesaja (Jes 56–66) (BWANT 45; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1928). 3 Important

Gregory: e Postexilic Exile in ird Isaiah

477

that that single author is none other than Second Isaiah.9 Those who support a unified authorship of chs. 40–66 hold that the above differences can be accounted for by the different situations in which the sections were produced without recourse to a different author.10 One example would be the interpretation of Menahem Haran, who argues that Deutero-Isaiah wrote chs. 40–48 in Babylon, chs. 49–55 during the return and resettlement, and the material in chs. 56–66 in Palestine.11 There are two overriding factors that have allowed these two divergent positions. One is the increasing recognition that the material in Third Isaiah depends on phrases and concepts from the rest of the Isaianic tradition to the degree that it could not have had an independent existence. Rather, the material seems to have been intended to elaborate and reapply the preceding Isaianic material to a new, postexilic situation.12 The second is the majority conclusion that Isaiah 56–66 was composed over the time period from the last quarter of the sixth century, within a generation of the return from Babylon,13 to the middle of the fifth century, when an effort was made to provide a redactional unity to the book.14 The temporal proximity and literary affinities between the material in Second Isaiah and Third Isaiah have thus allowed both for the view that it is all from one prophet, Second Isaiah, and for the view that the two sections ultimately derive from different authors regarding different concerns, but from within one tradition. The relationship between Third Isaiah and the material in Isaiah 1–39 is even more problematic. While the rhetoric and thematic interests of chs. 40–55 and 56– 66 stand closer to each other than those of either corpus do to chs. 1–39, more recent approaches have emphasized the broader redactional unity of the whole book. Larger issues such as the concern for Zion and the relationship of sin and forgiveness/deliverance permeate the whole book and suggest strategies for reading the canonical work as a unified composition.15 In addition, sections of Isaiah 1–39 have obviously been redacted in light of later material. For example, although an earlier form of the “Oracles concerning the Nations” existed in preexilic times, this section was later redacted in order to place the prophecies concerning Baby9 William L. Holladay, “Was Trito-Isaiah Deutero-Isaiah After All?” in Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah, ed. Broyles and Evans, 1:193–217. 10 Christopher R. Seitz, “Isaiah, Book of (Third Isaiah),” ABD 3:503. 11 Menahem Haran, “The Literary Structure and Chronological Framework of the Prophecies in Is. xl–xlviii,” in Congress Volume: Bonn 1962 (VTSup 9; Leiden: Brill, 1963), 148–55. 12 Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 441–49. See especially the work of Odil Hannes Steck compiled in Studien zu Tritojesaja (BZAW 203; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1991); see also Rolf Rendtorff, “The Composition of the Book of Isaiah,” in Canon and Theology: Overtures to an Old Testament Theology (trans. Margaret Kohl; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 146–69. 13 Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 34. 14 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 54; cf. Marvin Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 51. 15 Christopher R. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39 (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1993), 3.

Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

478

lon (chs. 13–14) at the head of the section.16 Yet, despite the connections between First and Third Isaiah produced by these larger thematic concerns and the redactional history of First Isaiah, the material in chs. 56–66 shows fewer indications of direct interaction with the material in chs. 1–39 than it does for chs. 40–55. When certain sections came together in textual form is difficult to pin down, and there is a wide range of opinion on how the process unfolded.17 For our purposes, however, what is important is that the material in Third Isaiah, and chs. 60–62 in particular, is more heavily indebted to the language and concerns of Deutero-Isaiah than to the material in chs. 1–39. Turning once again to the Trito-Isaianic corpus, there is widespread agreement that chs. 60–62, while allowing for some later glosses, are the compositional nucleus of Third Isaiah, around which the rest of chs. 56–66 grew.18 Often considered to be part of the work of the Third Isaiah, who would have been a disciple of the author of chs. 40–55, chs. 60–62 stand closer to the rhetoric, structure, and theology of Second Isaiah than the rest of the Trito-Isaianic material and are usually accepted as a unified composition.19 Despite the affinities between chs. 60–62 and 40–55, some subtle differences between the two texts have prevented most scholars from simply attributing the composition of chs. 60–62 to Second Isaiah while allowing for a later composition of the rest of Third Isaiah.20 Therefore, if the consensus regarding the dating of the composition of Third Isaiah holds, then this would place chs. 60–62 at the beginning of this compositional era, shortly after the return from exile. There are some who place the composition of Third Isaiah and the final redaction of the whole book later. For example, while still affirming that chs. 60–62 form the nucleus of Third Isaiah, Odil Hannes Steck places their composition in the early to mid-fifth century and the final redaction of the book in the early Hellenistic period.21 Yet the consensus holds that the thematic links with chs. 16 Sweeney,

Isaiah 1–39, 215.

17 I am most inclined toward the view that the book arose through successive editions, along

the general lines presented in Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 51–60. I do not think that the connections between chs. 40–66 and chs. 1–39 are incidental enough to require two individual collections that were linked only secondarily. See Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 88–89. 18 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 38–39, 57–60; Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66: A Commentary (trans. David Stalker; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 296. 19 See P. A. Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah: The Structure, Growth and Authorship of Isaiah 56–66 (VTSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 22–49; Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (rev. ed.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 59–64. 20 See the discussions in Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic, 61–64; Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 37. 21 Odil Hannes Steck, “Tritojesaja im Jesajabuch,” in Le Livre D’Isaïe: Les Oracles et Leurs Relectures Unité et Complexité de l’Ouvrage (ed. Jacques Vermeylen; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1989), 361–406.

Gregory: e Postexilic Exile in ird Isaiah

479

40–55, the lack of sectarian polemic, and the emphasis on repatriation suggest that chs. 60–62 should be dated to a time shortly after the return from exile.

II. Imagining Restoration through the Appropriation of Earlier Tradition The placement of Isaiah 60–62 in early postexilic Palestine has often resulted in an attempt to focus on reconstructing its historical and/or sociological background in order to interpret the unit correctly. In recent years, scholars have also begun to study the place of chs. 60–62 in the Isaianic tradition and in the broader heritage of biblical literature. While these approaches are certainly necessary and have enhanced our understanding of the passages, what has not often been examined is the hermeneutical underpinnings of why and how Third Isaiah interprets previous traditions in light of the postexilic situation. In order to explore this, we will narrow our discussion to the conceptual and structural center of chs. 60–62, the proclamation that is heard in Isa 61:1–3.22

The One Anointed by the Lord One of the first challenges confronting the interpreter of Isaiah 61 is the determination of the speaker, a conclusion that is intimately intertwined with one’s larger views about the compositional history of the book. Whom has the Lord anointed to bring the promised deliverance? One option is to interpret the figure against the background of postexilic Jewish society. In this regard, Paul D. Hanson has proposed that the passage is referring to the visionary Levitical community that is attempting to enact a program of restoration, insofar as that community understands itself to embody the Servant of Second Isaiah.23 A few interpreters have taken the referent to be to a Davidic king for the following reasons.24 First, in the rest of the Hebrew Bible the language of anointing is 22 See

Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 61; cf. Childs, Isaiah, 502–3. Dawn of Apocalyptic, 69. In a later work Hanson seems to lean toward identifying the figure as a leader within the community (Isaiah 40–66 [Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1995], 223–24). In both works, however, Hanson emphasizes that the individual and communal interpretations of the servant are not antithetical. Hanson’s perspective has been taken up by Elizabeth Achtemeier, The Community and Message of Isaiah 56–66: A Theological Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1982), 17–26; and Schramm, Opponents of Third Isaiah, 81–111. 24 See Marvin Sweeney, “The Reconceptualization of the Davidic Covenant in Isaiah,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah: Festschrift Willem A. M. Beuken (ed. J. Van Ruiten and M. Vervenne; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 55–56; Jan L. Koole, Isaiah III/3: Isaiah Chapters 56–66 (trans. Anthony Runia; Historical Commentary on the Old Testament; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 23 Hanson,

480

Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

primarily used in regard to kings (e.g., 1 Sam 16:13) and priests (Lev 4:3, 5).25 Second, the idea of the spirit of the Lord resting on the figure recalls the Davidic monarch portrayed in Isa 11:2.26 The sheer number of allusions throughout Isaiah 60–62 to First Isaiah, and especially to ch. 11, makes the kingly aspect of 61:1 difficult to dismiss. Language from Isaiah 11 reappears in Isa 60:21–22; 61:1–3, 11; 62:10–11.27 Yet, as numerous scholars have pointed out, the Davidic line is not prominent in Third Isaiah and tends to be democratized within the community of the faithful.28 In other words, while it is appropriate to see Davidic imagery in Isa 61:1–3 it goes too far to view the figure as a messianic individual, at least not in the developed royal, Davidic sense that is found in 11QMelchizedek.29 Rather, the figure as a member of the restoration community is imagined as bringing to fruition the blessings earlier understood in connection with the Davidic monarchy. Therefore, most scholars have understood Isa 61:1 as originally referring to a prophetic figure operating within the postexilic community who views himself as specially equipped to bring about deliverance.30 The anointing, then, would be metaphorical and not literal, though there is one allusion to a prophet being literally anointed (1 Kgs 19:16).31 Those who take this option have viewed the prophetic figure as having some kind of continuity with the Servant of Second Isaiah. As Willem A. M. Beuken has shown, the speaker in Isa 61:1 has appropriated the role of the Servant for himself and for his community.32 The endowment with the spirit of the Lord recalls the first of the Servant Songs, where God says that he has placed his spirit upon his Servant (42:1). The same concept likely underlies 48:16b, though

270; John N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 40–66 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 563; John S. Bergsma, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation (VTSup 115; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 199-200. 25 The identification of the figure in Isa 61:1 as a high priest has been proposed by Pierre Grelot, “Sur Isaïe LXI: La première consécration d’un grand-prêtre,” RB 97 (1990): 414–31. 26 Elsewhere Sweeney dates Isa 11:2 to the Josianic edition of the book (Isaiah 1–39, 203– 10); for the range of proposed dates, see Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 263–64. 27 For a full discussion of the allusions to First Isaiah in Isaiah 60–62, see Sweeney, “Reconceptualization of the Davidic Covenant,” 53–57. 28 Ibid., 57; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 80. 29 See Oswalt, Isaiah 40–66, 563, for an example of a Davidic-messianic interpretation. For the use of Isa 61:1–3 in 11QMelchizedek, see John J. Collins, “A Herald of Good Tidings: Isaiah 61:1–3 and Its Actualization in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (ed. Craig Evans and Shemaryahu Talmon; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 225–40. 30 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 220–21; Childs, Isaiah, 505. 31 So Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 223; Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah, 25; R. N. Whybray, Isaiah 40–66 (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), 240. 32 Willem A. M. Beuken, “Servant and Herald of Good Tidings: Isaiah 61 as an Interpretation of Isaiah 40–55,” in Le Livre D’Isaïe, ed. Vermeylen, 415–16.

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the text appears to be fragmentary.33 Furthermore, in Second Isaiah the promise is made that God will pour out the spirit upon the offspring of the Servant (= Jacob/ Jeshrun) as well (44:2–3). If Beuken is correct that the prophet of 61:1 is drawing on both of these Deutero-Isaianic threads, then the prophet’s ministry would have to be more than simply the betterment of the socioeconomic conditions of postexilic Palestine. Rather, the ministry would need to be understood as having an eschatological dimension that actualizes among the members of his community the promises to be released from exile.34 Additionally, by using the verb ‫בשר‬, the prophet has appropriated the role of the herald of good tidings found in Second Isaiah (e.g., 40:9; 41:27; 52:7).35 In Second Isaiah Jerusalem/Zion is first the herald (40:9) and then the recipient of the message of the herald (41:27; 52:7), where the herald is variously identified as either a prophet (possibly Deutero-Isaiah and/or the Servant) or a military commander.36 It seems clear, then, that by appropriating the language of the herald, the prophet of 61:1 is picking up on the latter usage whereby he is the new prophetic figure who is announcing good news to Zion. In other words, the ministry of the Servant in Second Isaiah to the Babylonian exiles has been echoed by the prophet of Isaiah 61 in his ministry to his postexilic community in Palestine. In addition, the nature of this ministry is described in ways that echo the ministry of the Deutero-Isaianic Servant.

The Ministry of the Prophet The prophet is described as being sent by God “to herald good news to the poor, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Yhwh’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn” (61:1–2). For many interpreters the recipients of this ministry are primarily those who are suffering from socioeconomic oppression. Those whom the writer designates as poor (‫ )ענוים‬are those who are 33 See the discussion in Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB19A; New York: Doubleday, 2002), 294. 34 See below concerning the nature of the prophet’s ministry. Describing the outlook of Third Isaiah as eschatological seems to be on sounder footing than describing it as (proto-)apocalyptic. See Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 89: “Everything in 56–66 is decisively oriented to the future. . . . On the whole, then, the world view of chs. 56–66 is best described as that of prophetic eschatology but with elements that serve as material for the divinely scripted apocalyptic dramas of the Greco-Roman period.” 35 Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah, 24–25; Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 416– 18. Beuken also notes that “the Servant is a very fluid figure, who escapes the dilemma of Western exegesis, whether he is an individual or a collective body, because time and again he is realised” (p. 439). 36 See Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 52, 70, 167, 241; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 341.

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financially destitute and unable to lift themselves out of their poverty. In the spirit of the eighth-century prophets, this situation more often than not results from unjust social structures that allow the wealthy and powerful to take advantage of the poor (cf. Isa 3:14; 10:2; Amos 2:7; 4:1; 5:11; 8:4–6). Likewise, the brokenhearted (‫ )נשבר לב‬are often understood in apposition to the poor, as those who are without hope because of their situation.37 The socioeconomic aspect of this ministry is most clearly in view in the second set of infinitives: to proclaim liberty to the captives (‫ )לקרא לשבוים דרור‬and release to the prisoners38 (‫)ולאסורים פקח קוח‬. The liberty that is proclaimed is for those who have been sold into indentured service because of debts.39 Because there was no Jewish monarchy in postexilic Palestine, those who controlled the temple system would have enjoyed an enormous amount of socioeconomic power. It is this imbalance of power and the resulting exploitation that underlie the declarations in Isa 61:1–3.40 Many interpreters, however, including a number of those who still hold that the primary background of the passage is socioeconomic in nature, have also noted that there are religious dimensions to these descriptions of the recipients. As Joseph Blenkinsopp notes, “By the time of writing, therefore, the terms in question (vănāvîm, vāniyyîm) had acquired a broader and specifically religious connotation without losing their basic sense of economic deprivation, marginalization, and exploitation.”41 This religious dimension of the poor is seen throughout the Psalms (e.g., Pss 22:27; 69:33; 72:2, 4, 12; 109:16, 22) and will show up in a later portion of Third Isaiah (66:2). Similarly, God is especially close to the brokenhearted (Pss 34:18; 51:19) and the binding of the brokenhearted is something that God does when he restores Jerusalem and gathers the exiles (Ps 147:3). In addition, scholars are increasingly drawing attention to the fact that even if there are certain sociopolitical circumstances underlying these descriptions, that these circumstances are portrayed in language drawn from earlier traditions calls 37 Westermann,

Isaiah 40–66, 366–67; see also the discussion in Koole, Isaiah III/3, 271. “an opening to the prisoners.” Scholars are divided as to whether the linguistically difficult reference is to the opening of prisons or to the opening of the eyes and/or ears. Both readings would have strong conceptual connections with Deutero-Isaiah and would be understood as metaphors for liberation. For discussions of the issue, see Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 419–20; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 219; Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, “Reassessing the Historical and Sociological Impact of the Babylonian Exile (597/587–539 BCE),” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 28–31; Shalom M. Paul, “Deutero-Isaiah and Cuneiform Royal Inscriptions,” in Essays in Memory of E. A. Speiser (ed. William W. Hallo; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1968), 182. 39 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 224–25; Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 418–19. 40 A minority of interpreters holds that these terms refer not to an inner-community conflict between the powerful and the oppressed but to the entire Jewish community under foreign rule (Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah, 25; also Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 241). 41 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 224. 38 Literally,

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for an explanation.42 In order to set up the discussion, we turn now to the earlier texts and concepts that are appropriated by the author of Isa 61:1–3 in his portrayal of the recipients of the ministry of the prophetic “Servant-Herald.” The first name given to the recipients is “poor” (‫)ענוים‬. Although this term is not used elsewhere in either Second or Third Isaiah, the related plural adjective ‫עני‬ is used in 41:17 and 49:13. In both contexts, but especially the latter, the term is used to refer to Israel in exile. In 49:13 it stands in apposition to the people of Israel, who receive the Deutero-Isaianic leitmotif of comfort: “For Yhwh has comforted his people and had compassion on his afflicted ones” (‫)כי נחם יהוה עמו ועניו ירחם‬. The nominal cognate is used also in 48:10 in the phrase “furnace of affliction,” also clearly a reference to the exile. Rather than taking these Deutero-Isaianic references to be the primary background of this term, some scholars have interpreted ‫ עני‬in connection with 58:7, the only other occurrence in Third Isaiah.43 If chapters 60– 62 comprise the Trito-Isaianic core, however, then from the standpoint of composition 58:7 must be understood in light of 61:1 and not the other way around.44 The next term for the recipients, “brokenhearted” (‫)נשברי לב‬, has no precedent in the Isaianic tradition and little in the rest of the Hebrew Bible. The phrase or a variant of it is used mostly in the Psalms, the closest parallels being 34:18 and 51:19 (but cf. 147:3).45 There is no evidence, however, of any intertextuality between Isa 61 and these psalms. Furthermore, the fact that psalms are notoriously difficult to date would make any speculation on allusion in either direction very tenuous. By far, the most recognized allusion to past tradition is in Isa 61:1c–2a. The language of granting liberty to the captives, releasing the prisoners, and the arrival of the year of the Lord’s favor is usually recognized as a reference to the year of jubilee in Leviticus 25.46 The correlation is made because of the similarity in phrasing between the two texts:

‫וקראתם דרור בארץ לכל ישביה‬ Lev 25:10 You shall proclaim liberty in the land to all its inhabitants. Isa 61:1 . . . to proclaim liberty to the captives

‫לקרא לשבוים דרור‬

42 This is not quite the same question as why the material in Third Isaiah should be appended to earlier Isaianic material instead of standing on its own, though the questions are related. 43 Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 366; cf. Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 418. 44 So Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah, 25; Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 241. The development of the themes in Isa 61:1–3 in the subsequent composition of Third Isaiah will be treated below. 45 Jerome saw a connection between Isa 61:1 and Psalm 51. See Robert Louis Wilken, Isaiah (The Church’s Bible; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 475-76. 46 Walther Zimmerli, “Das ‘Gnadenjahr des Herrn,’” in Archäologie und Altes Testament (ed. A. Kuschke and E. Kutsch; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1970), 321–32.

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However, this association has not gone unchallenged. Collins notes that “Isaiah 61 makes no mention of the jubilee, the Day of Atonement or anything that would point distinctively to Leviticus [25].”47 This skepticism could be supported by appealing to the broader ancient Near Eastern legal practice of remitting financial debts and the manumission of slaves through a decree of the king, without reference to any temporal schedule. The Akkadian cognate of ‫דרור‬, durâru/andurâru, has precisely this meaning.48 Furthermore, this is almost certainly the sense underlying the use of ‫ דרור‬in Jeremiah 34.49 Despite these challenges, there are still good reasons for seeing an allusion to Leviticus 25 in the ministry of this Trito-Isaianic prophet. First, the word ‫ דרור‬in the sense of liberty is a rare word in the Hebrew Bible, appearing only in Leviticus 25, Jeremiah 34, Ezekiel 46, and here in Isaiah 61. The fact that the idea of the jubilee is behind Ezekiel 4650 with an emphasis on the Israelites’ return to their landed property demonstrates that the idea of the jubilee persisted during the exile. Furthermore, the fact that some commentators believe that the jubilee release does have some sort of connection with the release in Jeremiah 3451 reinforces the view that ‫ דרור‬has a specialized use in the Hebrew Bible that centers on the concept of the jubilee. Thus, unless strong arguments suggest otherwise, ‫ דרור‬in Isaiah 61 should be understood as alluding to the jubilee as well. The allusion to Leviticus 25 is further strengthened when one considers the larger theological understanding of debt-slavery in Second Isaiah, where the exile is identified with debt-slavery into which Israel was placed because of her sins. “Proclaim to her that her service is completed, that her iniquity has been paid for, that she has received from the hand of Yhwh double for all her sins” (Isa 40:2). According to Deutero-Isaiah, because of her sins, conceived of as a debt, Israel was sold into debt-slavery (i.e., exile in Babylon). Once she had served her due, she would return to her land.52 This statement, with its curious reference to serving a 47 Collins,

“Isaiah 61:1–3 and Its Actualization in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 228. Moshe Weinfeld, Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1995), 75–96; and Julius Lewy, “The Biblical Institution of derôr in the Light of the Akkadian Documents,” ErIsr 5 (1958): 21*–31*. 49 Zedekiah’s release in Jeremiah 34, though, is often understood as having been conceived as a jubilee release in order to compensate for the past neglect of the sabbatical release law in Deuteronomy 15. Nevertheless, the enactment of this decree by the king presupposes the broader ancient Near Eastern legal precedent. See the discussions in William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chapters 26–52 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 238–40; Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 21B; New York: Doubleday, 2004), 560–61. 50 As opposed to the sabbatical year; see Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 25–48 (trans. James D. Martin; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 497. 51 Holladay, Jeremiah 2, 238–40; Lundblom, Jeremiah 21–36, 560–61. 52 See Klaus Baltzer, “Liberation from Debt Slavery after the Exile in Second Isaiah and 48 See

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double penalty, is itself an allusion to Jer 16:18, where God warns that because of the Israelites’ sins they will be forced to pay twofold.53 The fact that Second Isaiah understands the exile and the return in these terms must be accounted for in the development of the Trito-Isaianic material. It is clear that this concept of the exile as debt-slavery is in view in Isaiah 61, since later in the chapter there is an allusion back to Isa 40:2 (and Jer 16:18 as well). In v. 7 the author says: “Instead of your shame, a double portion; (instead of) reproach, they will exult in their lot. Thus, they shall possess a double portion in their land; everlasting joy will be theirs” (‫תחת‬ ‫)בשתכם משנה וכלמה ירנו חלקם לכן בארצם משנה יירשו שמחת עולם תהיה להם‬. The fact that the author refers to the double portion of contempt secures the reference to Isa 40:2. But Third Isaiah goes further. He adds that they will inherit a double portion in their land. The citation of 40:2 evokes the larger context of ch. 40, where Israel prepares to return from the exile through a transformed desert. This larger context makes itself felt additionally in the recurrence of the Deutero-Isaianic leitmotif of comfort for those who mourn in Isa 61:1–3 (cf. Isa 40:1).54 Yet, in Isaiah 61 the focus is on prosperity back in Palestine. In other words, the allusion establishes an implicit connection between the return from exile (Isaiah 40) and the effects of the ministry of the Trito-Isaianic prophet. This idea of inheriting a double portion in the land therefore has a twofold function. It both adopts the exile–restoration program of Second Isaiah for the situation of the postexilic community and secures the allusion to the jubilee release in Leviticus 25. For, as Benjamin Sommer notes, this emphasis on a return to ancestral land at the end of a period of servitude is absent from the broader ancient Near Eastern idea of the royal release (e.g., durâru).55 The end result is that what was prescribed for individual Israelites in Leviticus 25 has been developed typologically in reference to the entire community. This typological development of a legal statement into a theological idea, especially for the year of jubilee, coincides perfectly with the understanding of the jubilee in the Second Temple period. John Bergsma is worth quoting at length: After the exile, if not already long before, the social and economic conditions of ancient agrarian tribal Israel, for which the jubilee was appropriate, were hopelessly destroyed, and a re-implementation of the jubilee legislation was completely unworkable even had it been desired. Nonetheless, scriptural authors subsequent to the exile remained convinced that the sacral laws retained relevance because they were perfect and inspired. Based on this conviction they began to treat law Nehemiah,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., et al.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 477–84. 53 For the way in which Deutero-Isaiah adapts the Jeremiah citation, see Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture, 57–58. 54 Although ‫רצה‬/‫ רצון‬is used differently in the two passages it may provide another linguistic connection. 55 Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture, 141–42.

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as prophecy by means of a symbolic, or typological, hermeneutic. In their view, jubilee legislation was not—or at least not only—intended for the poor Israelite who fell into debt-slavery. The hypothetical individual whose plight the laws of Lev 25:25–55 meant to alleviate was actually a corporate symbol, or type, of the people of Israel as a whole, who had fallen into debt with the Lord by failing to observe the law, and so had become enslaved to various foreign powers and alienated from their ancestral land.56

This hermeneutical move, which aligns the jubilee with a typological reinterpretation of Second Isaiah, continues in what follows. In apposition to the infinitival clause “to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners,” the prophet adds the infinitival clause “to proclaim the year of Yhwh’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God” (61:2). While commentators have seen the reference to “the year of Yhwh’s favor” as a natural way to speak of the jubilee, the second clause, “the day of vengeance of our God” less clearly fits the idea of the jubilee. What seems clear is that Third Isaiah has picked up Isa 49:8, where God says: “In a time of favor I have answered you, on a day of salvation I have helped you” (‫)בעת רצון עניתיך וביום ישועה עזרתיך‬. The principal difference, then, is that instead of ‫( יום ישועה‬49:8), Third Isaiah has ‫( יום נקם‬61:2). To explain this variation, Steck proposed that originally 61:2 also read “day of salvation,” but that it was altered in the final redaction of the book under the influence of Isa 47:3.57 Beuken and others have instead argued that ‫ נקם‬should be understood as “restoration” rather than “vengeance.”58 Yet much of Beuken’s argument centers on relating this passage to Isaiah 59. But, if chs. 60–62 are actually part of the Trito-Isaianic core, then any connections with ch. 59 would be germane only to the Nachleben of ch. 61 in the subsequent redactional history of Third Isaiah. In any case, there is another solution available. If indeed the year of jubilee from Leviticus 25 is in the background of Isaiah 61, then there is probably another typological development at work.59 In the pentateuchal legislation the ‫“( גאל‬redeemer”) appears almost exclusively in two contexts: that of the liberator (Leviticus 25; 27) and that of the blood-avenger (Numbers 35; Deuteronomy 19). What was the social function of an individual in the Pentateuch (cf. Ruth) has become a theological image of Yhwh in Second Isaiah. Throughout Yhwh is said to have “redeemed” Jacob/Israel/Jerusalem or is called the “Redeemer of Israel” (41:14; 43:1, 14; 44:6, 22–24; 47:4; 48:17, 20; 49:7, 26; 52:3,

56 Bergsma,

Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 298–99. Studien zu Tritojesaja, 114–17. 58 Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 421–23; Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 367; George E. Mendenhall, “The ‘Vengeance’ of Yahweh,” in his The Tenth Generation: The Origins of the Biblical Tradition (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 69–104. 59 The essence of the following argument is taken from Bergsma, Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 198–203. 57 Steck,

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9; 54:5, 8). The contexts of many of these passages include both the liberation of Israel and vengeance on their oppressors.60 Behind this theological imagery is the typological association of the Babylonian exile with the Egyptian captivity. Thus, just as Yhwh brought the people out of Egypt by bringing plagues (vengeance) upon the Egyptians, so he will also liberate his people from Babylon through the use of vengeance. In Second Isaiah this exodus imagery has been combined with the depiction of debt-slavery to bring about the picture of Yhwh as ‫גאל‬, that is, one who both “redeems” and “avenges”— though the dominant aspect in Deutero-Isaiah is the former.61 Although Yhwh as ‫ גאל‬does not appear in Isaiah 61, the view that the chapter is influenced by this portrait is supported by the fact that the idea of Yhwh as ‫ גאל‬is present in the immediately adjacent passages (Isa 60:16; 62:12)62 and in passages in DeuteroIsaiah that have already been noted for their strong intertextual connections to Isaiah 61 (e.g., Isa 49:7–13; 52:7–10). According to Bergsma, regarding Isaiah 61, “the resultant conclusion is that the dispensing of ‘favor’ to his people and enacting of ‘vengeance’ on their enemies are flip-sides of the Lord’s role as ‫גֵֹּאל‬.”63 Thus, the reference to a day of vengeance in 61:2 is no obstacle to seeing Leviticus 25 as the background, but it is an indication of the complex typological and theological associations being made by Third Isaiah. Before moving on, it will be helpful to summarize the results so far. The prophetic voice in Isaiah 61 has conceived of himself, his community, and his mission in terms that are drawn from Second Isaiah. Yet to say that he has simply transferred prophecies concerning the release from exile to the righting of a nonideal socioeconomic situation in the postexilic period is only partially correct. More likely, Third Isaiah has perceived a theological continuity between Israel’s situation in exile and his own situation, one facilitated by the dual consideration that postexilic Israel was practicing the same kinds of sins that led them into exile in the first place (cf. Isaiah 5)64 and the fact that the metaphor for exile in Deutero-Isaiah, debt-slavery, was a concrete problem in his own day. Moreover, by alluding to Second Isaiah and pentateuchal traditions, Third Isaiah demonstrates that he sees a typological relationship between his situation and the setting of previous Hebrew word ‫ נקם‬appears in connection with ‫ גאל‬only in Isa 47:3–4. Carroll Stuhlmueller, Creative Redemption in Deutero-Isaiah (AnBib 43; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1970), 99–123. 62 The latter passage, 62:10–12, is taken by some interpreters (e.g., Steck, “Tritojesaja im Jesajabuch,” 379–86) to be a redactional addition. But its originality as part of the unit of chs. 60– 62 has been well defended by Smith, Rhetoric and Redaction in Trito-Isaiah, 33–34; so also Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 241–42. 63 Bergsma, Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 201–2. Perhaps it would be a little more accurate to say that the picture in Isaiah 61 is that God is favorably disposed toward his people rather than that he is dispensing favor. 64 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 53. 60 The 61 See

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texts. First, just as Second Isaiah understood the Babylonian exile as the antitype of the Egyptian captivity, so Third Isaiah has placed his own situation in typological relationship to the other two. The result is a threefold historical typology, moving from Egypt to Babylon to postexilic Palestine.65 In reading Third Isaiah one gets the impression that the author does not see the situation in postexilic Palestine as appreciably better than the situation in Babylon. In both cases Israel remains “shackled” because of sin, and in both Israel awaits deliverance by Yhwh.66 Second, the prescriptions for the jubilee year have been eschatologized. By employing a typological relationship between the individual Israelite of Leviticus 25 and the entire postexilic community, Third Isaiah has moved the concept of the jubilee from a legal prescription to a prophetic-theological concept whereby the jubilee is indicative of eschatological deliverance, the same kind of hermeneutical move found in other Second Temple texts. At this point it is worth pausing to make an observation that is so obvious that its significance is often overlooked. A prophet in postexilic Palestine is preaching as though he were in exile. In other words, even though the situation he is addressing is after the end of the historical exile, the presupposition of his message is that the exile is in some way continuing. For some, this will be an indication that chs. 60–62 were composed before the departure from Babylon and resettlement in Palestine, or it will be viewed as even further evidence that chs. 60–62 were part of the Deutero-Isaianic corpus.67 There is another option, however, for those who see the arguments for the postexilic Palestinian provenance of Third Isaiah (including chs. 60–62) as too persuasive to consider a pre-departure Babylonian provenance.68 Isaiah 61:1–3 may represent one of the earliest attestations of the phenomenon of understanding the exile as an ongoing state, that is, understanding the exile theologically rather than just historically.69 65 In the canonical form of the book of Isaiah, Assyria participates in this typological development: Egypt–Assyria–Babylon–postexilic Palestine. 66 In the compositional development of Third Isaiah the anticipation of deliverance will take on a distinctly moral dimension. See below, section IV. 67 So Norman H. Snaith, “Isaiah 40–66: A Study of the Teaching of the Second Isaiah and Its Consequences,” in Studies on the Second Part of the Book of Isaiah (VTSup 14; Leiden: Brill, 1967), 139–46. 68 An increasing number of scholars argue for a Palestinian provenance of Second Isaiah as well. See the discussion in Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 102–4. 69 The same would then be true of Isa 60:4–7, which speaks of Zion receiving the returning exiles; the theme of Jews returning from the Diaspora is a prominent theme in Isaiah 60–62. Although he does not express it in quite the same way, Rainer Albertz emphasizes the motif of “eschatologization” in Third Isaiah and comes close to the view I am advocating here (A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period, vol. 2, From the Exile to the Maccabees [trans. John Bowdon; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994], 454–58). Snaith takes 60:4 to be strong evidence in favor of Deutero-Isaianic authorship (“Isaiah 40–66,” 141).

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III. The “Theologization” of the Exile in the Second Temple Period In the Hebrew literature composed in the wake of the destruction of Jerusalem and the resulting exile to Babylon, the exile was understood in various ways. According to the book of Jeremiah, the exile was primarily a punishment for Israel’s sin, but one that provided an opportunity for Israel’s society to be realigned toward Yhwh’s intentions. The ensuing events, however, especially the emigration of a large number of Judeans to Egypt, resulted in this opportunity slipping away.70 The Deuteronomistic History, on the other hand, tends to portray the exile as the collapse of sacred history, albeit a temporary one.71 Later, the Chronicler would see the primary meaning of the exile as providing for the Sabbath rest that was due the land.72 Besides the Chronicler, there are other examples of Second Temple Jewish literature that saw the exile primarily as a historical event. Narrative texts that reflect this view are Judith (4:3; 5:18–19) and 1 Esdras (3:1–5:6). Within the apocalyptic literature, both the Sibylline Oracles (3) and Testament of Moses 3–4 largely reflect the Deuteronomistic (and Jeremianic) view of exile as the punishment for sin, and both understand the exile as having a definite end.73 What all of these sources have in common is that they all operate with the idea that the exile is a historical event circumscribed by the time of captivity in Babylon. Where they diverge is over the theological meaning of this time period. Another way to understand the exile, however, is in a theological manner, as a continuing state that persisted beyond the return in the sixth century b.c.e.74 This view was exceedingly common in the later Second Temple period, both in apocalypses (e.g., Daniel 9; 1 Enoch; Testament of Levi 16–17; Assumption of Moses 3) and in other genres (e.g., Jub. 1:7–18; Tobit 13–14; CD 1:5–11).75 This view also pervades the NT.76 It is important to remember that under this view, the exile as a his70 Rainer Albertz, Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. (trans. David Green; SBL Studies in Biblical Literature 3; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 4–7. 71 Ibid., 8–12. 72 Ibid., 12–15. 73 See the discussion in James VanderKam, “Exile in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 91–94. 74 The first scholar to draw attention to this phenomenon was Peter R. Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century B.C. (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968), 232–56. 75 VanderKam, “Exile in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature,” 94–104; Michael Knibb, “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17 (1976): 253–72. 76 See Brant Pitre, Jesus, the Tribulation, and the End of the Exile: Restoration Eschatology

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torical event was not left aside, but was viewed as a paradigm of Israel’s experience in the Second Temple period and beyond. Therefore, for these sources, the understanding of the exile in historical terms is not insignificant; rather, it has a sort of prototypical function for the authors’ present situation.77 Likewise, the cause of the historical exile, Israel’s sin, could be transferred along typological lines to be the cause of the persisting state of exile (cf. Dan 9:24). The question then arises: What generated this typological “theologization” of the exile? It is generally accepted that the cause of this hermeneutical move was the disillusionment during the postexilic period that the sweeping visions of restoration found in Jeremiah 30–33, Ezekiel 20; 40–48, and especially Deutero-Isaiah, had not come to pass according to expectations.78 These exilic prophets had portrayed the return in terms of a “new exodus”79 that would result in a rebuilt temple, a restored community, the streaming of the nations to Zion, and possibly a Davidic heir to rule over the kingdom.80 When these expectations failed to materialize as expected, there were two options. Either the exilic prophets were wrong or their prophecies still awaited fulfillment.81 For those who took the latter route

and the Origin of the Atonement (WUNT 2/204; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). N. T. Wright, Christian Origins and the Question of God, vol. 1, The New Testament and the People of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 280–338. 77 This will be especially true in apocalyptic literature where the historical dimension of the exile is retained but instead of being isolated to the sixth century b.c.e., it is understood as the first half of a temporal dualism (i.e., “this present age”). See Albertz, Israel in Exile, 38–44; Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration, 242. 78 Albertz, History of Israelite Religion, 454–58. Ackroyd also argues that early in the postexilic period people began to realize that the analogy of Egyptian captivity and Babylonian exile did not quite work, since the Egyptian captivity was not a punishment for sin (Exile and Restoration, 239). 79 See Stuhlmueller, Creative Redemption in Deutero-Isaiah, 59–95; Walther Zimmerli, “Der ‘neue Exodus’ in der Verkündigung der beiden grossen Exilspropheten,” in Gottes Offenbarung: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (TB 19; Munich: Kaiser, 1963), 192–204. 80 The use of enthronement psalms near the end of Second Isaiah suggests that the prophet thought there would be a rebuilt temple in the restoration (Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 85–86; also see Albertz, Israel in Exile, 134). Though there was diversity regarding these characteristics of restoration, they became standard eschatological expectations in the Second Temple period, and all of them can be traced to the writings of the exilic prophets. See George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah: A Historical and Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 18: “Much of post-biblical Jewish theology and literature was influenced and sometimes governed by a hope for such a restoration: a return of the dispersed; the appearance of a Davidic heir to throw off the shackles of foreign domination and restore Israel’s sovereignty; the gathering of one people around a new and glorified Temple.” 81 The exalted vision of restoration found in Deutero-Isaiah was not the only view. The Deuteronomic view consisted primarily of a people who study Torah and experience the presence of Yhwh through obedience to his commands. This view of the restoration would naturally have caused much less “cognitive dissonance” than the views of Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel. See J. G.

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this could only mean that, despite the return and efforts at resettlement and rebuilding, the exile in some sense continued.82 Often the earliest evidence adduced for this theological view of the exile is Ezra-Nehemiah.83 In both Ezra 9 and Nehemiah 9, while praying for God’s intervention, Ezra alludes to the fact that in his own time Israel was still in captivity (Ezra 9:7, 9; Neh 9:32, 36–37).84 Furthermore, there are three important perspectives that Ezra has on the situation. First, the reason for this ongoing captivity was Israel’s sin, and it was a sinful disposition that had persisted “since the days of our ancestors” (Ezra 9:7; Neh 9:34–35), which implicitly equates the sins of the postexilic period with those of the preexilic period (cf. Zech 1:4–6).85 Second, the fact that Israel has not been destroyed but has even been given a small revival within a remnant is solely an act of God’s grace toward Israel (Ezra 9:8–9, 13–15). Third, this remnant stands on the threshold of restoration, contingent on their faithfulness in obeying God’s law (Ezra 9:10–12). It is also striking that the idea of an ongoing exile is presented in a rather offhand way, which would suggest that the idea did not originate in Ezra-Nehemiah. What is important for our purposes is that all of these themes are found in the struggles reflected in Third Isaiah, and, it has been suggested, the idea of an ongoing exile underlies the Trito-Isaianic core of chs. 60–62. Furthermore, there is another significant connection between Third Isaiah and Ezra. The peculiar phrase “those who tremble at my/God’s word” occurs only four times in the Hebrew Bible, twice in the final compositional layer of Third Isaiah (66:2, 5) and twice in Ezra 9–10. According to Blenkinsopp, “a reading of these two texts together suggests that they are addressing the same historical and social situation but from different perspectives and at different points in a developing situation.”86 The significance of this is that the compositional history of Third Isaiah likely provides the missing link that bridges the soaring expectations of the restoraMcConville, “Restoration in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic Literature,” in Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 72; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 11–40. 82 It is also likely that those who shaped the canonical form of the Tanak came from among those who had a “theologized” view of the exile and restoration. See James A. Sanders, Torah and Canon (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1972), 44–45; see also idem, “The Exile and Canon Formation,” in Exile, ed. Scott, 37–61. 83 This is the earliest text cited by both Ackroyd (Exile and Restoration, 238) and VanderKam (“Exile in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature,” 89), but neither makes the claim that this is the earliest example. This claim is made by Craig A. Evans, “Aspects of Exile and Restoration in the Proclamation of Jesus and the Gospels,” in Exile, ed. Scott, 309. 84 In addition to referring to “captivity” (‫)שבי‬, Ezra also uses the words “sword,” “pillage,” and “open shame,” all of which are standard Deuteronomistic appellations for the judgment of the exile. The key for the allusion to the ongoing exile is that he then adds “just as today.” See H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC 16; Waco: Word, 1985), 134. 85 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 134. 86 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 53.

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tion in Second Isaiah and the assumption of an ongoing exile in Ezra-Nehemiah.87 As the first great interpreter of the Deutero-Isaianic tradition, the author of chs. 60–62 provided the groundwork for the theological view of the exile. In the subsequent growth of the Isaianic corpus one can detect the development of this view toward the themes found in Ezra-Nehemiah. It is to a brief sketch of this that we now turn.88

IV. The Function of Isaiah 61:1–3 in the Compositional History of Third Isaiah Claus Westermann’s contention that chs. 60–62 form part of the Trito-Isaianic corpus and were then supplemented by later material arranged concentrically around the nucleus of chs. 60–62 has been widely accepted.89 As supplemental material was added, it was read in light of this nucleus, and the end result is that the Trito-Isaianic material orbits around this eschatological center.90 The final composition, according to Blenkinsopp, “results in an a-b-a structure (56–59, 60–62, 63–66) by virtue of which the central panel presents the ideal situation in programmatic form, a kind of best-case scenario for the future.”91 Brevard Childs has challenged this concentric reading of Third Isaiah by insisting that the final form moves in a linear fashion.92 However, there seems to be no reason to assume that ancient writers or readers would have required that non-narrative texts be composed or read in a linear fashion, especially to the exclusion of a concentric reading.93 87 It may be possible to see the idea of a theological exile underlying the near contemporary texts of Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 as well. Although these two texts reflect an attitude toward the temple quite different from that found in Third Isaiah, they do seem to operate on the idea that the rebuilding of the temple is an essential turning point in the restoration. The assumption, then, is that even in 521 b.c.e. there is a sense in which the exile is persisting. See the discussion in Peter Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah (JSJ Sup 65; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 303–4. 88 A full exposition of how the Isaianic tradition is theologically advanced through the compositional growth of Third Isaiah would require a study of monograph length. Only a brief sketch can be provided here. 89 Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 296–308; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 38–39, 60–63. 90 That chs. 60–62 have an eschatological outlook is evident not only from the description of the Servant’s ministry in ch. 61 but also from the Zion passages that flank it (chs. 60; 62). 91 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 38. Later on p. 61, he outlines a chiastic correspondence between chs. 56–59 and 63–66. Hanson accounts for the arrangement by noting that the final redactors’ “intention to make chapters 60–62 the center around which the remaining parts of Isaiah 56–66 were arranged . . . result[s] in a literary structure that gives unity to an otherwise rather disparate collection of materials” (Isaiah 40–66, 218). 92 Childs, Isaiah, 448–49. 93 Although there are clues that Trito-Isaianic texts composed later than chs. 60–62 are intended to precede them literarily, it is a false dichotomy to require a choice between linear and

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The best example of a later Trito-Isaianic text that advances the viewpoint in Isaiah 61 is found in ch. 58.94 Like previous Isaianic authors, the author of ch. 58 has drawn from source material both within and outside of the Isaianic tradition. Outside of the Isaianic tradition, there are significant connections between Isaiah 58 and Mic 3:5–12 and there are a few aspects of Trito-Isaiah’s use of Micah that are particularly interesting.95 The correspondence between the descriptions of the people’s sins demonstrates that the author of ch. 58 understood the social sins of his own times to correspond in large part to those of the preexilic period. Yet, despite viewing their situations as similar, the Isaianic author makes a stark change. Instead of prophesying that “it shall be night to you, without vision, and darkness to you, without revelation, the sun shall go down upon the prophets, and the day shall be black over them” (Mic 3:6 NRSV), the Isaianic author promises that if the people enact social justice “your light shall break forth like the dawn . . . your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday” (Isa 58:8, 10 NRSV). It is in this reversal that the author of ch. 58 draws on other Isaianic texts. As the primary paradigm, the Deutero-Isaianic promise that “I will turn darkness before them into light” (42:16), has, for the author of ch. 58, been deferred past the return from exile to the potential future. A similar move is seen in the promise that “the glory of Yhwh shall be your rearguard,” which clearly reapplies the exodus motif that Deutero-Isaiah had used to describe the departure from Babylon (52:12).96 That this deferral is placed into a future scenario that is eschatological in nature is demonstrated by the numerous intertextual allusions to chs. 60–62. Compositionally, the motif of changing light to darkness not only reapplies the DeuteroIsaianic promise; it draws on 60:1–3, 19–20 and makes them attainable through the obedience of the people. Furthermore, the references to “the day of the Yhwh’s favor” (58:5) and the rebuilding of the ruins (58:12) are almost exact citations of Isa 61:2, 4. In other words, the scenario that was foretold in chs. 60–62 continues to be

nonlinear readings. The book of Jeremiah provides a good analogy to Third Isaiah. The edition of the book reflected in the MT, whose final form also dates to the postexilic period, has rearranged and developed the material underlying the LXX in such a way that the “Book of Consolation” stands at the structural and theological center of the canonical form of the book. As such, it is intended to be read as the centerpiece of the book. See Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999), 97–98; Ronald E. Clements, Jeremiah (Interpretation; Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1988), 3, 8–10; cf. Emanuel Tov, “Some Aspects of the Textual and Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah,” in Le livre de Jérémie: Le prophète et son milieu: les oracles et leur transmission (ed. P.-M. Bogaert; BETL 54; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997), 145–67. 94 Another important text is found in ch. 59 in the description of the divine warrior. Though likely composed after chs. 60–62, it has been composed as a sort of introduction and thus is intended to be read as literarily preceding the Trito-Isaianic nucleus. See Beuken, “Servant and Herald,” 422–24. 95 See also the discussion found in Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture, 76–78. 96 Also the motif of Yhwh guiding the people in 58:11 recalls 42:16 and 49:10.

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held out as a future reality, but now instead of simply being announced by the prophet, a path to its realization is provided: correcting the sins that led to the Babylonian exile in the first place.97 Literarily, this has the effect of recontextualizing the message of chs. 60–62, the centerpiece of Third Isaiah, as an eschatological reality that is indefinitely deferred (until the sins of Israel are corrected). Centered within the Trito-Isaianic corpus, chs. 60–62 are given a certain eschatological finality. Whereas Deutero-Isaiah and the author of chs. 60–62 simply announced that the expected restoration was about to happen, the literary structuring of Trito-Isaiah in a sense renders the vision of these three chapters immune to disappointment through its failure to transpire. In this way, chs. 60–62, having reapplied the Deutero-Isaianic promises to the postexilic period, have subsequently become paradigmatic for the conclusion to all of redemptive history. This is evident from the final canonical shaping of the book of Isaiah. Chapters 65–66 are usually acknowledged to stem from the final (or partially from the penultimate) redaction of the book. As such, they appear to be composed with the conscious intention of culminating the major themes running through the Isaianic corpus.98 In particular, the central themes of chs. 60–62 come to fruition in an eschatological framework. The final vindication of Jerusalem/Zion, the central subject matter of Isaiah 60 and 62, becomes integrated with cosmic transformation in 65:17–25 and 66:6–16. In fact, there are several allusions back to chs. 60–62. The easy and painless birth of Zion’s children in 66:6–9 seems to recall 60:4–5, 9 and 62:4–5 (which in turn are developments of 49:14–26; 51:2).99 The picture of the wealth of the nations streaming to Zion in 66:12 is pervasive in the Trito-Isaianic core (60:5, 9, 11, 16; 61:6). Furthermore, the reversal from mourning to rejoicing found in 65:13–14, 18– 19; 66:5, 10–11 advances 60:5, 20 and 61:2–3, 10–11 (which in turn reapply a central motif in chs. 49–54). A key difference between the Trito-Isaianic core and chs. 65–66 with respect to this reversal is the introduction of the viewpoint that the people of Yhwh are not coextensive with Israel but are a specific group within Israel.100 In the Trito-Isaianic core the assumption seems to be that corporate sin 97 Further, Isa 58:11–14 draws on Deut 32:9–13 in order to portray the eschatological experience of the people as the antitype of Moses’ experience. See the discussions in Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture, 134–36; Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 478–79. 98 The number of allusions to previous texts and traditions is staggering, and a full discussion of their function and interaction goes far beyond the scope of this study. See Emmanuel U. Dim, The Eschatological Implications of Isa. 65 and 66 as the Conclusion of the Book of Isaiah (Bible in History 3; Bern: Peter Lang, 2005), 55–198. 99 Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 305. 100 This dimension of Isaiah 56–66 has long been recognized. See Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56– 66, 82–88.

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is the problem of all Israel, but that all Israel will be God’s holy people (62:12). Yet, in the development of the Trito-Isaianic corpus the identity of the servants (i.e., the heirs of the Deutero-Isaianic Servant) becomes restricted to those who are obedient to Yhwh’s commands. The eschatological promises of chs. 60–62, therefore, become the exclusive inheritance of the faithful servants, while those who are unfaithful will be put to shame (66:13–16). Essential to this understanding is the appropriation of the theme of the remnant (cf. Isa 65:8–10), prominent in First Isaiah, and its integration with the Deutero-Isaianic theme of the Servant and the dual Trito-Isaianic themes of the servants (as offspring of the Servant) and of the necessity of obedience to Yhwh’s commands. Thus, in the canonical shaping of the book of Isaiah the picture of restoration in chs. 60–62 has been swept up into an eschatological-cosmological framework that includes the vindication of Zion and the exaltation of the obedient remnant. The original understanding of the exile as a theological state has now been adopted as the paradigm of Israel’s existence until the end of days, when Yhwh will set all things right.

V. Summary and Conclusions We are now in a position to draw together the different arguments and to draw some conclusions. First, while the idea of the exile as a theological state that persists beyond the Babylonian captivity has been well documented in the later Second Temple period, its earliest appearance is often considered to be Ezra-Nehemiah. Yet the explanation of this phenomenon has normally been understood to be the need to cope with the failure of the exalted visions of restoration of the exilic prophets (especially Second Isaiah) to materialize. This article has argued that the material found in Isaiah 56–66 provides the requisite bridge from Deutero-Isaianic theology to the idea of a theological exile that is found in the mid-fifth century in Ezra’s prayer. In Isaiah 61, among the earliest materials in Trito-Isaiah, one can already see the assumption of an enduring exile through the appropriation and reapplication of earlier tradition, both Isaianic and pentateuchal. Furthermore, the subsequent compositional layers of Third Isaiah, which both advance the vision of ch. 61 (and chs. 60, 62) and also recontextualize the pericope itself through redactional placement, give evidence of the development of themes that would be presupposed in Ezra’s conception of the ongoing exile. We see emerging the view that exile persists on account of Israel’s sin, which is largely equated with the type of sin during the monarchic period that led to the exile in the first place. The distinctive emphasis in Third Isaiah on the necessity of obedience in order to actualize the program of restoration in chs. 60–62 also finds a counterpart in Ezra’s prayer. Finally, the division within the community between the faithful and the disobedient that canoni-

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cally functions as a reapplication of the theme of the remnant has connections with the community of Ezra’s time.101 Finally, a couple of implications follow from the above discussion. First, more attention should be paid to how the compositional development of Third Isaiah and its subsequent redaction as part of the canonical book of Isaiah evidence theological and hermeneutical impulses that bridge the exilic writings and those of the later Second Temple period. Second, the eschatological use of Isaiah 61 that is found in 11QMelchizedek and Luke 4 is not as far removed from the “literal sense” of Isaiah 61 as was once thought. Rather, both of these texts presume, like Isaiah 61, that the exile has persisted in some way even after the return from Babylon. In this way, all three texts wrestle with the exile as a theological state, and 11QMelchizedek and Luke 4 propose their own answers to the end of this exilic state. 101 This

is not to suggest that the community that redacted the final form of the book of Isaiah is to be identified with Ezra’s community. I am only suggesting that the concerns and theological themes that come to fruition in the final redactional layer of Isaiah are also reflected in Ezra-Nehemiah. There are certainly differences, and these should not be minimized. See Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 51–54, 80–88.

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Jonah Read Intertextually hyun chul paul kim [email protected] Methodist Theological School in Ohio, Delaware, OH 3015

The book of Jonah is full of fascinating plots, ironies, and themes. This relatively short book has been identified as a history, an allegory, and other various genres. In the past century, its historicity, date of composition, and literary genre have been issues of debate.1 Toward the end of the last century, rhetorical criticism by scholars such as Phyllis Trible brilliantly delineated various literary features of this book.2 Literary criticism has contributed the discovery of many hidden satirical elements in Jonah’s puns and ironies.3 Moreover, recent scholarship on the Twelve Prophets [hereafter, “The Twelve”] has paid closer attention to reading the This article is a revised version of a paper presented at the regional meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, the Eastern Great Lakes Biblical Society meeting, held in Erie, Pennsylvania, on March 23, 2006. Special thanks are due to Professors Linda Day, Terry Giles, and Marvin Sweeney for their helpful comments and support. Admittedly, all shortcomings solely remain the present writer’s. 1 Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1), 18–21; Robert B. Salters, Jonah and Lamentations (OTG; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1), 13–62. For a thoroughgoing survey of the evolution of biblical research on and interpretation of the book of Jonah, from the end of the nineteenth century to 200, see Claude Lichtert, “Un siècle de recherche à propos de Jonas,” RB 112 (2005): 12–21 (1re partie), 330–5 (2e partie). 2 Phyllis Trible, Rhetorical Criticism: Context, Method, and the Book of Jonah (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1); eadem, “The Book of Jonah,” NIB :61–52. 3 Elie Wiesel, Five Biblical Portraits (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 181), 12–55; David Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah: Anti-prophetic Satire in the Hebrew Bible (BJS 301; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 15); Raymond F. Person, In Conversation with Jonah: Conversation Analysis, Literary Criticism, and the Book of Jonah (JSOTSup 220; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 16). For a survey of various literary genres, such as “irony,” “satire,” “parody,” and so on, concerning the literary features of the book of Jonah, see James D. Nogalski, Redactional Processes in the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 218; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 13), 262–65; Katharine J. Dell, “Reinventing the Wheel: The Shaping of the Book of Jonah,” in After the Exile: Essays in Honour of Rex Mason (ed. J. Barton and D. J. Reimer; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 16), 1–3.



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twelve books as a unified or anthological collection through intertextual catchwords, allusions, and motifs. All these studies have helped readers approach Jonah in terms of the rich and subtle artistry inherent both within the book itself and in relation to the rest of the Twelve. By doing so, these studies have demonstrated the importance of intertextual reading from the present form of the text. This intertextual analysis can be especially useful for studying the book of Jonah because it reveals the web of literary puns and echoes, the interweaving of which provides clues to Jonah’s place and function within the Twelve.5 Analyzing both similarities and differences of interconnected terms and motifs can help readers unravel, understand, and appreciate the conceptuality of Jonah in its literary, historical, and canonical locations. The present study, therefore, will explore the possible intertextual correlations between the book of Jonah and other pertinent texts.6 Besides many widely dis-

 Paul

R. House, The Unity of the Twelve (JSOTSup ; Bible and Literature 2; Sheffield: Almond, 10); James D. Nogalski, Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 21; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 13); idem, Redactional Processes; Barry A. Jones, The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Study in Text and Canon (SBLDS 1; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 15); Forming Prophetic Literature: Essays on Isaiah and the Twelve in Honor of John D. W. Watts (ed. James W. Watts and Paul R. House; JSOTSup 235; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 16); Aaron Schart, Die Entstehung des Zwölfprophetenbuchs: Neubearbeitungen von Amos im Rahmen schriftenübergreifender Redaktionsprozesse (BZAW 260; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 18); Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve (ed. James D. Nogalski and Marvin A. Sweeney; SBLSymS 15; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000); Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve (ed. Paul L. Redditt and Aaron Schart; BZAW 325; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2003). 5 See Kenneth M. Craig, “Jonah in Recent Research,” CurBS  (1): 111: “The 1 articles that I discuss under the rubric ‘Intertextual Dimensions’ also have much to offer, in varying degrees, that can be described as original scholarship”; Paul L. Redditt, “Recent Research on the Book of the Twelve as One Book,” CurBS  (2001): 3: “What are the types of intertextuality in the Twelve, and how does one best investigate and interpret the results of interrelated texts?”; Richard J. Coggins, “Joel,” Currents in Biblical Research 2 (2003): 86: “Another distinct method of approaching the book [here referring to Joel, yet it can be applicable to Jonah as well] has become prominent in recent years. That is to see it as part of a larger collection, the Book of the Twelve Minor Prophets.” 6 Intertextuality as a methodology has been defined and practiced in widely diverse ways. Among numerous works even within biblical scholarship, I consider this method with regard to both diachronic—or often called “inner-biblical exegesis and allusion”—concerns and synchronic concerns, thereby mutually overlapping and enriching rather than excluding each other. For a diachronic approach, see Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 185); Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 18); for a synchronic approach, see Patricia T. Willey, Remember the Former Things: The Recollection of Previous Texts in Second Isaiah (SBLDS 161; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1); idem [Patricia K. Tull], “Intertextuality and the Hebrew Scriptures,” CurBS 8 (2000): 5–0; Reading between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Danna Nolan Fewell; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 12).

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cussed intertextual cases, the flood account in Genesis and the historical record of Jeroboam II in 2 Kings can offer further insights into its literary and historical aspects. Likewise, with respect to the interpretation of the formation of the Twelve, the book of Jonah has been much neglected compared to other books. Investigating the correlations of Jonah with Nahum and Joel can shed light on the composition and arrangement of the Twelve. Hence, I will examine the following four texts for their intertextual implications for the book of Jonah: (1) the flood account in Genesis, (2) the brief mention of the prophet’s name during the reign of Jeroboam II in 2 Kgs 1:23–2, (3) the complementary oracles concerning Nineveh in Nahum, and () the uniquely identical credo formula (Exod 3:6–) and contents in Joel.8 Thus, the intertextual reading will delineate the creation motif extant in both Genesis and Jonah, the parallel instrumentality of Jeroboam II and Jonah signaled in 2 Kings 1, the deliberate conceptual debate between Jonah and Nahum, and the comparable call for communal reform based on Yhwh’s attribute of mercy in Jonah and Joel. In light of these studies, I will assess the resulting observations both synchronically and diachronically with regard to the place and implications of this intertextual reading of Jonah within the Twelve. My thesis is that synchronically the intertextual allusions in the book of Jonah suggest its function and place, especially as a chiastic center together with Nahum, within the Twelve, and that diachronically the book of Jonah was written as a dialogue with the aforementioned correlated texts, giving expression to thematic emphases of the post-exilic communities in the Second Temple period.

I. Jonah and Noah Recent scholarship on Jonah has rightly emphasized the importance of the latter portion of this book—beyond the widely known big fish story—with regard to its literary and thematic climax. This is the case precisely because the primary issue of this book has been noted as the relationship of Yhwh and the prophet visà-vis the issues of commissioning, disobedience, announcement, repentance, divine  For example, see Jonathan Magonet, Form and Meaning: Studies in Literary Techniques in the Book of Jonah (BBET 2; Bern: Peter Lang, 16), 65–8; Uriel Simon, Jonah: The Traditional Hebrew Text and the New JPS Translation (JPS Bible Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1); Craig, “Jonah in Recent Research,” 102–. 8 Admittedly, many other texts could be incorporated into this study in light of a key phrase, motif, or even a single word. To do so, however, would be beyond the scope of the present study. Accordingly, the rationales for selecting the following texts include, first, that those interrelated texts have not been as extensively studied as other texts; second, that those texts exhibit linguistic interconnections of inner-biblical citation or allusion and more evidently depict linkage with the book of Jonah; and, third, that those texts provide insightful clues in interpreting the book of Jonah in its place within the Twelve Prophets.

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mercy, and so on. Nevertheless, some of the subsidiary plots beyond the fates of the prophet and Nineveh play equally significant roles in intensifying the deliberate and complex web of literary artistry, using satire, irony, and other features. These subsidiary plots employ numerous words, phrases, and motifs from the rest of the Hebrew Bible, thereby creating an effect of parody and hyperbole for the audience. In the book of Jonah there is an affinity of such motifs and symbols with the flood accounts in Genesis. First, the large-scale warning and destruction of the great deluge in Genesis coincides with the similarly large-scale warning of destruction in Jonah. In Gen 6:, the divine plan to destroy encompasses human beings, animals, creeping things, and birds of the air. Likewise, in Jonah :11 (cf. Hab 1:1; Zeph 1:2–3), Yhwh’s compassion encompasses more than 120,000 persons and many animals of Nineveh. The degree of warning and impact of punishment are insurmountable in both texts.10 Just as God wiped out the whole earth with the devastating flood, so the great city of Nineveh is warned of destruction with comparable calamity. Here the ancient Near Eastern mythological elements in both texts emphasize that these mythological entities are mere creatures subject to God. In the flood text, it is God who sends rain (:), enables the great deep to burst forth (:11), and causes the waters to swell (:18–20), signifying God’s control over the natural forces widely regarded as deities in ancient mythology.11 Hence, natural forces such as the great storm and giant fish are depicted as mere instruments of God’s command in the book of Jonah. Second, several key words and motifs recur in both texts, numerous enough to cause one to ponder intentional echoes. The word “wind” (‫)רוח‬, which God blew over the earth in Gen 8:1, is the same “wind” (‫ )רוח‬that Yhwh hurled over the sea in Jonah 1: (cf. :8), denoting a shared motif of natural forces as mere instruments of God. The number “forty days” occurs both in Genesis (:, 12, 1; 8:6) and in  Note David Kimhii ’s comment: “[The book aims] to teach that God should be praised for sparing the penitents whatever their nation and even more so when they are many in number” (Jack M. Sasson, Jonah: A New Translation with Introduction, Commentary, and Interpretation [AB 2B; New York: Doubleday, 10], 32). 10 The book of Jonah describes many characters and features in exaggerated “big” (‫)גדול‬ ways, such as the “great city” (1:2; 3:2–3; :11), “great wind” (1:), “great storm”(1:, 12), “great fear” (1:16), “big fish” (1:1), “great displeasure” (:1), and “great joy” (:6). Note also Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 101: “As far as exaggerations are concerned, our book has more than its fair share. Everything is either very big or very small. For example, in order to achieve [God’s] purpose, God uses the greatest of creatures, a large fish, and the smallest of creatures, a worm.” One even wonders whether the number 12 of 120,000 Ninevites echoes symbolically the twelve tribes of Israel and the twelve prophetic books, rather than a mere coincidence. 11 Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 10, 123: “Just as Jonah fled by sea, so God responds by means of a storm at sea. . . . [I]n 1: . . . [Jonah] expresses the traditional Israelite view of the Lord’s omnipresence by acknowledging that he is a devotee of the Lord ‘the God of Heaven, who made both sea and land.’”

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Jonah (3:), symbolizing the same motif of the annihilation of the earth and the overthrow of Nineveh.12 Here the thematic irony is that, whereas these forty days were the period of the destruction in Genesis, this period turns out to be the time of repentance and deliverance in Jonah. Furthermore, just as the earth became “dry” (‫ )יבׂשה‬after the waters subsided and the ark landed on the mountains of Ararat in Gen 8:1, so, with the vomiting of the fish, Jonah was ushered onto the “dry” land (‫ )יבׂשה‬in Jonah 2:10. The dry land implied a new start in a re-created earth for the family and animals of Noah. Similarly, for Jonah, the dry land indicates a new start for his prophetic mission. Moreover, the notion of Yhwh’s remorse occurs in both texts, which contains the same root as the name “Nahum”: Yhwh regretted/changed [‫ ]נחם‬that he had made human beings on the earth and it hurt his heart. (Gen 6:6, ) God saw their deeds that they returned from their evil ways, and God regretted/changed [‫ ]נחם‬concerning the evil he had said to do to them, and he did not do it. (Jonah 3:10)

The multivalency of this word (‫ )נחם‬heightens the contrasting irony and pun in the book of Jonah. In Genesis, Yhwh’s regret results in the destruction by flood; in Jonah, God’s regret results in the dramatic rescue of a huge city. Additionally, related motifs with ironic twists add to the possible correlations in the two texts. For example, just as the animals were depicted marching into the ark in Gen :2, , not only the people but also the animals, cattle, and flocks in Nineveh are depicted fasting and putting on sackcloth in Jonah 3:–8. Likewise, just as God remembered all the animals and beasts in the ark in Gen 8:1, both the human beings and the animals of Nineveh are given Yhwh’s compassion in Jonah :11. God’s covenant in Gen :–10 extends beyond human beings to encompass the birds and the animals. Now Yhwh’s mercy reaches beyond Israel to Nineveh, including the animals in the book of Jonah.13 By the same pattern, the ark that was built to save Noah’s family in the

12 In addition to the phrase “forty days,” which has a conventional connotation of a long period of time, the verb “overturned” (‫ )נהפכת‬can build a further correlation with the account of Sodom and Gomorrah: “The use of the verb thereby aids in characterizing Nineveh as an exceedingly wicked city, as well as an exceedingly great one, and thereby makes its repentance all the more remarkable and worthy of recognition by G-d” (Marvin A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets [2 vols.; Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000], 1:325). 13 In terms of an additional allusion, the worm that kills the plant in Jonah : may echo the relevant motif from the Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the serpent takes away the plant that Gilgamesh obtained from Utnapishtim. Admittedly, the plant in Jonah  more closely echoes the “broom shrub” in 1 Kgs 1:–5, just as Jonah’s one-day walk in Nineveh (Jonah 3:) resonates with Elijah’s one-day journey into the wilderness (1 Kgs 1:), as if, for Jonah, his prophetic walk and work in Nineveh may have been considered a journey in the wilderness rather than in a large city. Nevertheless, the appearance of the plant and the worm in Jonah invites readers to consider the mythological traditions of the flood, again correlating the story of Jonah with that of Noah.

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flood narrative reverberates in the motif of the ship functioning to save the sailors with Jonah from the storm. The irony is that whereas Noah was safe in the ark, Jonah became the cause of danger in the ship. Noah was rescued in the end, yet Jonah was thrown out of the ship. Again, ironically, Jonah too was rescued in the end, this time not by another ship but by a great fish, as if functioning like an ark amid the stormy sea.1 There is another related irony here. In the flood narrative, the people outside the ship were doomed to their destruction (Gen :21–23). In contrast, the sailors in the ship from the story of Jonah were saved and even implicitly converted, which can be detected by the linguistic shift from praying to their own gods (Jonah 1:5–6) to praying to Jonah’s “Yhwh, the God of heaven who made the sea and the dry land” (Jonah 1:1).15 Third, in addition to the more explicit interrelations of key words and motifs addressed above, a symbolic name in both texts builds a satirical intertextual pun. The name Jonah in Hebrew means “dove,” which denotes various meanings, such as “chaste,” “fragile,” “fickle,” “asinine,” and the like.16 In Jonah 1:1, Jonah is described as the son of Amittai, which adds to the satirical element, literally meaning, “dove, my truthful son.” The irony is that Jonah’s prophetic behavior shows otherwise. This name of Jonah signals the comparable depiction and role of the dove in the flood narrative. In Gen 8:8–12, Noah sent out the dove three times from the ark; the dove returned to the ark the first time, brought a freshly plucked olive leaf the second time, and did not return the third time. The role of the dove indicates its ability to find the location and fidelity to fulfill the task. With regard to similarity, just as the dove was sent as a messenger, Jonah assumes the role of messenger to Nineveh. Just as the dove was dispatched with the anticipated sign of hope to those in the ark, Jonah was thrown out from the ship yet helped calm the storm and convert the sailors. Obviously, more contrasts are noticeable. Whereas the dove is selected to offer direction to Noah, Jonah goes in the opposite direction, from 1 Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture, 23: “In its present narrative context the threat to Jonah’s life lay in his being drowned in the sea. The large fish was the divine means of deliverance!” 15 Hans Walter Wolff, Obadiah and Jonah: A Commentary (trans. Margaret Kohl; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 186), 86: “In the ship’s crew there are men belonging to many different nations and religions, side by side . . . and then they put forth their own efforts once more, finally turning to [Yhwh] in prayer. . . . Painstakingly and consistently, they find their way step by step to lasting trust in Jonah’s God.” Likewise, note also David M. Gunn and Danna Nolan Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford Bible Series; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 13), 132: “From god-fearing, these men have moved to being specifically Yhwh-fearing. Inadvertently, and ironically, the reluctant prophet has played a key role in ‘converting’ these ‘pagans’ to the worship of his own god.” 16 Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 1:30: “The term is used elsewhere as a metaphor for Israel’s senselessness and fickleness in flitting back and forth between Assyria and Egypt (Hos :11–12) and for its ultimate return to Yhwh (Hos 11:11).” The name has also been linked to ‫“( ענה‬to afflict”; see Nah 1:12) in medieval Jewish exegesis.

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Nineveh to Tarshish. Contrary to the notions of fidelity and hope in the dove’s action for Noah, Jonah exemplifies a prophet of stubbornness and doom.1 Such ironic puns of the naïve obduracy of “Jonah the dove” occur in other books of the Twelve with intricately correlated connotations (Hos :11; 11:11; Nah 2:; cf. Zeph 3:1). Altogether, the name “Jonah” reminds readers of the “dove” of the flood account, now with the pun of the multivalent motifs for the prophet’s—and implicitly the people’s—stubbornness, naïveté, and ultimate fidelity. Jonah can be compared not only with the dove but also with Noah himself. Scholars have labeled Jonah as a prophetic parody-anti-Abraham (Jonah :5; Gen 1:2–28), anti-Moses, or anti-Elijah (Jonah 1:3; :1–; 1 Kgs 1:3–10).18 Now we may also call him a type of anti-Noah.1 Following God’s command to build the ark, the text records no speech on Noah’s part but only his actions of obedience. In contrast, Jonah disobeys not only in his action of going the opposite direction in ch. 1 but also with his desperate prayer concerned only for himself in ch. 2, which is quite uncharacteristic of any faithful prophet.20 In fact, Jonah’s sleeping inside the ship is dramatized by the LXX, in which he is said to snore (καὶ ἔρρεγχεν) so loudly that the captain could hear him in the midst of the tumultuous storm.21 Still, whereas Noah obeyed and built the ark to save his family and consequently humankind, Jonah disobeyed, was thrown out of the ship, and even then somehow saved and converted the sailors. These depictions highlight the contrast between Noah, who was “righteous,” “blameless,” and “walking with God” (Gen 6:), and 1 Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 105: “If one of the characteristics of a dove is fidelity (we recall Noah’s dove who performs his duty in Gen 8:8–12), Jonah proves to be unfaithful at the first opportunity.” 18 A midrash quoted by Simon (Jonah, xv) notes the correlation between Jonah and Elijah: “R. Jonathan said: ‘The Holy One Blessed be He stipulated with the sea that it would split before Israel.’ . . . R. Jeremiah son of Eleazar said: ‘The Holy One Blessed be He made such a condition not only with the sea, but with everything that was created during the six days of creation. . . . I commanded the ravens to feed Elijah . . . and the fish to vomit forth Jonah (Genesis Rabbah 5,5; see also M. Avot 5,5).” For a compelling comment on the correspondences between Jonah and Elijah (Jonah 1:1, 3, 5–6; :3; 1 Kings 1), see Simon, Jonah, xxxvi, 3–10, 38–3. See also André Feuillet, “Les sources du livre de Jonas,” RB 5 (1): 161–86. For similar correlations for both Jeremiah (Jonah 3:5–10; Jer 18:–8) and Abraham (Jonah :5; Gen 18:16–33; 1:2–28), see Simon, Jonah, xxxvii–xxxviii and 3–0 respectively. See also Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 3, 131–33; Magonet, Form and Meaning, 6–6. 1 For an innovative study on the intertextuality between Jonah and Noah, along with other echoes in the Hebrew Bible, see Timothy R. Koch, “The Book of Jonah and a Reframing of Israelite Theology: A Reader-Response Approach” (Ph.D. diss., Boston University, 2003), 16–251. 20 Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 112: “Instead of proclaiming God’s message to others, Jonah has called to God only for himself in his distress.” 21 Ibid., 11–20; LXX of Jonah 1:5–6 (trans. Brenton): “But Jonas was gone down into the hold of the ship, and was asleep, and snored. And the shipmaster came to him, and said to him, Why snorest thou? arise, and call upon thy God, that God may save us, and we perish not.”

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Jonah, who seemed to be the opposite and yet was used to carry out prophetic works by God. In summary, the intertextual echoes in the book of Jonah of the account of Noah in Genesis offer symbolic and figurative signals so that readers of Jonah are reminded of the flood episode in Genesis. Just as God brought the flood to destroy the earth in Genesis, God in Jonah used the mighty storm to deter the stubborn prophet and convert the pagan sailors. Such a correlation highlights the notion that God is in control of all nature, nations, and peoples, including the forces of the sea, commonly held to be a deity in the ancient Near Eastern mythological worldview. In addition, various key words (such as “wind,” “forty,” “dry land”) and motifs (such as Yhwh’s changing perspective, the participation of the animals, and the ark/ship) occur in both accounts, heightening the irony and pun in the related episodes and themes in Jonah. Furthermore, the meaning of the name Jonah, “dove,” reverberates with the comparable role the prophet Jonah plays as a messenger, albeit with a reversed depiction of Jonah’s infidelity vis-à-vis both the dove and Noah himself.

II. Jonah and Jeroboam ii Certain prophetic figures appear in the Hebrew Bible in books outside of the writings that bear the prophets’ names. Micah is mentioned in Jer 26:18, which not only cites Mic 3:12 but also offers the specific identity of this prophet. Thus, both Jer 26:18 and Mic 1:1 detail Micah’s origin, “Micah of Moresheth.” Haggai and Zechariah are mentioned in Ezra 5:1; 6:1, with similar detailed descriptions. The accounts of Isaiah 36–3 can be found in 2 Kings 18–20, connecting the prophetic activity with the corresponding kings. These brief intertextual recurrences provide helpful information in identifying a prophet with possible chronological, sociopolitical, and geographical locations. This cross-referencing makes it possible to read Jonah with 2 Kgs 1:23–2, which introduces a prophet Jonah with the same identity, “Jonah, the son of Amittai, the prophet” (1:25). Here a bit more information is available: that is, Jonah is from Gath-hepher and he is contemporary with the forty-one years of the reign of Jeroboam II.22 It is the latter information that intrigues us for our intertextual reading.

22 Ehud Ben Zvi, Signs of Jonah: Reading and Rereading in Ancient Yehud (JSOTSup 36; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 6: “It is likely that there is a close link between this story and the character described in Kings, and thus it draws the attention of the rereaders to the particular account in 2 Kgs 1.23-2”; idem, “Jonah,” in The Jewish Study Bible (ed. Adele Berlin and Marc Zvi Brettler; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 200), 1200: “It seems possible and even likely that the text here serves to encourage its readers to identify the two, or at least to fill the mentioned gap with their knowledge about the prophet in Kings, who is depicted as one who prophesied territorial conquests for Israel.”

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First, if we consider the two texts to refer to the same Jonah, then we can construct a possible interrelation between Jonah and Jeroboam II. This information is far from being sufficient to argue that Jonah was historically contemporary with Jeroboam II. Rather, from the perspective of the intended readership, the presumed or imagined activity of Jonah is to be taken in association with Jeroboam II, at least in light of 2 Kings 1. This is possible because 2 Kings 1 leaves open the date of Jonah’s prophecy, while its primary interest is in the fulfillment of prophecy. Once this interrelation is made, various comparisons of the two figures become possible. The following chiastic analysis of 2 Kgs 1:23–2 can help illuminate the comparability of the two characters: A v. 23: “Jeroboam became king” ‫מלך ירבעם‬ B v. 25a: “He restored the border of Israel” ‫הוא השיב את־גבול ישראל‬ C v. 25b: “by the hand of his servant Jonah son of Amittai the prophet” ‫ביד־עבדו יונה בן־אמתי הנביא‬ D v. 26: “Israel had no helper” ‫ואין עזר לישראל‬ C΄ v. 2: “by the hand of Jeroboam son of Joash”¨ ‫ביד ירבעם בן־יואש‬ B´ v. 28: “he restored Damascus and Hamath to Judah in Israel” ‫ואשר השיב את־דמשק ואת־חמת ליהודה בישראל‬ A´ v. 2: “Zechariah became king” ‫וימלך זכריה‬ Just as Jeroboam II was considered a wicked ruler, especially from the Deuteronomistic Historian’s record, Jonah too was depicted as a questionable prophet. In this sense, at first glance, one wonders whether the Deuteronomistic Historian regarded both Jeroboam II and Jonah with a similar notion of negativity with respect to Israel, in that Jeroboam II was responsible for the doom of Israel with his continuation of the sins of Jeroboam I, while Jonah was responsible for the deliverance of momentarily repentant Nineveh and ultimately for the eventual destruction of Judah by the Assyrians. At a second look, however, the two figures share a similarity with regard to their relations to Israel: Jeroboam II with his restoration of Israel as in Solomon’s day and Jonah with his anti-Assyrian attitude.23 23 Volkmar Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings (trans. Anselm Hagedorn; Continental Commentary; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003 [German editions, 16, 18]), 32: “The duration of his reign is, at forty-one years, the longest of the northern kingdom.” For the Deuteronomistic Historian, much of Jeroboam II’s national security was due to his father Joash’s defeat of Aram (2 Kgs 13:–25; 1:8–16).

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The prophet Jonah in 2 Kings 1 then is recapitulated as the prophet in the book of Jonah—both having a pro-Israelite attitude, except that whereas the prophecy of the expansion of the Israelite borders was fulfilled during the reign of Jeroboam II, the prophecy of the overthrow of Nineveh was revoked in the book of Jonah.2 Yet, at a third look, we can delineate further ironic compatibilities that highlight positive considerations of these two characters as well as the divine mercy of Yhwh. The chiastic symmetry repeats, and possibly highlights, the fact that Jeroboam II expanded and restored the border of Israel (vv. 25a, 28). Encircled by this repetition, we find two similar phrases, literally meaning, “by the hand of his servant Jonah son of Amittai the prophet” (v. 25b) and “by the hand of Jeroboam son of Joash” (v. 2). The same phrases construct Jonah and Jeroboam II at the same rank, especially with quite positive overtones. Admittedly, only Jonah is described as Yhwh’s servant, and not Jeroboam II. Nevertheless, while Jonah is given the honorable title of “Yhwh’s servant,” Jeroboam II is also deemed a worthy instrument of Yhwh’s steadfast love in that “Yhwh saved them by the hand of Jeroboam son of Joash” (v. 2). The two quite distant characters are considered in parallel as positive instruments of Yhwh’s purpose. Moreover, if Jeroboam II’s political achievement of expanding the border is fulfilled and considered positively, then Jonah’s contribution for expanding the socioreligious border—toward foreign nations—can be viewed with similar implications. In this sense, while both characters are less-than-ideal servants or leaders, the juxtaposition of them signifies, albeit ironically, their instrumentality for God’s benevolent works.25 It is no wonder that the chiastic center states that “Israel had no helper” (v. 26), underscoring the limitations of these frail, imperfect figures amid small hints of positive assessment and highlighting the real Helper, Yhwh. Second, Jereoboam II may also be compared with the king of Nineveh in the book of Jonah. If Jonah is seen as an anti-prophet, the anonymous king of Nineveh can be seen as an anti-king of Israel, be it Jeroboam I, Jeroboam II, or even Manasseh of Judah. Read this way, any of the actions the king of Nineveh takes displays the opposite of the recalcitrant kings of Israel. The depiction of genuine attention to the prophetic message, immediate repentance on a nationwide scale, 2 Note Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 188), 161: “The biblical book associated with Jonah is a later product (of the postexilic period), in which the prophet of earlier tradition whose nationalistic prophecies were fulfilled was used as a central figure in a prophetic novella.” 25 Walter Brueggemann, 1 and 2 Kings (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), : “The deep and immediate linkage between Jeroboam’s military, political success and [Yhwh’s] attentive intervention is established by the work of Jonah the prophet. . . . The prophet (whose words are not given to us) is the characteristic connector between political reality and [Yhwh’s] intentionality. For all the waywardness that the narrator reads in Northern history, [Yhwh] nonetheless regards the Northern state as a proper object of caring attention.”

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and subsequent retrieval of wicked deeds all intensify a didactic message directed to Jeroboam II, the king of Israel.26 The receptive and pious act of the king of Nineveh is elucidated in persuasive details: “When the word reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, put aside his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat on the ashes. And he declared a proclamation in Nineveh” (Jonah 3:6-). When read together, it is ironic that whereas the speech of this king of the heinous kingdom Assyria is recorded, the king of Israel with the great achievement of expanding the border is given no speech in the text. Possibly, the book of Jonah suggests that this very act of repentance and turning away from evil should have been the description of the king of Israel, and not that of the king of Nineveh.2 The comparison makes such a satire more vividly accentuated. To sum up, though the texts are not historically contemporary, to the implied reader, Jonah is assumed to be read or compared over against the setting of Jeroboam II in 2 Kings 1. In this intertextual reconstruction, Jeroboam II and Jonah display considerable similarities with regard to their stubbornness, the pertinent fate of the doom of Israel, and their instrumentality in expanding the border of Israel. Likewise, Jeroboam II can be contrasted with the anonymous king of Nineveh in Jonah, connoting a didactic satire and parody between the unrepentant evil king of Israel and the repentant forgiven king of Assyria. Additionally, reading Jonah in correlation with Jeroboam II has some ramifications for the chronological placement of the book of Jonah in the Twelve, which will be discussed below.

III. Jonah and Nahum That Jonah and Nahum have many features in common has been well noted by numerous commentators.28 Yet most studies have not undertaken a close reading of these two books with a view to the intertextual connections. When compared, the names of these two prophets involve a pun. Jonah, the dove, can denote

26 Childs similarly identifies the book of Jonah as “parable-like” literature that contains many “didactic” elements (Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture, 21). 2 Even in the kingship of Judah, only Hezekiah and Josiah would resemble the type portrayed by this “model” king of Nineveh (2 Kings 18–20 || Isaiah 36–3; 2 Kings 22–23). See Marvin A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 0–6. 28 For a succinct review of various ways the Jewish aggadic exegetical traditions interpreted the mutual relations and tension between Jonah and Nahum, see Beate Ego, “The Repentance of Nineveh in the Story of Jonah and Nahum’s Prophecy of the City’s Destruction: A Coherent Reading of the Book of the Twelve as Reflected in the Aggada,” in Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve, ed. Redditt and Schart, 155–6. Note David L. Petersen, The Prophetic Literature: An Introduction (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 1: “The two books should be read together in order to gain the fullest prophetic commentary on the fate of this city.”

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either a faithful or a stubborn agent. Nahum, with its polyvalent meanings, can connote the comforting, relenting, changing, or vindicating one.2 With irony, the name Jonah is linked to the dichotomous themes of the obstinacy of the prophet, Jeroboam II, and the Israelites, on the one hand, and the fidelity of the pagan sailors, the king of the Ninevites, and the citizens of Nineveh alongside their animals, on the other hand. A similar irony is seen in the title Nahum, which points to the dual themes of doom on Nineveh and consolation on Israel. Against the background of these titles, several key phrases and constructions of the two books demonstrate close interrelations. First, apart from the obvious common denominator that both books are concerned about the fate of Nineveh, both contain a traditional formula (Exod 3:6– ) that augments their mutual theological debate. This credo-like formula is placed toward the end in Jonah, whereas in Nahum it is placed at the very beginning, as if building a chain link. Through this traditional prayer formula reciting the divine attributes (which occurs also in Joel 2:13 and Mic :18-20 within the Twelve), Jonah and Nahum are further bound together: Jonah :2 For I know that you are God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abundant in mercy, relenting concerning evil.

‫אתה אל־חנון ורחום ארך אפים ורב־חסד ונחם על־הרעה‬

Nah 1:2–3 God, who is jealous and avenging, is Yhwh; Yhwh is Avenger and Lord of wrath. . . . Yhwh is slow to anger but great in strength, and Yhwh will by no means let the guilty be exempt.

‫אל קנוא ונקם יהוה נקם יהוה ובעל חמה‬ ‫יהוה ארך אפים וגדל־כח ונקה לא ינקה יהוה‬

If we compare the Hebrew phrases, it becomes clear that Jonah :2 alludes to Joel 2:13 (“Return to the Lord, your God, / for he is gracious and merciful, / slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, / and relents from punishing”), both highlighting the character of Yhwh’s mercy.30 Likewise, Mic :18–20 (“Who is a God like you, who pardons iniquity / and passes over the wickedness / of the rem2 Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 2:2: “The name is derived from the root nhm i , which means ‘to comfort, have compassion,’ and appears to be related to the name Nehemiah which is derived from the same root.” The origin of Nahum, “the Elqoshite,” literally means, “God is harsh” (Ben Zvi, “Jonah,” 1220). Note also the wordplay between Nahum (‫ )נחם‬and vengeance (‫ )נקם‬in Nah 1:1–3. 30 Note other texts, such as Num 1:18; Pss 86:15; 103:8; 15:8; Neh :1; 2 Chr 30:, esp. Exod 3:6, “God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abundant in mercy and truth” (‫)אל רחום וחנון ארך אפים ורב־חסד ואמת‬.

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nant of your possession? / He does not retain his anger forever / because he delights in mercy. / He will again have compassion on us, / he will subdue our iniquities. / You shall cast all their sins / into the depths of the sea”) highlights Yhwh’s mercy, especially toward Yhwh’s own people.31 If we employ a sequential reading of these books, Jonah reacts to Joel, whereas Nahum reacts to Micah and other preceding books. But if we follow the order of the LXX, both Jonah and Nahum are addressing Micah and Joel; in consequence, Jonah and Nahum, put right next to each other, are in dialogue. In either canonical order, the mutual comparison between Jonah and Nahum becomes legitimate by this common formula. Jonah’s reaction is widely discussed in that only here in ch.  do readers learn why he ran toward Tarshish instead of Nineveh from the beginning: Jonah was not exactly a lazy or disobedient prophet but rather a devout advocate of his tradition and theology (cf. Deut 18:21–22).32 According to Jonah’s theology, it does not make any sense that God would show mercy to such an oppressive ruler and wicked nation.33 It is ironic here that Jonah’s anger (Jonah :1, , ) is mirrored by Yhwh’s wrath (Nah 1:2, 6); together they establish a thematic contrast: whereas Jonah’s indignation is subordinated by Yhwh’s mercy in the book of Jonah, Assyria’s iniquity accentuates Yhwh’s righteous indignation in the book of Nahum. Hence, Nahum makes an inner-biblical exegesis of this formula with a conceptual shift. Inasmuch as Yhwh’s graciousness is asserted, Nahum emphasizes Yhwh’s righteousness, which cannot let the wicked go unpunished (cf. Exod 3:b; Hab 1:13). Thus, the notion of vindication counterbalances the idea of mercy. Put together, the concept of forgiveness toward the repentant in Jonah is counterbalanced by the concept of consequence before forgiveness in Nahum. To the redactors and intended readers, the reconceptualization of the same traditional formula intensifies both the uniqueness and mutuality of Jonah and Nahum. Second, although the credo formula plays a crucial role in the unique theology of each of these prophets, the depiction and fate of the king of Assyria also deserves consideration. At first glance, some texts, such as the hymn of praise in Jonah 2 and the statement concerning Yhwh’s general dealings with enemies in 31 The last verses of the book of Micah may function as a chain link with the start of Nahum

(cf. Gen 2:a with 2:b; Gen 2:25 with 3:1; 2 Chr 36:22–23 with Ezra 1:1–). In the LXX, then, Jonah :2 roughly connects as a chain link with the start of Nahum. For a list of significant Stichwortverkettungen (catchword chains), see Nogalski, Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve, 20-5; Aaron Schart, “Reconstructing the Redaction History of the Twelve Prophets: Problems and Models,” in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve, ed. Nogalski and Sweeney, 35; Petersen, Prophetic Literature, 13. 32 Marcus, From Balaam to Jonah, 6: “Hence this Jonah was a nationalist prophet, and if our Jonah was modelled after him, then, had he been true to type, he ‘would have leaped at the opportunity to call down doom upon Nineveh.’” 33 Ibid., : “Nineveh was one of the most despised foreign cities. It is not surprising that the prophet Nahum devoted his entire book to a condemnation of that city.”

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Nahum 1, seem general enough to be applicable to any setting or addressee. Accordingly, the detailed accounts of the king of Assyria in Jonah 3 and Nahum 3 clarify the specific issue of the two books. In both cases, the underlying concepts are in actuality targeted toward the Israelites. For example, in Jonah 3, the descriptions of the utmost repentance of the king of Nineveh signify the didactic admonition to Israel to model such behavior. The message can thus be applied to Jeroboam II and then to any king of Israel or their descendants in rereadership. By the same token, in Nah 3:1–15, the imagery of the devastation of Nineveh resembles that of the fall of Samaria or of Judah. To the Israelites, this poetic image can represent a vivid description of their own exile. In this case, the readers can hear a defiant lament or complaint that accuses the king of Assyria—or any oppressor such as the king of Babylon—of his own impending doom. Third, these two books are the only ones in the Hebrew Bible that conclude with a question. If we compare the endings, a punch line of the book of Jonah seems to lie not in ch. 3, nor in ch. 2, but rather in ch. . Here Jonah’s accusation and complaint parallel those of the Israelites in the face of Assyrian oppression and invasion. These dire consequences would not have been possible except for the mercy bestowed on Nineveh. Yhwh’s answer, in the form of a rhetorical question, is that these human beings and animals of another city, albeit a wicked one, are under Yhwh’s care as well. Likewise, Nahum 3 concludes with the vision of the shepherds and people of Nineveh being compared with locusts and hoppers, scattered with no survivor. Here the pronouncement (Nah 1:1) ends with yet another rhetorical question that asserts Yhwh’s just vindication of Assyria’s malice. Each conclusion with a comparable rhetorical question stands on its own. Yet, when one reads them together, one is invited to ponder the cases in mutual tension and debate, rather than choosing one and excluding the other. A sequential reading is possible in the present canonical order. The two concepts are put in close proximity both in the Hebrew canon and in the Septuagint, and each is meant to challenge the theological outlook of the other.3 Perhaps that is why both Jonah and Nahum conclude with a question. Fourth, the puns on the word “dove” (‫)יונה‬, which occurs only three times in the Twelve—twice in the singular in Hosea (:11; 11:11) and once in the plural in 3 Although the theology per se of the book of Jonah is not the main subject of the present study, a brief note of differentiation may be helpful here. Whereas past scholarship commonly used terms such as “nationalistic” or “universalistic,” evaluating Jonah or Nahum in this way from a one-dimensional perspective may not fully do justice to the complexities of authors, audiences, social settings, ideologies, and so on. For example, from the context of a colonized state under oppressive empires, Nahum can be read as a message of vindication, independence, and survival. Furthermore, subversive or resistant voices can be perceived either as pro-Israelite ideology against the oppressive imperial powers or as anti-hegemonic counterideology against the ruling class within Israel. For a related study, see Hyun Chul Paul Kim, Ambiguity, Tension, and Multiplicity in Deutero-Isaiah (New York: Peter Lang, 2003), esp. 205–16.

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Nah 2:—further accentuate the corresponding relationship between Jonah and Nahum.35 In Hosea (cf. Zeph 3:1), the “dove” denotes the stupidity of Israel, which looks for its security to Egypt and Assyria rather than to Yhwh: “Ephraim has become like a dove (‫כיונה‬, “like Jonah”), asinine and senseless; they call to Egypt, they go to Assyria” (Hos :11). In the other instance, “dove” depicts the once recalcitrant but now penitent Israel: “They shall come terrified like birds from Egypt and like a dove (‫כיונה‬, “like Jonah”) from the land of Assyria; and I will return them to their houses, oracle of Yhwh” (Hos 11:11). It is ironic that in the book of Jonah, Jonah does go to Assyria, though bringing a pronouncement of destruction rather than seeking foreign aid. Likewise, Jonah may have returned from Assyria—that is, Nineveh—to Israel.36 Additionally, though it is not a proper name, a similar form occurs in Zeph 3:1: “Woe to her who is rebellious and polluted, the oppressing city!” This city with ambivalent identity—either Nineveh or Jerusalem, though the latter is more likely—is called an “oppressing city,” literally, “the dove city” (‫)העיר היונה‬. The adjective is a feminine singular participial form of the verb “to oppress” (‫)ינה‬. In this form, however, the word looks and sounds like “Jonah” as “dove.”3 Read with this pun, whether Nineveh or Jerusalem is intended, the city’s appellation can echo the name “Jonah” to the readers who will have read Jonah and Nahum in the canonical sequence—“the dove/Jonah city,” that is, the city associated with both oppressive force and the prophet Jonah. Thus, according to the canonical order of the MT, the word “dove” in Hosea introduces the motif of Israel’s obstinacy and potential penance, whereas its implied echo in Zephaniah recalls the notion of oppression. Sandwiched between Hosea and Zephaniah, both Jonah and Nahum do share related puns through the word ‫יונה‬. At least three implications may be considered. First, whereas in Jonah this word is accompanied with the notions of recalcitrance and naïveté as well as revoked destruction (cf. Hos 11:11), it occurs in Nahum with a reversed portrayal for destruction: “It is determined that she [i.e., the city of Nineveh] be stripped, carried away; its handmaids driven away, like the sound of doves 35 Admittedly, a mere occurrence of one word cannot offer as convincing a case of intertextual connection as the recurrence of a phrase or more. However, the scarcity of this word in the Twelve calls for consideration. 36 For various medieval Jewish traditions on Jonah’s final actions, see Sasson, Jonah, 320. 3 The LXX renders it as ἡ περιστερά (“the dove”); the Peshitta reads it as “the city of Jonah”; and Vulgate, as “redeemed city of the dove.” Although the term is derived from the verb “to oppress,” its form and sound create the ambiguity between the meanings “the oppressing city” and “the city of Jonah.” For a fuller discussion, see Marvin A. Sweeney, Zephaniah: A Commentry (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 156–61. Note also Serge Frolov, “Returning the Ticket: God and His Prophet in the Book of Jonah,” JSOT 86 (1): : “For the ancient Israelites, [dove] was first and foremost a sacrificial species; it is mentioned as such in Leviticus (1.1; 5., 11; 12.8; 1.22, 30; 15.1, 2) and in Numbers (6.10). . . . It means that for the author and his/her intended audience the meaning encoded in Jonah’s name was . . . ‘a suitable animal for the atonement of sin.’”

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(‫יונים‬, ‘Jonahs’), beating on their breasts” (Nah 2:). Second, whereas the sound of the lamentations of the Ninevites is an expression of repentance leading to divine mercy in Jonah, the sound of mourning, “beating on their breasts,” resonates only for the vivid depiction of the devastated reality in Nahum. Third, whereas the word “dove” occurs in the singular form in Jonah, denoting both the prophet’s individual struggle and his impact on the people of Nineveh, this word’s only occurrence in Nahum is in the plural form referring to the very people of Nineveh who would surely go to exile. All in all, the infrequent appearances of this unique word intensify the ironic pun and poetic genius and, at the same time, suggest that the interrelationship of Jonah and Nahum is by no means clear-cut but rather complex and profound. To sum up, the books of Jonah and Nahum share the same traditional credo (Exod 3:6-), which is reconceptualized with contrasting perspectives between divine mercy and righteous vindication. Likewise, both are concerned with the issue of oppression by the king of Assyria: Jonah highlights the king’s unbelievable repentance, whereas Nahum highlights the heinous crimes committed by this king. These closely related phrases and issues connect the two books, which may be further correlated by the pun on the rare word “dove,” while maintaining their individual conceptual emphases. That both conclude with a question adds to this intertextually dialogical aspect. Moreover, that they are canonically placed adjacent to each other intensifies their intertextual relationship (see further below).

IV. Jonah and Joel At first glance, Jonah and Joel do not appear to have much in common. One is prose and the other poetry, and their key contents and addressees show virtually no similarities. Yet correlations between these two prophetic books are more recognizable and significant than between other books in the Twelve.38 First, in neither book is there clear information about the prophet’s identity or lineage, historical setting, or other pertinent details. The opening words of these two books offer no such information, except for the names of the prophets’ fathers, who are otherwise unknown (cf. 2 Kgs 1:25). Unlike the books of Hosea, Amos, Micah, Zephaniah, Haggai, and Zechariah, the superscriptions of Jonah and Joel contain no mention of contemporary kings of Israel, Judah, or other nations (so also Obadiah, Nahum, Habakkuk, and Malachi). In Joel, it is not clear whether the enemy is the locusts or powers from the north. In Jonah, the enemy—or rather the addressee—is specified as Nineveh, but the identity of the Assyrian king is not 38 Siegfried Bergler, Joel als Schriftinterpret (BEATAJ 16; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 188); Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 1:1: “Joel cites Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, and Zephaniah, and thereby establishes its relationship with the books that follow in the MT sequence.”

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given. These ambiguities have made it difficult to pinpoint the dates of these prophetic books, but these matters, along with various linguistic and internal points, suggest that Jonah and Joel may be later works within the Twelve.3 Second, in both Jonah and Joel, the credo formula that recalls Exod 3:6– includes an identical phrase that is unique in the Hebrew Bible. As noted above in discussing Jonah and Nahum, this formula occurs in at least eight other places in the Hebrew Bible, all in a form shorter than Exod 3:6–. It is then quite possible to argue that most of these references echo and reinterpret Exod 3:6-, reconceptualizing its emphasis on either divine justice (e.g., Nah 1:3) or divine mercy (Jonah :2).0 The formulations in Jonah and Joel are virtually identical: Jonah :2 For I know that you are God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abundant in mercy, relenting concerning evil.

‫אתה אל־חנון ורחום ארך אפים ורב־חסד ונחם על־הרעה‬

Joel 2:13 For God is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abundant in mercy, relenting concerning evil. . . .

‫כי־חנון ורחום הוא ארך אפים ורב־חסד ונחם על־הרעה‬

While other key phrases such as “gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abundant in mercy” occur in other related texts (Pss 86:15; 103:8; 15:8; Neh :1), 3 Simon persuasively details cases of language in Jonah that exhibit later phenomena: “While the Book of Jonah is written in the same classical biblical Hebrew as the pre-exilic books, it also contains an appreciable accretion of linguistic phenomena that belong to later biblical Hebrew. Their lateness is attested by their presence in books written after the destruction of the First Temple and their prevalence in Aramaic, the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Mishnaic Hebrew. . . . It follows from all these illustrations that the book was composed by an author who lived during the Second Temple period and wrote in classical Biblical language but unwittingly incorporated various elements of his contemporary dialect”(Jonah, xxxix–xlii). Similarly, also Wolff, Obadiah and Jonah, 6–: “As far as the interpretation of the book of Jonah is concerned, its inclusion in the Book of the Twelve according to Sir :10 is a contribution towards a solution of the problem of date; for it means that Jonah cannot have been written after the end of the third century. . . . The little book shows disproportionately many words—and sometimes corresponding circumstances—which can be found only after the time of Ezekiel, but more especially in the latest Old Testament writings, such as Chronicles, Ecclesiastes, and the book of Daniel. . . . The choice of particular characteristic expressions indisputably suggests the late postexilic era, rather than its earlier years—perhaps the same period as Ecclesiastes.” 0 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 335–50. Note also James L. Crenshaw, Joel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 2C; New York: Doubleday, 15), 13: “The innerbiblical transformation to which the divine formulary was subjected testifies to the theological struggle over the application of justice and mercy in ancient Israel.”

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the phrase “relenting concerning evil” (‫ )נחם על־הרעה‬occurs only in Jonah and Joel.1 The conceptual emphasis on divine mercy is heightened with this unique phrase, which underscores Yhwh’s “changing” (Nahum-ing) the divine intention toward evil. In Joel, this formula is inserted in the prophetic call for liturgical reform and repentance, appealing to Yhwh’s attribute of mercy, which includes the possibility of Yhwh’s change. In Jonah, this formula appears in the prophet’s accusation, complaining against Yhwh’s mercy because of the possibility of Yhwh’s change. Third, in addition to the nearly identical divine formula, both Jonah and Joel share the phrase “Who knows?” (‫ )מי יודע‬and the comparable call for, or action of, communal repentance and reform. The phrase “Who knows?” occurs elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (2 Sam 12:22; Ps 0:11; Eccl 2:1; 3:21; 8:1; Esth :1),2 but only in Joel and Jonah within the Twelve. Similarly, the words that describe God’s “returning and relenting” (‫ )ישוב ונחם‬are an “extremely infrequent combination” that occurs in both Joel and Jonah.3 The corresponding words for repentance and the notion of divine change are present in these verses: A

Joel 2:12: “Return to me with all your heart, fasting, weeping, and wailing” B

Joel 2:1: “Who knows (‫ ?)מי יודע‬He may return and relent (‫ישוב‬ ‫)ונחם‬, and leave a blessing behind him.” C

Joel 2:15–1:

C´ Jonah 3:5–8:

Call for a communal fasting and lamentation

Call for a communal fasting and repentance

B´ Jonah 3:: “Who knows (‫ ?)מי יודע‬God may return and relent (‫ישוב‬ ‫)ונחם‬, and turn from his burning anger so that we do not perish.”

A´ Jonah 3:10: “Then God saw their deeds, how they returned from their evil way, and God relented concerning the evil which he said to do to them, and he did not do it.”

Apparently, the chiastic pattern is assembled rather arbitrarily. Yet, in addition to 1 A

similar phrase occurs in the Pr Man 1: (cf.  Esdr :132–0), “for you are the Lord Most High, of great compassion, long-suffering, and very merciful, and you relent at human suffering” (μακρόθυμος καὶ πολυέλεος καὶ μετανοῶν ἐπὶ κακίαις ἀνθρώπων), resembling the unique phrases in both Joel 2:13 (μακρόθυμος καὶ πολυέλεος καὶ μετανοῶν ἐπὶ ταῖς κακίαις) and Jonah :2 (μακρόθυμος καὶ πολυέλεος καὶ μετανοῶν ἐπὶ ταῖς κακίαις). For an extensive discussion of Joel and Jonah as cases of inner-biblical interpretation, see Thomas B. Dozeman, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation of Yahweh’s Gracious and Compassionate Character,” JBL 108 (18): 20–23. 2 Crenshaw, Joel, 138: “Every presumption with regard to Yhwh crumbles with the utterance of this tiny particle . . . for he acts in sovereign freedom.” 3 Dozeman, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” 221.  Although Joel and Jonah are placed apart from each other in the MT (yet separated only

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using exactly the same words, both verses (Joel 2:1; Jonah 3:) are surrounded by similar phrases and notions of communal fasting, communal repentance, and divine change. As briefly discussed above, precisely because dating the composition of both books is more difficult than is the case with most of the rest of the Twelve, it would be conjectural to hypothesize as to which one echoed the other.5 Regardless of this issue, the numerous examples of identical and similar phrases provide a strong case that the correlation of these two books was intentional. Read in the canonical sequence, parallels and contrasts are noticeable. In Joel, the prophet calls for Israel’s communal lamentation in Zion (cf. Joel 2:1, 15, “Blow a trumpet in Zion”) with fasting, weeping, and wailing, for the hope rooted in the traditional formula of Yhwh’s mercy. In Jonah, the same motif recurs, as if a mirror image, except that it is the king of Nineveh who, in response to the prophet’s short announcement of judgment, calls for Nineveh’s communal fasting and lamentation (Jonah 3:–8a) for the same hope in God’s mercy. Whereas Joel the prophet highlights the priestly emphasis on the liturgical aspects of communal lamentation, Jonah the prophet adds the notion of turning from evil ways and violence (3:8b) and thereby highlights the traditional prophetic emphasis on the actions of justice and righteousness. In Joel, such an act of communal repentance leads to Yhwh’s mercy on and restoration of Judah (Joel 2:18–2). In Jonah, the comparable act of communal reform leads to Yhwh’s mercy on and forgiveness of Assyria (Jonah 3:10). To sum up, key phrases, features, and motifs in the books of Jonah and Joel are striking—and possibly deliberate. Both books lack specific information for historical dating, making them chronologically mobile, though both contain various elements that suggest late dating. The credo formula of the divine attribute of mercy is most nearly identical in these two books within the Hebrew Bible, thereby heightening the intentionality of their thematic, and possibly authorial, intertextual relaby Obadiah in the LXX), a similar look at the chiastic structural correlation between Nahum and Habakkuk has been innovatively proposed by Duane L. Christensen, “The Book of Nahum: A History of Interpretation,” in Forming Prophetic Literature, ed. Watts and House, 13: A Hymn of theophany Nahum 1 B Taunt song against Nineveh Nahum 2–3 X The problem of theodicy Habakkuk 1 B´ Taunt song against the “wicked one” Habakkuk 2 A´ Hymn of theophany Habakkuk 3 5 Crenshaw, Joel, 13: “The striking similarities with the formulation in Jonah :2 have led to a hypothesis of literary dependency, especially when one also considers the parallel between Jonah 3:a and Joel 2:1a . . . although it is not clear who borrowed from whom.” See also Simon, Jonah , xxxix: “Because it is unthinkable that opprobrium was reused for praise, it follows either that the two stories have a common origin or that Jonah consciously echoes Josel. But in light of the conjectured assignation of the prophet Joel to the Second Temple period, it is most unlikely that the author of the Book of Jonah would attempt to make the ancient prophet appear ludicrous by means of a contrast with the later prophet.”

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tionship as well as mutually emphasizing the notion of God’s change to forgive penitent humanity. These aspects are further delineated in the two prophetic books, linked both by the unique phrase “Who knows?” and by the motif of the call for communal lamentation—which is (in the canonical sequence) solemnly declared to the people of Zion in Joel and astonishingly undertaken by the people of Nineveh in Jonah.

V. Jonah and the Twelve Reading Jonah intertextually can offer further signals for understanding the place of Jonah within the Twelve. With recent scholarly attention focusing on the Twelve as a correlated collection, whether as a unified book or a collected anthology,6 the book of Jonah offers some potential clues. One can view the Twelve from the perspective of Jonah in both synchronic and diachronic ways. We begin on the synchronic level. Here the structural pattern of the sequences within the canon can offer further insights into the underlying concepts of the final redactor(s). Closely related to this synchronic interpretation, we can conjecture possible routes and intentions that influenced the book of Jonah on the diachronic level and their subsequent implications for the composition of the Twelve.8 While each approach is significant, synchronic and diachronic analyses are interdependent and contribute to the examination of texts that have resulted from long processes of composition and canonization.

Synchronic Analysis Finding legitimate rationales for the canonical arrangement of the Twelve has been an ongoing issue. The conventional way to look at the Twelve in a chrono6 For a succinct review of the issues regarding coherence versus anthology, see Paul L. Redditt, “The Formation of the Book of the Twelve: A Review of Research,” in Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve, ed. Redditt and Schart, 3–12.  Rolf P. Knierim, “Old Testament Form Criticism Reconsidered,” Int 2 (11): 68. 8 Michael H. Floyd, Minor Prophets: Part 2 (FOTL; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 168: “My analysis here assumes . . . that a prophetic book is first of all to be understood as a literary whole. . . . I also assume that such understanding requires synchronic analysis of the parts that make up the whole and of how they are interrelated. Only on this basis can one then determine whether any diachronic analysis, of a sort that might show something about the text’s redactional history, is warranted.” Likewise, Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 1:xxvii: “In order properly to understand the Book of the Twelve, each version of the Twelve must first be analyzed synchronically— both according to its final form and the forms of its constituent units—before any attempt can be made to establish its interpretation or to reconstruct its redactional history.”  Barry A. Jones, “The Book of the Twelve as a Witness to Ancient Biblical Interpretation,”

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logical order has revealed numerous problems. Among other rationales for the current sequence, Marvin Sweeney’s proposal is quite convincing. According to him, the LXX’s sequence displays “an initial concern with the punishment of the northern kingdom of Israel [Hosea, Amos, and Micah], which then provides a model for understanding the experience of Jerusalem/Judah and the nations,” whereas the MT’s sequence “emphasizes the fate of Jerusalem from the outset.”50 Furthermore, David L. Petersen proposes the theme of “the Day of Yhwh” as the overarching thread that holds the Twelve together as a whole.51 I propose the following points for consideration regarding the canonical order of the Twelve in their present form. First, as far as the implied readership is concerned, Jonah can fit chronologically into its canonical place.52 This does not apply to the dating of the historical book of Jonah.53 Rather, Jonah is intended to be read, at least on this rationale, in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve, ed. Nogalski and Sweeney, 0: “The arrangement of certain books may provide interpretive clues for how these texts were read by the compilers of the Twelve, clues which may in fact have been inscribed within the books themselves.” 50 Marvin A. Sweeney, The Prophetic Literature (Nashville: Abingdon, 2005), 16–3. 51 Petersen, Prophetic Literature, 10, 211: “One motif that occurs with striking prominence in the Twelve is the phrase ‘the day of the Lord.’ . . . The Book of the Twelve witnesses to the destruction of both Israel and Judah, but anticipates renewed life for Yahwists ‘on that day.’” Likewise, Rolf Rendtorff, “How to Read the Book of the Twelve as a Theological Unity,” in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve, ed. Nogalski and Sweeney, 86: “The Day of the Lord is one of the dominating themes. The question is whether there are deliberate interrelations among the different writings that deal with this theme.” Note also James D. Nogalski, “The Day(s) of Yhwh in the Book of the Twelve,” in Thematic Threads in the Book of the Twelve, ed. Redditt and Schart, 212: “Significant verbal and thematic links show that the concept of a day of divine intervention provides literary cohesion to the writings of Hosea through Obadiah. These links suggest that the other writings of the Twelve are also involved.” 52 The MT’s arrangement is Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi. The LXX’s arrangement is Hosea, Amos, Micah, Joel, Obadiah, Jonah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi. One should note, however, that one Qumran scroll (QXIIa) places Jonah at the end of the Twelve. Concerning the rationales behind the sequence in the Qumran scroll, see Russell Fuller, “The Text of the Twelve Minor Prophets,” CurBS  (1): 81–5; Odil Hannes Steck, “Zur Abfolge Maleachi—Jona in Q6 (QXIIa),” ZAW 108 (16): 2–53; Jones, “Book of the Twelve as a Witness,” 2: “Jonah does indeed stand as an epilogue to the Twelve, perhaps displacing or serving as an alternative to the retrospective epilogue in Mal 3:22–2 and its variant ending in LXX Mal 3:22–2.” Concerning the “audience-” or “reception-centered” approach, see Ehud Ben Zvi, “Twelve Prophetic Books or ‘The Twelve’: A Few Preliminary Considerations,” in Forming Prophetic Literature, ed. Watts and House, 125–56. 53 A clarification by analogy may be helpful here. In the case of the book of Isaiah, this does not mean that ch. 1 is historically earlier than ch. 2, and the like. Rather, on the macro level, the overall structure discloses certain core contents that assume and signify a temporal progression. Consider also that “a midrashic tradition preserved in Num. Rab. 18:21 separates Jonah from the Twelve as ‘a book by itself ’” (Jones, “Book of the Twelve as a Witness,” 1).

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against the background of Jeroboam II of northern Israel.5 Intertextual correlations with 2 Kings 1 support this rough chronological reconstruction. In this way, though not all books fit this sequential reading, the present canonical order betrays a chronological rationale in that Jonah and Nahum, in light of the history in the text, are taken to be contemporaries with Hosea, Amos, and Micah. In this rationale, it makes sense that both the MT and the LXX place Jonah before Nahum so that Nineveh should be forgiven first and only then destroyed, not the other way around.55 It would not be convincing to argue that the Twelve in the present form are arranged strictly chronologically. Nonetheless, the intertextual correlations strengthen a case for a certain rule of chronological arrangement, however loose it turns out to be. Second, the current order displays a structural pattern that is analogous to many prophetic books—the Oracles against/concerning the Nations. This becomes more explicit in the LXX’s arrangement, where Obadiah, Jonah, Nahum, and Habakkuk are put together.56 Comparatively, the Oracles against the Nations occur 5 This

may hold for the book of Joel, which is placed after Hosea, Amos, and Micah in the LXX—presumably for the similar rationale of rough chronological order—and in the second place in the MT. The book of Joel concerns the natural threat of locusts and/or the “enemy from the North,” neither of which leads to any specific historical period but rather may be associated with various Sitze im Leben. 55 Thus, Targum Jonathan comments on Nah 1:1 with the temporal sequence: “Previously Jonah the son of Amittai, the prophet from Gath-hepher, prophesied against her and she repented of her sins; and when she sinned again, there prophesied once more against her Nahum of Beth Koshi, as is recorded in this book” (Kevin J. Cathcart and Robert P. Gordon, The Targum of the Minor Prophets [ArBib 1; Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 18], 131). Note also Nogalski, Redactional Processes, 21: “The most common traditions claim Nineveh’s repentance (Jonah) was temporary, while later actions result in their destruction (Nahum). One cannot help but think that a redactor deliberately created this tension, particularly when one recognizes that both these dimensions appear in Jer 18:–10, while Jonah only treats the question of the repentance of the nation (18:f), not of the nation’s return to evil actions (18:f).” 56 In a sharp contrast to the LXX, one may wonder about the place of Micah in the MT, i.e., Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, and Habakkuk. Admittedly, it certainly breaks the homogeneous pattern of the Oracles against the Nations, because Micah addresses not only the fate of the nations but also the fate of Israel and ultimately Judah. Nevertheless, it is possible that the place of Micah precisely alters the focus of the LXX: whereas the LXX in its chiastic order highlights the negative doom of the foreign nations, the MT adds another chiastic center, that is, the book of Micah, which is sandwiched between Jonah and Nahum and highlights the positive resurgence of Zion with a righteous Davidic monarch accompanying the destruction of the oppressors. For fuller explanations, see Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 1:xxxiv: “Micah also outlines the process by which a new and righteous Davidic monarch will rise to defeat the nations that punished Israel and Jerusalem, resulting ultimately in a universal peace as both the nations and Israel submit to Yhwh’s rule at Zion”; idem, King Josiah of Judah, 322: “It also indicates a debate within prophetic tradition as to whether a Davidic monarch would emerge in the exilic or postexilic period. Isaiah maintains that no such monarch would appear; Cyrus and Yhwh serve that role. Micah, by contrast, maintains that a Davidic figure would preside over a period of peace and thereby represent Yhwh’s rule”; and idem, “Micah’s Debate with Isaiah,” JSOT 3 (2001): 111–2.

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in various prophetic books as an assembled collection, e.g., Isaiah 13–23; Jeremiah 6–51 (MT); Jeremiah 25–31 (LXX); Ezekiel 25–32. Within the Twelve Prophets, Obadiah is virtually an oracle against Edom, while Habakkuk likewise deals with the fate of the Chaldeans, Babylon. Sandwiched between these two books, Jonah and Nahum—one prose and the other poetry—are concerned with the fate of Assyria. If the final redactor and/or compiler had a rationale to follow this thematic pattern, especially placing the Oracles against the Nations somewhere in the middle, and if the intention was to consider the Twelve as a composite collection, then the placement of the four books in the canonical order of the Twelve does reveal that they function like the Oracles against the Nations of other major prophetic books.5 Third, with regard to another structural formation, Jonah and Nahum function as a chiastic center of the Twelve. John D. W. Watts has convincingly argued that Hosea and Malachi build a frame for the Twelve, sharing the motif of marriage and divorce.58 If Hosea and Malachi form a symmetrical inclusio of the Twelve, then Jonah and Nahum may form the core between the bookends.5 Interestingly, according to the MT, Jonah and Nahum are the fifth and seventh, respectively, of the Twelve. According to the LXX, Jonah and Nahum are right next to each other and are the sixth and seventh, respectively, of the Twelve, thereby taking the central places in the order. One wonders whether such a placement of the two books that share so many similarities was coincidental or intentional. The LXX order makes this rationale quite plausible. Then, in the MT, the placement of Micah between Jonah and Nahum, both of which address the fate of Assyria, may highlight another chiastic center—the book of Micah—which concerns not the fate of Assyria the foreign nation but rather the fate of the ultimate glory of Zion. The fourth point is somewhat related to these structural patterns. The Twelve appear to follow a thematic pattern found in other prophetic books—oracles of judgment followed by those of hope.60 Read this way, the books prior to Jonah tend 5 Zephaniah

may be considered a part of the Oracles against the Nations, though it only partially addresses foreign nations (chs. 2–3), similar to Amos 1–2. Note Petersen, Prophetic Literature, 10: “Obadiah belongs to that body of literature—oracles concerning the nations—attested elsewhere in prophetic literature (Zephaniah; Isaiah 13–2; Jeremiah 6–51; Ezekiel 25–32).” 58 John D. W. Watts, “A Frame for the Book of the Twelve: Hosea 1–3 and Malachi,” in Reading and Hearing the Book of the Twelve, ed. Nogalski and Sweeney, 210: “Both Hos 1–3 and Malachi speak strongly to the theme of the love of God for Israel, a theme that is, in so many words, not a part of any other book in the Twelve. Both use the figure of domestic relations to speak about this theme.” Note also Sweeney, Prophetic Literature, 16: “Both versions [MT and LXX] begin with Hosea, which metaphorically portrays Yhwh as a husband who divorces his bride Israel. . . . Both versions also conclude with Malachi, who categorically states that Yhwh hates divorce and calls upon the people to hold firm to the covenant as Yhwh’s messenger approaches.” 5 Christensen, “Book of Nahum,” 1: “Of greater importance is that the book be interpreted within its present literary context as part of the structural center of the Book of the Twelve.” 60 Richard J. Coggins delineates this pattern in the following insightful observations: “The

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to put more emphasis on stern warning, accusation, and judgment. Following Nahum, we find books that either anticipate or assume an era of hope with restoration and rebuilding. On a micro level within each book (e.g., Amos, Hosea, and Micah), the message of hope comes near the end. If this look at the Twelve on a macro level with the rough thematic sequence of judgment followed by hope is legitimate, then it makes sense that the Oracles against the Nations—Obadiah, Jonah, Nahum, and Habakkuk—are placed in the middle. They function as a hinge between the other two sections, picking up the motif of judgment that shifts its target from Israel/Judah to other oppressing nations and opening up the way to the motif of hope accompanying the doom of nations and the renewal of Israel/Judah.

Diachronic Analysis The synchronic analysis suggests directions for further examination of the place and function of the book of Jonah within the Twelve in the diachronic dimension. In other words, the intertextual connections noted above can serve as clues to possible redactional differences, compositional relations, and conceptual ramifications in the biblical texts. In this analysis, different historical settings for various texts and books point to possible ways in which later traditio may have reapplied the inherited traditum.61 As a premise, the initial conclusion is that, in light of both internal and external evidences, the book of Jonah is a later work whose final composition would have taken place in the Diaspora communities in the Second Temple period—ranging from the Persian period to the Hellenistic times. The diachronic study will examine the intentions in the book of Jonah from the correlations of these different settings and the book’s functions in dialogue with other interconnected texts. First, though the final stage of the composition of the Pentateuch might be dated to the postexilic time of the Persian period, the flood account of the primordial era would be an earlier tradition widely known at the time of the compo-

overall shape of the Book of the Twelve displays striking similarities with other collections. It begins, as they do, with words of doom to the recalcitrant community. . . . Then there follows, as in other collections, a section mainly dealing with foreign nations (Nahum-HabakkukZephaniah 1–2). . . . Then in conclusion we find words of hope for the restoration of the community in the future mercy of God, not of course without warnings as to the consequences of falling back into the old evil ways” (“The Minor Prophets—One Book or Twelve?” in Crossing the Boundaries: Essays in Biblical Interpretation in Honour of Michael D. Goulder [ed. Stanley E. Porter, Paul Joyce, and David E. Orton; Leiden: Brill, 1], 6). 61 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 10–11: “How each particular traditum can validly be distinguished from its tradition—that is, the received text from the comments, clarifications, and revisions thereof—is thus the pressing and central concern of any critical study of this phenomenon.”

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sition of Jonah.62 In this correlation, it is most likely that the book of Jonah was put together with the flood texts of Genesis in mind. The intention for the time of Jonah, then, would have been to recall the worldwide threat and turmoil that continued to be effective beyond the times of the prophets. Simultaneously, amid such large-scale peril, the story of Jonah gives a glimpse of hope through Noah and Jonah, both agents of Yhwh’s salvific acts. The impending destruction of Nineveh thus echoes the similar overthrow of the world by the flood and Sodom and Gomorrah by fire, in the midst of which Yhwh uses Jonah’s prophetic message of warning to rescue the whole population of Nineveh. Admittedly, Jonah is depicted as quite an uncharacteristic figure, somewhat of an anti-Noah. Yet, in this comparison, the final redactor of Jonah further directs readers to other characters, all of whom are portrayed as under God’s care and mercy, and who thereby signify conceptual ramifications for the Diaspora communities of the Second Temple period. The pagan sailors who were depicted as upright, pious, and eventually converted would have conveyed a different view of foreign proselytes.63 The heathen-

62 Recent

scholarship on the composition of the Pentateuch has challenged Wellhausen’s Documentary Hypothesis with various modifications; for a few significant examples, see Erhard Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch (BZAW 18; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 10); Rolf Rendtorff, The Problem of the Process of Transmission in the Pentateuch (trans. John J. Scullion; JSOTSup 8; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 10); David M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 16); Ernest Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford: Clarendon, 18). It is most likely, however, that the final redactor of Jonah was aware of the J or P traditions of the flood account, if not both. 63 Picking up the sociopolitical backdrops of the Persian policy in Kenneth G. Hoglund’s Achaemenid Imperial Administration in Syria-Palestine and the Missions of Ezra and Nehemiah (SBLDS 125; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 12), Mark G. Brett proposes reading Genesis as “resistance literature”: “The overall proposal is that the final editors of Genesis have set out to undermine the theologically legitimised ethnocentrism found in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. . . . [T]he polemics against foreign marriage in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah are in some sense representative of the dominant ideology of the fifth century, emanating from the native administrators of Persian rule. . . . Theologically, the final editors [of Genesis] are proposing a less ethnocentric understanding of Israelite identity through a re-telling of Israelite origins” (Genesis: Procreation and the Politics of Identity [Old Testament Readings; London: Routledge, 2000], 5). Although—more precisely—the polemics are not against foreign marriage but rather against marriage to foreign women in which the wives would not adopt Jewish covenant practices, highlighting the diverse “resistant” aspects is noteworthy. Similarly, in a study on Genesis 3–50, Friedemann W. Golka proposes placing “Genesis 38 in the vicinity of the book of Jonah” and argues for “considering the final form of Genesis 3–50 a diaspora novelette of the Persian period” (“Genesis 3–50: Joseph Story or Israel-Joseph Story?” Currents in Biblical Research 2 [200]: 15). Note also Ben Zvi, Signs of Jonah, 123: “The non-Israelite sailors and the Ninevites and their elite are depicted in unmistakably positive terms in the book of Jonah. Further, there is a clear tendency to partially Israelitize them”; Koch, “The Book of Jonah and the Reframing of Israelite Theology,

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par-excellence Ninevites who repented and were forgiven through Yhwh’s care (Jonah :11), despite being described as consistently praying to Elohim rather than (Jonah’s) Yhwh, could have challenged perspectives of those in the Diaspora who not only came in contact with foreigners such as the Persians but also may have become outsiders themselves. Second, the final redactor of Jonah must have been aware of the Deuteronomistic Historian’s record of the prophet Jonah in 2 Kgs 1:23–2. Most commentators agree that the author of Jonah picked up the name of the prophet from 2 Kings 1 and aligned the story of the book of Jonah with this prophet.6 In addition to the linguistic evidence in the book of Jonah, this argument is supported by the fact that, except for the prophet’s identity, Jonah in 2 Kings 1 shares no connections with the book of Jonah in terms of content and prophetic activity.65 What intentions may the book of Jonah imply for its intended (re-)readership regarding the Diaspora communities of the Second Temple period? The comparison between Jeroboam II and Jonah can offer some insights. The Deuteronomistic Historian links Jeroboam II’s military success to the prophecy of Jonah, the ninth-/eighthcentury prophet of 2 Kings 1, thereby shifting the credit from Jeroboam II to the “servant” of Yhwh (2 Kgs 1:25) and ultimately to Yhwh’s steadfast love for Israel (2 Kgs 1:26–2). Here both the king and the prophet are considered God’s agents. In 2 Kings 1, both Jeroboam II and Jonah play their respective roles in the political expansion of Israel’s territory. In the book of Jonah, this prophet participates in another kind of expansion—a socioreligious one—in which both the pagan sailors in the Mediterranean Sea and the Ninevites at the bank of Tigris River are saved through this prophet’s agency. The comparison between Jeroboam II, the king of northern Israel, and the anonymous king of Nineveh can offer further insights. In the Deuteronomistic Historian’s perspective, Jeroboam II is evaluated as an evil ruler who joins those who were responsible for the fall of the northern kingdom (2 Kgs 1:2). Yet the relatively brief record still contains a description of this ruler as a great warrior (2 Kgs 1:28). Jeroboam II is thus both a sinful king, a cause of Israel’s doom, and a mighty warrior, an instrument of Yhwh’s purpose. In the book of Jonah, the anonymous king of Nineveh is portrayed with comparable characteristics; that is, he is a heinous tyrant and a ruler of an oppressive empire. To the readers and rereaders of the Second Temple period, this wicked pagan king plays

2: “Having entered into the belly of this scant, 8-verse story, the reader finds him- or herself spat out with a new history, a story of a people and their God that, like the Ninevites, has utterly been ‘turned upside-down’!” 6 Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings, 326: “There is no mention of this prophet elsewhere, but his name was taken up again in postexilic times in the novella named after him.” 65 This is quite different from the case of Jeremiah 26, which more likely echoes Micah. The presumed historical setting of Micah predates that of Jeremiah, and the way Jeremiah 26 quotes Micah is a responsive commentary, even quoting a passage from Micah.

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a role of satirical contrast and implicit instrumentality under Yhwh’s governance. On the one hand, this pagan ruler models the possibility of genuine repentance and religious reform, which most of the kings of Israel never approached. The concept of hope for those living under the foreign ruler may be part of the picture. In a sense, this pagan king joins the comparable depictions of other imperial rulers, such as Nebuchadnezzar and Cyrus, who were called Yhwh’s “servant” (Jer 25:; 2:6) and “shepherd”/“messiah” (Isa :28; 5:1), respectively. On the other hand, this pagan king remains a mere instrument for Yhwh’s plans. Living under the imperial rulers, the Diaspora communities can learn anew that no matter how cruel and menacing these pagan kings may appear, they are not greater than Yhwh the Creator of all, who can equally grant mercy to any repentant pagan king and judgment to evil rulers.66 Third, comparing Jonah with other books within the Twelve offers additional information, since Jonah represents a dissenting attitude to its counterpart, Nahum. We have discussed above the thematic debate or dialogue in light of the correlated phrases and motifs found in Jonah and Nahum as well as their possible chiastic place in the canonical arrangement. Now, examining them from a diachronic angle, it appears more likely that the book of Jonah came later than Nahum. Admittedly, Nahum and Joel are prophetic books that are very difficult to date. However, primarily from internal evidence, most scholars date Nahum close to the time of the fall of Nineveh, 612 b.c.e., or, more likely, immediately after 612 b.c.e.6 The book of Jonah, which would be dated either contemporary with or later than the book of Joel, would have been finalized after Nahum. Both the MT and the LXX place Jonah before Nahum. Yet diachronically Jonah comes after Nahum.68 What, then, 66 Confining the primary readership of Jonah to the small Jerusalem-centered community of postmonarchic Yehud, Ehud Ben Zvi considers the pertinent notion to be “the polemic against other gods” in that “all the mentioned boundaries and polemics, including those against the gods of other nations, are part of the inner discourses of Yehud and its literati” (Signs of Jonah, 126). Consider Frolov’s argument that “the author of Jonah may be tentatively characterized as a postexilic dissident who sought to counter the official ideology by showing that Israel’s misery should not be understood as atonement for sins of other peoples, for salvation of the wicked at the expense of the righteous is nonsensical. . . . [T]he author wanted his/her intended audience to sympathize with Jonah, not with God” (“Returning the Ticket,” 10–5). 6 Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 2:21: “The prophet refers back to a known event as a basis for making his claims about the significance of Nineveh’s collapse.” 68 It may be helpful to clarify and differentiate the various settings—Sitz im Leben, Sitz in der Literatur, Sitz im Buch, and the like—of these two books and their pertinent relations. At the first level, the settings of the presumed events from the literary contents entail that Jonah’s prophetic activity occurred before 612 b.c.e.—because after 612 b.c.e. Nineveh did not exist any more—and that Nahum’s prophetic activity also somehow occurred prior to 612 b.c.e. At the second level, Jonah is placed before Nahum in both the MT and the LXX, thereby implying that Jonah be read and reread first and then Nahum. At the third level, our historical reconstructions indicate that Nahum’s composition, quite possibly immediately following 612 b.c.e., predates that of Jonah,

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would have been the implications of the book of Jonah for the Diaspora settings of the Second Temple period? Making a conceptual confrontation with Nahum, the book of Jonah proposes a radically subversive perspective, which may exemplify Michael Fishbane’s idea of “lay exegesis.”6 Nahum states that Nineveh deserves to be punished, which did occur in 612 b.c.e. Jonah claims that Nineveh too could have been given divine mercy. Here observing a comparative analogy might be helpful. If we consider the book of Jonah to be one of the later works in the Hebrew Bible, its relationship to Obadiah becomes noteworthy. The focal issue of Obadiah is Edom. Interestingly, both the MT and the LXX place Obadiah just before Jonah. In this sequence, while Yhwh’s accusation against Edom is addressed in Obadiah, now Yhwh’s care and mercy encompass Assyria in Jonah. In the postexilic settings of Ezra and Nehemiah, the book of Ruth signifies a confronting hermeneutical perspective, though Ruth’s historical content fits between Judges and Samuel. In an analogous way, Jonah challenges and counterbalances Nahum, even as Jonah is placed before Nahum in the canon.0 The analogy hints that, just as Ruth depicts an alternative view of Moab, Jonah presents an alternative view of Assyria. Additionally, Jonah is placed at the end of the Twelve in one Qumran manuscript, QXIIa. Various explanations have been offered for this placement of Jonah,1 but

which must be one of the latest works in the Hebrew Bible. See Wolfgang Richter, Exegese als Literaturwissenschaft: Entwurf einer alttestamentlichen Literaturtheorie und Methodologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 11). 6 Concerning the emergence of a “counterexegesis” in the postexilic community, Fishbane terms it “lay exegesis”: “The new community of Israel was a series of communities of Torah interpretation; so much so, in fact, that lay exegesis could challenge old textual and priestly authority. . . . In this way post-exilic priestly authority was challenged by the laity from two distinct sources: human exegesis and divine revelation” (Biblical Interpretation, 128). 0 Nogalski, Redactional Processes, 20–1: “The narrative was selected as a contrast to the views of Nahum, whose bitter denunciation of Nineveh (within the context of cosmic judgment) leaves no room for Yhwh’s salvific action among the nations.” 1 On the one hand, Nogalski claims that the sequence of the Twelve in the MT is original (Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve), whereas Sweeney considers that in the LXX to be original (Twelve Prophets, 1:xxxv–xxxix). Yet for a third option, Jones argues that the sequence of QXIIa was the original one, which was rearranged by the MT and the LXX (Formation of the Book of the Twelve, 12–32). However, see Sweeney, Twelve Prophets, 1:xxvii: “It is well known that the Qumran scribes frequently rearranged and rewrote biblical texts to suit their own purposes. Consequently, QXIIa cannot be considered as definitive evidence for a third major version of the Book of the Twelve.” Accordingly, with regard to the Qumran sequence, at least two redactional routes may be considered: on the one hand, the literary genre and linguistic style of Jonah may have been so distinctive that the book was identified as a later composition attached to the twelfth book; on the other hand, the content of Jonah was so different that it was later placed toward the end in the Qumran manuscript. In this latter sense, the reason this Qumran scroll placed Jonah at the end may be linked to its conceptual incompatibility with the views of the Qumran sect on outsiders.

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it may suggest that Jonah was compiled at a later period than the rest of the Twelve. It may also imply that the content of Jonah, which reconceptualizes Ezra, Nehemiah, or the Chronicler, aligns more closely with that of Ruth, Esther, or Isaiah 56.2 Fourth, Jonah in correlation with Joel suggests the similar concepts of alternative ideology. Admittedly, Joel is probably a later work than the other texts compared above.3 That the credo formula is virtually the same only in Joel and Jonah does not prove that Joel’s tradition influenced Jonah. In a way, as far as the final redactions are concerned, one can argue that the books were contemporary. However, though it cannot be proved, the author of Jonah seems to have been aware of Joel.5 As discussed above, the mutual chiastic interrelation between Joel and Jonah, if feasible, may imply that Joel’s call for communal repentance and reform became actualized—or parodied, subsequently—in the Ninevites’ repentance and reform 2 See Lester L. Grabbe, Judaic Religion in the Second Temple Period: Belief and Practice from the Exile to Yavneh (London: Routledge, 2000), 25: “If the book arose in the Persian period, [the book of Ruth] would go along with other passages having universalistic tendencies about the same time, such as Jonah and Third Isaiah.” 3 Most commentators date Joel after the rebuilding of the Second Temple, 515 b.c.e.; the issue is how much later. For example, consider Crenshaw, Joel, 26: “Linguistic evidence also best suits a late sixth- or fifth-century date”; Hans Walter Wolff, Joel and Amos: A Commentary on the Books of the Prophets Joel and Amos (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1 [German ed., 16]), 5: “Therefore the evidence thus far adduced tentatively establishes Joel in the century between 5 and 33 [b.c.e.]”; John Barton, Joel and Obadiah (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 1–18: “On the whole we may agree with Wolff that the mid-Persian period, somewhere in the 00s, is probably the likeliest date for Joel as we now have it, though the original core in 1:2– 2:2 could be somewhat earlier but still probably postexilic. . . . We shall treat the book as coming from the Judaean community of the early Second Temple period, while being alert to the possibility that the second half may be substantially later than the first.”  One common denominator is that both Jonah and Joel have the phrase “gracious and compassionate” in a reversed order from that in Exod 3:6, which Simon (Jonah, xl) regards as a case of “diachronic chiasm”; that is, both Jonah and Joel (‫ )חנון ורחום‬echoing and reversing Exod 3:6 (‫)רחום וחנון‬. 5 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 35–6: “In the light of the actual circumstances involved, it appears that this account in the Book of Joel reflects a liturgical tradition and reuse of the attribute formulary; and that the Book of Jonah . . . is a derived adaptation. . . . By taking up revisions of the attribute formulary which arose in liturgical settings, as well as other phrases in the Book of Joel which may also derive from the cult, the writer of the Book of Jonah is able to achieve an aggadic exposition on the problem of repentance and divine mercy.” Likewise, see Wolff, Obadiah and Jonah, : “It is very much more probable that the book of Jonah is picking up Joel than that Joel is an echo of Jonah. For the book of Jonah shows a developing reflection about the function of the saying of judgment directed against the Gentiles which is still unknown in Joel, but to which we find a comparable approach in Zech 1:, 16. . . . The book of Jonah must be assigned to a date at least somewhat later.” See also Salters, Jonah and Lamentations, 55. For further cases of two opposing views on the compositional relationship between Joel and Jonah, see Dozeman, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” 216.

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described in Jonah. According to this view, how would the intentions of the book of Jonah have functioned for the readership of the Second Temple period? As noted above, the same phrases in Joel and Jonah highlight not only Yhwh’s mercy but also, in the case of Jonah, a recurring emphasis on “turning away from evil.” Moreover, Joel’s call for communal fasting and reform, the concept of which is congruent with Hosea and Amos and then resurgent in Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi, is actualized, if not climaxed, in Jonah, where a pagan king—even a wicked one— could lead such a communal reform. In this sense, Jonah’s actualization and reconceptualization of Joel with regard to their verbatim allusions may offer at least two more implications. On the one hand, Jonah’s response to Joel stands in the same line with Jonah’s response to Nahum with its contrasting perspectives. In this sense, the book of Jonah, which highlights chs. 3– in dialogue with Joel, accentuates not merely Jonah the prophet but more radically the king of Nineveh.6 The king of Nineveh, with his model of pious reform, parallels Cyrus the king of Persia for the exilic community (Isa :28; 5:1; Ezra 1:1–; 2 Chr 36:22–23), Darius the king of Persia for the postexilic community (Hag 1:1, 15 [Eng 2:1]; 2:10; Zech 1:1, ; :1; Ezra 6:1–15), Artaxerxes the king of Persia for the Diaspora community of Esther and Mordecai (Esth 2:16–18), and Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon for the syncretistic exilic community of Daniel and his three friends (Daniel 1–6). In all these postexilic texts, the pagan kings are depicted satirically in their naïveté as well as in their conversion (cf. Isa 5:3–6; Esther 8; Dan 2:; 3:28–33; :25-3; 6:26–2). The depiction of the king of Nineveh in the book of Jonah mirrors these aspects. On the other hand, Jonah’s recap of Joel further highlights the shift or expansion of the location. Joel’s call for communal reform is set within the boundary of Judah. In Jonah, this call for communal reform was fulfilled except in a different location—Nineveh. For Jonah, God’s power and mercy extend beyond the walls of Jerusalem and become present in any Diaspora locales, whether Palestine, Egypt, Nineveh, Ur, or Susa (cf. Ezekiel 1–3). For Jonah, the foreign kings and peoples can acknowledge Yhwh; it was for this that the prophet himself was called. In summary, the place and function of Jonah within the Twelve are highly significant, as determined by both synchronic and diachronic analyses. Numerous intertextual catchwords, phrases, and motifs in Jonah and other texts in the Hebrew Bible help illuminate not only the literary and thematic meanings of the book of Jonah but also the canonical and historical implications of the Twelve in light of the book of Jonah. A synchronic reading of the Twelve vis-à-vis Jonah yields the following insights: that Jonah’s interconnection to 2 Kings 1 establishes a chronological rationale for the sequence of the Twelve with regard to the history in the 6 Dozeman, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” 223: “This investigation is undertaken by allow-

ing the reader to share the point of view of the Ninevites, in general, and the king of Nineveh, in particular. Thus, it is the king in Jonah 3: who is presented as supplying the inner-biblical quotation of Exod 32:12b, where Moses successfully petitions [Yhwh] to turn . . . and to repent.”

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text, inviting the intended readers to read Jonah first and then Nahum afterwards; that the book of Jonah together with Obadiah, Nahum, and Habakkuk forms a collection of Oracles against the Nations, which resembles the typical pattern in other major prophetic books such as Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel; that Jonah and Nahum, with mutually correlated and contending conceptualities, point to a chiastically central place of the Twelve; and that the place of Jonah further fits well with the overall thematic pattern of judgment and hope, which is discernible both on the micro level (i.e., within each book) and on the macro level (i.e., within the Twelve as a whole). A diachronic reading of the Twelve vis-à-vis Jonah offers the following proposals: that with regard to the history of the text, the book of Jonah was composed, narrated, and redacted with the texts and traditions of the flood account and Noah in Genesis; that the redactor of Jonah picked up the name of the prophet from the account of Jeroboam II in 2 Kings 1, thereby constructing various comparative and didactic correlations of key characters and plots; that in terms of redactional considerations, Jonah most likely was compiled after Nahum as a reaction to present a complementary and contending perspective; and that, though one cannot rule out the possibility of Joel and Jonah as contemporary, Jonah in many ways responds to Joel, with corresponding literary and thematic similarities. Consequently, read as an inner-biblical exegesis and allusion to these correlated books from the sociohistorical background of the Diaspora in the Persian period, the book of Jonah demonstrates a religio-hermeneutical tension and struggle for survival, depicted in the relationships of the prophet to the people of Yehud and outsiders. These implications suggest the possibility of piety and penance for the outsiders, including pagan rulers; offer a didactic message of hope and faithfulness to the disenfranchised Yehudites; and at the same time firmly acclaim Yhwh God, who alone creates and controls all human beings, whether foreign rulers or lowly commoners of Yehud.

VII. Conclusion The book of Jonah starts with the story of a dove, goes through the big fish, stops over at the junction under the shrub with a worm, and ends with many animals, all of which are given Yhwh’s care and mercy. In between these great and miniscule characters, we find plots of irony, satire, and parody. Now, just as the Song of Songs signifies love reconciled and paradise regained in response to the motif of love gone awry and paradise lost in Genesis 3, so Jonah, read intertex-

 Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (OBT; Philadelphia: Fortress, 18), 1: “Clearly, Genesis 2–3 offers no return to the garden of creation. And yet, as scripture interpret-

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tually, echoes the motif of a massive debacle and warning in Genesis 6–. The irony is that, whereas a few righteous survivors were saved through the obedience of the righteous Noah, the whole population of a great city, Nineveh, was saved despite the disobedience of the stubborn Jonah. Likewise, an intertextual reading of the account of Jeroboam II and the book of Jonah discloses the depiction of two comparable figures, one evil and the other disobedient. When the two texts are read together, a parody can be discerned in the portrayal of the repentant king of Nineveh, implying a didactic contrast with the evil kings of Israel, including Jeroboam II. Yet here we also find an irony that both Jeroboam II and Jonah are reckoned as significant instruments of God’s saving works. Further, Jonah and Nahum are meant to be read intertextually. Together, they mutually build a structure of pertinent conceptual tension, debate, and counterbalance. In the present canonical forms, a sequential reading beckons readers to encounter Jonah first and then, only afterwards, to arrive at Nahum. These two books also function as a portion of the Oracles against the Nations in the larger picture of the Twelve. As such they also form a chiastic center, signaling various interpretive implications in the arrangements of the Twelve. Likewise, Joel and Jonah correlate as if Jonah picks up Joel and, in so doing, casts a didactic hermeneutical challenge amid the sociocultural turmoil of the Second Temple Diaspora communities. The book of Jonah is clearly rich in internal literary plots, enfolding subtle complexity and irony. Reading and interpreting this book can be further enriched through an external reading, intertextually correlating, comparing, and contrasting interconnected texts, words, and motifs. This task helps tune the ears for reading this rather short book, which is replete with resonant pun, irony, and hidden implications. Assuredly, the composition is strewn with lengthy and bountiful citations, allusions, and echoes. If some of these elements are a bit better delineated as a result of this approach, the task will have been a worthwhile endeavor. ing scripture, it provides my clue for entering another garden of Eros, the Song of Songs. Through expansions, omissions, and reversals, this poetry recovers the love that is bone of bone and flesh of flesh.”

JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 529–552

Encomium versus Vituperation: Contrasting Portraits of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel jerome h. neyrey, s.j. [email protected] University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 466

I. Topic and Hypotheses Some past discussions of Johannine characters considered them either as symbolic or representative figures;1 others examined characters according to literary theory. This study contributes to those efforts with insights drawn from ancient rhetoric, in particular from the encomium genre of the progymnasmata. The encomium, to my knowledge, has not been used—although it ought to be, because the “encomium” is the most common form in antiquity for praising a person according to fixed, regular categories (origins, parents, nurture, virtues, and death). This form would most likely have been learned by the author of the Fourth Gospel at the time he learned to write materials for public persuasion. Moreover, this conventional and stereotypical3 view of persons can be found in 1 Raymond

F. Collins, “Representative Figures in the Fourth Gospel,” DRev 4 (176): 6– 46, 118–33; R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress, 183), –148; Craig R. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1), 3–73.  Dorothy A. Lee states: “The central role that Mary Magdalene and Thomas play comes . . . from the revelation and confession of faith in which each participates” (“Partnership in Easter Faith: The Role of Mary Magdalene and Thomas in John 0,” JSNT 8 [1]: 37–4, here 3). Both begin with defective faith but end in full-throated confession of faith. 3 “Stereotype” originated as the term that described a type mold from which myriad pages might be printed. It came to mean something mechanically repeated but wound up in the last century as the sociological term that identifies a pejorative designation of ethnic groups and races. In antiquity, as we shall see, some places and cities enjoyed an honorable or shameful cachet. In terms of their origins, some peoples were noble (generation) and some places noble (geography). Moreover, these stereotypes were reinforced in exercises in the progymnasmata, where students memorized traditional gnōmai and topoi to this effect and learned the conventional forms of



30

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Judean4 and Greco-Roman literature. The encomium, therefore, is the viewpoint of the ancients themselves, the report of a native informant who indicates the conventional topics and content that need to be covered to amplify praise for an honorable ancient person. This study, then, is no mere add-on to Johannine scholarship but a worthy contribution, because it examines the Fourth Gospel in the most likely honorable terms that author and audience would recognize. Under the umbrella of the rhetorical presentation of characters in antiquity, I propose to argue these two hypotheses. First, the author of the Fourth Gospel knows the traditional code for praising persons as is found in the encomium exercise in the progymnasmata. Second, the Fourth Gospel uses this rhetorical device in a sly and clever manner, because there are two encomia in the narrative: one characterizes outsiders, who see things literally and inadequately (= vituperation) and another represents insiders, who know what is going on, glory in their secrets, and smirk at the outsiders (= encomium). From Aristotle to Quintilian, epideictic rhetoric focused on “praise” (ἔπαιvoς) and “blame” (ψόγoς), or in Latin laus and vituperatio.6 Of them Aristotle says: “The topics for praise and also those for blame . . . the qualities are much the same as regards both praise and blame” (Rhet. 1..1). encomia in which such stereotypes regularly appear. Thus the conventionality of stereotypical and popular labels used of certain ethnic groups or sub-groups became common currency in the Mediterranean. See John Harding ,” Stereotypes,” IESS 1:. 4 Louis Feldman’s “portraits” of Israelite heroes described in Josephus’s Antiquities at first did not refer to the formal shape of the encomium, although he intuitively identified its conventional topics. See “Josephus as an Apologist to the Greco-Roman World: His Portrait of Solomon,” in Aspects of Religious Propaganda in Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 176), 6–8; idem, “Josephus’ Portrait of Saul,” HUCA 3 (18): 4–; idem, “Hellenizations in Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities: The Portrait of Abraham,” in Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity (ed. Louis Feldman and Gohei Hata; Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 187), 133–3; idem, “Josephus’ Portrait of Jacob,” JQR 7 (188): 101–1; idem, “Josephus’ Portrait of David,” HUCA 60 (18): 1–74; idem, “Josephus’ Portrait of Hezekiah,” JBL 111 (1): 7–610. Eventually Feldman discovered the encomium, which provided him with clarity for organizing the data in these “portraits” according to the exact topics described in the encomium. Similarly, Philo’s Moses describes the patriarch according to the same encomiastic topics. See Thomas R. Lee, Studies in the Form of Sirach 44–50 (SBLDS 7; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 186).  The topics in the encomium used for amplifying praise are generally found in biographies (βίoι) in antiquity. See Arnaldo Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 171), 17; David E. Aune, “Greco-Roman Biography,” in GrecoRoman Literature and the New Testament: Selected Forms and Genres (ed. David E. Aune; SBLSBS 1; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 188), 10–10; Christopher B. R. Pelling, Character and Individuality in Greek Literature (Oxford: Clarendon, 10); and Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, Portraits of Paul: An Archeology of Ancient Personality (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 16), 10–18, 100–108, 13–01. 6 Paul knows this contrast of “praise” and “blame”: in 1 Cor 11:1 he praises the community, but in 11:17 he blames them.

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Later he remarks: “These are the things from which speeches of praise and blame are almost all derived, as well as what to look for when praising and blaming; for if we have knowledge of these [sources of praise] the opposite is clear, for blame is derived from its opposite” (Rhet. 1..41). Quintilian, following Aristotle’s discourse on the rhetoric of praise and blame, provides us with this important idea: “The same method for praise (laude) will be applied to denunciations (vituperatione) as well, but with a view to the opposite effect” (Inst. 3.7.1). The same aim and method became encoded in the encomia of the progymnasmata, which taught students to praise and to denounce. In this article I equate encomium with “praise” and vituperation with “blame.” The argument, then, has two parts: (1) exposition of the contents of the encomium in the progymnasmata; () description of the antithetical encomia of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, a vituperation by outsiders and a genuine encomium by insiders.

II. Contents of the Encomium The progymnasmata were the exercises taught in the second level of education to train students for public discourse.7 Recent study of education in antiquity urges us to nuance the conventional, three-stage model found in current scholarship, which Robert Kaster summarized and to which he offered his qualifications. It is generally thought that ancient education consisted of: . . . the “primary” school (γραμματoδιδασκαλεῖov) overseen by the “primary” teacher, where one learned “letters”—the elements of reading and writing—and some arithmetic; the “secondary” or “grammar” school, where one received thorough and systematic instruction in language and literature, especially poetry, under the grammarian (γραμματικός); and the school of rhetoric.8

Kaster offers the following corrections: ancient education was “a socially segmented system” laid out along two essentially separate tracks. The most important formal distinction here is the division between the two tracks or segments: the ludus literrarius, providing common literacy for students of relatively humble origins on the one hand; and the scholae liberales, catering to a more privileged part of the pop7 Although there has been much attention given to the progymnasmata in recent times, we do not find much scholarly investigation of the encomium and its relationship to the Israelite and Christian literature. See Jerome H. Neyrey, “Josephus’ Vita and the Encomium: A Native Model of Personality,” JSJ  (14): 177–06; Malina and Neyrey, Portraits of Paul, 1–63; and Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1), 10–3. 8 Robert A. Kaster, “Notes on ‘Primary’ and ‘Secondary’ Schools in Late Antiquity,” TAPA 113 (183): 33–46, here 33.  For an enlightening look into this level of literacy, see Raffaella Cribiore, Writing, Teachers, and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt (ASP 36; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 16), 1–37.

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ulation on the other.10 The scholae liberales began with instruction in writing for a public or municipal audience, especially the epideictic rhetoric so necessary for civic life.11 As we know, the collection of exercises for public speech and writing, namely, the progymnasmata, contained the cultural rules and values for the encomium, the literary expression of the rhetoric of praise and blame. Extant progymnasmata typically contain the following exercises:1 (1) myths, () chreia,13 (3) refutation and confirmation, (4) commonplaces on virtues and vices, () encomium and vituperation, (6) comparison,14 (7) prosopopoieia,1 (8) description, () thesis for or against something, and (10) legislation for or against a law. Although “praise and blame” runs through most of them, it is formally and explicitly taught in the “encomium.” The conventional encomium instructs students 10 Kaster,

“Notes on ‘Primary’ and ‘Secondary’ Schools,” 337.

11 What level of education would Gospel writers have reached? Matthew seems to have been

formally trained in Israelite and Hellenistic ways, and he employs the form of the encomium with considerable finesse; see Jerome H. Neyrey, Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 18); and “The Social Location of Paul: How Paul Was Educated and What He Could Compose as Indices of His Social Location,” in Fabrics of Discourse: Essays in Honor of Vernon K. Robbins (ed. David B. Gowler, L. Gregory Bloomquist, and Duane F. Watson, Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 003), 16–64. Readers may have a fresh appreciation of the author of the Fourth Gospel after seeing what he can write. 1 George A. Kennedy’s Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Writings from the Greco-Roman World 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 003) contains fresh translations of all of the extant progymnasmata. For individual authors, see Aelius Theon of Alexandria: Spengel II.11.0–11.10 (= Leonhard von Spengel, Rhetores graeci [Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana; Leipzig: Teubner, 183–6]) and James R. Butts, “The ‘Progymnasmata’ of Theon: A New Text with Translation and Commentary” (Ph.D. diss., Claremont, 186); Hermogenes of Tarsus: Spengel II.14.8–1. and Charles S. Baldwin, Medieval Rhetoric and Poetic (New York: Macmillan, 18), 3–38; Menander Rhetor: Donald A. Russell and Nigel G. Wilson, Menander Rhetor (Oxford: Clarendon, 181); Aphthonius of Ephesus: Spengel II.4.0–44.1 and Ray Nadeau, “The Progymnasmata of Aphthonius in translation,” Speech Monographs 1 (1): 64–8; and more recently Patricia P. Matsen, Philip Rollinson, and Marion Sousa, eds., Readings from Classical Rhetoric (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 10), 66–88. We include Quintilian, Inst. 3.7.10–18 in this category. 13 The best introduction to the chreia is still that of Ronald F. Hock and Edward N. O’Neill, The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric, vol. 1, The Progymnasmata (SBLTT 7; Graeco-Roman Religion series ; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 186). 14 See F. Focke, “Synkrisis,” Hermes 8 (13): 37–68; Philip A. Stadtler, “Plutarch’s Comparison of Pericles and Fabius Maximus,” GRBS 16 (17): 77–8; David H. J. Larmour, “Making Parallels: Synkrisis and Plutarch’s Themistocles and Camillus,” ARNW .33.6 (16): 414–400 Christopher Forbes, “Comparison, Self-Praise and Irony: Paul’s Boasting and the Conventions of Hellenistic Rhetoric,” NTS 3 (186): 1–30; Peter Marshall, Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the Corinthians (WUNT /3; Tübingen: Mohr, 187), 3–, 3–3. 1 See Joseph M. Miller, “Concerning Ethiopia,” in Readings in Medieval Rhetoric (ed. Joseph M. Miller et al.; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 173), 33–36; Stanley K. Stowers, “Romans 7:7– as a Speech-in-Character (πρoσωπoπoιία),” in Paul in His Hellenistic Context (ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1), 180–0.

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where to find reasons and data for praise (or blame), which genre is widespread in Greco-Roman and Israelite literature. With great consistency, the encomium instructed authors how to praise someone in terms of the following five categories: I. Origin A. Geography and Generation: country, race, ancestors, parents B. Birth: phenomena at birth (stars, visions, etc.), oracles II. Nurture and Training A. Education: teachers, arts, skills, laws, mode of life III. Accomplishments A. Deeds of the Body: beauty, strength, agility, might, health B. Deeds of the Soul: justice, wisdom, temperance, courage, piety C. Deeds of Fortune: power, wealth, friends, fame, fortune IV. Comparison V. Noble Death and Posthumous Honors

Geography and Generation Each category of the encomium was itself a commonplace understood by all the ancients. All knew the basic, invariable content of “origins,” that is, origin in a noble land (geography) and from noble stock (generation). A synopsis of four encomiastic instructions on geography and generation yields this uniform content. Hermogenes ethnic affiliation (ἔθvoς) nation/city-state (πόλις) clan/tribe (γέvoς)

Aelius Theon ethnic affiliation (ἔθvoς) nation/city-state (πόλις) government (πoλιτεία)

Aphthonius

Quintilian

ethnic affiliation (ἔθvoς) home locale (πατρίς) ancestors (πρόγovoι) fathers (πατέρες)

ethnic affiliation (gens, natio) country (patria) ancestors (maiores) parents (parentes)

Thus, a person’s origins are expressed by two topics: (1) geography (ἔθvoς, πόλις, πατρίς, gens, patria, natio) and () generation (γέvoς, πρόγovoι, πατέρες, maiores, parentes). Geography The ancients were acutely aware of the meanings carried by geography, which was rooted in their theory of elements. Places were known to be wet, dry, hot, or

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cold,16 which elements also indicated character. A person with excessive heat would be such-and-such a type of person, whereas people with more coldness would be another type (see Hippocrates, Air, Water and Places 4.1–40). Aristotle’s version of this applies the four-element theory to specific geographical regions and their capacity for ruling, arguing once more that geography equals character. Let us speak of what ought to be the citizens’ natural character. This one might almost discern by looking at the famous cities of Greece and by observing how the whole inhabited world is divided up among the nations. The nations inhabiting the cold places and those of Europe are full of spirit but somewhat deficient in intelligence and skill, so that they continue comparatively free, but lacking in political organization and capacity to rule their neighbors. The peoples of Asia on the other hand are intelligent and skillful in temperament, but lack spirit, so that they are in continuous subjection and slavery. But the Greek race participates in both characters, just as it occupies the middle position geographically,17 for it is both spirited and intelligent, hence it continues to be free and to have very good political institutions, and to be capable of ruling all mankind if it attains constitutional unity (Politics 137b.1–; see Plato, Laws .747d).

Thus, “Europe,” north and west of Greece, is “cold,” full of spirit, but deficient in intelligence and skill; while “free” themselves, they lack the political skills to rule others. Place = element = character! Asia, west of Greece, resembles Europe in that it has intelligence and skill but lacks spirit, with the result that the people are content with subjection and slavery. Greece, which is geographically centered, contains a balance of all four elements and so is intelligent, skilled, with great spirit, good political institutions, and the capacity to rule all humankind. Place = all four elements = character. In time a series of stereotypes developed characterizing various places and the people dwelling in them, which served as an index of snobbery: some places were inherently honorable and noble, but others ignoble.18 For example, Titus says that “Cretans are always liars, evil beasts, lazy gluttons” (Titus 1:1), whereas Paul boasts

16

Malina and Neyrey, Portraits of Paul, 113–. Greece’s “middle position” is known as geocentrism or as the “omphalos myth.” At times Greece enjoyed this preeminence, for it considered the “navel” at Delphi to be the center of the world. For example, consider the remark of Strabo: “Now although the greatest share of honor was paid to this temple because of its oracle, since of all oracles in the world it had the repute of being the most truthful, yet the position of the place added something. For it is almost in the center of Greece taken as a whole, between the country inside the Isthmus and that outside it, it was also believed to be in the center of the inhabited world, and people called it the navel of the earth, in addition fabricating a myth, which is told by Pindar. . . . There is also a kind of navel to be seen in the temple” (Geography .3.6). 18 The classification of someone on the basis of place of origin was a standard element of the way persons were described; see Aristotle, Rhet. 1..; Cicero, Inv. 1.4.34–3; Quintilian, Inst. 3.7.10–11; .10.4–. 17

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that he comes from a no low-status city (Acts 1:3). Menander Rhetor, a progymnastic author, provides a cogent summary of the logic of geography in praise: You will come to the topic of his native country (πατρίδα). Here you must ask yourself whether it is a distinguished country or not [and whether he comes from a celebrated and splendid place or not]. If his native country is famous, you should place your account of it first, and mention it before his family. . . . If the city (πόλις) has no distinction, you must inquire whether his nation (ἔθvoς) as a whole is considered brave and valiant, or is devoted to literature or the possession of virtues, like the Greek race, or again is distinguished for law, like the Italian, or is courageous, like the Gauls or Paeonians. You must argue that it is inevitable that a man from such a [city or] nation should have such characteristics. (II.36.18–370.)1

Certain places characteristically breed people with specific praiseworthy traits: Greeks in literature and virtue, Italians in law, and Gauls in courage.0 The presupposition behind this is the belief that “it is inevitable that a man from such a city or nation should have such characteristics.” Yes, “inevitable”! Thus, knowing the geography of a person’s origins tells the ancients about the person’s worth and value.1 Generation Much as we value the pedigree of animals produced through selective breeding, so too the ancients in regard to people. Quintilian sums it up: “Persons are 1 In one of his satires, Lucian caricatures several ethnoi, each known in terms of some char-

acteristic behavior: “Whenever I looked at the country of the Getae I saw them fighting; whenever I transferred my gaze to the Scythians, they could be seen roving about in their wagons; and when I turned my eyes aside slightly, I beheld the Egyptians working the land. The Phoenicians were on trading venture, the Cilicians were engaged in piracy, the Spartans were whipping themselves and the Athenians were attending court” (Icaro. 17). Various places, then, have certain characteristics: Scythians roam, Egyptians farm, Phoenicians trade, Cilicians rob, and Greeks attend court. 0 Not just virtue, however, but also vice. The following illustrations come from Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (3rd ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 001), 64–6: “The Egyptian is by nature an evil-eyed person, and the citizens of Alexandria burst with envy and considered that any good fortunes to others was misfortune to them” (Philo, Flacc. ); “Scythians delight in murdering people and are little better than wild beasts” (Josephus, Ag. Ap. .6). 1 Describing the “honor rating” of the cities Paul is said to have visited, I called attention to the vanity and rivalry of cities in the matter of rank and titles, such as “metropolis,” “first and greatest,” “autonomous,” “Warden of the (Imperial) Temple,” “friend of Rome,” and the like (“Luke’s Social Location of Paul: Cultural Anthropology and the Status of Paul in Acts,” in History, Literature, and Society in the Book of Acts [ed. Ben Witherington III; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 16], 68–76).

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generally regarded as having some resemblance to their parents and ancestors, a resemblance which leads to their living disgracefully or honorably, as the case may be” (Inst. .10.4). Lists of the culturally specific values in parents that were popularly praised may be found in most rhetoricians; Aristotle provided just such criteria that warrant praise: Now good birth in a race or a state means that its members are indigenous or ancient; that its earliest leaders were distinguished men, and that from them have sprung many who were distinguished for qualities that we admire. The good birth of an individual implies that both parents are free citizens, and that, as in the case of the state, the founders of the line have been notable for virtue or wealth or something else which is highly prized, and that many distinguished persons belong to the family, men and women, young and old. (Rhet. 1..)

Aristotle expresses the common expectation that “children will be chips off the old block” (see Deut 3:;  Kgs :; Isa 7:3; Hos 1:; Sir 3:–6; 30:7), either like father, like son (e.g., Matt 11:7) or like mother, like daughter (e.g., Ezek 16:44). If the parents or ancestors were “landed” or citizens of a free polis, then the root stock of the family was noble; virtuous ancients should be expected to breed virtue. Plato says: “They were good because they sprang from good fathers” (Menex. 37). Confirmation of this is found in the endless introduction of biblical characters as “son of so-and-so.” To know the father is to know the son. The honor rating of the father indicates the honor rating of the son. Birth Important, honorable births were announced by celestial phenomena (stars, comets) and accompanied by oracles and prophecies. This is well known from biblical and classical materials, but we locate it in its proper rhetorical context, the encomium. Menander Rhetor gives typical instructions on this topic: If any divine sign occurred at the time of his birth, either on land or in the heavens or on the sea, compare the circumstances with those of Romulus, Cyrus, and similar stories, since in these cases also there were miraculous happenings connected with their birth—the dream of Cyrus’ mother, the suckling of Romulus by the she-wolf. (II.371.–14)

Whatever happened in the macrocosm of the sky mirrored and foretold what was soon to occur in the microcosm of the earth. Such phenomena, then, served as status markers.  A

collection of background parallels may be found in Documents for the Study of the Gospels (ed. David R. Cartlidge and David L. Dungan; rev. and enl. ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 14), 1–36. It is curious that they never considered the encomium form as the basis for collecting parallels.

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Nurture and Training There was a right way and a wrong way to educate and socialize a son.3 Independent of the family, what events shaped the person’s character? Our native informant, Marcus Tullius Cicero, instructs us: Under manner of life should be considered with whom he was reared, in what tradition and under whose direction, what teachers he had in the liberal arts, what instructors in the art of living, with whom he associates on terms of friendship, in what occupation, trade or profession he is engaged, how he manages his private fortune, and what is the character of his home life. (De Inventione 1.4.3)

Sons can never exceed the nobility of their fathers, but they can hope to match them, if they are reared in the traditions of the clan. In addition to Cicero’s commonplace on “nurture and training,” Josephus demonstrates in his Life the content of this topic, declaring that he made “great progress” in his education and “gained a reputation for an excellent memory and understanding” (8). When fourteen years old, he “won universal applause for his love of letters,” such that the “chief priests and leading men of the city used constantly to come to me for precise information on some particular of our ordinances” (8–). He tells us that he investigated the manner of life of the three major sects of Judea—Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes—submitting himself to hard training and laborious exercises. Finally, he apprenticed himself to Bannus and became schooled in the values and structures of the Israelite purity system (11). It is essential for Josephus that he present himself not only as gifted intellectually and highly cultured but also as “nurtured and trained” as an observant Israelite.

Comparison Comparison may be a distinct exercise of its own in the progymnasmata or a part of the encomium. Nevertheless, its purpose and mode of argument are identical in both. As one progymnastic author states: Comparison is a composition made comparative by the process of placing side by side with the subject that which is greater or equal to it . . . to place fine things beside good things or worthless things beside worthless things or small things beside the greater. The comparison is a double encomium or an invective combined with an encomium. There are as many proper subjects for a comparison as there are for both invective and encomium: persons, things, times, places, animals, and also plants.4

3 John J. Pilch, “‘Beat His Ribs While He is Young’ (Sir 30:1): A Window on the Mediterranean World,” BTB 3 (13): 101–13. 4 Aphthonius in Readings from Classical Rhetoric, ed. Matsen et al., 7–80.

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Σύvκρισις generally compares persons and things similar in honor or prowess (= two encomia) or contrasts them (= encomium and vituperation). Those making comparisons, moreover, are instructed to use the same categories of the encomium that I have just surveyed, so that persons are compare in terms of birth, origin, nurture, training, and so on. When we compare characters, we will first set side by side their noble birth, their education, their children, their public offices, their reputation, their bodily health, as well as whatever else I said earlier, in the chapter “On Encomia,” about bodily good qualities and external good qualities.

Death and Posthumous Honors A death was “noble” if accompanied by posthumous honors, such as public celebration of the dead in games, or by monuments, as Demosthenes describes: “It is a proud privilege to behold them possessors of deathless (ἀθάvατωv) honours and a memorial of their valour erected by the State, and deemed deserving of sacrifices and games for all future time” (Funeral Oration 36).6 The very funeral orations themselves are structured out of the encomium to glorify the dead, first by giving a public evaluation of the person’s worth and later by an annual burnishing of the individual’s reputation.7 Hence, we frequently find the claim that those being celebrated are in one sense like the gods, because their glory too is now deathless and everlasting.

III. The Encomia of Outsiders and Insiders With our knowledge of the encomium, let us turn to the Fourth Gospel. Two things will occur simultaneously in this part of the article. I will bring forward in sequence each of the five major topics of the encomium and show to what extent the author of the Fourth Gospel knows the genre and its conventional contents. At  Butts,

“‘Progymnasmata’ of Theon,” 10.113.

6 See John E. Ziolkowsky, Thucydides and the Tradition of Funeral Speeches at Athens (Salem,

NH: Ayer, 18), 16–8. 7 The following inscription was a public decree, read aloud at the tomb of a certain Theophilos and subsequently carved in white marble: “ worth . . . of very noble ancestral stock, having contributed all good-will towards his country, having lived his life as master of his family, providing many things for his country through his generalship and tenure as agoranomos and his embassies as far as Rome and Germany and Caesar, being amicable to the citizens and in concord with his wife Apphia, now it is resolved that Theophilos be honoured with a painted portrait and a gold bust and a marble statue” (NewDocs :8-60).

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the same time I will observe that in the Fourth Gospel the author constructs not one but two antithetical encomia about Jesus, one representative of how outsiders view Jesus (= vituperation, because it seeks to vilify him) and another characteristic of insiders (= encomium, because it claims maximum honor for Jesus on the very same encomiastic points).

Outsiders’ Vituperation The author, who is responsible for all that the outsiders say about Jesus, structures their remarks not haphazardly but according to the main topics of the encomium, not as praise for Jesus but as blame. Hence, he creates for outsiders not an encomium but a vituperation, whose purpose is to shame and dishonor Jesus. The data used in this vituperation are not entirely erroneous in terms of geography and generation, but represent outsider thinking that is fleshly, from below, judging according to appearances and lacking in knowledge.8 They not only know little, but even this they construe in a hostile manner. Finally, in their vituperation against Jesus, the author provides grounds for judging them (see 1:31–36, 46–0). Geography The author formally raises the topic of Jesus’ “origins” by staging a controversy over “whence” (πόθεv) Jesus comes and “whither” (πoῦ) he goes. Readers are introduced to this pattern by Nicodemus, who arrived knowing that Jesus “came from God,” but left knowing nothing at all. After making a critical distinction between ways of “knowing,” namely, “flesh” versus “spirit” (3:7), Jesus plays with the word “spirit” (as wind and as heavenly phenomenon), to illustrate those two ways of knowing: “The wind blows . . . and you do not know whence it comes (πόθεv) and whither it goes (πoῦ)” (3:8). Although not about Jesus’ “origins,” it introduces30 a formal pattern: (1) “know” (or not know); () “whence” and “whither.” The chart 8 These are the ones who continually misunderstand, take things literally, fail to see or hear

irony. See D. A. Carson, “Understanding Misunderstanding in the Fourth Gospel,” TynB 33 (18): 61–1; Earl Richard, “Expressions of Double Meaning and Their Function in the Gospel of John,” NTS 31 (18): 6–11; and Bruce J. Malina, “John: The Maverick Christian Group: The Evidence of Sociolinguistics,” BTB 4 (14): 167–8.  Actually, when Nathanael first appears, he too shares the geographical presumption of the baseness of Jesus’ “origins”—“What good can come from Nazareth” (1:46)—but he is recruited to “come and see.” Thus, he swaps the outsider view of Jesus’ origins and begins to see like an insider (1:47–1). 30 Still earlier, the steward at the wedding in Cana tasted the wine, but he “did not know whence (πόθεv) it came” (:).

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below illustrates the most significant uses of the pattern concerning “whence” Jesus comes. “The Jews murmured at him, because he said, ‘I am the bread which comes down from heaven.’ They said, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” (6:41–4) “We know where this man comes from, but when the Christ appears, no one will know whence he comes” (7:7). So Jesus proclaimed, as he taught in the temple, “You know me, and you know where I come from. But I have not come of my own accord; he who sent me is true, and him you do not know. I know him, for I come from him, and he sent me” (7:8– ). “Is the Christ to come from Galilee?” (7:41-4). . . . “Search and you will see that no prophet is to rise from Galilee” (7:). Jesus answered, “Even if I do bear witness to myself, my testimony is true, for I know whence I have come and whither I am going, but you do not know whence I come or whither I am going.” Pharisees: “We know that God has spoken to Moses; but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from” (:). The man answered, “Why, this is a marvel! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. . . . If this man were not from God he could do nothing” (:, 33).

In each of these incidents, the author structures the discourse as a challenge/riposte exchange according to the formal pattern of two elements: (1) knowing/not knowing and () whence Jesus comes. Outsiders claim to know, but Jesus accuses them of lack of knowledge. Like Nicodemus, they “know” only in earthly, fleshly ways, but Jesus claims that his “origins” are from the heavenly world. Thus, his “origins” refer both to Jesus’ “locale” and his authorization (agent/apostle). At this point we know several things. First, the author knows the category of “origins” and its role in honoring or shaming, depending on the nobility or baseness of geography. Second, “origins” is an obligatory encomiastic topic, and the author makes it the formal point of controversy between outsiders and Jesus. Third, the author structures the contrast between the vituperation of outsiders and the encomium of insiders in terms of “knowing”( or claiming to know) and “not knowing.” Outsiders “know” according to flesh and think earthly thoughts; for them “whence” can only mean father and mother, Nazareth, Galilee, and the like. Moreover, it is Jesus who tells them that they are completely wrong. Thus, the author knows the topic, handles it traditionally, and advances it from its confinement at the beginning of an encomium to a topic of great significance that pervades the narrative (see 1:).

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Generation Outsiders know Jesus’ father and mother as peasants from no distinguished clan, whose offspring cannot be persons of honor. The outsiders think it enough to rebut Jesus’ remark about “coming down from heaven” by simple reference to his mortal parents: “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How does he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” (6:4). If the parents, moreover, come from Nazareth of Galilee, q.e.d. Even Jesus’ family, whatever its low status, dishonors him in several ways. “His own did not receive him” (1:11), and his brothers seek to manipulate him, indicating a breakdown of kinship relations (7:1–7). It is always shameful when kin or family show disrespect to one of their own. In the outsiders’ vituperation, Jesus must be a charlatan and a deceiver because he has no nobility whatsoever, either from the place of his birth or from his undistinguished parents. Education Paul’s claim that he studied under Gamaliel (Acts :3) contrasts him with Peter and others who were dismissed as “uneducated, common men” (Acts 4:13). So too with Jesus, outsiders mock him for his lack of education and training: “How is it that this man has learning, when he has never studied?” (7:1). A man without learning has no voice in the company of those who have it (see Luke :46–47).31 Jesus’ challengers consistently argue that he says, teaches, preaches his own message, which lacks weight, depth, and respect. Deeds of the Soul As regards deeds of the soul, outsiders see no virtue whatsoever in Jesus, only vice. Some label him a “deceiver”: “He leads the people astray” (7:13), proof of which appears when those sent to arrest Jesus do not return with this “deceiver” but declare that they were captivated by his words: “No man ever spoke like this man!” (7:46). With good reason the Pharisees charge that these men too are victims of Jesus’ “deception” (7:47). Others label Jesus as demon-possessed (8:48, ), the implication of which is that he cannot be God’s agent but is rather the agent of God’s enemy. And he is a law breaker because he violates the Sabbath law by healing on the Holy Day (chs. ; ), which leads some to brand him a “sinner” “This 31 It should not be presumed that every male had “voice” in village or city. In a study of Luke 4:1–30, Richard L. Rohrbaugh argues about who may say what, where and when (“Legitimating Sonship—A Test of Honour: A Social-Scientific Study of Luke 4:1–30,” in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-scientific Studies of the New Testament in Its Context [ed. Philip F. Esler; London: Routledge, 1], 187–8). Not all have “voice,” which is a matter of honor and status.

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man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath” (:16, 4). Finally, Jesus in their eyes commits the sin of sins, blasphemy, by claiming to be equal to God (:18; 10:30–33). Death To outsiders, Jesus’ death cannot be “noble,” for as a sinner he justly gets what he deserves. Although Jesus evades attempts to stone him for his blasphemy (8:; 10:31), the Jerusalem elite finally capture him and hand him to the Romans to be crucified. In this scenario, Jesus’ body is mutilated and denied posthumous honors. Eternal glory is out of the question and his end is unrelieved shame. Outsiders, therefore, find no reason whatsoever to praise Jesus. On the contrary, on every topic that matters in considering the honor or worth of a person, they see only grounds to dismiss Jesus. No noble origin; no honorable parents; no education/training; only vice and sin, and an appropriately shameful death. For him only vituperation is suitable.

Insiders’ Encomium The author creates a true encomium for Jesus; that is, he creates a portrait of praise for Jesus that represents the insiders’ viewpoint, which is the complete antithesis of the outsiders’ vituperation. Here we find praise, honor, and glory for Jesus in terms of the same topics, categories, and contents used to construct the outsiders’ vituperation. The content of generation and geography, moreover, are always revealed by Jesus, which means that only insiders have and understand this esoteric knowledge. Geography Jesus’ geography as reported to and for insiders is the complete obverse of what outsiders know. The chart on the next page shows that “whence” means so much more to insiders. Outsiders’ claims to know “whence” Jesus comes are always reduced to the fact that he is a mere mortal. They indeed claim to know whence he comes: “You know me and you know where I come from?” (7:7). In contrast, insiders understand Jesus’ “whence” as a claim that he is truly “from above” and “not of this world.” “Whence” means that he “came down from heaven” into this world. In key rhetorical places, such as the prefaces for the Book of Signs and the Book of Glory, the audience is told the secret. The Word, who was eternally and who was face to face with God in the beginning, descended into the world and became one of us (1:, 14). The author again relates this secret of secrets on the eve of Jesus’ departure, “Jesus, knowing that . . . he had come from God and was going to God . . .” (13:3). Insiders, then, know “whence” and even “whither” Jesus goes. Although

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Nazareth and Galilee are low-status places, not so the “bosom of the Father” (1:18) or the house of the Father with many rooms (14:). This is premier real estate. 1. “The true light that enlightens every person was coming into the world” (1:). . “The word became flesh and dwelt among us” (1:14). 3. “No one has ascended into heaven but he who descended from heaven, the Son of man” (3:13). 4. “He who comes from above is above all . . . he who comes from heaven is above all” (3:31). . “I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me”(6:38). . . . “This is the bread which came down from heaven . . . I am the living bread which came down from heaven” (6:0–1). . . . “This is the bread which came down from heaven” (6:8). 6. “What if you were to see the Son of man ascending where he was before?” (6:6). 7. “You know me and you know where I come from? But I have not come on my own accord, but he who sent me is true, and him you do not know” (7:8). 8. “You are from below, I am from above; you are of this world, I am not of this world” (8:3). . “Jesus, knowing that . . . he had come from God and was going to God . . .” (13:3). 10. “Now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory which I had with you before the world began” (17:).

Outsiders like Nicodemus never grasp what Jesus is saying. In contrast, members of the Jesus group know that Jesus “comes from above” (3:31), that he “had come from the Father” (13:3), who would “glorify me in your presence with the glory that I had with you before the world was made” (17:). Although controversy clouds discussion of Jesus’ true “origins,” Jesus and the insiders truly know “whence” he comes; they alone revel in the great secret of knowing “whence he comes and whither he goes.” It is inevitable that a man from such an honorable place as the bosom of the Father should have the characteristics of that place. Generation As regards generation, mention of “Joseph and his mother” (6:4) hardly exhausts this important category. 3 Jesus also has a Father in the heavenly 3 Apart from the passing remark in 6:4, we know nothing about Joseph, but we have several views of the mother in :1–1 and 1:–6. A question arises: Is the mother a worthy par-

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world.33 Because this Father is the noblest person in heaven or on earth, Jesus as “Son of God” or “Son of man” or “Son” is greatly to be praised and honored. According to the adage “like father, like son,” one would expect Jesus to share in the nobility of his Father in many ways, for example: (1) “equality with God” (:17; 10:30), () coming and acting in the “name of the Father” (:43; 10:), (3) “receiving . . . manifesting . . . making known” God’s name (17:6, 11, 1, 6), which is generally taken to refer to Jesus’ declaration of himself as “I AM” (8:4, 8, 8). Moreover, this Father holds Jesus in high regard inasmuch as he is the “only” or “unique” Son of this Father (1:14, 18; 3:16, 18),34 the Son whom the Father loves (3:3; :0; 1:). Nurture and Training Although outsiders dismiss Jesus because he lacks education and training, insiders know otherwise. In fact, his supremely noble Father has groomed this Son with great care. To outsiders, the untrained and uneducated Jesus is simply a deceiver. But insiders frequently address him as “rabbi” (1:38, 4; 4:31; 6:; :; 11:8) or as “teacher” (διδάσκαλoς: 1:38; 11:8; 13:13–14; 0:16). The author gives considerable attention throughout the narrative to Jesus as “word” (1:1–) and authorized agent, who has been schooled by God in what to say and what to do. Jesus is supremely “in the know,” because God gives him secrets and esoteric knowledge, shows him all that God does, and teaches him what to say. The Father gives Jesus all things, especially heavenly secrets and exclusive knowledge: “No one has ever seen God; the only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known (1:18). “Not that any one has seen the Father except him who is from God; he has seen the Father” (6:46). The Son is unique in that he alone has seen the Father, the source of wisdom and knowledge and because he alone makes known this God. So he is remarkably “in the know.” The Father shows Jesus all that he does, so that he does what the Father does: “Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever he does, that the Son does likewise. For the Father loves the Son, and shows him all that he himself is doing; and greater works than these will he show him, that you may marvel.” (:1–0). Jesus does ent such that her son takes honor from her? This is debated among scholars such as Raymond E. Brown (Mary in the New Testament: A Collaborative Assessment by Protestant and Roman Catholic Scholars [Philadelphia: Fortress, 178], 18–4) and Raymond Collins (“Mary in the Fourth Gospel: A Decade of Johannine Studies,” LS 3 [170]: –14). 33 Marianne Meye Thompson, The God of the Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 001), 6–7. 34 The parent is honorable, and so, according to the principle of generation, the son draws honor from this. Moreover, Jesus is the “unique” or “only” son, which is rhetorical shorthand for acclaiming this son as most honorable. See Jerome H. Neyrey, “‘First,’ ‘Only,’ ‘One of a Few,’ and ‘No One Else’: The Rhetoric of Uniqueness and the Doxologies in 1 Timothy,” Bib 86 (00): –87.

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not spy on God or steal God’s secrets. On the contrary, he has had superior nurture and training. Moreover, if we understand “do” and “does” as mastercraftsman’s skills, then Jesus has completed his apprenticeship and is a certified master craftsman on a par with his teacher. The Father teaches Jesus and gives him the words he should say: “He who is of the earth belongs to the earth, and of the earth he speaks; he who comes from heaven is above all. He bears witness to what he has seen and heard. . . . For he whom God has sent utters the words of God” (3:31–34). Again he refers to his “education” by God: “My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me; if any man’s will is to do his will, he shall know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own authority” (7:16–17).3 How important it is in this gospel that Jesus does not act as an earthly person speaking on his own: “For I have not spoken on my own authority; the Father who sent me has himself given me commandment what to say and what to speak. And I know that his commandment is eternal life. What I say, therefore, I say as the Father has bidden me” (1:48–0).

Simply put, Jesus has been taught to act as the exclusive agent of God to bring God’s words and wisdom. Emphatically Jesus states that he is not self-educated nor promoting his own teaching. Rather, Jesus himself “witnessed” to what he has seen and heard; he speaks as the Father “taught” him; he obeys God’s command as to what to say and what to speak. Although “nurture and training” were treated lightly in the outsiders’ vituperation, this topic becomes a major source of honor for Jesus in the insiders’ encomium. Thus we find yet another encomiastic topic that the author knows and formally expands as a key component in his encomium. Deeds of the Soul As regards virtues or deeds of the soul, Jesus is portrayed as acting virtuously.36 He honors his Father (8:4, 4) by doing always what is pleasing to him (7:), obeys his commandment (10:17; 1:7), and keeps his will (4:34; :30; 6:38). In a culture where the virtue of sons was linked with the command “honor your father,” Jesus’ exemplary respect for and loyalty to his Father stand out as an issue of great importance. It serves as the refutation of the charges made by outsiders that he dishonors God by his sins and deceptions. Although the term “justice” hardly appears in the Fourth Gospel (16:10), this topic was a commonplace taught in rhetorical handbooks of Aristotle and in the progymnasmata of Menander Rhetor, and I think that it has relevance here.

3 See also “When you have lifted up the Son of man, then you will know that . . . I speak thus as the Father taught me” (8:8). “I speak of what I have seen with my Father, and you do what you have heard from your father” (8:38). 36 For a comparable treatment of Jesus’ “deeds of the soul,” see Neyrey, Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew, 106–6.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 16, no. 3 (007) The parts of justice are piety, fair dealing and reverence: piety toward the gods, fair dealing towards men, reverence toward the departed. Piety to the gods consists of two elements: being god-loved and god-loving. The former means being loved by the gods and receiving many blessings from them, the latter consists of loving the gods and having a relationship of friendship with them. (Menander Rhetor I.361.17–).37

Piety to the gods, Menander says, consists of two elements: being god-loved and god-loving. Although the evangelist does not use these precise terms, he nevertheless develops these two topics. Repeatedly the author tells us that Jesus is “beloved of God”: “The Father loves the Son, and has given all things into his hand” (3:3). “The Father loves the Son, and shows him all that he himself is doing” (:0). “For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life, that I may take it again” (10:17). “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you” (1:). “I desire that they also . . . may be with me where I am, to behold my glory which thou hast given me in thy love for me before the foundation of the world” (17:4). “I made known to them thy name, and I will make it known, that the love with which thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them” (17:6).

Despite what outsiders think, the encomium of the insiders emphatically argues that God indeed “loves” Jesus. This Father bestows great benefaction on Jesus, who is “God-loved” (“all things,” “all that he himself is doing”), who in turn displays loyalty and obedience to the Father (“command . . . lay down my life,” “made known to them thy name”). For his part, Jesus is God-loving: “I do as the Father has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father” (14:31). Far from being a person thirsting for glory, Jesus insists that all he does is for the glory of his Father (:30; 6:38; 7:18). Thus, the accusations that he “makes himself anything” (:18; 8:3; 10:33; 1:7, 1) are utterly false; God authorizes him entirely. Jesus, moreover, brokers this “loved by God” benefaction: “He who has my commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves me; and he who loves me will be loved by my Father” (14:1). And, “If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (14:4). In fact, the only way to become “loved by God” is by loving God’s agent. 37 Most rhetoricians from Aristotle to Cicero present a stereotypical definition of “justice.” In addition to that of Menander Rhetor in the text, consider this: “First among the claims of righteousness are our duties to the gods, then our duties to the spirits, then those to country and parents, then those to the departed; among these claims is piety, which is either a part of righteousness or a concomitant of it. Righteousness is also accompanied by holiness and truth and loyalty and hatred of wickedness” (Ps-Aristotle, Virtues and Vices .–3).

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Jesus’ justice toward his Father is in fact acknowledged by God in various ways: the Father has affirmed Jesus’ worthiness by setting God’s seal on him (6:7) and by glorifying him (:41, 44; 8:0, 4). The correct conclusion, then, is that Jesus manifests to a high degree the most noble of the deeds of the soul, “justice.” He displays faithfulness and loyalty to God, obeys God’s commands, and dedicates himself solely to the honor of God. And, not surprisingly, he is both “God-loved” and “loving God.” Comparison Many encomia contain rules for a comparison (σύγκρισις). Indeed, Plutarch’s Lives are formally structured on this pattern. Generally, progymnastic rules for a comparison instruct authors to compare similar persons or objects, which seems to be the manner of the Fourth Gospel. Thus, two persons receive praise, not blame, but in varying degrees. First, John the Baptizer and Jesus are compared and distinguished. John is first in time, that is, “before” Jesus; but in terms of precedence, Jesus “was” before John, because he enjoys uncreated eternity in the past (1:1). Moreover, John is but the witness to the light, not the light itself (1:8); he is not the “Christ, Elijah, or a prophet” (1:0–1), but the voice of one crying in the wilderness (1:4). God directed John to witness to Jesus (1:33–34); thus his entire worth, and so his honor, rests in honoring Jesus. The comparison of John and Jesus, then, serves to distinguish Jesus as a figure worthy of superior honor. Second, Jesus is asked twice in a pejorative tone “Are you greater than . . .” Jacob or Abraham. Jacob gave the Samaritans the well at Sychar, but Jesus gives them living water. As great as Jacob was, Jesus is greater.38 Third, the discourse in John 8 centers on “father Abraham,” contrasting true sons, who resemble their father by showing hospitality to visitors from afar (Genesis 18), with slave sons, whose generation includes Ishmael, Cain, and finally Satan, who is a murderer and liar from the beginning.3 But Abraham functions in Jesus’ argument also as a figure who “came into being” (8:6) and “died” (8:); that is, Abraham is a contingent being. In comparison, Jesus is uncreated in the past and imperishable in the future—namely “I AM”: “before Abraham came into being, I AM” (8:8). Yes, Jesus is greater than Abraham. Finally, the author repeatedly compares Jesus and Moses. If “the law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (1:17), thus affirming that Jesus is a superior broker of better blessings. If Moses can be said to have ascended to heaven, Jesus is superior because he first descended from there and later returned (3:13). If Moses lifted up a serpent that saved Israel from death by 38

For a detailed argument on how Jesus supplants the biblical supplanter, see Jerome H. Neyrey, “Jacob Traditions and the Interpretation of John 4:10–6,” CBQ 41 (17): 41–37. 3 On the comparison of true sons of Abraham versus false sons, see Jerome H. Neyrey, “Jesus the Judge: Forensic Process in John 8:1–,” Bib 68 (187): 0–8.

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snakebite, Jesus must be lifted up to save humanity from death itself by giving it “eternal life” (3:14). Finally the author metamorphoses Moses the advocate into Moses the accuser. Moses, Jesus claims, “wrote of me” (:46). Jesus, moreover, is the judge of Israel, but Moses is only its accuser. Thus, four distinct times the author compares Jesus with Israel’s greatest patriarchs or with the Christian hero, John. These figures, as the rules for a comparison instruct, are not shamed or demoted; rather Jesus is shown to be superior to them. Death and Posthumous Honors The death of an honorable person is noteworthy when it conforms to the tradition of a “noble death” or when it results in posthumous honors. Noble death refers to the topos found extensively in Greek funeral orations in which various criteria are cited to argue why a slain warrior is worthy of praise, honor, and glory, even if killed in battle.40 Not all who died in battle warrant this, but only those displaying ἀρετή, that is, a kind of nobility prized by elites. Six criteria for a noble death emerge from the speeches: a death is noble that (1) benefits others, () displays justice to the fatherland, (3) is voluntarily accepted, (4) presents the fallen as having died unvanquished and undefeated, () produces posthumous honors, and (6) leads to immortal glory. This material greatly aids the interpretation of the “noble shepherd” in John 10:11–18. The synopsis on the next page illustrates that the author of the Fourth Gospel knows the topos of “noble death” and formally applied it to the “noble” shepherd. By means of the rhetoric of “noble death” the author argues that Jesus’ death was not as outsiders thought, but richly noble in all the ways that humans can conceive of an honorable death. No shame here, only honor (Heb 1:). Posthumous Honors Because the Gospel states that he was returning to whence he came (the heavenly world of the Father), Jesus is restored to his former glory: “Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory which I had with you before the world was made” (17:). According to insider logic, Jesus’ death itself was “glory” (1:3; 13:31–3). In Johannine antilanguage, Jesus’ death (i.e., being lifted up) is also his 40 The ancients spoke about a “good” or “easy” death, but especially a “noble” death to honor fallen soldiers; see Jerome H. Neyrey, “The ‘Noble’ Shepherd in John 10: Cultural and Rhetorical Background,” JBL 10 (001): 67–1. In addition to the wealth of Greco-Roman illustrations of this, 1, , and 4 Maccabees also belong in this discussion. See Jan Willem van Henten, Martyrdom and Noble Death: Selected Texts from Graeco-Roman, Jewish and Christian Antiquity (London: Routledge, 00); David Seeley, The Noble Death: Graeco-Roman Martyrology and Paul’s Concept of Salvation (JSNTSup 8; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 18); Arthur J. Droge, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom among Christians and Jews in Antiquity (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1).

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Rhetorical Tradition about “Noble Death” 1. Death benefited others, especially fellow citizens.

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John’s Discourse on the Noble Shepherd 1. Death benefited the sheep: he lays down his life for them.

. Comparison between courage/cowardice, . Comparison between shepherd/ fight/flight, death/life, honor/shame. hireling: courage/cowardice, fight/ flight, death/life, honor/shame. 3. Manly courage displayed by soldiers, who fight and die.

3. Manly courage displayed by shepherd, who battles the wolf and dies.

4. Voluntary death is praised.

4. Voluntary death repeatedly claimed: “I lay it down of my own accord”; “No one takes it from me . . .”; “I lay it down; I take it up again.”

. Justice in death: soldiers uphold the honor of their families and serve the interests of the fatherland: duties served = justice.

. Justice: the shepherd manifests loyalty to his sheep and his Father/God (10:14–1); he has a command from God: duties served = justice.

being lifted from this world to that of the Father (3:14; 8:8; 1:3). Outsiders, as we have come to expect, cannot imagine that glory awaits Jesus. At best, when Jesus says that he goes away and that they cannot find him, outsiders think either that he is exiting Israel for the Diaspora (7:3) or that he will kill himself (8:). The grave is the only future they see for Jesus, and a shameful one at that. But insiders know that Jesus’ death is but the beginning of his return to glory. The data in the chart on the next page show that “whither” Jesus goes speaks to his posthumous glory. Sometimes we are told that Jesus is “going” or “returning” (7:33; 13:3) to where he was before. Sometimes he says that he is “going away,” not traveling to another place or killing himself, as the outsiders think, but entering the presence of the Father (14:1, 8; 17:11) so as to “prepare a place” for the insiders. If the outsiders consider his death consummate shame, the insiders label it “glory.” Indeed, throughout the Farewell Discourse, the author prefers to interpret Jesus’ death as “glory” and “being glorified.” Jesus himself announces this interpretation at the departure of Judas: “Now is the Son of man glorified . . . God will also glorify him in himself, and will glorify him at once” (13:31–3). “Glory” in this context must refer to the alchemy of the crucifixion: what outsiders consider shame, God sees as glorious and honorable. Moreover, if Jesus in and after his death achieves glory, this glory is simply the glory which he enjoyed with God from the very beginning: “Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world was made” (17:1, ). And again, Jesus desires that “they also . . . behold my glory, which you

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1. “Return” (ὑπάγω): “I go to Him who sent me” (7:33); “Knowing that he had come from God and was returning to Him” (13:3). . “Lift up” (ὑψόω): “. . . so must the Son of man be lifted up” (3:14); “When you have lifted up the Son of man . . .” (8:8); “And when I am lifted from the earth . . .” (1:3). 3. “I go away . . .” (πoρεύω) “. . . to prepare a place for you” (14:–3); “. . . I am going to the Father” (14:1); “. . . I go to the Father” (14:8). 4. “Glory . . . glorify” (δoξάζω): “. . . when Jesus was glorified” (1:16); “Now is the Son of man glorified . . . God will also glorify him in himself, and will glorify him at once” (13:31– 3); “Glorify your son . . . Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory which I had with you before the world was made” (17:1, ); “Father, I desire that they also . . . behold my glory, which you have given me in your love for me before the foundation of the world” (17:4). . “I am coming to you [Father]” (17:11, 13).

have given me in your love for me before the foundation of the world” (17:4). Posthumous honors, glory and eternal life await Jesus.

IV. Summary and Further Questions We now know the formal structure of the encomium, its regular topics, and the traditional content of each. We know, moreover, that the encomium was a familiar genre in the Greco-Roman and Israelite worlds. Other genres of literature, such as bioi, funeral orations, and similar forms of epideictic rhetoric frequently organize their materials according to the formal topics of the encomium. The data presented above are persuasive that the author of the Fourth Gospel learned to write an encomium. Second, the encomium was hardly unknown to early Christian writers, for both Matthew and Luke employ the topics and contents of the encomium, and Paul uses the topics of generation and nurture in three of his letters (see Gal 1:11–17; Phil 3:–11;  Cor 11:1–1:10).4 Third, we have seen in the Fourth Gospel that the stereotypical topics that make up the encomium are all fully and formally present: origins, birth, nurture and training, deeds of the soul, comparison, and death/posthumous honors. These are explicit topoi that do not depend on the intuition of a clever reader. The author fully appreciates these topics and uses them to augment praise for Jesus (or blame). Fourth, I have argued that the author created two encomia—actually a vituperation (for outsiders) and an encomium (for 4. Malina and Neyrey, Portraits of Paul, 33–63; see George Lyons, Pauline Autobiography: Toward a New Understanding (SBLDS 73; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 18).

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insiders). The very fact that there is controversy about each of the encomiastic topics indicates that they and their contents are well known, that the topics are not miscellaneous items but coherent parts of a larger pattern. The controversial topics, moreover, make scant sense when seen independent of each other. But when appraised as the topics of an encomium, they are logically welded together and take on a meaning they do not have if considered independently. Although Matthew and Luke begin their narratives with “origins and birth,” the author of the Fourth Gospel seems haphazardly to take up this or that topic, even coming back to it later in the story. Does this argue against his knowing the encomium? By no means, for Quintilian himself says that in praising someone there are two modes of organizing arguments: chronological order from birth to death and emphasis on certain points: It has sometimes proved the more effective course to trace a man’s life and deeds in due chronological order, praising his natural gifts as a child, then his progress at school, and finally the whole course of his life, including words as well as deeds. At times on the other hand it is well to divide our praises, dealing separately with the various virtues, fortitude, justice, self-control and the rest of them and to assign to each virtue the deeds performed under its influence. We will have to decide which of these two methods will be the more serviceable, according to the nature of the subject. (Inst. 3.7.1)

Sequence from birth to death is by no means a requirement. What, then, is the benefit of this study? In addition to gaining an appreciation of the form of the encomium and the conventional contents of it topics, we learn a genre that can surface in the Fourth Gospel various data that can then be classified according to the conventions of the ancients. No other type of reading can illuminate the categories of the encomium embedded in the Fourth Gospel; nothing else can gather and interpret them as a native would. In addition, the clusters of data can then be appreciated not simply as individual items but as conventional topics related together in the ancient mind. We learn the pieces as well as the whole, or the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. We are then interpreting the Fourth Gospel accurately as the ancients would have heard it. Furthermore, when the Fourth Gospel is read in light of the encomium, we discover parallel but antithetical encomia, a vituperation shaming Jesus and an encomium praising him. Outsiders who think in material ways and “from below” find fault with Jesus on many points. Their criticism of Jesus and attempts to shame him cluster around the encomiastic topics: origins (geography and generation), birth, nurture and training, deeds of the soul, and death. Hardly miscellaneous topics, these are the very ones that a writer or speaker is expected to develop. Hence, they are critical junctures at which to vilify or praise someone. The chart that follows summarizes the major argument of the article, namely, two contrasting accounts of Jesus, one a vituperation and the other an encomium.



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Outsiders: Vituperation Geography: Nazareth and Galilee Generation: Joseph, Jesus’ mother, some brothers

Insiders: Encomium Geography: heavenly world; bosom of the Father Generation: unique son of the Father

Nurture and Training: no schooling at all

Nurture and Training: elaborate apprenticeship with God, who gave, showed, taught him.

Deeds of the Soul: sinner, deceiver, law breaker

Deeds of the Soul: courage, obedience, loyalty

Comparison: absent

Comparison: Are you greater than Moses, Jacob, Abraham?

Death and Posthumous Honors: death is fitting punishment for crimes: shame; death permanently ends his career; no glory! no posthumous honors!

Death and Posthumous Honors A “noble” death (a la “noble” Shepherd) Power over death: I have power to lay down my life and power to take it back. Death is status elevation ritual whereby Jesus returns to prior glory or is glorified by God.

The very same encomiastic topics afford outsiders grounds to vilify Jesus and insiders opportunities to honor and glorify him. Inasmuch as Jesus himself speaks to the audience the contents of each topic, the audience learns remarkable secrets, revelation, and knowledge. They think spiritually and are “taught by God” (6:4).

JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 553–577

The “Works of the Law” in Romans and Galatians: A New Defense of the Subjective Genitive paul l. owen [email protected] Montreat College, Montreat, NC 28757

One of the most perplexing debates in NT scholarship has centered on the meaning of the Pauline phrase “works of the Law.”1 Most scholars view this expression as denoting either (primarily) ethnic badges of Jewish identity and superiority,2 or works done out of a sense of obligation to the Law more generally conceived.3 A third proposal, which so far has failed to secure much of a follow1 For an overview of the literature and issues, see Thomas Schreiner, “Works of the Law,” in

Dictionary of Paul and His Letters (ed. Gerald F. Hawthorne, Ralph P. Martin, and Daniel G. Reid; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1993), 975–79. 2 So James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 354–59; E. P. Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 46; and N. T. Wright, What Saint Paul Really Said: Was Paul of Tarsus the Real Founder of Christianity? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 122, 132. 3 So (with varying nuances) Stephen Westerholm, Israel’s Law and the Church’s Faith: Paul and His Recent Interpreters (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 109–21; Mark Seifrid, Christ, Our Righteousness: Paul’s Theology of Justification (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2000); Seyoon Kim, Paul and the New Perspective: Second Thoughts on the Origin of Paul’s Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 57–66; Frank Thielman, Paul & the Law: A Contextual Approach (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1994); Thomas Schreiner, The Law and Its Fulfillment: A Pauline Theology of Law (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1993), 33–71; idem, “‘Works of Law’ in Paul,” NovT 33 (1991): 217–44; Robert Keith Rapa, The Meaning of ‘Works of the Law’ in Galatians and Romans (New York: Peter Lang, 2001); and Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 211–17; idem, “‘Law,’ ‘Works of the Law,’ and Legalism in Paul,” WTJ 45 (1983): 73–100. Daniel Fuller understands the expression to be a way of referring to the misguided attempt on the part of Israel to relate to God in a legalistic manner, which puts God under obligation to pay back human merit (“Paul and ‘The Works of the Law,’ ” WTJ 38 [1975]: 28–42). In other words, for Fuller (unlike Schreiner, Moo, and Westerholm), the problem is not so much human failure to keep the Law as it is the idolatrous attempt to relate to God on the basis of merit in the first place.

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ing,4 is to take the genitive phrase ἔργα νόμου in a subjective sense.5 The phrase would therefore denote the effects of the Law’s activity among humankind since the time of the giving of the Law to Israel.6 Paul is prone to use this expression when the agency of the Law in effecting justification is the issue at stake. The emphasis in this turn of phrase would then lie not so much on human failure fully to obey the Law (though that is implied) as on the Law’s own inability (owing to the gripping power of sin) to produce in people a righteousness that can survive before the bar of God’s judgment. The issue is precisely whether the Jewish people are right to place their confidence in the righteousness provided by the Law (Rom 2:17–18; Phil 3:9; cf. Bar 4:4; 2 Bar. 48:22). In this essay, I will explore the possibility that this third proposal has considerable merit and is based on a more reliable exegetical basis than any of the other options.

I. Defining Justification In this article, I use the word “justify” and its cognates repeatedly. It is not practical to define in each and every instance what I mean by the terminology, so I will state at the outset what I understand “justification” to mean in Pauline theology (with particular regard to Romans and Galatians). Romans 1:16–17 is very 4 With the exception of Lloyd Gaston, Paul and the Torah (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1987), 100–106. It should be made clear that I do not agree with every aspect of Gaston’s argument. Gaston argues that the Law “works” sin and wrath only for the Gentiles. For Gaston, the Law simply pronounces wrath upon those Gentiles who fall outside of the covenant. But this is entirely contrary to Paul’s whole point in Rom 2:17–29, which is precisely that the Law condemns Jews within the covenant who fail to comply with its demands. In this connection, Gaston’s attempt to limit 2:17–29 only to a specific group of Jewish missionaries is entirely unconvincing (Paul and the Torah, 138–39). Paul’s argument in this section is clearly a generalized condemnation of the Jewish nation of his time, which (rightly or wrongly), Paul critiqued in prophetic manner as ungodly and apostate. 5 For a definition of the subjective genitive, see Daniel Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), 113: “The genitive substantive functions semantically as the subject of the verbal idea implicit in the head noun.” Scholars generally seem to assume that the phrase should be taken as an objective genitive (“works that fulfill the Law”), so that the issue is the human failure to fulfill all of the Law’s demands. Though Moo suggests that it may be a subjective genitive, taken in the sense of “the works that the Law requires” (Romans, 209 n. 61), this would reduce to the same meaning as the objective genitive and would be subject to the same criticisms. Furthermore, the noun ἔργον does not mean “requirement” in the sense of an obligation (though it is sometimes used of a “task” or assignment; see 1 Cor 15:58; 16:10; Phil 2:30). When Paul wants to speak of the Law’s requirements, he uses the noun δικαίωμα (see Rom 2:26; 8:4). 6 That Paul can personify the Law as a working agent should be clear in view of Rom 4:15: ὁ γὰρ νόμος ὀργὴν κατεργάζεται (“for the Law brings about wrath”). I am arguing that Paul uses the term ἔργα in this phrase not in the sense of deeds but in the sense of effects, or “that which is brought into being by work” (BAGD, s.v. ἔργον, 308).

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instructive in this regard. For Paul, the “gospel” reveals the “righteousness of God” to those who have faith. To be “justified” is to receive the soteriological benefit of the righteousness of God. What it means to receive the soteriological benefit (“the power of God to salvation”) of the righteousness of God can be determined by 1:18– 32, where Paul describes the consequences of the revelation of “the wrath of God.” The gospel is the opposite of that. Whereas the revelation of God’s wrath brings a darkened heart (1:21), a giving over to the enslaving power of sin (1:24, 26, 28), and the judgment that one deserves death (1:32), the justification offered in the gospel illumines the heart (cf. 2 Cor 3:16), frees from the power of sin (Rom 6:7), and reconciles the ungodly to God (Rom 4:5; 5:1; 8:1). To be justified is simply to be accepted into the family of God (Gal 3:24–26), and so to have God’s condemning judgment removed—a judgment that includes bondage to the power of sin (Rom 6:14–23).

II. The Primary Texts The expression ἔργα νόμου occurs eight times in the Pauline corpus: Rom 3:20, 28; Gal 2:16 (3x); 3:2, 5, 10.7 What is striking in my view is how comfortably the subjective genitive fits the contextual flow of each of these references. I will discuss each of the texts in turn.

The “Works of the Law” in Romans Romans 3:20 In 3:1–18, Paul argues that the Jewish people stand condemned before God alongside all of humankind, despite their incredible privileges, the chief of which is the gift of the λόγια τοῦ θεοῦ (3:2). Whatever the specific meaning,8 in 3:2 Paul cites God’s oracles as the chief privilege given to the Jewish people. They alone were other possible occurrence is in Rom 9:32, where the word νόμου is found in the latest corrector of ‫א‬, D, Ψ, 33, 81, 104; Vg mss; the Peshitta; the Palestinian Syriac, Armenian, Ethiopic, Georgian, and Slavonic versions; Diodore, Chrysostom, and the majority of the Byzantine witnesses. Commentators usually assume that νόμου has been added to harmonize with 3:20, 28; but it could just as well have been dropped to harmonize with 9:11. Internal evidence may favor the inclusion of νόμου, because Paul has just focused on the misguided belief that the Law can provide righteousness (“a law of righteousness”) in 9:31. We would naturally expect a statement in v. 32 about what the Law can provide, but instead, in the commonly accepted critical text, we find no reference to the Law. If one follows the Byzantine text on this point, v. 32 becomes an expression of the futility of thinking that the goal of the Law is to produce works that would justify. Paul insists that the true goal and purpose of the Law is to produce justifying faith, not justifying works. In any case, in deference to scholarly consensus, I do not include Rom 9:32 in this investigation of Paul’s use of the phrase “works of the Law.” 8 For discussion see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 33; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 326–27. 7 One

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entrusted with God’s “words.” It is hard to believe that the Mosaic Law is not to some extent included among the oracles that Paul has in mind.9 It is through the Law that the Jews have been given the clear advantage of having a direct and specified revelation of the will of God (2:17–20; cf. Deut. 4:6–8). In what way, then, has this proved ultimately to benefit the Jewish people? Paul’s argument throughout 3:1–18 is that God’s “words” have not ultimately benefited the nation to whom they were entrusted. Israel failed to believe God’s word (3:3), failed to live righteously before God (3:5), and ultimately failed to carry out the will of God in the world with any greater success than the Gentiles (3:10– 18). This is why Paul—speaking in a prophetic manner—believed that his Jewish people stood condemned before the bar of divine judgment, alongside the rest of humanity. Paul drives this point home in 3:19–20. What he insists is that the Law has failed to produce righteousness in Israel in the midst of the world. What, then, has the Law accomplished? Paul answers that what the Law has done is close every mouth (3:19b) and put the whole world in the position of needing to give an account of its sinful actions before the bar of divine judgment (3:19c). In short, what the Law has done is to provide “the knowledge of sin” to Israel (3:20b).10 The issue at stake here is precisely the question of what the Law has, and has not, been able to do for Israel. In this context, the subjective genitive reading of “works of the Law” makes good sense. The question in 3:20a is, what has the Law been able to do? Paul has just stated that the Law has done something in 3:19c—it has made the whole world accountable to God for sin. Paul now supports his claim in 3:20a: “because (διότι) by the works of the Law no one will be justified in his presence.” Or to put it another way: “because no one will be justified in his presence by what is produced by the Law.” The reason that the Law has closed every mouth and made everyone accountable before God for their sin (3:19) is that the Law does not make sinful human beings righteous (3:20a)—in fact, it has the opposite effect of furthering their condemnation (3:20b). What most exegetes continue to overlook is that in this context Paul is not even addressing the question: What works must a person perform in order to be justified?11 If one looks back at the preceding context, it is clear that he is instead 9 Thomas Schreiner seems to deny that God’s commandments are in view at all, because he says it “misses the point of the text” (Romans [Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament 6; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1998], 149). It is not clear why this should be the case, for the point of the text could well be understood in terms of Israel’s rebellion against God in the face of God’s clear revelation of his will in the Law (cf. Rom 5:13; 7:7), which was the chief advantage of the Jews (2:20). The Law of God has been foremost in Paul’s thinking in 2:17–29, so why would it be excluded from 3:2 (even if the “oracles of God” includes more than just the Law)? 10 “If the law declares all people sinners and makes them conscious of their condition, then a fortiori the Jew to whom the law is addressed is just as much an object of God’s wrath as the pagan whose moral perversion and degradation reveal his condition” (Fitzmyer, Romans, 339). 11 Contra Moo, Romans, 210.

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asking the question: What benefit have the “words” of God provided to the Jewish people? The issue at stake in 3:20 is the historical evidence (as witnessed by Israel’s conduct) of the effectiveness of God’s words (contained in the Law) in dealing with the problem of sin, not the existential question of how many works a person must perform to be accepted before God. Romans 3:28 The subjective genitive reading of 3:28 makes just as much sense as in the earlier reference. In 3:21 Paul makes the argument that God’s “righteousness” has been displayed in the world χωρὶς νόμου. The Law did not demonstrate God’s “righteousness,” but rather his gracious “tolerance” of Israel’s sin (3:25).12 God’s righteousness was finally demonstrated on the cross in Christ’s redemptive sacrifice (3:22, 24–26). Against the background of human unfaithfulness (3:1–18), God has shown himself faithful (i.e., righteous, 3:3, 5) in bringing about the salvation of all who exercise faith in his Son (3:22, 27). Paul then insists that the scheme he has just presented excludes human boasting (3:27). Boasting is said to be excluded by “a law of faith.” In other words, boast12 Although the issues are complex and debated, I believe the soundest exegesis of Rom 3:25 indicates that God overlooked the sins of his elect people in OT Israel through the mechanisms of the sacrificial cult, which pointed ahead to Christ’s eschatological Day of Atonement. In other words, the ἀνοχῇ τοῦ θεοῦ is precisely the patience God exercised over the sins of the people in anticipation of the atonement to be effected for them on the cross. Sin was not definitively dealt with under the OT cult, but it was set aside, and its punishment put on hold. Paul’s point is that the “righteousness of God” (i.e., God’s saving action on behalf of the people) was not expressed in the mechanisms of forgiveness under the Law, as it has now been demonstrated on the cross. Thus: “God displayed Christ as a bloody expiation to be received by faith. This was to demonstrate his righteousness, since the sins of the people committed previously were passed over only because of God’s patience [i.e., in anticipation of Christ’s sacrifice].” God displayed righteousness on the cross because the passing over of the previously committed sins required an eventual atonement that the sacrifices could not themselves provide. This is quite different from the interpretation (popular among many Protestants) that God had to display justice in punishing Christ because the forbearance that God maintained in passing over the previously committed sins appeared to be unjust. This reading ignores the simple fact that God did often punish the sins of Israel during previous times (e.g., by plagues, military defeats, and especially the exile). The issue at stake is not God’s retributive justice but God’s fulfillment of the promise of atonement, which was only typified by the earlier sacrifices. Cf. Calvin: “I think it is probable that Paul was thinking of legal expiations, which were indeed evidences of satisfactions to come, but which could by no means placate God. There is a similar passage in Heb. 9.15, in which it is stated that the redemption of the transgressions which remained under the old covenant was brought by Christ. . . . Paul teaches simply that until the death of Christ there had been no price for placating God, and that this was not performed or accomplished by legal types” (Calvin, commentary on Rom. 3:25). Likewise Dunn’s suggested interpretation: “Former sins were passed over . . . because Jesus’ death as the death of sinful man is effective for the persons of faith who came before him as well as those who come after” (James D. G. Dunn, Romans 1–8 [WBC 38A; Waco: Word, 1998], 181–82).

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ing is excluded when one comes to understand that the true purpose of the Law (for the elect; see Rom 11:7) was not to enable the Jew to earn his own righteous status before God by means of personal merit;13 rather, Paul’s scheme insists that the purpose of the Law is to promote “faith” in God’s righteousness, which was displayed in the soteric mission of his Son Jesus (cf. Rom 9:32–33). Paul drives home again his view of the effectiveness of the Law in v. 28: “For we reckon a person to be justified by faith without (χωρίς) the works of the Law.” In other words, Paul maintains that justification comes by faith without the agency of the Law; not by the power of the Law to produce righteous works (a power that Paul denies in opposition to his Jewish opponents). Though the Law held forth the hypothetical promise of life on the condition of personal obedience (Lev 18:5), this was simply for the purpose of revealing human depravity and inability. In reality, justification cannot come by means of the mechanism of the Law. In v. 21, Paul insists that the righteousness of God has now been manifested χωρὶς νόμου (“without the Law”). There Paul clearly means to say that the righteousness of God has now been manifested, though not by the Law—but rather through “the faith(fulness) of Jesus Christ” (3:22).14 It is important to recognize that what Paul has in mind in this context (as signaled by v. 21) is what the Law has, or has not, brought about. What Paul is now saying in v. 28 is that a person is justified by faith without the “works of the Law”—in other words, not by righteous works produced by the Law. The Law did in theory hold forth the promise of life (and hence the prospect of final justification), but only if a person complied with its demands. Since human depravity makes this impossible (3:20), the gospel declares that a person is justified by faith in Christ, not by works produced by the Law (since the Law cannot provide the righteousness which comes only by faith in Jesus).15 What the Law itself can accomplish is ultimately only human condemnation. Paul has insisted that the one thing the Law did not do is manifest the soteric righteousness of God as it has been displayed in the gospel of the cross (3:21–26), because the Law does not operate for the benefit of sinners on the principle of human helplessness and inability to obey its stipulations (cf. Rom 10:5). The Law 13 So correctly, Schreiner, Romans, 201–2: “The law, rightly understood, harmonizes with righteousness by faith” (p. 201). 14 Or possibly “through faith in Jesus Christ.” 15 It may be objected that this reduces Paul’s words to a meaningless redundancy: “Of course justification cannot come by what the Law brings about, if the Law does not bring about justification, but only condemnation.” But this objection would be to overlook an important point. Not everyone would agree that the Law is insufficient for justification. Some would adamantly insist that a person cannot be justified without the righteousness-producing power of the Law. For the Jew, the “works of the Law” would include truly righteous deeds in this life, which will be the basis of ultimate salvation at the eschatological judgment. So Paul’s denial is not a meaningless redundancy.

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of Moses does not operate on a principle of faith (cf. Rom 10:5–6), for faith (in Pauline terms) involves the human admission of inability to comply with God’s righteous will (cf. Rom 4:5) and the abandonment of one’s fate before the bar of judgment to the unmerited faithfulness of the covenant God that has been displayed in the gracious soteric mission of Jesus.16 A fundamental point made by Paul earlier in Rom 3:5 is crucial here: “our unrighteousness demonstrates the righteousness of God.” Human disobedience highlights the covenantal faithfulness of God (rather than negating it [3:3]); for when salvation takes place in the face of human failure to comply with God’s righteous will, the utterly gracious nature of God’s intervention is all the more evident (cf. Rom 5:20; 4 Ezra 8:36; Jub. 1:5–6). It was Paul’s view that if the Law had been able to produce personal righteousness among those to whom it was entrusted, then indeed Israel would have had a ground for boasting of their superiority over the Gentiles before God (Rom 4:2; cf. Gal 3:21).17 But because Israel has not in fact been able adequately to keep the Law, all grounds for human boasting have been removed. What has the Law done then? Again, that is the central question in the context of Rom 3:28—not what must a person do in order to be justified. What the Law has not done is provide Israel with a ground for boasting before God of their superiority in comparison with those who lack the light of the Law (3:27–28). The Law was never really intended to be the means by which God’s righteousness would be conveyed to the world (3:21a). Instead, what the Law has done all along is to testify to the world’s need for the gracious intervention that would be effected unilaterally by God through the work of Christ on the cross (3:21b). Therefore, it remains true that “a person is justified by faith (in God’s righteousness), and not by righteous works produced by the Law” (paraphrasing 3:28). The Law could only point ahead to the final solution to the problem of sin that would be brought about in the redemptive action of God’s Son (3:22 cf. Gal 3:23– 24). Paul differs radically from his Jewish contemporaries in that he does not see in the revelation of the Law an effective solution to sin (Rom 2:17–20; cf. Bar 4:4; 2 Bar. 48:22); he sees only a revelation of human inability, and the need for God’s gracious intervention, ultimately experienced through the mission of Christ. 16 This is what Paul is getting at in Rom 4:16. Justification by faith removes any ground that the Jews might have to boast before God of their superiority to the Gentiles. Paul’s gospel called on the Jews to abandon their prideful insistence on ethnic superiority and to admit that they are no more worthy of God’s approval than the Gentiles are. 17 The reason should be obvious. Any persons who are justified on the basis of their obedience to God’s will could then point out to God the contrast between themselves and the “ungodly” persons who have failed to obey. This is the centerpiece of Paul’s polemic against the Jewish people. He accuses them of exalting themselves above the Gentiles in the sight of God (see Rom 2:17– 20; 9:30–10:4), as though their godliness could be contrasted with the ungodliness of the nations who live without the guidance of the Law (see Deut 28:1).

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Excursus on Perfect Obedience In light of the way Paul’s critique of Israel’s life under the Law has been traditionally understood, there is no basis in the Bible for the notion that justification by means of the Law would have required Israel’s perfect compliance with its demands.18 Galatians 3:10 and 5:3 are commonly cited (arguably out of context) in the attempt to prove that the Law could justify only on the terms of perfect compliance with its demands. Yet in Gal 3:10 Paul adds the word “all” to his citation of Deut 27:26, not to make some theological point about the need for perfect obedience but in light of the immediate context of Moses’ words (cf. Deut 28:1). It is quite obvious that “doing all of God’s commandments” does not imply perfect compliance with each and every detail of the Law (which, after all, also provided mechanisms of forgiveness for anticipated breaches of the Law). Moses simply says “all” of the commandments must be performed, because each word of God is precious, and therefore there is not a single commandment that Israel can feel free to ignore or disregard (cf. Deut 32:46–47). If any Jew were to disregard even the least of God’s words, as though they need not be clung to and revered, then this would be an obvious sign of a wicked heart that does not truly love the Lord (Deut 5:29–33; 6:5–6; 30:6–8; cf. Heb 10:28).19 Such a person (who has no desire or intent to keep the whole Law) would be cut off from God’s covenant for lack of love (see Rom 13:10b; Matt 22:37–40).20 The point of Gal 5:3 (another commonly cited text) is simply that if one accepts circumcision, one then incurs the burden of obeying the whole Law (disregarding none of the commandments). One must operate under the terms and conditions of the Mosaic covenant, which assumes the intent to keep the whole Law (Rom 10:5; Gal 3:12). The problem, then, is not that perfect obedience (which 18 Contra Schreiner, Law and Its Fulfillment, 44–50; Seifrid, Christ, Our Righteousness, 102; Robert Gundry, “Grace, Works, and Staying Saved in Paul,” Bib 66 (1985): 23–25; and Moo, “‘Law,’ ‘Works of the Law,’” 97–98. 19 Thus, when the parents of John the Baptist are said to be “righteous in the sight of God, walking blamelessly in all of the commandments and requirements of the Lord” (Luke 1:6), it cannot mean that they obeyed the Law perfectly (cf. Acts 15:10). It simply means that they were among the righteous remnant who loved God and whose intent was to keep his whole Law (rejecting none of God’s words). It does not mean they never sinned, but only that (unlike the majority of the nation) their hearts were inclined to obedience to the whole Law of God. Were such an example to be directed to Paul, he would no doubt insist that, like Abraham, they were righteous in the sight of God by faith (see Rom 1:17; Gal 3:11), and that their wholehearted obedience to the Law was the result of God’s own gracious operation in and through them. 20 See E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism (London: SCM, 1977), 134–38. When Paul says that “love is the fulfillment of the Law” (Rom 13:10b), he is reflecting the teaching of Moses in Deuteronomy (cf. 6:5; 7:9; 10:12; 11:1, 13, 22; 13:3; 19:9; 30:16). Ultimately, love for God is a gift that will be given to Israel in the eschatological age (Deut 30:6).

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was never required) is impossible, but simply that now one must relate to God on the basis of obedience to the whole Law (though not one’s whole obedience to the Law). For Paul, salvation by grace entails not merely the admission of personal fault and imperfection in one’s attempt to keep the Law (as in Judaism), but the admission of radical ungodliness and enslavement to the power of sin (Rom 5:6–8)—to such an extent that adequate (let alone perfect) obedience to the Law becomes impossible.21 The scandalous nature of Paul’s critique of Judaism is not that he accused Jews of failing to obey God’s Law perfectly (which any Jew would have happily admitted), but that he accused his “kinsmen according to the flesh” of going astray into the same idolatry, wickedness, and disregard of God’s words that characterized the Gentiles (Romans 2)—all the while thinking themselves to be “blameless” under the Law (Phil 3:6; Rom 10:3).22 In effect, these criticisms amount to the claim that the nation of Israel was in such a state of radical apostasy that it was presently cut off from the promises and blessings of the covenant.23

21 One can find moving admissions of depravity and the extent of human guilt in Jewish literature, but never to the extent that adequate personal compliance with God’s Law (which is the condition for remaining in the covenant) becomes impossible. A person could still expect to be reckoned righteous on the basis of one’s own obedience to the whole Law. For a discussion of this matter with respect to the Dead Sea Scrolls (where some of the most striking of such admissions can be found), see Mark Seifrid, “Righteousness Language in the Hebrew Scriptures and Early Judaism,” in Justification and Variegated Nomism, vol. 1, The Complexities of Second Temple Judaism (ed. D. A. Carson, Peter T. O’Brien, and Mark A. Seifrid; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2001), 431–38. 22 Paul was not the only one to speak such harsh words of the Judaism of his day (Luke 18:9– 14; Matt 5:19–20; 15:1–9; John 7:19; 8:47). Cf. 1 En. 93:9; 4 Ezra 8:56; 2 Bar. 41:3; Jub. 1:7–14. 23 Although not in the Pauline corpus, Jas 2:10 is also sometimes cited as evidence of the necessity of perfect obedience to the Law for justification in early Christianity. Yet James’s point here is hardly to make a theological statement about universal human guilt, but to insist that it is persons who love their neighbor who truly fulfill the Law (vv. 8–9). In the context (2:8–13), James is addressing people who think that they keep God’s Law yet commit sins such as murder and adultery. When James says that the transgression of the Law at one point constitutes a failure to keep the Law at all (v. 10), he has in mind serious breaches of the Law that undermine its basic principle—love of neighbor. He is saying that if one keeps the whole Law and yet shows an obvious lack of love for one’s neighbor by adultery or murder (v. 11), one has not kept the Law at all. James is thinking not of failure to keep the Law perfectly in every detail but of failure to abide by any one of the basic principles of the Law. Any act that openly disregards the basic requirement of love of neighbor undermines one’s claim to keep the Law at all. The issue is not an alleged requirement of perfect obedience to the Law, but the need to avoid any form of apostate behavior, which shows utter disregard for the fundamental principles of the Law. James’s teaching here resonates with the theology reflected in Jub. 33:13–14. Some individual sins are viewed as demonstrations of apostasy, any one of which will suffice to place a person outside the boundaries of the covenant. For discussion of Jubilees, see Peter Enns, “Expansions of Scripture,” in Justification and Variegated Nomism, vol. 1, ed. Carson et al., 94–96; and Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 368–69.

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The “Works of the Law” in Galatians Galatians 2:16 The subjective genitive reading of the “works of the Law” also makes the best sense of the various occurrences of this expression in Galatians. The first instance of the phrase appears in 2:16: “since we know that a person is not justified by the works of the Law but through the faith of Jesus Christ, and so we put our faith in Christ Jesus, that we might be justified by the faith of Christ and not by the works of the Law, because by the works of the Law no one shall be justified.” I would argue again that what Paul is directly speaking of here is not what a person must do in order to be justified (though that obviously is a related issue, which is often confused with Paul’s point); rather, Paul is arguing about the role and efficacy of the Law itself for justification. What is the Law capable of doing? Is it capable of producing a righteousness that is acceptable in the sight of God? In that light, the expression “works of the Law” is best translated “righteous works produced by the Law.” Two points call for further comment. First, I assume that the phrase πίστεως Χριστοῦ (and its variations) should also be taken as a subjective genitive. This is not the place to argue the case for that rendering, which has received considerable (though not unanimous) support in NT scholarship.24 I simply note, for the sake of the many scholars who do adopt the subjective genitive “faith of Christ,” that consistency would suggest that the phrase “works of the Law” here should likewise be taken in that manner.25 If both expressions are taken to employ subjective genitives, then one has a nicely balanced argument in this verse. Paul is insisting, in effect, that we are justified not by what the Law can do but by what Christ has done. The opposition is not so much between our believing in Christ and our obeying the Law; rather, the opposition is between what the Law has been able to accomplish (which would require human compliance for our benefit) and what Christ has accomplished (which requires faith for our benefit). This is an issue that is explicitly highlighted by Paul in Rom 8:3,26 so it would not be strange for Paul to have this question in mind here. 24 It is not necessary to take space here to refer to the many articles on both sides of this debate, which for the most part are well known to Pauline scholars. Two representative discussions, which cite the relevant secondary literature, can be found in Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics, 114–16 (who argues for the rendering “faith/faithfulness of Christ”); and Moisés Silva, “Faith Versus Works of Law in Galatians,” in Justification and Variegated Nomism, vol. 2, The Paradoxes of Paul (ed. D. A. Carson, Peter T. O’Brien, and Mark A. Seifrid; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004), 227–34 (who argues for the rendering “faith in Christ”). 25 A point nicely made by Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 103. 26 “For what the Law was unable to do, being weak through the flesh, God did when he sent his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh” (Rom 8:3).

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Second, in the immediate context the issue at stake is precisely the effects of the Law. What has the Law been able to do? In Gal 2:19 Paul tells us something that the Law has been able to do. The Law has caused us to “die to the Law.” In other words, the Law reveals our captivity to sin, our inability to comply with God’s righteous will as revealed in the Law, which then directs us to seek liberation from sin through Christ, apart from the Law (see Gal 3:22; Rom 5:20; 7:13). Paul makes the same point in a negative manner in Gal 2:21. He insists that if “righteousness is through the Law, then Christ died for no reason.”27 So Paul insists that righteousness is not through the Law. Again, the immediate question centers on the agency of the Law itself, not on the adequacy of human response to the Law (which is, though, a related question). Has the Law brought about a righteousness that will be accepted in the presence of God? No, it has not. In light of the close proximity to 3:19 and 21, then, it is most natural to read “works of the Law” in 3:16 as a subjective genitive. Has righteousness come through the Law? By no means, for “a person is not justified by works produced by the Law, but through the faith(fulness) of Jesus Christ” (3:16). Galatians 3:2, 5 The references to the “works of the Law” in 3:2, 5 can be taken together. The dispute necessarily centers on the question of the precise nuance of Paul’s point in each verse. To begin with, is Paul asking in v. 2 whether the Galatians received the Spirit by obeying the Law or by exercising faith? Or is the nuance slightly different? Is the direct question rather, Did the Law provide the Spirit, or did faith provide the Spirit? In other words, is Paul asking an existential question regarding a person’s faith versus law keeping, or a redemptive-historical question regarding the benefits distributed to people in the old era and its terms versus the new era and its terms? Several points suggest that Paul is asking a redemptive-historical question about the role of the Law versus the role of faith (each considered as a dispensation with distinctly stipulated terms for justification), rather than focusing on the Galatians’ personal obedience to the Law versus their personal exercise of faith. 27 Gaston amazingly translates Gal 2:21: “for since through law is the righteousness of God,

consequently Christ has died as a free gift” (Paul and the Torah, 66). This translation is exceedingly improbable for two reasons: (1) It is highly unlikely, in a context where Paul is insisting that Gentiles do not need to keep the Law to be justified, that Paul is going to assert then that righteousness does in fact come “through law.” (2) Paul has just insisted that he does not nullify the grace of God. Clearly, he means to say that those who insist on the Law as the means of justification do nullify God’s grace. Why do they do so? Because if righteousness comes through the Law, then there was no reason for Christ to die. Why would Christ need to die to bring a grace that already comes through the Law? In this context, the meaning of δωρεάν is clearly “without a reason,” not “as a free gift.” How would the assertion that righteousness comes through the Law prove that Christ died “as a free gift” in any case? Gaston’s translation plainly makes no sense in this context.

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First, if Paul wanted to focus on the Galatians’ actions that led to the gift of the Spirit in v. 2, he chose a rather peculiar way of expressing himself. Why would he not simply ask, “Did you receive the Spirit by obeying the Law or by believing?” Or Paul could have even said, “Did you receive the Spirit by your works of the Law or by your faith?” The fact that Paul did not choose such wording may well indicate that the nuance here is different. Paul is highlighting the contrast between the effects of the Law (during the dispensation of its agency) and the effects of faith (during the dispensation of its agency), which suggests again that the subjective genitive is the best rendering. Second, only the subjective genitive reading of “works of the Law” really makes sense in v. 5. The question is not, What did you do to receive the Spirit and see miracles worked among you? The question is, How did God supply you with the Spirit and work miracles among you—did God give these blessings to you Gentiles during the era of the Law, or did you receive these blessings with the dawn of the new dispensation of faith? Clearly, the answer is that God did these things by means of the faith created by God’s Spirit (cf. Gal 5:22) in the new age, which has supplanted the era of the Old Covenant, and not by means of the Law in the old age. Third, with regard to “faith,” which Paul contrasts with the Law in 3:2 and 5, it is important to see the redemptive-historical connotation of Paul’s language. As the subsequent argument makes clear, “faith” is considered not only as the human response to God; it is also something that has broken into history subsequent to the era of the Law: “But before faith (as the solely stipulated condition for justification) came, we were kept in custody under the Law. . . . But now that faith has come (as the sole stipulated condition for justification), we no longer need a tutor” (3:23, 25). Faith (as the sole stated condition for justification) here clearly stands for the realization of the hope that saints in ages past could only anticipate (since the legal terms for justification in times past were impossible for sinners to keep adequately; cf. Acts 15:10). In this light, the issue at stake in 3:2 and 5 is what God has given to his people during the era of the Law as the means of justification versus the era of faith as the means of justification. Paul is asking the Galatians what benefits they as Gentiles received during the era of the Law. The immediate question that Paul is posing in 3:2 and 5 is not what requirements a person has to fulfill in order to receive the blessings—whether acts of obedience to the Law or the exercise of faith, though it is tempting to read the text in that manner in light of the Galatians’ theological confusion regarding the requirement of circumcision. Though the answer to that existential question is indeed implied by Paul’s argument, the argument itself centers on a more foundational issue that Paul is addressing, on which the existential question of the necessity of circumcision for personal justification necessarily depends. The question he is asking is simply this: Has the Law provided the gift of the Spirit to you, or has the Spirit been provided through the arrival of the new economy of faith? His questions here anticipate the

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theological claim of 3:10–14: Christ’s substitutionary obedience on the cross has secured for the Gentiles the supernatural gift of the Spirit, which is received on the condition of faith, and not through the activity of the Law. Galatians 3:10 In the final usage of the expression “works of the Law” that will be considered in this article, the subjective genitive reading again finds strong support from the context. First, if “works of the Law” is taken in the sense of “acts of obedience to the Law,” then it becomes difficult to make much sense of vv. 10–14. Paul would then be saying in v. 10 that all those who do what the Law requires of them are under a curse, which is the exact opposite of what Paul says in this verse (citing Deut 27:26)!28 It is not those who are doing the Law who are cursed but those who are not doing the Law. The subjective genitive reading enables one to read this passage in a consistent manner, in which “works of the Law” refers to the effects of the Law, or what the Law brings about. Paul is then saying that all those who are subject to what the Law effects or brings about are under a curse. This makes perfect sense in light of Paul’s subsequent quotation of Deut 27:26. The Law pronounces a curse upon all who fail to comply with its demands.29 That is what the Law does. In Paul’s view, no person can comply with the demands of the Law because of the radical power of sin (cf. Gal 3:21; Rom 3:19–20). Therefore, what the Law effects is precisely a curse on all who receive it! Paul then cites Hab 2:4 in v. 11, to show that justification before God is found by faith, not by the Law; or in other words not by works resulting from the revelation of the Law to Israel. The Jews believed that the Law made them righteous because it showed them how to live before God (cf. Rom 2:17–20). Yet Paul’s position was that the Law of God cursed Israel rather than working to Israel’s benefit, 28 Interpreters

try to get around this by reading Paul’s statement as though he really meant to say that all those who try to do the works of the Law are under a curse (because they fail to be perfect). But this assumes that perfect obedience to the Law was what the Law required for justification—which we have already suggested is misguided. It is far more likely that when Paul speaks of those who are “of the works of the Law,” he has in mind not those who attempt to keep the Law but rather those who live under the inevitable effects of the Law (which brings a curse upon those who receive it). In short, those who are “of the works of the Law” are those who are under the curse that the Law brings about. 29 Again, compliance with the demands of the Law would entail an acceptance of all of God’s words and the intent to obey the whole Law, not perfect compliance with each and every commandment. A wooden reading of such language would lead to the absurd conclusion that Jews outside the land in the Diaspora could not keep the Law. See further Daniel Fuller, Gospel and Law: Contrast or Continuum? The Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism and Covenant Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 88–93. Fuller does a good job of showing that the expectation of perfect adherence to the Law for justification would make no sense in Paul’s Jewish context.

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because Israel could not go on to live according to the Law. (That is his hidden premise in v. 10.) That is why Habakkuk recognized that the only true way to be justified is by faith—which for Paul always entails the acceptance of righteousness as an imputed gift that is not based on personal obedience to the Law (cf. Rom 4:5– 6; 5:17). When Paul states in v. 12 that the Law is not “of faith” (citing Lev 18:5), he does not mean that the Law does not require some level of belief in the God of Israel. Faith here does not stand for a monotheistic confession. Paul simply means that the Law does not operate (according to its stipulated terms) on the basis of an inability to comply with its demands and dependence on an imputed righteousness. The Law’s mechanism of justification does not assume personal inability to fulfill it. To be justified by the Law, it is necessary personally to keep the Law (Rom 2:25), and if one can be justified by personally keeping the Law, then obviously “faith” is not necessary—because for Paul faith assumes the need to receive righteousness as an imputed gift that is not based on personal obedience. Justification by faith implies the acceptance of the righteousness of God as a gift that is imputed in Christ to the ungodly believer (cf. 2 Cor 5:21). Verses 13 and 14 make it clear that this is what Paul has in mind, for he says there that Christ redeemed us from the curse by becoming a curse for us (citing Deut 21:23). This is, of course, an allusion to the cross. Paul sees in Jesus’ willingness to bear Israel’s deserved curse (cf. Isaiah 53), an embodiment of the selfless compliance with the will of God that Israel failed to offer to God. This obedience to God is the righteousness that is imputed to believers for their justification. So Paul says that Christ became a curse, “so that” the blessing promised to Abraham might be extended to the Gentiles. Christ’s obedience in the place of Israel fulfills the condition for Gentile blessing (cf. Gen 18:18–19). The Gentiles need to be justified in order to be reckoned sons of Abraham (cf. Gal 3:29), and Christ’s obedience on the cross is the condition of that justification—precisely because his obedience on the cross becomes the righteousness that is imputed to the ungodly believer. Second, Paul’s own statement in v. 11 directly supports the present argument. There he insists that no one is justified “by the Law” (ἐν νόμῳ). Paul makes this statement in v. 11 in order to support his claim in v. 10, as seen by the way he begins: “Now, that no one is justified by the Law before God is clear. . . .” Since v. 11 makes a direct claim about what the Law cannot do, we are justified in arguing that v. 10 has just made a contrasting claim about what the Law does do (bring about a curse). Paul is focusing his argument not on what we have failed to do but on what the Law has, and has not, been able to do. In this case, the phrase “works of the Law” should be taken as a subjective genitive, indicating the “effects” of the Law’s activity, or what benefits the Law brings about. According to Paul, the Law ultimately curses all those to whom it is given (3:10); it does not bring about their justification in the sight of God (3:11).

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III. Some Linguistic Considerations The use of the subjective genitive in the expression “works of the Law” also derives solid support on linguistic grounds. Apart from the eight examples just considered, there are four other examples in the undisputed Pauline letters of the plural noun “works” followed by a noun or pronoun in the genitive. In each case, the use of the subjective genitive is the most natural option:

“Works” with the Genitive in Paul Romans 2:6. “who will repay each person according to the works of him.” Here the pronoun αὐτοῦ is the implied subject of the verbal idea in the head noun ἔργα (i.e., according to the things he does). Romans 13:12. “Therefore, let us lay aside the works of darkness.” Although this could well be taken as an attributive genitive (i.e., evil works), it also makes good sense as a subjective genitive. In that case, “darkness” (as a personification of evil powers that influence human behavior) is again the implied subject of the verbal idea in the head noun ἔργα (i.e., the deeds produced by the powers of darkness). 2 Corinthians 11:15. “whose end will be according to the works of them.” Here again, the pronoun αὐτῶν is the implied subject of the verbal idea in the head noun ἔργα (i.e., according to the things they do). Galatians 5:19. “Now the works of the flesh are evident.” Here the “flesh” is clearly performing the action of the verbal idea in the head noun (i.e., the things the flesh produces).

“Work” with the Genitive of “Law” in Paul There is also one other occurrence of the Greek noun ἔργον used with the genitive of νόμος in Paul, though in this case it is “work” in the singular: “who show the work of the Law written on their hearts” (Rom 2:15). Here, too, it is probable that we are dealing with a subjective genitive. When Gentile Christians reveal their renewed nature by complying with the righteous demands of the Law (2:14), they thereby show the internalized Law’s positive effect (cf. Deut 30:6) engraved on their hearts (cf. Jer 31:33). The internalized Law has made God’s will known in an effective manner, so that this revelation of his will results in a life of evident love for God. This “work of the Law” will produce evidence at the final judgment that will be the basis of the eschatological acquittal of the elect (2:7, 13, 16).30 30 Works play an evidentiary role in the final judgment in Pauline Christianity, not a meritorious role, as in Judaism. The difference is a necessary consequence of the two soteriological

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In other words, in their case, the revealed Law of God is effective in producing righteousness, in its internally revelatory role. Now this may sound like a contradiction of all we have maintained to this point regarding Paul’s use of the “works of the Law,” but it must be kept within the context of Paul’s broader theological viewpoint. For Paul, the Law of Moses is a dead letter—but only under the Old Covenant, and apart from the internal action of the Spirit of God who is at work in the hearts of Christian believers (cf. 2 Cor 3:6, 15–17). For those who have experienced the blessings of the New Covenant,31 the Law of God is internalized and truly effective in producing a righteousness that is accepted in the presence of God (cf. Rom 2:29; 7:6; 8:4; Gal 5:14–16; 6:2).32

IV. Answers to Objections I have argued above that Paul consistently uses the expression “works of the Law” to speak of righteous works (or other effects) that the Law itself is unable to produce. But this proposal could be subjected to numerous objections. I will consider a few of the more important ones.

“Works of the Law” as a Technical Term? It might be objected that the expression “works of the Law” has a background in Judaism as a way of speaking of those things which human beings are to do in compliance with the Law’s demands.33 However, the linguistic features of the commonly cited examples (drawn from the Dead Sea Scrolls)34 are all quite different from the Pauline usage. schemes, one of which is synergistic, and the other monergistic. In one, the righteous participants in God’s covenant with Israel are rewarded on the basis of their own works in fulfillment of the Law. In the other, Christ fulfills the Law, first in his own obedient life, and then through the lives of his elect people (Rom 15:18; 2 Cor 3:5; 13:5; Phil 2:13; cf. Heb 13:21). There is no room for strictly personal merit in Paul’s monergistic scheme. 31 For Paul this would probably include the elect saints of previous ages like Abraham and David, who were justified by faith in God’s sheer grace (Rom 4:1–8) and must have experienced the benefits of the New Covenant in a provisional, anticipatory manner. 32 In keeping with the spirit of Pauline theology, we would say that this righteousness is accepted because it is produced by God’s Spirit (Rom 8:4), and because the imperfections in the believer’s works are covered by Christ’s righteousness (2 Cor 5:21). 33 So Fitzmyer, Romans, 338. 34 Scholars sometimes point to the phrase “works of the commandments” in 2 Bar. 57:2 (see Moo, Romans, 208 n. 59; Fuller, “Paul and ‘The Works of the Law,’ ” 35), but there is no reason to make much of this parallel since (whatever the wording of the lost Hebrew original) it uses the plural “commandments,” not the singular “Law.” Furthermore, the Law of Moses is probably not directly in view in this text (cf. 2 Bar. 17:4), which further weakens the comparison.

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In 4QFlor (4Q174) 1:7 the “works of the Law” are clearly said to be what man is “to offer” God: “And he commanded to build for himself a temple of man, to offer him in it, before him, the works of the Law.”35 Here the “works of the Law” (or possibly “works of thanksgiving”) are plainly what Israel is to offer to God. But Paul nowhere speaks of anyone offering (whether rightly or wrongly) “works of the Law” to God; nor does he use any comparable grammatical construction. The same holds true for the occurrence of the phrase “some works of the Law” in 4QMMT (4Q399 2:2–3): “And also we have written to you some of the works of the Law which we think are good for you.”36 There the “works of the Law” are what the Qumran sectarians have “written” to others for their instruction in how they should properly observe the Law. But Paul nowhere speaks of the “works of the Law” as something written (whether rightly or wrongly) to anyone for the purpose of instruction, whether by Moses to Israel, or by Paul’s Judaizing opponents to Gentile Christians; nor does he use any grammatical construction that is comparable to this. Two other possible examples of a related construction occur in 1QS 5:20–21: “they shall examine their spirits in the Community, between one another, in respect of each man’s insight and of his works in the Law”;37 and 6:18: “the Many will be questioned about his duties, concerning his insight and his works in the Law.”38 But here the texts both speak of personal deeds: “his works in the Law.” Paul nowhere in his letters uses a personal pronoun in connection with “works of the Law.” It seems to have escaped the notice of modern scholarship that,39 unlike the Pauline examples, none of these extrabiblical references occurs in the context of questions concerning the capacity of the Law to produce righteousness in the sight of God. They all rather unambiguously speak of human obligations to obey the Law. If Paul had spoken of the “works of the Law” as something that could be “offered” to God, or written to an audience for their instruction in how to obey God, then obviously the subjective genitive (understood in the sense of what is produced by the Law) would be ruled out. The same would hold true if Paul had ever

35 Translation by Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 1:353; slightly emended to read ‫ תורה‬rather than ‫תודה‬. 36 Ibid., 2:803; translation slightly altered. 37 Ibid., 1:83; translation slightly altered. 38 Ibid., 1:85; translation slightly altered. 39 See the discussions of Martin Abegg, “4QMMT, Paul, and ‘Works of the Law,’” in The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, Interpretation (ed. Peter W. Flint; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 203–16; and John Kampen (with more caution), “4QMMT and New Testament Studies,” in Reading 4QMMT: New Perspectives on Qumran Law and History (ed. John Kampen and Moshe Bernstein; SBLSymS 2; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 129–44, esp. 138–43.

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written of a person’s own “works of the Law.” Such usages would obviously entail actions of people in attempting to adhere to the commandments of God.40 The fact that Paul never employs the phrase “works of the Law” in such constructions only goes to show the contrast between the Pauline usage of this expression and the various Qumran examples to which scholars commonly appeal. When Paul speaks of the “works of the Law,” he has in mind the Law as an agent on which the Jews rely for their righteousness before God; and he uses this expression in contexts where he is insisting that the Law can never justify a person or bring about spiritual benefit (because the giving of the Law did not produce good works or other positive benefits among the people of Israel). Because of Israel’s inability to comply with the demands of the Law, the Law only condemned those who received it (cf. Rom 4:15).

“Works of the Law” as Interchangeable with “Works”? Another objection, in particular regarding the usage of this expression in Romans, might be that the interchange between the term “works” (Rom 3:27; 4:4– 6; 9:11, 32; 11:6) and “works of the Law” makes it clear that Paul has in mind human deeds that are performed in the attempt to fulfill the requirements of the Law.41 However, the exposition of the Pauline usage of this expression above has already called that assumption into question. It could just as well be that Paul uses the phrase “works of the Law” precisely in order to signal those points in his argument when he is focusing on the agency of the Law itself, as opposed to the agency of people in their attempts to fulfill the Law. When Paul wants to speak of human attempts to fulfill the Law, he simply speaks of “works,” but when he wants to speak of the Law’s own inability to produce a righteousness that will stand before the bar of divine judgment due to humankind’s universally experienced slavery to sin, he speaks of “the works of the Law.”

40 Paul is capable of speaking of the Law in such constructions, but he uses the noun δικαίωμα (cf. Rom 2:26: an uncircumcised man keeps τὰ δικαιώματα τοῦ νόμου; 8:4: those who are in Christ fulfill τὸ δικαίωμα τοῦ νόμου). 41 This is essentially Westerholm’s objection (Israel’s Law and the Church’s Faith, 116–17; likewise Moo, “‘Law,’ ‘Works of the Law,’” 94–95). This objection, however, fails to see the close connection between human “works” and the “works of the Law” in the present proposal. It is precisely because the Law has failed to inspire righteous human works (Rom 7:8–10) that could pass the scrutiny of the day of judgment (cf. Rom 2:17–25) that the works of the Law are ultimately cast in negative terms in Paul’s theology. Because the Law can only condemn, not produce works that justify, it is futile to attempt to be justified on the basis of one’s performance in complying with the will of God as revealed in the Mosaic Law. Even Abraham was justified not by works but through faith in the God who forgives the “ungodly” (Rom 4:1–8). On Abraham as the paradigmatic “Lawkeeper” in Judaism, see Moo, Romans, 256.

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The true “works of the Law” according to Paul are only condemnation (3:19), personal knowledge of sin (3:20), subjection to wrath (4:15), the revelation of sinful passions (7:5, 13), spiritual death (7:9), and bondage to sin and death (8:2). The only way that God’s Law (as it functioned under the Old Covenant) could benefit a person for justification is if one proved capable of complying with its demands (2:25). But since no one is capable of adequately obeying the Law because of the power of sin (3:9), the effects of the Law of Moses ultimately prove to be negative— except insofar as the Mosaic Law served to prepare the faithful elect in Israel (cf. 11:7) for the gracious intervention of God’s saving righteousness in the mission of Christ (3:21–22).

“Works of the Law” as Additions to Faith? Regarding the usage of the expression “works of the Law” in Galatians, it might be objected that the specifics of the situation in Paul’s letter make it probable that he is referring to human attempts to obey the Law, since the issue at stake is the necessity of circumcision for justification (Gal 5:2–6).42 This conclusion, however, does not necessarily follow. If Paul wished to deny the necessity of circumcision for people to be found pleasing in the sight of God, he could build a polemic against what is perceived as a misguided attempt to base justification on human actions. Certainly, since the Law is based on the assumption of human ability to comply with its demands (Rom 10:5; Gal 3:12), Paul can at times state his argument in such terms (Rom 4:1–6, 16; 9:32; Phil 3:9). But in addition to criticizing Israel’s claim to be righteous before God on the basis of personal obedience to the Law, another way of addressing the issue would be to question the ability of the Law itself to produce positive spiritual benefits, in light of human depravity (Rom 2:25–3:20; Gal 3:10). If the Law itself is incapable of producing justifying righteousness in people who are enslaved to sin, then this too is obviously relevant to the question of the requirement of Law observance (including circumcision) for justification (cf. Acts 13:39; 15:10–11). It is precisely for that reason that Paul speaks of the “works of the Law” in the negative manner that he uses in the letter to the Galatians. It is important to notice that, in Galatians, Paul never accuses his Judaizing opponents of adding works to faith as cooperative means of justification.43 Rather, the Judaizers taught that righteousness comes “through the Law” (2:21; cf. 3:11), or through the works produced by the Law (2:16), not through faith in Christ. There is no doubt that the Judaizers advocated faith in Christ as the anticipated Messiah 42 So

Moo, “‘Law,’ ‘Works of the Law,’”97.

43 Galatians 3:3 is directed at Paul’s Gentile converts, who initially did claim justification by

faith in keeping with the terms of Paul’s gospel.

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(otherwise they would have had no influence in the early church); but it does not appear that they advocated faith in Christ as the means whereby a person was accepted as righteous in the sight of God.44 Their commitment to the Law made it impossible for them to see faith in Christ as the means of justification, since the Law was already in operation for centuries prior to the coming of Christ. Obviously, if people were already being justified by the Law prior to Christ, then Jesus did not need to die on the cross to provide justification. That is the whole point of 2:21, and it explains why Paul feels compelled to deny in 3:21 that the Law was ever effectually operative to provide life, even for saints in ages past. So the central argument of Galatians revolves not around the question of what a person must do to be justified (faith alone, or faith plus works?), but rather the mutually exclusive understanding of the agency of justification (either through the Law, or through the obedient death of Christ).

Excursus on Legalism In view of those texts where Paul states his argument in terms of Israel’s tendency to boast in its works, it may be somewhat misleading to identify the sin of which Judaism is accused in these passages as “legalism.” After all, most Jews did not in fact believe that salvation was something that could be strictly earned by anyone.45 Some texts that are often construed in such terms are misinterpreted. For example, Rom 11:6 directly addresses a legalistic mentality, yet it is not the Jews who are accused of such a mind-set but rather those who would question the preservation of the elect status of Israel. Paul’s point is that, since Israel’s election is gracious (Deut 7:7–8; 9:4–7), it cannot be negated by Israel’s covenantal failure. Romans 9:30–33, which does address Israel, is not accusing Judaism of legalism per se but of a mistaken reliance on the power of God’s Law to produce the righteousness people need for justification. Paul is not criticizing the Jews for wanting 44 Unfortunately, we cannot say specifically how the Judaizers understood the saving significance of Jesus’ death. They no doubt recognized that Jesus’ death on the cross was for their benefit and part of the plan of God, but what this entailed for them is hard to say. We know, however, that they did not view it in the Pauline terms expressed in Gal 1:4 and 2:20. They may have viewed his death as in some sense a final offering for sin, which fulfilled the anticipations of the sacrificial system. But viewing Christ’s death as an atonement for sin would not necessarily entail Paul’s belief in justification by imputed righteousness, thereby annulling the Law’s terms of justification based on personal obedience to its demands. It is one thing to say that Christ’s death atoned for sin; it is another to say that Christ’s death, once appropriated, was the sole basis on which the believer was declared to be righteous under the terms of the covenant. 45 Here it would seem that Sanders (Paul and Palestinian Judaism) has indeed made his case, though one might find exceptions to the norm in isolated texts. On the somewhat more legalistic perspective of 4 Ezra, see Sanders’s discussion (pp. 409–18); cf. Bauckham, “Apocalypses,” 161– 75.

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to be righteous (that was a good thing); he is criticizing them for seeking righteousness from the wrong source (since the Law has proven incapable of providing righteousness under its terms).46 Likewise, Rom 4:1–8 is not really an accusation of legalism (though it is often read that way), but rather an assault on Jewish national pride, a criticism of Jews who think that they will be able to “boast” of their superiority to the Gentiles because of the Law. Paul’s wording in v. 2 makes it absolutely clear that he is not saying (even hypothetically) that if a person is declared righteous on the basis of obedience to the Law, that person has a legitimate ground to boast before God. He is saying only that that person then has a legitimate ground for boasting before other people (though admittedly in the presence of God), and in this context those other people are surely the Gentiles (cf. 4:9–12). That is the boasting that Paul is attempting to exclude by his argument; namely, that Jews will be pronounced righteous on the basis of their own obedience to God’s will, as compared with the Gentiles. Few if any Jews would stand before God and claim to deserve a share in the world to come according to strict justice, but they would stand before God and claim to deserve pardon when their conduct is compared to that of the Gentiles (cf. 4 Ezra 3:28–36; 8:26–32). Further, Rom 4:16, which is found in the same context, is accusing the Jews of rejecting not the premise that salvation is by grace but only what Paul sees as its necessary consequence (that it must then be by faith). Paul and his Jewish opponents have radically different understandings of the proper definition of soteric grace. Judaism sees God’s grace in the giving of the Law to Israel; Paul sees God’s grace in the sacrificial obedience of Jesus Christ, imputed to all who believe. Neither does Gal 5:4 mean that in Paul’s mind the Jews did not believe in salvation by grace, if grace is defined as God’s undeserved favor which brings salvation. “Grace” here is not shorthand for a “system” of salvation that is opposed to legalism. In other words, Paul is not accusing his converts of adopting a legalistic soteriology.47 Grace in this context is a benefit (v. 2) that can in some sense be lost; it is not a means of justification, but justification itself. For the Galatians to seek

46 When Paul accuses the Jews of seeking to establish “their own” righteousness (Rom 10:3), he is not accusing them of legalism, in the sense of “self-righteous” trusting in one’s own merit (so Schreiner, Romans, 544; and Moo, Romans, 635); but neither is he accusing them only of seeking to limit justification to the people of Israel (so Dunn, Theology of Paul, 368). He is lamenting their mistaken belief in the capacity of the Jew to be justified by personal obedience to the Law. This is not a matter of legalism, but simply a matter of an unwillingness to recognize the inability of the Law to enable a person within the covenant to live righteously before God, even in response to God’s elective grace. The problem is the Jewish propensity to “rely on the Law” (Rom 2:17), but this does not automatically mean that they would boast in themselves. 47 He could have accused these Gentiles of adopting a soteriology that would operate in a gracious manner in the context of God’s covenant with Israel, but then would become legalistic when applied to those who do not find themselves already within the covenant. However, this is merely academic, as it does not appear to be Paul’s point.

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justification by accepting circumcision is to say that they are not yet justified, as though they had not already received that benefit in Christ (cf. 2:21). Since these Gentiles had previously claimed to have experienced grace/justification through Christ (1:9; 5:7), denying that fact could not but be described as falling away from grace. The question here is not whether justification is by grace or by works, but rather whether God’s grace/justification is a present possession that is already found in Christ, or whether it is something that must still be sought by these Gentile converts in the Law. Ironically, later texts that do explicitly contrast grace with works (Eph 2:8–9; 3:5) do not have Judaism specifically in view. They could well be taken as straightforward affirmations that God has redeemed the church (including Gentiles) purely because of his grace, just as in times past God had dealt with Israel (whose gracious election any Jew could affirm). In any event, Paul’s real criticism of the Jewish people lay in a somewhat different direction. It is essentially a twofold critique—both theological and moral. Their theological mistake (according to Paul), lay primarily in their anthropology, their unwillingness to recognize the enslavement to the power of sin that Israel continued to manifest even after receiving the gracious gift of the Law (Rom 7:5–13). This is why they put their trust in the Law as the source of their righteousness before God (Rom 2:17), rather than in the person of Christ as the source of their righteousness (Rom 10:1–4; Phil 3:9). The problem with the Law is not that it encourages legalism, but that human beings are unable to comply with its demands because of the radical power of sin. It is simply misguided to think that Paul would depict Judaism as “legalistic” based on the expectation of obedience to the Law for justification (or “life”). The Mosaic covenant structured the relationship between God and Israel precisely in those terms (Deut 30:15–20). In response to God’s undeserved grace, which was displayed in the giving of Canaan to Abraham’s children (Deut 7:7–11; 9:4–6), the people of Israel were to adhere faithfully to God’s Law so as to remain in the land. This is a kind of “nomism,” but it is not necessarily legalistic,48 since the initiative

48 It is important to distinguish legalism as a charge against a religion from legalism as a charge against an individual person or persons. Here I agree with Moo: “We must also reckon with the possibility that many ‘lay’ Jews were more legalistic than the surviving literary remains of Judaism would suggest” (Romans, 216). There are charges of legalism in the NT, but these have to do with the mind-set of people, not with the structure of the Jewish religion. Cf. Luke 16:15: those who “justify themselves”; Luke 18:9: those who “trust in themselves”; Phil 3:3–4: those who “put their confidence in the flesh.” Justification by means of God’s gracious gift of the Law can become a form of legalism when it causes people to trust in themselves rather than in God for righteousness. But Paul’s arguments are usually directed toward a theological critique of the Law’s role in Judaism (which is based on the terms of the Mosaic covenant itself), not criticisms of the mind-sets of individual people.

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in salvation and the ongoing promise of forgiveness of sins (which God is not obligated to confer) are rooted in the will and plan of God.49 Paul simply differed from other interpretations of Judaism at the time, in that he was radically pessimistic about Israel’s capacity to find life under the synergistic terms of the Mosaic covenant. A better way of distinguishing Pauline religion from Judaism would be “monergistic nomism” versus “synergistic nomism,” since Paul too insisted on the necessity of continued obedience in response to redeeming grace, if believers were permanently to enjoy the salvation of God.50 The moral mistake of Israel could best be characterized as Jewish national pride. The Jewish people desired to exalt themselves above the Gentiles (Rom 2:1– 4) and imagined themselves to be more righteous than the Gentiles, because they possessed the gift of the Law (Rom 2:17–24). But far from possessing the righteousness they imagined, Paul claims that, in reality, Israel has gone astray and fallen into the same idolatrous patterns of behavior as the Gentiles whom they hold in such contempt (Rom 2:24; 10:21).51 Hence, Israel wrongly boasted before God that it was more righteous than the “ungodly” Gentiles (Rom 4:1–8), and wrongly put its confidence in the belief that the Law was able to make Israel more righteous

49 One

might wish to argue that conditions changed somewhat after the destruction of the temple, when good works came to be viewed in rabbinic theology as a means of atonement in the place of the sacrificial system (cf. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 164). Thus, D. A. Carson’s suggestion that, “once atonement was judged to be something that could be secured entirely by personal deeds, even if it was insisted that such were efficacious because they were Godappointed means, then the primitive merit theology of the early rabbis was necessarily strengthened” (Divine Sovereignty and Human Responsibility: Biblical Perspectives in Tension [Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981], 92). However, this is irrelevant to the situation as it existed when Paul framed his own criticisms of Judaism. 50 See Rom 8:13; 1 Cor 6:9–10; Gal 5:19–21; cf. Eph 5:5; 2 Tim 2:12; Titus 1:16. The question of what Paul would make of converts who profess faith and then relapse into a lifestyle characterized by such sins is beyond the scope of this article. It is clear that Paul believed it possible to “fall from grace” (Gal 5:4), yet he also maintained the certainty of the salvation of the elect (Rom 8:28–34). Paul does not reconcile these two strands of his teaching, though it is possible to construct a reply based on his view of the covenant with Israel. The whole nation of Israel has a claim on God’s gifts (Rom 9:4), though not every Israelite was one of the elect predestined to eternal salvation (9:6). Apparently, salvation “belongs” to the whole nation in some sense, yet only the elect within the nation actually partake of the blessings to their eternal benefit (cf. 11:7). A similar line of thought could be developed in terms of the New Covenant church. All the baptized who profess faith (and, one could argue, their children) belong to God’s family (and hence salvation in some sense “belongs” to them), yet only the elect within the church actually benefit from those blessings given to the church as a whole. Such a model certainly makes sense of other early Christian descriptions of apostasy and its consequences (cf. Heb 6:4–8; 10:26–31; 2 Pet 1:4–11; 2:1; 2:20–21). 51 Cf. Gal 2:17: the Jews who seek justification in Christ are those who recognize themselves to be sinners (like the Gentiles).

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(Phil 3:3–9). The issue at stake in most of Paul’s criticisms is not the attempt to merit salvation in God’s sight, but rather Israel’s arrogant attempt to exalt itself above the Gentiles in God’s sight.

A Meaningless Tautology? Finally, it has been objected that the subjective genitive understanding of “works of the Law” produces a meaningless tautology in Paul’s statements.52 For if the works of the Law are entirely negative (as Gaston has argued), then why would Paul need to specify the fact that no one can be justified by the works of the Law? Obviously, if the only works of the Law are such things as sin (Rom 7:7), death (Rom 7:10), and wrath (Rom 4:15), then the Law clearly cannot bring justification. Why would Paul need to state such an obvious fact? This objection may well apply to Gaston’s view of the “works of the Law,” but it does not apply to the view being presented here. The purpose of the Law was not merely to pronounce a curse upon the Gentiles, who lay outside the covenant. The purpose of the Law was precisely—by means of their inability to keep the Law—to reveal to the Jews (to whom the Law was entrusted) their participation in the fall of Adam (Rom 3:19, 23; 5:12; 7:13), and thus to prepare them for the redemption from the curse to be effected by Christ (Rom 3:21–22; Gal 3:22–24).53 The point that Paul makes en route to this conclusion is indeed something that would be contentious and would certainly sound blasphemous to his fellow Jews. He is claiming that, precisely in its role as the vehicle of the revelation of God’s righteous will to Israel, the effects of the Law upon Israel have proven to be negative, not positive— not because of any defect in the Law itself (Rom 3:31),54 but because of the power of indwelling sin (Rom 7:7–12). 52 So

Schreiner, “‘Works of Law’ in Paul,” 231; and Rapa, Meaning of “Works of the Law,”

138. 53 From a Pauline perspective, this no doubt could explain why Moses from the very begin-

ning told Israel that it would find itself unable to keep the Law (Deut 31:29). The purpose of the Law was to hold forth the promise of life by means of compliance with the revealed will of God (much like Adam in the Genesis narrative; cf. 4 Ezra 3:19–23). When Israel subsequently failed to keep the Law (even after receiving the gracious gift of the Land, just as Adam was placed in the Garden), it would see that the Jews too are participants in the fall of Adam and the curse that falls upon those who break God’s commandment—a curse from which a deliverance would be required that would accomplish what the Law failed to accomplish (escape from condemnation before the justice of God). In other words, the purpose of the Law was (ironically) to keep the Jewish people from being tempted to trust in their own righteousness, which is precisely the point Paul makes in Rom 9:30–33. On Israel’s history as the recapitulation of Adam’s prior story, see N. T. Wright, Christian Origins and the Question of God, vol. 1, The New Testament and the People of God (London: SPCK, 1992), 251–52, 262–68. 54 Paul simply did not believe that the purpose of the Law was ever to be fulfilled by Israel’s own godly compliance with its stipulations. It was precisely in failing to keep the Law and being

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V. Conclusion The phrase “works of the Law” in Romans and Galatians should be taken as a subjective genitive referring to what is brought about by the giving of the Law. Paul insists, contrary to the popular conceptions of first-century Judaism, that the Law was an ineffective agent of justification, for it failed to produce in fallen sinners the righteousness required for life under its stipulated terms. Under the New Covenant, life is found through faith, through which the obedience of the Messiah Jesus is credited for the benefit of all who trust in his atonement on their behalf. This reading of the Pauline usage of the expression “works of the Law” is consistent with similar linguistic constructions in his letters. Objections to this proposal fail to meet their burden of proof. The linguistic evidence derived from the Dead Sea Scrolls is basically irrelevant for the study of Paul’s use of the phrase “works of the Law.” Works of the Law and “works” are not necessarily interchangeable for Paul. Works of the Law do not need to be viewed as additions to faith to make sense of the argument of Galatians. Nor is it a meaningless tautology to say that “works of the Law” fail to bring justification, in light of contemporary Jewish opinions about the effectual soteric agency of the Law. driven to faith in God’s own righteousness, given as a free gift in Christ, that Israel could attain to the true goal and purpose of the Law (Rom 3:31; 9:30–33; Gal 3:21–22). This may be part of what Paul speaks of in Rom 11:32: “For God has shut up all in disobedience so that he may show mercy to all.” By means of the Law, Israel came to recognize its common participation in the guilt and depravity of the human race alongside the Gentiles, in order to be prepared for God’s universal mercy in Christ.

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JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 579–593

The Syntax of ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Thessalonians 4:16 david konstan [email protected] Brown University, Providence, RI 0212

ilaria ramelli [email protected] Catholic University of Milan, 20123 Milan, Italy

In 1 Thess 4:16 we read: ὅτι αὐτὸς ὁ κύριος ἐν κελεύσματι, ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ, καταβήσεται ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ, καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται πρῶτον, κτλ. The translation in the RSV runs: “For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first,” etc.1 Our concern in this article is with the final clause: “And the dead in Christ will rise.” Does the Greek mean, “those who are dead in Christ will rise,” as many have taken it, including Jerome in the Latin Vulgate: mortui qui in Christo sunt resurgent?2 Or is it preferable to take it as meaning, “the dead will We wish to express our warm thanks to Frederick Brenk, Donald Russell, and Stanley Stowers for their comments on an earlier draft of this paper, and for their generous encouragement; we are grateful also to two anonymous referees for JBL and to James C. VanderKam. 1 Cf. the translation in Karl Staab and Norbert Brox, Cartas a los Tesalonicenses, cartas de la cautividad y cartas pastorales (Spanish trans. by Florencio Galindo; Barcelona: Herder, 14), 0: “. . . y los muertos en Cristo resucitarán primero.” Staab comments: “El estar en Cristo, que para Pablo constituye el ser mismo de la existencia cristiana, no sufre menoscabo alguno por la muerte corporal” (pp. –8). More tendentious is the version of Ortensio da Spinetoli, in Le lettere di San Paolo (4th ed.; Milan: Edizioni Paoline, 188), : “e i morti che sono in Cristo risorgeranno per primi.” 2 See James Everett Frame, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Paul to the Thessalonians (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 112; repr., 146), 1: “First the resurrection of the dead saints, and then the rapture of both the risen dead and the survivors. . . . Not ‘those who died in Christ’ (1 Cor 1:18), but ‘the dead who are in Christ.’ As in life and at death so from death to the Parousia the believer is under the control of the indwelling Christ or Spirit.” See also Traugott Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonien (EKKNT; Zurich: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn:



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rise in Christ”?3 The choice between the two versions is of considerable importance. On the first interpretation, only those who have died in Christ will be resurrected, whereas the second can be taken to signify that all the dead will be resurrected in Christ4—the necessary premise for the thesis of universal salvation or apocatastasis defended by Origen and other patristic writers, including Gregory of Nyssa. In

Neukirchener Verlag, 186), 201: in 1 Thess 4:16 “die Möglichkeit und Wirklichkeit der Auferstehung ist für Paulus selbstverständliche Gegebenheit. Sie wird aber betont auf die Toten ‘in Christus’ beschränkt. Die Näherbestimmung wird auf eine geprägte urchristliche Redeweise zurückgehen, die die Toten als solche ausweist, die zu Christus gehören.” In n. 28, Holtz compares 1 Cor 1:8; Rev 4:13; and Eph 4:1, ὁ δέσμιος ἐν κυρίῳ, but the parallels are not exact (see below). See P. Siber, Christus leben: Eine Studie zur paulinischen Auferstehungshoffnung (ATANT 61; Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 11),  n. 162. 3 Hung Sik Choi analyzes and classifies the various usages of ἐν Χριστῷ in Paul (“ΠΙΣΤΙΣ in Galatians :–6: Neglected Evidence for the Faithfulness of Christ,” JBL 124 [200]: 46–0, esp. 488 n. 104), noting that in Paul’s authentic letters this phrase always refers to the redemptive sphere, indicating God’s saving activity: justification in Christ, reconciliation in Christ, resurrection in Christ, election, blessing, sanctification, forgiving, access to Good, knowledge, life, freedom, righteousness, sonship, grace, love, all in Christ. This is in line with the interpretation of 1 Thess 4:16 as referring to resurrection in Christ. 4 Stanley Stowers points out that, in this letter, Paul is consoling the Thessalonians because some of them have died and Christ has not yet returned. Hence, he explains that, at the resurrection, the living Thessalonians will be rejoined by the dead, and so Paul focuses not on resurrection in general but rather on the problem at hand. His argument is this: all who have died in Christ will be saved; therefore, you will be saved, since you all died in Christ. The focus is not on the distinction between those who did and those who did not die in Christ, but on the salvation of the entire Thessalonian community. Now, Paul could equally well have consoled the Thessalonians by arguing that all who have died will rise in Christ; hence they too will rise in Christ— using a general eschatological statement to address a specific case. This is rhetorically forceful: if all who have died will rise in Christ, then certainly you Thessalonians—good Christians that you are—will do so as well. It does not seem to us that the question of which argument Paul chose to present can be decided on the basis of the context alone, although the context is certainly relevant. This is why we have elected to focus on the syntax of the phrase, with a view to determining whether it favors one reading over another. Needless to say, any conclusion drawn must be compatible with both the text and the context.  See, e.g., Ilaria Ramelli, “Nota sulla continuità della dottrina dell’apocatastasi in Gregorio di Nissa: dal De Anima et Resurrectione all’In Illud: Tunc et Ipse Filius,” Archaeus 10 (2006): 10– 4; eadem, “Allegoria ed escatologia: l’uso della retorica nel De anima et resurrectione di Gregorio di Nissa e il suo rapporto con la tradizione filosofica classica e la dottrina cristiana,” in Approches de la Troisième Sophistique: Hommages à Jacques Schamp (ed. E. Amato; Brussels: Latomus, 2006), 13–220; eadem, “Christian Soteriology and Christian Platonism: Origen, Gregory of Nyssa and the Biblical and Philosophical Basis of the Doctrine of Apokatastasis,” paper delivered at the annual meeting of the SBL, Philadelphia, November 20, 200, in the session entitled Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti, and which has now appeared in VC 61, no. 3 (200): 313–6; eadem, “La dottrina dell’apocatastasi eredità origeniana nel pensiero escatologico del Nisseno,” in Gregorio di Nissa: L’anima e la Resurrezione (Milan: Bompiani, 200); eadem, “‘In Illud: Tunc et Ipse

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this article, however, we set aside the theological arguments6 and concentrate simply on the point of grammar: does the prepositional phrase ἐν Χριστῷ modify οἱ νεκροί, or does it go more naturally with ἀναστήσονται? For all the potential significance of the answer to this question, it appears that no one so far has investigated Paul’s usage with respect to this specific construction. We have examined all the occurrences of ἐν Χριστῷ and ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ in the NT, numbering eighty-four in all. The expressions are not found in the Gospels or Acts, but occur almost exclusively in and throughout the Pauline corpus: in Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Philemon, Filius . . .’ (1Cor 1,2–28): Gregory of Nyssa’s Exegesis, Some Derivations from Origen, and Early Patristic Interpretations Related to Origen’s” (seminar paper at the 1th International Conference on Patristic Studies, Oxford 6–11 August 200, forthcoming); eadem, Apocatastasi (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, forthcoming), with rich documentation. 6 Theological arguments concerning the passage assume two forms: first, whether all are to be resurrected in Christ, or only those who “have died in Christ” (see notes below); second, determining the meaning of ἐν Χριστῷ. We do not enter into the latter question here; for discussion, see Troels Engberg-Pedersen, “Stoicism in the Apostle Paul: A Philosophical Reading,” in Stoicism: Traditions and Transformations (ed. Steven K. Strange and Jack Zupko; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 2–, esp. 63–6. Engberg-Pedersen states that being “in Christ” may mean, according to Paul, “a direct bodily participation, in a manner that was probably to be taken to be quite literally, where we would speak of metaphor.” Stanley K. Stowers (“What Is Pauline Participation in Christ?” in Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Edward P. Sanders [ed. Fabian Udoh, Gregory Tatum, and Susanna Heschel; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, forthcoming], with bibliography), Alexander J. M. Wedderburn (“Some Observations on Paul’s Use of the Phrases ‘In Christ’ and ‘With Christ’,” JSNT 2 [18]: 83–), Brenda B. Colijn (“Paul’s Use of the ‘In Christ’ Formula,” ATJ 23 [11]: –26), and Lars Hartman (Into the Name of the Lord Jesus: Baptism in the Early Church [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1], 3–0) all tend to interpret ἐν Χριστῷ in Paul in a baptismal sense.  On the Pauline credentials of the Letters to the Thessalonians (the second is commonly considered deutero-Pauline), see Bonnie Thurston, Reading Colossians, Ephesians, and 2 Thessalonians: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; New York: Crossroad, 1); Earl J. Richard, First and Second Thessalonians (SP 11; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1); Abraham Smith, Comfort One Another: Reconstructing the Rhetoric and Audience of 1 Thessalonians (Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1); Beverly Roberts Gaventa, First and Second Thessalonians (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 18); Steve Walton, Leadership and Lifestyle: The Portrait of Paul in the Miletus Speech and 1 Thessalonians (SNTSMS 108; Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Gene L. Green, The Letter to the Thessalonians (Pillar New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002); Colin R. Nicholl, From Hope to Despair in Thessalonica: Situating 1 and 2 Thessalonians (SNTSMS 126; Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004). L. Michael White argues that this is the earliest of Paul’s letters (From Jesus to Christianity: How Four Generations of Visionaries and Storytellers Created the New Testament and Christian Faith [San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2004], 13–6). For further bibliography, see Stanley E. Porter and Jeffrey A. D. Weima, An Annotated Bibliography of 1 and 2 Thessalonians (NTTS 26; Leiden: Brill, 18).

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Colossians, 1 and 2 Timothy, and 1 and 2 Thessalonians,8 to which we may add three instances in 1 Peter. In our view, the majority of occurrences favor—and none is incompatible with—taking the phrase in 1 Thess 4:16 with the following verb, that is, that the dead will rise in Christ. This is, indeed, the normal construction with a prepositional phrase preceding a verb. As it happens, there are two examples in the following verse (4:1): ἔπειτα ἡμεῖς οἱ ζῶντες οἱ περιλειπόμενοι ἅμα σὺν αὐτοῖς ἁρπαγησόμεθα ἐν νεφέλαις εἰς ἀπάντησιν τοῦ κυρίου εἰς ἀέρα· καὶ οὕτως πάντοτε σὺν κυρίῳ ἐσόμεθα, where the RSV renders: “then we who are alive, who are left, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and so we shall always be with the Lord“ (the translations that follow are based on the RSV, sometimes modified for greater literalness). The balanced clauses perhaps support taking ἐν Χριστῷ with the verb as well. To be sure, the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ modifies a preceding substantive, and more particularly the subject of the sentence, in letters that are attributed with certainty to Paul, but in these cases the article is invariably repeated before the phrase, for example, Rom 3:24: διὰ τῆς ἀπολυτρώσεως τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ; 8:3: τῆς ἀγάπης τοῦ ᾿Ιησοῦ τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Cor 1:4: ἐπὶ τῇ χάριτι τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ δοθείσῃ 8 Wayne A. Meeks and John T. Fitzgerald place 1 Thessalonians among “The Undoubted Letters of St. Paul” and 2 Thessalonians among “The Works of the Pauline School” (The Writings of St. Paul: A Norton Critical Edition [2nd ed.; New York: Norton, 200], 3–, 101–). Abraham J. Malherbe considers both letters authentically Pauline (The Letters to the Thessalonians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 32B; New York: Doubleday, 2000]) ; the first, written by Paul four months after he left Thessalonica, is “essentially a pastoral letter” (p. 8). Malherbe makes good use of patristic interpretations of the letter to show its paraenetic intent (p. 86), looking especially, in respect to the passage under discussion, to John Chrysostom, who understands the passage as referring to all the dead; see Wendy Mayer and Pauline Allen, John Chrysostom (Early Church Fathers; London: Routledge, 2000), 41–2. For 1 Thessalonians as a consolatory letter, see Matthias Konradt, Gericht und Gemeinde: Eine Studie zur Bedeutung und Funktion von Gerichtsaussagen im Rahmen der Paulinischen Ekklesiologie und Ethik im 1 Thess und 1 Kor (BZNW 11; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2003); Konradt defines 1 Thessalonians as a parakletischer Brief (p. 38) and reads it in tandem with 1 Corinthians on the issue of resurrection and eschatology (see esp. p. 181). On Paul’s complex eschatology, see also N. T. Wright, Paul: In Fresh Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 200), part 1, ch. 3: “Messiah and Apocalyptic”; and Joost Holleman, Resurrection and Parousia: A Traditio-Historical Study of Paul’s Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 (NovTSup 84; Leiden: Brill, 16), who argues for a three-phase process in 1 Cor 1:20– 23, beginning with Jesus’ resurrection and concluding with his parousia (Holleman also notes the different perspectives Paul adopts in his various letters). See also Joseph Plevnik, “The Taking Up of the Faithful and the Resurrection of the Dead in 1 Thess 4:13–18,” CBQ 46 (184): 24–83; Ben F. Meyer, “Did Paul’s View of the Resurrection of the Dead Undergo Development?” TS 4 (186): 363–8; idem, “Paul and the Resurrection of the Dead,” TS 48 (18): 1–8. Richard N. Longenecker offers a history of scholarship on the development of Paul’s thinking on the resurrection of the dead (“Is there Development in Paul’s Resurrection Thought?” in Life in the Face of Death: The Resurrection Message of the New Testament [ed. Richard N. Longenecker; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 18], 11–202).

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ὑμῖν ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Cor 4:1: τὰς ὁδούς μου τὰς ἐν Χριστῷ; Gal 1:22: ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις τῆς ᾿Ιουδαίας ταῖς ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Tim 1:14: μετὰ πίστεως καὶ ἀγάπης τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ (cf. 2 Tim 1:13: ἐν πίστει καὶ ἀγάπῃ τῇ ἐν Χριστῷ); 3:13: ἐν πίστει τῇ ἐν Χριστῷ; 2 Tim 1:1: ζωῆς τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ; 2:1: ἐν τῇ χάριτι τῇ ἐν Χριστῷ; 2:10: σωτηρίας τύχωσιν τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ; 3:1: διὰ πίστεως τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ. Analogous to this use is that of the article alone with the prepositional phrase (as in the classical construction οἱ περί, etc.) in Rom 8:1 οὐδὲν ἄρα νῦν κατάκριμα τοῖς ἐν Χριστῷ, which is equivalent in sense to τοῖς οὖσι ἐν Χριστῷ; the two constructions are combined in Phil 1:1: πᾶσιν τοῖς ἁγίοις ἐν Χριστῷ ᾿Ιησοῦ τοῖς οὖσιν ἐν Φιλίπποις. Of course, one cannot repeat the article where it does not occur and is not even implicit, as in the case of an indefinite noun, for example, Rom 6:23: τὸ χάρισμα τοῦ Θεοῦ ζωὴ αἰώνιος ἐν Χριστῷ, “the gift of God is life αἰώνιος10 in Christ,” where ζωή in the predicate position does not take the article. The absence of a following verb leaves the attribution of ἐν Χριστῷ unambiguous; cf. 2 Cor 12:2: οἶδα ἄνθρωπον ἐν Χριστῷ . . . ἁρπαγέντα, “I know a man who was caught up in Christ to the third heaven.”11 In some cases, there is an understood form of the verb “to be” that attaches the formula ἐν Χριστῷ to the subject, for example, 2 Cor :1: εἴ τις ἐν Χριστῷ, καινὴ κτίσις (“if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation”); Phil 2:1: εἴ τις οὖν παράκλησις ἐν Χριστῷ, “if there is any encouragement in Christ”; 1 Cor 16:24: ἡ ἀγάπη μου μετὰ πάντων ὑμῶν ἐν Χριστῷ, “my love be [or is] in Christ with you all.” In other cases, the expression “is X in Christ” is used predicatively, for example, 1 Cor 4:10: ἡμεῖς μωροὶ διὰ Χριστόν, ὑμεῖς δὲ φρόνιμοι ἐν Χριστῷ, “we are fools for Christ’s sake, but you are wise in Christ”; Eph 3:21: αὐτῷ  Malherbe notes the absence of the repeated article, but he nevertheless does not associate the phrase with the following verb: “‘the dead in Christ’ describes the dead in their relation to Christ (cf. 1 Cor 1:23) and does not refer to an immediate state in which they found themselves, as though the text read hoi nekroi hoi en Khristôi, the dead who are in Christ. The phrase is equivalent to ‘those who have fallen asleep in Christ’ (1 Cor 1:18) and ‘the dead who die in the Lord’ (Rev 14:13). Death does not sever their relation with Christ (cf. Rom 8:31–3). Nor is it in conception the same as the ‘first resurrection’ of the souls of the martyrs of Rev 20: 4– . . . Paul’s interest is in Christians, and speculation in the fate of non-Christians is misplaced. Paul is offering encouragement, not a comprehensive eschatological treatise” (Letters to the Thessalonians, 2). So too, Ernest Best notes the difference between our passage and the expression, οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ (A Commentary on the First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians [HNTC; New York: Harper & Row, 12], 1). 10 For the meanings of αἰώνιος as different from ἀΐδιος, see Ilaria Ramelli and David Konstan, Terms for Eternity: Aiônios and aïdios in Classical and Christian Texts (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 200). 11 Otto Kuss translates: “Sé de un hombre en Cristo . . . ,” taking the prepositional phrase directly with the noun (Carta a los Romanos, cartas a los Corintios, carta a los Gálatas [Spanish trans. by Claudio Gancho; Barcelona: Herder, 16]).

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ἡ δόξα ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ καὶ ἐν Χριστῷ, “to him be the glory in the church and in Christ”; Col 1:2: τοῖς ἐν Κολοσσαῖς ἁγίοις καὶ πιστοῖς ἀδελφοῖς, ἐν Χριστῷ χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη ἀπὸ θεοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῶν, “to the saints and faithful brethren at Colossae: Grace be to you in Christ and peace from God our father”;12 1 Thess :18: τοῦτο γὰρ θέλημα θεοῦ ἐν Χριστῷ, “this is the will of God in Christ.” Sometimes the expression ἐν Χριστῷ modifies a substantive or adjective that has verbal force, for example, in connection with terms for belief: Gal 3:26: πάντες γὰρ υἱοὶ θεοῦ ἐστε διὰ τῆς πίστεως ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ (“for you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus”), where the phrase perhaps depends on πίστις,13 which is construed like the verb πιστεύω; but ἐν Χριστῷ is perhaps more likely to be predicative and to depend on the verb ἐστέ: thus, the RSV renders: “for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith”.14 Another 12 The parallelism between grace in Christ and peace from God favors this interpretation over that of the RSV: “to the saints and faithful brethren who are in Christ at Colossae: Grace to you and peace from God our Father.” Cf. also 1 Thess 1:1: Εὐχαριστοῦμεν τῷ θεῷ πάντοτε περὶ πάντων ὑμῶν; and 2 Thess 1:1–2. 13 Choi argues forcefully, and perhaps rightly, that in Paul πίστις Χριστοῦ means “Christ’s faithfulness” rather than “faith in Christ”; he provides an extensive review of previous scholarship (“ΠΙΣΤΙΣ in Galatians :-6”). In particular, he interprets Gal 3:26 διὰ τῆς πίστεως ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ not as “You are children of God through faith in Christ,” but “you are children of God in Christ, through faith,” that is, Christ’s faithfulness (p. 4). But while the genitive “of Christ” may be objective (“faith in Christ”) or subjective (“Christ’s faith”), the phrase πίστις ἐν Χριστῷ appears to signify rather “faith in Christ.” We offer a few illustrations: Sophocles, Trachiniae 88: ἀλλ᾿ εἴ τις ἐστὶ πίστις ἐν τοῖς δρωμένοις; Polybius .14.2; 18.3.3: τὴν πίστιν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ μέρει διαφυλάττειν; Diodorus Siculus 1..2 (= Hecataeus of Abdera frag. 2 FGH): τὴν ὅλην πίστιν ἐν τῇ καλοκἀγαθίᾳ ποιήσας, “having placed his entire trust in nobility” (though the verb ποιήσας may govern the preposition); Philo Judaeus, De cherubim 8: πίστιν ἐν οὐ θνητῶν ἑορταῖς; Plutarch, Praecepta gerendae reipublicae 80B: πίστις ἐν συνηγορίᾳ; Origen, Contra Celsum 1.62 πίστει ἐν σοφίᾳ ἀνθρώπων καὶ οὐκ ἐν δυνάμει θεοῦ; and Paul’s own example in Rom 3:2: διὰ τῆς πίστεως ἐν τῷ αὐτοῦ αἵματι. Pistis in the non-Christian authors generally means “trust” rather than “faith” in the Christian sense, but the syntactic structure is the same, unless “faith in Christ” bears the special sense of “the faith that is in Christ.” We do not reject this interpretation out of hand, but simply note that, if it is correct, it does not affect our argument concerning 1 Thess 4:16. See also Ilaria Ramelli, “Alcune osservazioni su credere,” Maia n.s. 1 (2000): 6–83; Studi su Fides (pref. by Sabino Perea Yébenes; GraecoRomanae Religionis Electa Collectio 11; Madrid: Signifer Libros, 2002). We note in this connection that a good number of important testimonia read διὰ τῆς πίστεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ instead of διὰ τῆς πίστεως ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ; the former include MSS 13, 1, 206s, the Syriac version called Peshitta, Ephraem the Syrian, the Sahidic Coptic version, and even the thirdcentury papyrus p46, which reads πίστεως Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ (cf. the critical apparatus in Andreas Merk and Giuseppe Barbaglio, eds., Nuovo Testamento greco e italiano [Bologna: Dehoniane, 10], 626). 14 Kuss translates: “Todos, en efecto, sois hijos de Dios mediante la fe en Cristo Jesús” (Carta a los Romanos, 42). Cf. Marcello Buscemi, Lettere ai Galati: commentario esegetico (Jerusalem:

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ambiguous instance is Eph 1:1: Παῦλος . . . τοῖς ἁγίοις τοῖς οὖσιν [ἐν ᾿Εφέσῳ] καὶ πιστοῖς ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ; if “in Ephesus” is deleted, in accord with important manuscripts and witnesses, the case for the predicative use is still stronger; so the RSV: “to the saints who are also faithful in Christ Jesus.” Again, in Eph 3:6: εἶναι τὰ ἔθνη . . . συμμέτοχα τῆς ἐπαγγελίας ἐν Χριστῷ, “partakers of the promise in Christ” = “who partake of . . . ,” unless we take the final phrase to depend on the verb “to be.” Dependency on the verbal noun is more likely in Col 1:4, ἀκούσαντες τὴν πίστιν ὑμῶν ἐν Χριστῷ, “we have heard of your faith in Christ.” Romans 16:3, -10 is perhaps analogous: ᾿Ασπάσασθε Πρίσκαν καὶ ᾿Ακύλαν, τοὺς συνεργούς μου ἐν Χριστῷ . . . ἀσπάσασθε Οὐρβανὸν τὸν συνεργὸν ἡμῶν ἐν Χριστῷ . . . ἀσπάσασθε ᾿Απελλῆν, τὸν δόκιμον ἐν Χριστῷ, “Greet Prisca and Aquila, my fellow workers in Christ . . . greet Urbanus, our fellow worker in Christ . . . ; greet Apelles, who is approved in Christ”: the sense is, “who has collaborated with me in Christ, who has been approved in Christ,”1 although it is possible to understand ὄντα with συνεργόν and δόκιμον, or even to take the phrase with the verb ἀσπάσασθε: “Greet in Christ . . . ,” etc. (see below). Cf. Phlm 23: ἀσπάζεταί σε ᾿Επαφρᾶς ὁ συναίχμαλωτός μου ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Cor 3:1: οὐκ ἠδυνήθην λαλῆσαι ὑμῖν ὡς πνευματικοῖς, ἀλλ᾿ ὡς σαρκίνοις, ὡς νηπίοις ἐν Χριστῷ, where again it may be possible to take ἐν Χριστῷ—even though it appears at the end of the clause—directly with the preceding verb.16 As

Franciscan Printing Press, 200), 31: “forse è meglio qui unire ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ con ἐστε ed esprimere un senso pregnante: ‘siamo figli di Dio “per mezzo di Cristo” e soppratutto “in unione a Cristo Gesù.”’” Buscemi has a good discussion of the textual variants here, some of which give the genitive Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ. Contra Joseph B. Lightfoot, Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians (10th ed.; London: MacMillan, 180), 14, ad ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ: “The context shows that these words must be separated from διὰ τῆς πίστεως. They are thrown to the end of the sentence so as to form in a manner a distinct proposition, on which the Apostle enlarges in the following verses: ‘You are sons by your union with, your existence in Christ Jesus.’” Cf. Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1), 186: “Two formulas state the conditions for this adoption: ‘through [the] faith’ (διὰ τῆς πίστεως) and through incorporation in the ‘body of Christ,’ i.e. ‘in Christ Jesus.’” These latter interpretations seem tendentious, at least in light of the apparent structure of the sentence. See, most recently, Michael F. Hull, Baptism on Account of the Dead (1 Cor 15:29): An Act of Faith in the Resurrection (SBL Academia Biblica 22; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 200), 244–4, for discussion of this passage in connection with baptism. 1 Cf. C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1), 8: “ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ clearly serves to indicate that it is in relation to Christ and in the work of the gospel rather than in any other sphere or matter that they are Paul’s fellow-workers.” Kuss translates: “mis colaboradores en Cristo Jesús” (Carta a los Romanos, 16). 16 Paul notes, in the preceding verse (2:16), that “we have the mind of Christ”; here he indicates that, nevertheless, he cannot speak to the Corinthians as though they were already

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we shall see, this phrase often occurs at the end of a colon but nevertheless depends on the main verb even when the latter comes much earlier in the sentence. We stress, however, that the construction of the phrase with verbal nouns or adjectives is rare and limited to a few words. Had Paul written οἱ ἀποθανόντες ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται instead of οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, the case would have been rather less ambiguous, although even so, to be perfectly clear, he would have to have said οἱ ἀποθανόντες οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται or οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀποθανόντες ἀναστήσονται.1 Indeed, in the great majority of cases, the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ modifies the main verb or participial forms of the verb. In the simplest form, the verb is “to be,” for example, Rom 16:: πρὸ ἐμοῦ γέγοναν ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Cor 1:30: ὑμεῖς ἐστε ἐν Χριστῷ; Gal 3:14: ἵνα εἰς τὰ ἔθνη ἡ εὐλογία τοῦ ᾿Αβραὰμ γένηται ἐν Χριστῷ; Gal 3:28: οὐκ ἔνι ᾿Ιουδαῖος οὐδὲ Ἕλλην, οὐκ ἔνι δοῦλος οὐδὲ ἐλεύθερος, οὐκ ἔνι ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ· πάντες γὰρ ὑμεῖς εἷς ἐστε ἐν Χριστῷ; 1 Thess 2:14: μιμηταὶ ἐγενήθητε, ἀδελφοί, τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν τοῦ θεοῦ τῶν οὐσῶν ἐν τῇ ᾿Ιδουδαίᾳ ἐν Χριστῷ; Phil 2:: τοῦτο φρονεῖτε ἐν ὑμῖν ὃ καὶ ἐν Χριστῷ, supplying “is” or perhaps “you have” (so RSV). We may compare the use with intransitive verbs, for example, 1 Cor 1:1: ἐν τῇ ζωῇ ταύτῃ ἐν Χριστῷ ἠλπικότες ἐσμέν, “we have hoped in Christ”; Phil 3:3: καυχώμενοι ἐν Χριστῷ, “glorying in Christ”; Phil 1:26: τὸ καύχημα ὑμῶν περισσεύῃ ἐν Χριστῷ; Rom 6:11: ὑμεῖς λογίζεσθε ἑαυτοὺς [εἶναι] νεκροὺς μὲν τῇ ἁμαρτίᾳ, ζῶντας δὲ τῷ θεῷ ἐν Χριστῷ, “. . . alive to God in Christ”; 2 Tim 3:12: οἱ θέλοντες ζῆν εὐσεβῶς ἐν Χριστῷ ᾿Ιησοῦ διωχθήσονται, “live in Christ Jesus”; Gal :6: ἐν γὰρ Χριστῷ ᾿Ιησοῦ οὔτε περιτομή τι ἰσχύει οὔτε ἀκροβυστία (“avail”); Phil 3:14: διώκω εἰς τὸ βραβεῖον τῆς ἄνω κλήσεως τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν Χριστῷ, “I press on . . . in Christ” (although it is possible to understand the final phrase as depending on κλήσεως, “the calling upon God in Christ,” where the noun has a verbal force). Analogous is the construction with passive forms, as in Gal 2:1: ζητοῦντες δικαιωθῆναι ἐν Χριστῷ, “to be justified in Christ.”18

spiritual Christians, but as still carnal and indeed infants. He may be qualifying this disparaging description by allowing that they are, at all events, “infants in Christ,” that is, Christians, even if raw beginners; but if the prepositional phrase in fact depends on νηπίοις the sense may be “infants in respect to Christ,” that is, practically ignorant of him. 1 We are grateful to one of the anonymous reviewers for calling our attention to this question. 18 So too 1 Cor 1:2: τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ οὔσῃ ἐν Κορίνθῳ, ἡγιασμένοις ἐν Χριστῷ, “. . . sanctified in Christ”; Eph 2:10: αὐτοῦ γάρ ἐσμεν ποίημα, κτισθέντες ἐν Χριστῷ; 2 Tim 1:: κατὰ ἰδίαν πρόθεσιν καὶ χάριν τὴν δοθεῖσαν ἡμῖν ἐν Χριστῷ, “. . . granted . . . in Christ”; Eph 1:10: εἰς οἰκονομίαν τοῦ πληρώματος τῶν καιρῶν, ἀνακεφαλαιώσασθαι τὰ πάντα ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ (“be summed up”); 2 Cor 3:14: τὸ . . . κάλυμμα . . . μὴ ἀνακαλυπτόμενον ὅτι ἐν Χριστῷ καταργεῖται; Eph 2:: ἵνα ἐνδείξηται ἐν τοῖς αἰῶσι τοῖς ἐπερχομένοις τὸ ὑπερβάλλον πλοῦτος τῆς χάριτος αὐτοῦ ἐν

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Related to the preceding is the predicative use with “to be,” as in Rom 12:: ἓν σῶμά ἐσμεν ἐν Χριστῷ; Phil 1:13: ὥστε τοὺς δεσμούς μου φανεροὺς ἐν Χριστῷ γενέσθαι; Eph 2:13: ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ ὑμεῖς οἵ ποτε ὄντες μακρὰν ἐγενήθητε ἐγγύς. Similar to this, in turn, is the predicative use with other verbs, for example, “to have”: Rom 1:1: ἔχω οὖν καύχησιν ἐν Χριστῷ, “I have pride in Christ” (contrast RSV: “in Christ Jesus, then, I have reason to be proud”); 1 Cor 1:31: τὴν ὑμετέραν καύχησιν, ἣν ἔχω ἐν Χριστῷ; Gal 2:4: τὴν ἐλευθερίαν ἡμῶν ἣν ἔχομεν ἐν Χριστῷ (RSV: “our freedom which we have in Christ”); Phlm 8: πολλὴν ἐν Χριστῷ παρρησίαν ἔχων; 1 Cor 4:1: ἐὰν γὰρ μυρίους παιδαγωγοὺς ἔχητε ἐν Χριστῷ . . . ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ διὰ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου ἐγὼ ὑμᾶς ἐγέννησα, with the verb “to give birth to” in the latter clause. Several other verbs are employed this way as well.1 A subset of the above constructions involves verbs of saying, for example, Rom :1: ἀλήθειαν λέγω ἐν Χριστῷ, “I speak the truth in Christ”; 2 Cor 2:1: κατέναντι θεοῦ ἐν Χριστῷ λαλοῦμεν; Eph 1:3: ὁ θεὸς ὁ εὐλογήσας (= ὃς εὐλόγησεν, “who blessed”) ἡμᾶς ἐν πάσῃ εὐλογίᾳ πνευματικῇ ἐν τοῖς ἐπουρανίοις ἐν Χριστῷ (this is an example of the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ at the end χρηστότητι ἐφ᾿ ἡμᾶς ἐν Χριστῷ, “so that he might show the wealth of His grace in his kindness toward us in Christ.” 1 See Eph 1:1–20: τὴν ἐνέργειαν . . . ἣν ἐνήργησεν ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ ἐγείρας αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν; Eph 3:11: κατὰ πρόθεσιν τῶν αἰώνων ἣν ἐποίησεν ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ; 2 Cor 2:14: τῷ δὲ θεῷ χάρις, τῷ πάντοτε θριαμβεύοντι ἡμᾶς ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ (= ὃς θριαμβεύει, “who will cause us to triumph”); Eph 2:6: συνεκάθισεν ἐν τοῖς ἐπουρανίοις ἐν Χριστῷ (“caused us to sit”); Col 1:28: ἵνα παραστήσωμεν πάντα ἄνθρωπον τέλειον ἐν Χριστῷ (“that we may present every man mature in Christ,” although the final phrase may also be understood as depending on the adjective τέλειον, “perfect in Christ”); Phlm 20: ἀνάπαυσόν μου τὰ σπλάγχνα ἐν Χριστῷ, “refresh my heart in Christ”; Rom 8:2: ὁ γὰρ νόμος τοῦ πνεύματος τῆς ζωῆς ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ ἠλευθέρωσέν σε ἀπὸ τοῦ νόμου τῆς ἁμαρτίας καὶ τοῦ θανάτου, “for the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death” (contrast the RSV: “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set me [alternate reading] free from the law of sin and death,” in which case one would expect τῆς ζωῆς τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ); Phil 4:: ἡ εἰρήνη τοῦ θεοῦ . . . φρουρήσει . . . τὰ νοήματα ὑμῶν ἐν Χριστῷ, “will keep in Christ”; Phil 4:1: ὁ δὲ θεός μου πληρώσει πᾶσαν χρείαν ὑμῶν . . . ἐν Χριστῷ, “will supply . . . in Christ” (contrast RSV: “will supply every need of yours according to his riches in Christ Jesus”; Elio Peretto, in Le lettere di San Paolo, 38, translates: “Il mio Dio soddisferà ogni nostro bisogno in perfezione della sua ricchezza, in Cristo Gesù,” separating via punctuation the final phrase from the verb on which we take it to depend); Eph 4:32: ὁ θεὸς ἐν Χριστῷ ἐχαρίσατο ὑμῖν, which signifies not “as God in Christ forgave you” (RSV) but rather “God has forgiven you in Christ,” that is, thanks to Christ (in accord with the broad sense of ἐν influenced by the usage of the preposition b in Hebrew and Aramaic); 2 Cor :1: θεὸς ἦν ἐν Χριστῷ κόσμον καταλλάσσων ἑαυτῷ, where the sense is not so much “God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself ” (RSV) or “In Christ God was . . . ,” etc. (so the note in the Oxford Annotated Bible) as “God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ” (Pietro Rossano, in Le lettere di San Paolo, 204, renders: “è stato Dio, infatti, a riconciliare con sé il mondo in Cristo”).

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of a clause and depending on a verb that comes considerably earlier in the sentence); 2 Cor 12:1: κατέναντι θεοῦ ἐν Χριστῷ λαλοῦμεν; Phil 4:21: ἀσπάσασθε πάντα ἅγιον ἐν Χριστῷ, “greet in Christ” (see further below). The three occurrences of the expression in 1 Peter are in accord with Pauline usage. In 1 Pet 3:16 the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ is enclosed between the article and the substantive and thus refers to the latter in accord with regular Greek usage: τὴν ἀγαθὴν ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστροφήν. In 1 Pet :10 the phrase depends on a participle: ὁ θεὸς ὁ καλέσας ὑμᾶς εἰς τὴν αἰώνιον αὐτοῦ δόξαν ἐν Χριστῷ, while in 1 Pet :14 the article functions as in the οἱ περί construction (cf. Rom 8:1, cited above): εἰρήνη ὑμῖν πᾶσιν τοῖς ἐν Χριστῷ, “to all you who are in Christ.” The syntax of the phrase ἐν τῷ κυρίῳ is analogous to that of ἐν Χριστῷ; the expression occurs forty-eight times in the NT—forty-seven times in the Pauline corpus and once in the Apocalypse. Indeed, the dependence of the phrase on a verb—almost always expressed, though occasionally implicit—is even more evident here than in the case of ἐν Χριστῷ. We present the passages in more or less the same order as those involving the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ above. Thus, with the verb “to be” we have Rom 16:11: ἀσπάσασθε τοὺς ἐκ τῶν Ναρκίσσου τοὺς ὄντας ἐν κυρίῳ; with “to be” implicit, 1 Cor 11:11: οὔτε γυνὴ χωρὶς ἀνδρὸς οὔτε ἀνὴρ χωρὶς γυναικὸς ἐν κυρίῳ. With intransitive or passive verbs, we note Eph 6:10: ἐνδυναμοῦσθε ἐν κυρίῳ; Eph 2:21: πᾶσα οἰκοδομὴ . . . αὔξει εἰς ναὸν ἅγιον ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 3:1: χαίρετε ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 4:4: χαίρετε ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 4:10: ἐχάρην δὲ ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 4:1: οὕτως στήκετε ἐν κυρίῳ, “stand firm in the Lord”; 1 Thess 3:8: ἐὰν ὑμεῖς στήκετε ἐν κυρίῳ; Col 3:18: ὡς ἀνῆκεν ἐν κυρίῳ, “as is fitting in the Lord” (RSV); Phlm 20: ἐγώ σου ὀναίμην ἐν κυρίῳ (“benefit in the Lord”). See also Rom 14:14: πέπεισμαι ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 1:14: ἐν κυρίῳ πεποιθότας; Phil 2:24: πέποιθα δὴ ἐν κυρίῳ (cf. 2 Thess 3:4: πεποίθαμεν δὲ ἐν κυρίῳ ἐφ᾿ ὑμᾶς; Gal :10: ἐγὼ πέποιθα εἰς ὑμᾶς ἐν κυρίῳ ὅτι οὐδὲν ἄλλο φρονήσετε); Phil 2:1: ἐλπίζω δὲ ἐν κυρίῳ; 1 Cor 1:31 (= 2 Cor 10:1): ὁ καυχώμενος ἐν κυρίῳ καυχάσθω; 1 Cor :3: ἐλευθέρα ἐστὶν ᾧ θέλει γαμηθῆναι, μόνον ἐν κυρίῳ (“she is free to marry whomever she wants, only in the Lord”); 2 Cor 2:12: θύρας μοι ἀνεῳγμένης ἐν κυρίῳ, “a door was opened to me in the Lord.” In the predicate position with “to be,” see 1 Cor 1:8: ὁ κόπος ὑμῶν οὐκ ἔστι κενὸν ἐν κυρίῳ; 1 Cor 4:1: Τιμόθεον, ὅς ἐστίν μου τέκνον ἀγαπητὸν καὶ πιστὸν ἐν κυρίῳ (the construction may also depend on the verbal force of the adjective πιστόν, “is faithful in the Lord,” in accord with the formula πιστεύω + ἐν Χριστῷ); Eph 6:21: πάντα γνωρίσει ὑμῖν Τύχικος, ὁ ἀγαπητὸς ἀδελφὸς καὶ πιστὸς διάκονος ἐν κυρίῳ (cf. Col 4:: πάντα γνωρίσει ὑμῖν Τύχικος, ὁ ἀγαπητὸς ἀδελφὸς καὶ πιστὸς διάκονος καὶ σύνδουλος ἐν κυρίῳ); 1 Cor :1: τὸ ἔργον μου ὑμεῖς ἐστε ἐν κυρίῳ (“you are my workmanship in the Lord”); 1 Cor :2: ἡ γὰρ σφραγίς μου τῆς ἀποστολῆς ὑμεῖς ἐστε ἐν κυρίῳ; Eph :8: ἦτε γάρ ποτε σκότος, νῦν δε φῶς ἐν κυρίῳ; Col 3:20: εὐάρεστόν ἐστιν ἐν κυρίῳ. With a transitive verb:

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Col 4:1: τὴν διακονίαν ἣν παρέλαβες ἐν κυρίῳ; Phlm 1:16: αὐτὸν ἀπέχῃς οὐκέτι ὡς δοῦλον ἀλλὰ ἀδελφὸν ἀγαπητόν . . . καὶ ἐν σαρκὶ καὶ ἐν κυρίῳ; Rom 16:2: ἵνα αὐτὴν προσδέξησθε ἐν κυρίῳ; Phil 2:2: προσδέχεσθε οὖν αὐτὸν ἐν κυρίῳ; 1 Thess :12: εἰδέναι τοὺς κοπιῶντας ἐν ὑμῖν καὶ προϊσταμένουςὑμῶν ἐν κυρίῳ.20 The only non-Pauline occurrence of the phrase is in Rev 14:13, and it, like the passage in 1 Thessalonians, concerns those who are dead in Christ. To indicate the dead, however, John does not use the bare expression οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν κυρίῳ but rather repeats the article before the prepositional phrase, and in addition encloses the phrase between the article and a participle, so that its syntactical structure and meaning are unequivocal: μακάριοι οἱ νεκροὶ οἱ ἐν κυρίῳ ἀποθνῄσκοντες ἀπ᾿ ἄρτι . . . ἵνα ἀναποστήσονται ἐκ τῶν κόπων. We have here, then, a construction quite different from that in 1 Thessalonians, which indeed suggests what Paul would have written if he had meant to say “those who are dead”—or rather, who have died (the phrase depends on the participle)—“in Christ.” The phrases ἐν Χριστῷ and ἐν κυρίῳ seem, then, to be regularly attached to a verb, a participle, or an adjective with verbal force (this last very rarely, however). Ιf they do modify a substantive, they are either clearly enclosed in a nominal phrase, as may occur also with a participle (1 Cor :22: ὁ γὰρ ἐν κυρίῳ κληθεὶς δοῦλος), or else they are preceded by a repetition of the article. Let us, finally, compare our passage in 1 Thessalonians, οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, and 1 Cor 1:18: οἱ κοιμηθέντες ἐν Χριστῷ ἀπώλοντο, where 20 For dependency on a verb of saying or greeting, see Eph 4:1: τοῦτο οὖν λέγω καὶ μαρτύρομαι ἐν κυρίῳ; Rom 16:8: ἀσπάσασθε Ἀμπλιᾶτον τὸν ἀγαπητόν μου ἐν κυρίῳ; Rom 16:12–13: ἀσπάσασθε Τρύφαιναν καὶ Τρυφῶσαν, τὰς κοπιῶσας ἐν κυρίῳ, ἀσπάσασθε Περσίδα τὴν ἀγαπητήν, ἥτις πολλὰ ἐκοπίασεν ἐν κυρίῳ, ἀσπάσασθε Ῥοῦφον, τὸν ἐκλεκτὸν ἐν κυρίῳ; 1 Cor 16:1: ἀσπάζεται ὑμᾶς ἐν κυρίῳ πολλὰ Ἀκύλαν καὶ Πρίσκαν; Rom 16:22: ἀσπάζομαι ὑμᾶς ἐγὼ Τέρτιος ὁ γράψας τὴν ἐπιστολὴν ἐν κυρίῳ (here it is apparent that in greetings, the expression ἐν κυρίῳ, like ἐν Χριστῷ, tends to come at the end of the clause or sentence, even when the verb on which it depends, ἀσπάζομαι, occurs at the beginning: Tertius means “I greet you in the Lord,” not “I who have transcribed this letter [of Paul’s] in the Lord”; we take it, then, that in the analogous greetings with ἐν Χριστῷ the phrase refers also to the verb ἀσπάζομαι). Analogous, it appears, is Eph 4:1: παρακαλῶ οὖν ὑμᾶς ὁ δέσμιος ἐν κυρίῳ ἀξίως περιπατῆσαι τῆς κλήσεως, “I, a prisoner, beg you in the Lord” (contrast the RSV: “I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, beg you . . . ,” which perhaps cannot be excluded); cf. Phil 4:2: παρακαλῶ τὸ αὐτὸ φρονεῖν ἐν κυρίῳ, “I entreat . . . to agree in the Lord” (RSV). Still more clearly dependent on the verb is 1 Thess 4:1: ἐρωτῶμεν ὑμᾶς καὶ παρακαλοῦμεν ἐν κυρίῳ; 2 Thess 3:12: παρακαλοῦμεν ἐν κυρίῳ; see also Eph 6:1: τὰ τέκνα, ὑπακούετε τοῖς γονεῦσιν ὑμῶν ἐν κυρίῳ, where the idea is “obey in the Lord” rather than “parents in the Lord” (although the phrase ἐν κυρίῳ is missing from some manuscripts and testimonies); Staab (in Staab and Brox, Cartas a los Tesalonicenses, 231) translates “obedeced en el Señor a vuestros padres.” Norbert Hugedé compares ἐν κυρίῳ here with κατὰ πάντα in Col 3:18: τὰ τέκνα, ὑπακούετε τοῖς γονεῦσιν κατὰ πάντα, τοῦτο γὰρ εὐάρεστόν ἐστι ἐν κυρίῳ (L’Épître aux Éphésiens [Geneva: Labor et Fides, 13], 224).

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it would seem impossible to render “those who have fallen asleep have perished in Christ” (contrast the RSV: “those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished”), even if Paul is here arguing by way of a reductio ad absurdum: if Christ has not risen, the dead will not rise in Christ, but rather have perished. However, even if we understand “those who have fallen asleep in Christ,” the case is rather different from the phrase οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, since here ἐν Χριστῷ depends on the participle κοιμηθέντες = ἐκεῖνοι οἳ ἐκοιμήθησαν ἐν Χριστῷ, whereas the parallel interpretation of οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ would have it depending on a substantive.21 It is important to note that in the verse immediately following (v. 1), and again in v. 22, the phrase ἐν (τῷ) Χριστῷ is employed in the regular manner to modify the verb rather than the substantive. Thus, in 1 Cor 1:1, εἰ ἐν τῇ ζωῇ ταύτῃ ἐν Χριστῷ ἠλπικότες ἐσμὲν μόνον, ἐλεεινότεροι πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἐσμέν does not mean “if in this life in Christ . . . ,” etc., but rather “if we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied.” Above all, 1 Cor 1:22 is important both for the grammar of the phrase under consideration and for the theological side of the issue, since there it is said, “for just as in Adam all die, so too in Christ all will rise,” ὥσπερ γὰρ ἐν τῷ Ἀδὰμ πάντες ἀποθνῄσκουσι, οὕτως καὶ ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ πάντες ζῳοποιηθήσονται. The position of πάντες and the parallelism between the two clauses guarantee the close connection of both the prepositional phrase and the pronoun with the following verb: “all will rise in Christ.” Had Paul wished to say “all those who are in Christ will rise,” he would have to have written πάντες οἱ ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ ζῳοποιηθήσονται or the like.22 So too, if Paul had wished to say “the dead in Christ will rise” or “those will rise who have died in Christ,” he would have to have written οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ νεκροὶ ἀναστήσονται, or else οἱ νεκροὶ οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, which would have been unequivocal. As the sentence stands, however, οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, it would seem far more natural to take it to mean “the dead will 21 Kuss

translates: “también los que durmieron en Cristo están perdidos” (Carta a los Romanos, 28). 22 Kuss translates: “. . . así también en Cristo serán todos vueltos a la vida” (Carta a los Romanos, 28), which is ambiguous enough, but he comments: “mientras en Cristo todos los creyentes alcanzan la plena revelación de la vida eterna” (p. 22). There is nothing in the Greek corresponding to “los creyentes.” So too Vincenzo Jacone remarks: “Trattandosi della vita gloriosa non si può prendere tutti se non nel senso di quelli che avranno unione con Cristo Gesù, e S. Paolo lo suggerisce perché, mentre usa il διά nel v. 21, ha ἐν nel nostro: i grammatici lo dicono ἐν mistico. . . . Dato il contesto è ben difficile spiegare le parole dell’Apostolo per la risurrezione generale. . . . Si può affermare che la risurrezione degli empi non è esclusa, ma qui non è intesa” (Le epistole di S. Paolo ai Romani, ai Corinti e ai Galati [Rome: Marietti, 11], 31). In contrast, see Pietro Rossano, trans., in Le lettere di San Paolo, 16, who translates “così tutti saranno vivificati in Cristo,” and comments on the interpretation of “all” as “all believers”: “Ma che sia implicita nella sua mente [sc. di Paolo] la risurrezione di tutti gli uomini non v’è motivo di metterlo in dubbio.” See also n. 24 below.

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rise in Christ,” all the more so when compared with the formula in 1 Cor 1:22, which is certainly by Paul himself, where it is not those who are dead in Christ— whatever that might mean—but all people who will rise in Christ, inasmuch as Christ is precisely the resurrection (see John 11:2, Ἐγώ εἰμι ἡ ἀνάστασις καὶ ἡ ζωή). Although our argument depends first and foremost on an analysis of Paul’s own usage in respect to the prepositional phrases ἐν Χριστῷ and ἐν κυρίῳ and that of other NT writers, it is of interest to note that at least some of the early Christian exegetes of the NT took the phrase in the way we have indicated. To be sure, this interpretation, like the opposite one of taking ἐν Χριστῷ with οἱ νεκροί, will have been motivated by theological considerations and so cannot be considered as independent evidence for the grammatical construction. Nevertheless, it does show that speakers of ancient Greek who lived relatively near to the time when the NT texts were written found nothing strange in reading the phrase in the manner we suggest. Perhaps the clearest evidence is a passage in John Chrysostom (Homily 8, On the First Letter to the Thessalonians [PG 62:43A], who cites the precise words in 4:16 (οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται) and then comments (440A): καὶ οἱ νεκροί, φησίν, ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται, where the insertion of φησίν leaves little doubt that he took ἐν Χριστῷ with ἀναστήσονται (cf. 43D, where John comments: λέγει γάρ, ἀναστῶσιν οἱ νεκροί (“for he says that the dead will rise”; and again, οἱ τελευτήσαντες ἐγείρονται). It is relevant that John maintains here that all who have lived since Adam will rise again (441A): τοὺς ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἀδὰμ μέχρι τῆς αὐτοῦ παρουσίας πάντας ἐκείνους ἑστάναι τότε μετὰ γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων (“that all the descendants of Adam up until his [Jesus’] appearance will rise then, together with their wives and children”). Again, Cyril of Alexandria leaves no doubt about how he understood the syntax of this passage, since he alters the word order in such a way as to make “in Christ” depend unequivocally on the verb (Commenary on Luke [from the Catenae] PG 2:824A): ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ καταβήσεται ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ· σαλπίσει γάρ, καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ ἐγερθήσονται ἐν Χριστῷ (“with the archangel’s call and with the trumpet of God he will descend from heaven; for he will sound the trumpet, and the dead will awaken in Christ”). He interprets 1 Thess 4:16 as a command uttered to all (Catechism for Those Who Are to Be Baptized 1.21): ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ καταβήσεται ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ· ἀρχάγγελος προσφωνεῖ καὶ λέγει τοῖς πᾶσιν· ἐγείρεσθε. So too, in the Commentary on John, he cites 1 Thess 4:16 in reference to “the time of the resurrection of all” (τῆς ἁπάντων ἀναστάσεως τὸν καιρόν);23 cf. On the

23 P. E. Pusey, Sancti patris nostri Cyrilli archiepiscopi Alexandrini in D. Joannis evangelium (3 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon, 182; repr., 16), here 1:348.2.

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Adoration (PG 68:110), where Cyril remarks of οἱ νεκροὶ ἐγερθήσονται: “because we all [πάντες] must appear before the judgment of Christ” (see also Maximus Confessor, Scholia to Ecclesiastes 12.3–4). We may compare also two Greek fragments of Irenaeus’s Adversus Haereses (second century), which paraphrase 1 Thess 4:16: ἐν Ἰησοῦ τὴν ἀνάστασιν τῶν νεκρῶν κηρύσσων (“announcing the resurrection of the dead in Jesus”; frag. 1, from book 3), and, less directly, Θεὸς . . . ἤγειρε (τὸν Ἰησοῦν) καὶ τὴν σωτηρίαν ἐν αὐτῷ ἔδωκε τοῖς ἀνθρώποις (“God . . . raised [Jesus] and in him gave salvation to human beings”; frag. 16). Irenaeus clearly understood Paul to mean that the dead will rise in Christ, rather than that those who have died in Christ will rise. In other cases, it is clear that a given commentator takes 1 Thess 4:16 to refer to the resurrection of all, even though in citing the passage he, like Cyril in the words quoted above, may omit the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ. Thus, Gregory of Nyssa (De opificio hominis 221.23) observes: καθάπερ γὰρ ἐν τῇ τοῦ παντὸς ἀναστοιχειώσει, φησὶν ὁ ἀπόστολος, αὐτὸν καταβήσεσθαι τὸν Κύριον ἐν κελεύσματι, ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου, καὶ διὰ σάλπιγγος εἰς ἀφθαρσίαν τοὺς νεκροὺς διαναστήσειν (“just as, at the reconstitution of the universe, says the apostle, the Lord himself will descend with a command, with the archangel’s call, and with the sound of the trumpet will raise the dead to immortality”; cf. De anima 136C). It is clear at least that Gregory does not understand the expression οἱ νεκροὶ ἐν Χριστῷ as limiting the number of those who will be resurrected to those who have “died in Christ.” So too Didymus the Blind, Fragments from the Commentary on the Psalms, frag. 128, cites 1 Thess 4:16 and remarks: ὡς οὖν τὸ πρόσταγμα τῆς ἀναστάσεως φανηρούμενον πᾶσι ἐπὶ τὸ δικαίους καὶ ἀδίκους ἀναστῆναι (“as the command of the resurrection will be made apparent to all when the just and the unjust shall rise again”). Many other commentators simply cite or allude to the passage we are discussing without the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ.24 24 We note here Epiphanius, Panarion 2.306.1 (καταβήσεται γάρ, φησιν, κύριος ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ ἐν τῇ ἐσχάτῃ σάλπιγγι καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ ἀναστήσονται ἐν τῇ ἐσχάτῃ ἡμέρᾳ ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου); John of Damascus, Life of Barlaam and Joasaph 108: ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ ἀναστήσονται οἱ νεκροί; Dialogue of Adamantius on the Correct Faith in God 48.23–24: ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου, ἐν τῇ ἐσχάτῃ σάλπιγγι καταβήσεται κύριος ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ, καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ ἐγερθήσονται; Cyril, Fragments from the Commentary on 1 Corinthians (Pusey, 3:24–318, here 31.8): ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ καταβήσεται ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ ἐγερθήσονται ἄφθαρτοι; and cf. Macarius Macr., Consolation to his Friend John 332.6: οἱ νεκροὶ ἀναστήσονται ἄφθαρτοι (A. Sideras, “2 Unedierte byzantinische Grabreden,” Κλασικά Γράμματα . Thessalonica: “Παρατηρητής,” 10:311–36); Theodoret of Cyrus, Exegesis of Daniel (PG 81:142): οἱ νεκροὶ ἐγερθήσονται ἄφθαρτοι; idem, Exegesis of the Pauline Letters (PG 82:648.34, 648.0); Ephrem the Syrian, On Repentance V, p. 8,  (ed. Phrantzoles); Catenae on the New Testament, Catena on 1 Cor 332.1; Catena on 2 Cor by Ps. Oecumenius, from cod. Paris. Gr. 223, 33.31: ἥξει ἐν κελεύσματι, ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου, ἐν σάλπιγγι, και ἐγερεῖ τοὺς νεκρούς; cf. Olympiodorus Diaconus Commentary on Job 132.1. They too appear not to take ἐν Χριστῷ as defining the nature of the dead who are to rise again.

Konstan and Ramelli: 1 essalonians 4:16

3

Most interestingly, those who clearly understood “in Christ” to refer to οἱ νεκροί invariably felt obliged to rephrase the citation. Thus, Porphyry, Against the Christians frag. 3, repeats the definite article: ἐν φωνῇ ἀρχαγγέλου καὶ ἐν σάλπιγγι θεοῦ καταβήσεται ἀπ᾿ οὐρανοῦ καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ οἱ ἐν Χριστῷ ἀναστήσονται (“with the archangel’s call and with the trumpet of God he will descend from heaven and the dead, those in Christ, will rise”). And Origen, who defended the thesis of universal salvation, oddly enough took the passage in this way as well and placed the problematic phrase between the article and the substantive (Contra Celsum .1): τοὺς ἐν Χριστῷ νεκρούς. Origen, however, had a particular intepretation of “the dead.” See his Commentary on John XX 26.22–4, according to which the dead in Christ are those who believed and attempted to lead a virtuous life, whereas the living are those who are perfect and no longer sin (note also Methodius of Olympus, Symposium or. 6.4, for the idea that the dead who will arise are the bodies, while the living are the souls). Thus, the testimony of the Fathers seems to lend strong support to the case for taking the phrase ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Thess 4:16 with the following verb rather than with the preceding noun. In conclusion, we adduce one more passage, this one from 1 Thessalonians itself. Just prior to the verse from which we began our discussion (4:14), Paul writes: εἰ γὰρ πιστεύομεν ὅτι Ἰησοῦς ἀπέθανεν καὶ ἀνέστη, οὕτως καὶ ὁ θεὸς τοὺς κοιμηθέντας διὰ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ ἄξει σὺν αὐτῷ. The RSV renders this: “For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.” This is surely right. Paul does not mean that those who have fallen asleep have done so through Jesus, but rather that God will resurrect them through or thanks to Jesus. To be sure, there is a difference between διὰ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ and ἐν Χριστῷ,2 but both the parallel syntax26 and the drift of the argument would seem to favor taking διὰ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ here and ἐν Χριστῷ in 4:16 with the verb. 2 But not necesssarily as wide as in classical Greek; see M. Zervick, Graecitas Biblica Novi Testamenti (th ed.; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 166) §§116–21, esp. §11, for the wide range of meanings of the preposition ἐν in the NT, in part through the influence of the Hebrew preposition b, which often has an instrumental value. Indeed, in 1 Cor 1:22, the passage that has the closest bearing on 1 Thess 4:16, Marcion has διὰ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ in place of the more common ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ; cf. the critical apparatus in Merk and Barbaglio, Nuovo Testamento, 8. 26 Repetition with variation is an extremely common feature throughout the Bible.

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JBL 126, no. 3 (2007): 595–613

Lion and Human in Gospel of Thomas Logion 7 andrew crislip [email protected] University of Hawaii at Manoa, Honolulu, HI 6822

Logion 7 (NHC II, 2, 33:23–2) has challenged interpreters of Thomas’s Gospel since the text first became available to scholars.1 In the only sustained treatment that the saying has received, Howard Jackson characterizes Gos. Thom. 7 as “[a]mong the hardest of the ‘hard sayings’ that the [Gospel of Thomas] sets upon the lips of Jesus.”2 In its Coptic version, divided into clauses, it runs:3 1. 2. 3. 4. .

pe`ei_soumakarios pe pmouei paei eteprwme naouom3 auw n-tepmouei 4wpe r-rwme auw 3bht n-2iprwme paei etepmouei naouom3 auw pmouei na4wpe r-rwme.

I wish to thank the Journal of Biblical Literature’s two anonymous reviewers for their thoughtful comments. 1 For example, the early treatments by Johannes Leipoldt, “Ein Neues Evangelium? Das koptische Thomasevangelium übersetzt und besprochen,” TLZ 83 (18): 481–6; also Robert M. Grant, “Notes on the Gospel of Thomas,” VC 13 (1): 170–80; Bertil Gärtner, The Theology of the Gospel of Thomas (trans. Eric J. Sharpe; London: Collins, 161), 1–8; Jacques-É. Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas (NHS ; Leiden: Brill, 17), 86–88. 2 Howard M. Jackson, The Lion Becomes Man: The Gnostic Leontomorphic Creator and the Platonic Tradition (SBLDS 81; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 18), 1. His assessment is echoed by Marvin Meyer, review of Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, JBL 17 (188): 1–61, at 1; also Francis T. Fallon and Ron Cameron, “The Gospel of Thomas: A Forschungsbericht and Analysis,” ANRW 2.2.6 (188): 416–421, at 4234. I use the logia numbering in accordance with the critical edition of Bentley Layton, ed., Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2–7 Together with XIII, 2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1) and P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655 (NHS 20–21; Leiden: Brill, 18); cf. Marvin Meyer, The Gospel of Thomas: The Hidden Sayings of Jesus (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 12). 3 Jackson divides the logion’s clause structure differently, into seven units (Lion Becomes Man, 1).



Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

6 1. 2. 3. 4. .

Jesus said, “Blessed is the lion that the human eats, and the lion becomes human. And cursed is the human that the lion eats, and the lion will become human.”

No parallel may be found attributed to Jesus in any canonical or noncanonical Gospel or the agrapha.4 Although it is attested in at least two recensions of the Gospel of Thomas, Coptic (NHC II, 2) and Greek (P.Oxy. 64), its isolated transmission in Gospel of Thomas has rendered the logion frustratingly enigmatic. And it is enigmatic indeed. The logion shares little in the way of thematic motifs with other sayings in the Gospel of Thomas tradition. The motif of the lion so dominant in Gos. Thom. 7 does not occur elsewhere in the Gospel of Thomas, or even in other Thomas traditions preserved in the Nag Hammadi codices or elsewhere. More broadly, concern over eating is shared with only one other logion, Gos. Thom. 11: Jesus said, “This heaven will pass away, and the one above it will pass away. And the dead (elements) will not die. In the days when you (plur.) used to ingest dead (elements), you made them alive. When you are in the light what will you do? On the day that you were one, you made two. And when you are two, what will you do?”6

Even here it is not entirely clear what the connection may be between the two sayings.7 The enigma of Gos. Thom. 7 has left it in a state of exegetical neglect in com-

4 Jackson,

Lion Becomes Man, 2.

 Whether such texts as the Book of Thomas the Contender and the Acts of Thomas are other

artifacts of a possible “school of St. Thomas” is not directly relevant here, but for recent discussion compare Risto Uro, Thomas: Seeking the Historical Context of the Gospel of Thomas (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2003), 8–30; and Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions (New York: Doubleday, 187), 3–40. 6 Trans. Layton, Gnostic Scriptures. 7 The thematic connection between logia 7 and 11 is given special significance by Gärtner, Theology of the Gospel of Thomas, 163–64, who sees Gos. Thom. 7 as the exegetical key to the “otherwise obscure” logion 11. The solution to the enigma of logion 7 is to draw an equivalence between the lion of logion 7 and the corpse of logion 11. The bulk of his commentary on Gos. Thom. 7 is then constructed from twice-removed parallels of corpse imagery (since in his exegesis corpse = lion) in Valentinian literature (Gospel of Truth [NHC I, 3, 2:10–1]; Hippolytus, Refutation .8.32; Gospel of Philip [NHC II, 3, 73:1–27, 77:2–7]). Richard Valantasis has highlighted the motif of eating shared by Gos. Thom. 7 and 11 as connected with his reading of Thomas as an ascetical text, elaborated more generally in “Gospel of Thomas and Asceticism: Revisiting an Old Problem with a New Theory,” JECS 7 (1): –81; and specifically directed toward Gos. Thom. 7 in his The Gospel of Thomas (New Testament Readings; New York: Routledge, 17), 38, 64–6.

Crislip: Gospel of omas Logion 7

7

parison with the attention received by other passages with parallels in the Synoptic Gospels or in extrabiblical testimony.8 In the following pages I offer a new reading of Gos. Thom. 7. Since Gos. Thom. 7 exists in relative isolation in the Gospel, I will avoid predicating my reading on any a priori theory of the Gospel’s compositional or redactional history, its theological coherence (or lack thereof), or its social location or liturgical use. Rather, the present paper takes up the very reasonable charge tendered by Francis Fallon and Ron Cameron “to analyze in depth the originally discrete sayings in the text.” In short, I argue that the key to understanding Gos. Thom. 7 as a discrete saying may be found in early Christian discourse about the resurrection. That is to say, the allegory of lion and human in Gos. Thom. 7 represents at least one strand of Thomasine reflection on the general resurrection. I will first discuss as briefly as possible the previous attempts to place the logion theologically and literarily, and then move on to my own analysis of this obscure saying of the living Jesus.

I. Previous Approaches to Gospel of Thomas 7 Gospel of Thomas 7 has been reckoned an interpretive problem since the first publication of the Coptic text, so problematic in fact that a number of commentators immediately sought to emend the text to render a clearer meaning. Early commentators identified the enigmatic final clause as an obvious error and sought emendation by reversing subject and object in the final clause (line  above). With this emendation, “And the lion will become human” instead reads, “And the human will become lion.”10 An advantage of this emendation is that it creates (or ostensibly restores) a parallelism between the two parts (lines 3 and  above). It also makes a certain degree of common sense. When a human eats a lion (or anything else for that matter) the human assimilates it as food (ὁμοιοῦν or ἑνοῦν in the terminol-

8 Jackson’s exhaustive monograph is the exception in this case and casts its net rather broadly on leonine imagery possibly underlying the composition and/or reception of Gos. Thom. 7. For bibliography, see Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 2–3. Other more or less extensive treatments of Gos. Thom. 7 include Gärtner, Theology of the Gospel of Thomas, 162–64, on which Jackson draws; and Valantasis, Gospel of Thomas, 38, 64–6. I engage Valantasis’s reading a bit more extensively in the following pages.  Fallon and Cameron, “Gospel of Thomas,” 4237. 10 For example, the early treatments by Leipoldt, “Ein Neues Evangelium?” 483, who translates “so dass der Löwe zum Menschen warden wird [sic!]”; also Grant, “Notes,” 170; Jean Doresse, The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics (London: Hollis & Carter, 160), 36, 371; Gärtner, Theology of the Gospel of Thomas, 1–8; Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas, 6–7, 86–88. Other translators and commentators have at least shown some partiality to the possibility that the final clause contains an error in either translation or copying and have marked their translations with “sic.” See Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 4–12.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

ogy of ancient medicine), and the food becomes part of the human. When a lion eats a human, the opposite happens: the “human becomes lion.” Yet, for a variety of reasons, the commonsense emendation of early commentators has failed to convince the majority of the Gospel’s students.11 On the one hand, the proposed emendation renders the supposedly “obscure saying” almost tautological. It is hard to imagine what hidden meaning such a commonplace truism about digestion would hold for readers of the Gospel of Thomas, faced throughout with paradoxical logia of the living Jesus. In this respect, NHC II, 2 certainly preserves the lectio difficilior. Even clearer are the text-critical reasons for preserving the original reading of Gos. Thom. 7 as preserved in NHC II, 2. The reason for the supposed error is not entirely clear, purportedly either due to a copyist’s or translator’s error, and Jackson has effectively countered the arguments for emendation.12 The subsequent critical edition of the Coptic and Greek witnesses by Bentley Layton and Harold Attridge has shown without any doubt that the text should not be emended and must be understood as it stands. Given that the text as preserved in NHC II must stand, what then is the seeker to do with the enigma of logion 7? Two attempts by scholars to situate the logion in its proper literary and historical context deserve attention here—those of Jackson and Richard Valantasis, who have set forth compelling and widely accepted arguments that Gos. Thom. 7 should be read as a hidden saying advocating the seeker’s control of his or her passions (Jackson) or as a hidden saying about ascetical diet (Valantasis).

Lion as Passion Jackson assembles an impressive collection of material relating to leonine imagery in Judaism, Greco-Roman mystery and astrological traditions, Gnostic and Valentinian literature, and even Manichaean and Mandaean scriptures. The cataloging and description of leonine imagery dominate the study, 187 out of 214 pages. Yet for all the weight of the Jewish, pagan, Christian, Manichaean, and Mandaean leontomorphic imagery that Jackson assembles, it remains tangential to the central interpretive crux of Gos. Thom. 7 and ultimately does not prove decisive in 11 With a notable exception in April D. DeConick, who cites an emended version of the logion, “And cursed is the human who the lion eats, [[and the human becomes a lion]]” (Recovering the Original Gospel of Thomas: A History of the Gospel and Its Growth [Early Christianity in Context; Library of New Testament Studies 286; London/New York: T&T Clark, 200], 81). 12 Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 4–12; echoed positively by Meyer, review of Lion Becomes Man, 1. Only a few fragmentary letters survive of the Greek text, P.Oxy. 1, 64.40–42, and the remaining traces offer little in the way of support for emendation of the Coptic text, Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2–7, 117–18.

Crislip: Gospel of omas Logion 7



explaining the meaning of the text.13 The broad swath of leontomorphic imagery really only sets the stage for the true interpretation of the logion, which Jackson finds in the Gnostic reception of Plato’s allegory of the soul in the Republic.14 In the Republic, Plato sets forth “a symbolic image of the soul,” consisting of three forms “grown together in one,” like “the Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus” (Resp. 88d, 88c).1 The three forms include “a single shape of a manifold and manyheaded beast,” “one of a lion,” and “one of a man” (Resp. 88c; Shorey, LCL). The interactions of the tripartite soul exemplify the just or unjust actions of the person by their concord or discord. So Socrates suggests, Let us then say to the speaker who avers that it pays this man to be unjust, and that to do justice is not for his advantage, that he is affirming nothing else than that it profits him to feast and make strong the multifarious beast and the lion and all that pertains to the lion, but to starve the man and so enfeeble him that he can be pulled about whithersoever either of the others drag him, and not to familiarize or reconcile with one another the two creatures but suffer them to bite and fight and devour one another. And on the other hand, he who says that justice is the more profitable affirms that all our actions and words should tend to give the man within us complete domination over the entire man and make him take charge of the many-headed beast—like a farmer who cherishes and trains the cultivated plants but checks the growth of the wild—and he will make an ally of the lion’s nature, and caring for all the beasts alike will first make them friendly to one another and to himself, and so foster their growth. (Resp. 88e–8b; Shorey, LCL)

In my reading, the passage as cited does not immediately suggest itself as a profitable intertext for Gos. Thom. 7. But the presence of a Coptic translation of Resp. 88a–8b in the Nag Hammadi codices (NHC VI, ) makes it especially appealing to read Gos. Thom. 7 and Plato’s allegory intertextually, and it is to this aim that Jackson devoted his learned study. It is indeed hard to resist such a coincidence. Yet the inclusion of these two texts in the same bibliographical collection of thirteen codices does not prove that an understanding of Resp. 88a–8b is nec-

13 I agree with Meyer that the leontocephalic deities “relate in only a marginal way to logion 7 of the Gospel of Thomas” (review of Lion Becomes Man, 160); Jackson nearly admits as much himself (Lion Becomes Man, 183–84). 14 Yet the Platonic material has also been recognized as not directly relevant to Gos. Thom. 7. Robert Hayward writes, “The Platonic material does not seem to be quite as central as Jackson would wish to make it; indeed, he himself candidly admits that the lion element in the soul is potentially good, whereas the Gnostic leontomorphic demiurge is, by and large, irredeemably wicked and malicious. The relevance of some parts of his final chapter may be questioned for this reason” (review of Lion Becomes Man, JSS 33 [188]: 288–0, at 20). 1 Trans. Paul Shorey, Plato: The Republic (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 130).

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essary for interpreting Gos. Thom. 7, or indeed aids in identifying the logion’s Sitz im Leben. On the one hand, the codex that preserves the Gospel of Thomas (NHC II, 2) does not preserve the excerpt from the Republic (NHC VI, ). Furthermore, the two codices lack any scribal connection or thematic unity (apart from the leonine imagery in the passages discussed here).16 On the other hand, the translation of the Republic, probably via a philosophical anthology,17 is of such a poor quality that it is difficult to determine the point of its inclusion in the volume. The extract is “ineptly translated,” according to Jackson, and “hopelessly confused,” “a disastrous failure,” and “a product of an intellectually unsophisticated person who has lost contact with a living philosophical tradition,” according to James Brashler, who notes that “Plato’s words have been distorted and misunderstood so badly that they are hardly recognizable.”18 But the translation’s confusion and the lack of clear scribal or thematic connection between the two codices notwithstanding, the preservation of Resp. 88a–8b in the bibliographical collection discovered at Nag Hammadi allows for the very real possibility that third- or fourth-century Gnostic readers interpreted Gos. Thom. 7 and Plato’s allegory of the soul (at least in its excerpted and redacted form) intertextually. Jackson’s analysis, which I will discuss in detail below, shows how such a Gnostic reading of Thomas and Plato could have worked in late antiquity. But does this mean that Plato’s allegory of the soul is necessarily the “key” to unlock the allegory of Gos. Thom. 7?1 In fact there are significant difficulties in Jackson’s interpretation of Gos. Thom. 7, particularly his use of Resp. 88b–8b as an intertext. The first is the general dissimilarity between the soul in Resp. 88b– 8b and the lion and human in Gos. Thom. 7. The second is the general “gnosticizing” framework in which his treatment of logion 7 is necessarily placed. On a fundamental level, it is far from clear that Gos. Thom. 7 reflects Plato’s allegory of the soul in Resp. 88b–8b. Even if the lion and human in logion 7 represent two parts of the human soul, the λογιστικόν and the θυμοειδές, Plato’s allegory differs markedly. The soul, for Plato—and thus his allegory of it—is tripartite. The tripartite soul is a lasting component of the Platonic tradition.20 Each 16 On the paleography of the codices, see James M. Robinson, “The Construction of the Nag Hammadi Codices,” 18, in Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts: Essays in Honour of Pahor Labib (ed. Martin Krause; NHS 6; Leiden: Brill, 17), 18. Robinson notes some similarities in the two codices’ binding, although not to the same extent as between NHC VI, IX, and X (ibid., 186–88, 10). 17 James Brashler, “Plato, Republic 88b–8b, VI, : 48,16–1,23,” in Douglas M. Parrott, ed., Nag Hammadi Codices V, 2-5 and VI, with Papyrus Berolinensis 8502, 1 and 4 (NHC 11; Leiden: Brill), 32–26. 18 Howard M. Jackson, “Plato, Republic 88A–8A (VI,),” in The Nag Hammadi Library in English (ed. James M. Robinson; New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 178), 318; Brashler, “Plato, Republic 88b–8b, VI, : 48,16–1,23,” 32, 326. 1 Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 2. 20 So T. M. Robinson, Plato’s Psychology (2nd ed.; Phoenix Supplementary vol. 8; Toronto:

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component of the tripartite soul—human, lion, and multiheaded beast—is essential to Plato’s philosophical psychology. Yet Gos. Thom. 7 establishes a bipartite distinction between lion and human. No mention of the multiheaded beast nor intimation thereof is to be found in Gos. Thom. 7. Without the tripartite division and the multiheaded beast, it is something of an interpretive stretch to assume the reflection of the idea from the Republic in Gos. Thom. 7. Furthermore, terminology describing the relationship between the lion and the human in Plato’s allegory of the soul differs significantly from terminology describing the relationship between human and lion in Gos. Thom. 7. Most saliently, Resp. 88b–8b draws the crucial distinction between harmony and disharmony. Nowhere does the Platonic tradition in the Republic, or in the Coptic (“gnosticizing” in Jackson’s analysis) version in NHC VI, , speak of the taming of the leonine psychic part as “eating” the lion.21 Quite to the contrary, the soul of the just is exemplified by the human part harnessing the positive qualities of the many-headed beast and the lion, and thereby minimizing the negative liabilities of each. Neither, in the case of the unjust, does the leonine part of the soul eat the human part in Plato’s allegory. In the case of the unjust person, the lion and the multiheaded beast together, as previously cited, “starve the man and so enfeeble him that he can be pulled about whithersoever either of the others drag him” (Resp. 88e–8a; Shorey, LCL). The end result is not that the leonine soul devours the human soul. Rather, enmity dwells within the soul, and the human and leonine souls “devour one another.” Thus, the Platonic tradition contrasts the desirable and undesirable states of harmony and disharmony within the tripartite soul. It does not contrast human destruction of the leonine and leonine destruction of the human, as Jackson’s Platonic reading of Gos. Thom. 7 would have it. Throughout his intertextual reading of Resp. 88b–8b and Gos. Thom. 7, Jackson elides the distinction between the “devouring” of Gos. Thom. 7 and “taming” of Resp. 88b–8b, as if the two were essentially interchangeable.22 I remain unconvinced of this. To devour entails the University of Toronto Press, 1), 3–46, 11–2. Robinson claims, however, that positive evidence for the tripartite soul in Plato’s later works (that is, after such dialogues as the Republic, Timaeus, and Phaedrus) is lacking (Plato’s Psychology, 124–2), an interesting problem not directly relevant here. 21 Nor is the “gnosticizing” character of the translation entirely secure; see Brashler, who writes, “To characterize this tractate [NHC VI, ] as gnostic or Hermetic is hazardous. Although its basic tenor is compatible with Gnostic or Hermetic views, it does not betray a marked gnostic tendency. Rather the theme of justice and the high moral tone evident in this document would have been congenial to the vast majority of its readers in the late Hellenistic period” (“Plato, Republic 88b–8b, VI, : 48,16–1,23,” 326). 22 For example, Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 203. A similar motif of “swallowing” (Copt. wmn-k) is employed in the Treatise on the Resurrection: “The Savior swallowed up death” (NHC I, 4, 4:1); “This is the spiritual resurrection which swallows up the psychic in the same way as the fleshly” (NHC I, 4, 4.40-46.3), trans. Malcolm L. Peel, Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex) (ed. Harold W. Attridge; NHS 22; Leiden: Brill, 18). Cf. Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Treatise on

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incorporation and ultimate annihilation of another entity; it does not imply taming, controlling, or working in concord.23 The annihilation of part of the soul, as demanded by Jackson’s reading, reflects neither Plato nor (more relevantly for the first and second centuries C.E.) Middle Platonism. Middle Platonic moral philosophy normally promoted the moderation of emotions or passions (μετριοπάθεια), not their elimination (ἀπάθεια), as is so vividly represented in Plato’s allegory of the soul.24 Yet in Gos. Thom. 7 the focus is on elimination, not moderation. Whether the human eats the lion or vice versa, the eating and annihilation of the other are rendered ultimately as a positive event—the human element prevails. In this respect the allegory of the soul in Resp. 88b–8b and Gos. Thom. 7 stand in clear contrast. Jackson, in fact, notes some significant differences between Plato’s allegory of the soul and the lion and human in Gos. Thom. 7, specifically the more negative valuation of the lion in the Gospel of Thomas, and explains this as a result of the general Gnostic reception of Platonism, which entails a devaluation of matter.2 This leads to the other difficulty with Jackson’s exegesis of Gos. Thom. 7: his assumption that the Gospel of Thomas is a “Gnostic” text, rooted in the full richness of the Gnostic myth as elaborated in classic Gnostic texts and their Valentinian descendants. I do not wish to argue the point here, but the Gnostic character of Thomas may by no means be taken for granted, and studies taking a variety of approaches to the exegesis and source history of Thomas have raised serious—even devastating—questions about the allegedly “Gnostic” nature of Thomas.26 In the end, Jack-

the Resurrection from Nag Hammadi (HDR 12; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 17), 16–17, 8– . Again, this is in the context not of “taming” but of assimilating, destroying, or eliminating (or a combination thereof). As shall become clear below, it is notable that both uses of the image of “swallowing” are in the context of resurrection. 23 This notwithstanding the soul-parts “devouring one another” in the Republic, which clearly entails fighting, yet not ingesting and eliminating the other as an entity in and of itself. 24 So, for example, the second-century C.E. philosopher Albinus, according to John M. Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 80 b.c. to a.d. 220 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 177), 301–3. The elimination of passions in Stoic psychology is a rather different situation. Although it differs from the Platonic and Aristotelian goal of emotional moderation in lieu of “extirpation of the passions,” it does not speak of one part of the soul incorporating, eating, taming, or annihilating another. Rather it employs a medical model, purging the sick soul of diseases (πάθοι), or passions. See, e.g., Martha C. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 14), 38, 386–88, 316–20. 2 Jackson, Lion Becomes Man, 202–3. 26 Specifically targeted toward Jackson’s exegesis of Gos. Thom. 7 is Risto Uro, Thomas: Seeking the Historical Context of the Gospel of Thomas (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2003), 40–42. More generally, see, e.g., April DeConick, Seek to See Him: Ascent and Vision Mysticism in the Gospel of Thomas (VCSup 33; Leiden: Brill, 16), 3–27; Antti Marjanen, “Is Thomas a Gnostic Gospel?” in Thomas at the Crossroads: Essays on the Gospel of Thomas (ed. Uro Risto; Studies of the New Testament and Its World; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 18), 107–3. Gregory J. Riley, Res-

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son’s exhaustive treatment of Gos. Thom. 7 does not convincingly solve the obscure saying.

Gospel of Thomas 7 as Ascetical The other recent significant attempt to understand the mystery of Gos. Thom. 7 is that of Valantasis. He interprets the logion in agreement with his overall strategy of reading the Gospel of Thomas consistently as an ascetical text, in light of his own thoughtful definition of asceticism.27 Valantasis takes the logion’s language of diet and digestion seriously, in contrast to Jackson, who sees such language as window dressing for more important matters of the soul. In Valantasis’s reading, the logion’s meaning lies in ascetical fasting. This saying assumes a clearly articulated hierarchy of being: human beings live higher on the scale of existence than even the mighty lion. Within this hierarchy of being, the impetus to rise above the current status through eating also functions. . . . Jesus describes the process as “blessed” for the lion, but polluted or fouled for the human. . . . The human being locked in the cycle of the eating of meat, at least, cannot benefit in the same way [as the lion]: the human gains food or becomes food and in both these circumstances has identified with the lower rungs of the hierarchy of being.28

If the compositional context of Gos. Thom. is after the historical Jesus and even after the apostolic period in the early second century (ca. 100–110 c.e.),2 a dating that Valantasis supports, the logion “then revolves about the question of eating meat, as opposed to observing a vegetarian diet, and to carefully regulating a very small intake of food.”30

urrection Reconsidered: Thomas and John in Controversy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1); idem, “The Gospel of Thomas in Recent Scholarship,” CurBS 2 (14): 227–2, at 22–32; Valantasis, Gospel of Thomas, 13–14. Whether and how Gnostics, Manichaeans, and others used Thomas has little bearing on the question of the theological, ecclesiastical, or social setting of the “original” Gospel of Thomas. 27 “I understand asceticism to include all the actions, called performances, that are required to build a new identity, called a subjectivity. . . . At the heart of asceticism is the desire to create a new person as a minority person with a larger religious culture. In order to create a new person, there must be a withdrawal from the dominant modes of articulating subjectivity in order to create free space for something else to emerge. A redefinition of social relationships must also emerge from the new understanding of the new subjectivity, as well as a concurrent change in the symbolic universe to justify and support the new subjectivity. These are all accomplished through a rigorous set of intentional performances” (Gospel of Thomas, 22). 28 Valantasis, Gospel of Thomas, 64–6. 2 Ibid., 12–21. 30 Ibid., 6.

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Valantasis’s ascetical reading effectively demonstrates how the Gospel of Thomas, as a collection of 114 theologically and thematically diverse logia, could be read by ascetically minded Christians, whether of the Antonine era or of late antiquity. Philip Sellew has also demonstrated in a different way that Christian ascetics and monastics could find much in Thomas to support their lifestyles ideologically.31 But Valantasis’s reading is less effective in explaining the context in which Gos. Thom. 7 would have had its genesis. If Gos. Thom. 7 concerns ascetic diet, and lion and human represent levels in a hierarchy of beings, and the obscure saying ultimately functions to discourage the eating of meat, why then the curious choice of lion? The use of lion in Gos. Thom. 7 in fact suggests that the logion does not concern ascetic diet at all, at least as it was originally composed. This is indicated by the simple fact that the lion—conspicuously and even emblematically—is not a normal part of the human diet. In fact, Roman medical and scientific writers stress that the consumption of lion flesh is beyond the bounds of civilized culture.32 To eat lion flesh would place one among the most bizarre of the barbarians, barbarians who exist perhaps only in the realm of imagination. So Pliny the Elder writes, “Then come regions that are purely imaginary (fabulosa): toward the west are the Nigroi, whose king is said to have only one eye, in his forehead; the Wild-beast-eaters, who live chiefly on the flesh of panthers and lions; the Eatalls, who devour everything . . . ,” and so on (Nat. 6.1).33 Galen, writing in the second century C.E., notes that some do in fact eat lion flesh, but what civilized person would want to? He notes with disdain, “Some people even eat bear meat, and that of lions and leopards, which is worse still, boiling it either once only, or twice. I have said earlier what twice-boiled is like.”34 If one were to compose a λόγος σοφῶν designed to impart a lesson about ascetical fasting, one could much more appropriately choose a representative animal that would normally constitute part of the audience’s diet, rather than an animal that is widely regarded as nearly inedible and a foodstuff appropriate only for barbarians and wild men. In short, neither the quasi-Platonic allegory for the soul nor the allegorical presentation of ascetic dietary rules provides a likely context in which Gos. Thom. 7 could have been composed. 31 Philip Sellew, “Solitude, Pious Practice and the Formation of the Self: Comparative Readings in the Gospel of Thomas and the Apophthegmata patrum” (paper presented at the Eighth Quadrennial Congress of the International Association for Coptic Studies, Paris, June–July 2004). 32 On the eating of lions in general, see August Steier, “Löwe,” PW 13:82; drawing on an apparent misreading of Steier’s article, Grant has suggested that Gos. Thom. 7 may have referred to the medicinal consumption of lion meat (“Notes,” 170). 33 Trans. H. Rackham, Pliny, Natural History (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 142). 34 Galen, On the Properties of Foodstuffs (De alimentorum facultatibus) (trans. Owen Powell; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 116; C. G. Kühn, Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia 6.664 (Leipzig, 1823; repr., Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 16).

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II. Lion and Human in Gospel of Thomas 7 and Christian Discourse on the Resurrection The concurrence of two significant thematic elements in Gos. Thom. 7 has been overlooked in previous exegetical treatments and deserves closer scrutiny. The first is the motif of ingestion of humans by a beast and the ingestion of a beast by a human. The second closely related motif is the future transformation of one bodily substance into another.3 Such a thematic pairing occurs conspicuously in another prominent locus of theological reflection: early Christian discourse concerning the resurrection. One of the earliest expositions of the related themes of animal–human consumption and future bodily transformation may be found in the tractate De resurrectione, attributed to the second-century apologist Athenagoras.36 The authenticity of De resurrectione has been the subject of lively debate since 14, when Robert Grant claimed that the treatise could not have been penned by the apologist Athenagoras (ca. 161–180) but is an anti-Origenist polemic from the third or fourth century.37 While Grant’s specific case is questionable, the authenticity of De resurrectione is still very much at issue.38 Nonetheless it does not impinge directly on the current argument, since neither the Gospel of Thomas nor De resurrectione serves as a source for the other, nor do I suggest that the Gospel of Thomas be dated narrowly on the basis of De resurrectione. Rather, the discussion of beasts eating humans and humans eating beasts in De resurrectione—whether penned in the mid-second century or the third—provides a useful and relevant comparison for the ways in which early Christians thought about the problematic doctrine of resurrection. After dispensing with his opening remarks on the foolishness of his opponents, the author of De resurrectione (Athenagoras for the sake of convenience) takes up the basic questions of the physiology of the resurrection. That is to say, if bodily resurrection, and not mere psychic immortality, truly lies at the heart of the Gospel, how may the doctrine of resurrection be articulated in the terms of bodily 3 Rendered by the durative present-based future conjugation (“I Future”) in clause , contrasted with the non-durative conjunctive conjugation in clause 3. 36 It is found also in later adapters of this tradition, e.g., Methodius of Olympia, De. res. 1.20.4–, and Gregory of Nyssa, De hom. opif. 2.3. 37 Robert M. Grant, “Athenagoras or Pseudo-Athenagoras?” HTR 47 (14): 121–2. 38 Critical of Athenagoran authorship are Bernard Pouderon, “Apologetica,” RevScRel 67 (13): 23–40; 68 (14): 1–38; Nicole Zeegers, “La paternité athénagorienne du De resurrectione,” RHE 87 (12): 333–74; and David Runia, “Verba Philonica: Algamataphorein and the Authenticity of the De Resurrectione Attributed to Athenagoras,” VC 46 (12): 313–27. The primary defender of the work’s authenticity is Leslie W. Barnard, “The Authenticity of Athenagoras’ De Resurrectione,” Studia Patristica 1 (184): 3–4; idem, Athenagoras: A Study in Second Century Christian Apologetic (Théologie historique 18; Paris: Beauchesne, 172).

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physiology as presented by Greek medical and philosophical writers and as appraised popularly by those untrained in the Roman philosophical-medical koine? Christians had debated such a question—at least in a basic form—since as early as Paul’s correspondence with his Corinthian congregation: “But someone will ask, ‘How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?’” (1 Cor 1:3 NRSV). Athenagoras counters a hypothetical extension of the questions faced by Paul in Corinth: what happens if a human is eaten by beasts, “torn apart and devoured by numerous animals of every kind which are accustomed to attack bodies like our own and satisfy their wants with them”? (De res. 3.3).3 Athenagoras further elaborates the hypothetical situation, This in any event is what they [critics of the resurrection] say: The bodies of many who die in shipwrecks or who drown in rivers become food for fish; and the bodies of many who die in wars or who are deprived of burial by some other calamity or turn of events lie exposed as food for any animal that happens by. Their first point is that since bodies are destroyed in this way and the parts and limbs which make them up are torn apart and devoured by a large number of animals and in being digested are united with the bodies of creatures so nourished (τοῖς τῶν τρεφομένων σώμασιν ἑνουμένων), any separation of them is impossible. (De res. 4.1–2)

How such elements of the body would be pieced together in the resurrection is a difficult question, and Athenagoras offers a number of answers, both theological and physiological. The simplest justification for Athenagoras is from God’s omnipotence: since God assembled humanity in all its parts and complexity, God must have the ability to reassemble those parts (De res. 3.1–2). Athenagoras also answers by drawing selectively on aspects of Galenic physiology. Animals assimilate only the elements or humors of the consumed human, but not the “parts” (μερῶν) of the consumed human.40 One could not identify, for example, the leg (or any part of it, femur, muscle, toenail) eaten by and assimilated with an animal, but only the humors or nutrients (e.g., bile, phlegm, blood, water) that constituted the leg. Since, Athenagoras claims, resurrection bodies will not consist of the same humors and elements as the present body, but “are reconstituted from their own parts” (ἐκ τῶν οἰκείων μερῶν πάλιν συνισταμένων), nothing that would become part of the resurrection body would require discernment or separation from the animal in the first place (De res. 7.1). Thus, the hypothetical objection is moot. 3 Translations

of De resurrectione are from William R. Schoedel, ed. and trans., Athenagoras: Legatio and De Resurrectione (OECT; Oxford: Clarendon, 172), altered. 40 Athenagoras gives a somewhat unusual list of the humors, blood, phlegm, bile, and breath, in comparison to the more typically Galenic blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. See Schoedel, Athenagoras, 10 n. 2.

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Βut the simple consumption of human by beast is not the ultimate concern for Athenagoras. Athenagoras proceeds to address what would come to be called the “chain consumption” problem (De res. 4.3–4).41 That is, if a human is eaten by an animal, it becomes part of that animal. If that animal is then eaten by a human, then the animal—along with the human elements that it had assimilated—is assimilated into the human. In such a situation the human body has incorporated portions of two human bodies. One wonders, at the time of the resurrection will not at least one of the two people be left with something missing? Athenagoras draws on Galenic theories of digestion to argue that a creature can only digest and assimilate food appropriate to it, and “nothing contrary to nature (παρὰ φύσιν) can ever be united with anything for which it is not a fitting and proper food” (De res. 6.). Since no one would contend that cannibalism is natural or appropriate for humans, it follows that humans cannot properly digest and assimilate human flesh. Thus, the hypothetical situation of the elements of two humans occupying the same body could not happen in actuality (De res. 6.3–6). Athenagoras’s attempt to solve the problem of chain consumption and to articulate the physiology of the resurrection is a late and philosophically sophisticated example of a type of Christian discourse that can be traced as far back as Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, as mentioned previously. Like Athenagoras, Paul too worked within the matrix of ancient theories of physiology, probably in tension between theories of physiology prevalent among those not educated in Greek philosophy and medicine and theories prevalent among the more philosophically sophisticated.42 If we envision early Christian discourse on resurrection physiology on something of a trajectory, with 1 Corinthians 1 and De resurrectione forming two relatively fixed points, then Gos. Thom. 7 lies somewhere in between the two. For a second-century Christian—thus within this trajectory of early Christian resurrection discourse—to hear of humans being eaten by lions would likely bring to mind the question of resurrection physiology; that is, what happens to the Christian eaten by the lion? Such an interest would have been compounded by the increasing prominence of martyrdom and martyrological literature, since martyrs are both archetypally eaten by lions or other beasts and are to be raised first to judge the world (Rev 20:4–6).43 In this context Gos. Thom. 7 can be profitably read as an “obscure saying” that addresses the same sort of questions that De resurrectione and Paul do. Of course, the Gospel of Thomas approaches the problem very differently from Athenagoras or Paul. Thomas does not draw explicitly on the philosophical-medical koine of 41 Also

see Methodius, De res. 1.20.4–; and Gregory of Nyssa, De hom. opif. 2.3, as cited previously. 42 Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1), 104–36. 43 On martyrs and lions or beasts, see, inter alia, Ignatius of Antioch, Rom. 4; Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 3.36.

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the Roman empire, but rather on metaphor, paradox, and riddle to explore problematic theological questions. Such differences in approach notwithstanding, Gos. Thom. 7 concerns itself with interests similar to those of De resurrectione: How is the resurrection effected in the case of the human eaten by a lion, and, in a slight departure from the treatments in Paul and Athenagoras, how does the resurrection affect animals consumed by the human (in this case a lion)? In this reading, “blessed” indeed is the lion that the human eats, especially given the rarity with which such a dietary circumstance might happen, as Galen and Pliny attest. In being eaten, the lion becomes human, and therein the blessing lies. By having become human the lion will thus share in the eschatological blessings that are God’s special dispensation to humans, to be resurrected with a heavenly, pneumatic body in the image of the ideal human, Jesus. In this sense 4wpe r-rwme evokes the transformative language of eschatology and/or protology found elsewhere in early Christian resurrection discourse. So, for example, Paul employs a similar theological trope when he speaks of bodily resurrection in the image of ὁ δεύτερος ἄνθρωπος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ (1 Cor 1:47). It is not surprising that a logion in the Gospel of Thomas should speak in terms evocative of, although not necessarily dependent on, Pauline theology. Such a Pauline-Thomasine connection is by no means unsupported in Thomas studies. For example, Stevan Davies has observed that Thomas offers a view of Christian transformation not terribly different from the Pauline view. . . . Insofar as Paul believes that people can (or will soon) attain to the condition of Christ the image of God and thus replace the condition of Adam of Genesis 2 with the condition of the image of God in Genesis 1, Thomasine and Pauline ideas are similar.44

Οthers have also pointed out that the reclamation of the primordial unity of Genesis 1–2 through personal or bodily transformation (that is, becoming authentically and ideally human) underlies both Paul’s eschatology and the theology of the Gospel of Thomas.4 All this is to say that a recognition of resurrection imagery in Gos. Thom. 7 goes a long way to explaining the meaning of the blessed lion’s transformation into the human, and more specifically what such a saying might have meant to a first- or second-century reader. 44 Stevan

L. Davies, “The Christology and Protology of the Gospel of Thomas,” JBL 111 (12): 663–82, at 668–6; he draws on insights of Robin Scroggs, The Last Adam: A Study in Pauline Anthropology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 166). Pauline parallels in Thomas regarding the resurrection are noted by Uro (Thomas at the Crossroads, 74–76), here specifically regarding Gos. Thom. 22, which Uro demonstrates “comes near to the Pauline view of the resurrected body” (p. 76). Valantasis (Gospel of Thomas) has also noted Pauline parallels—at least at the level of common theological interests—in Gos. Thom. 3, 61, and 80. 4 Uro, Thomas at the Crossroads, 64–6; and Elaine Pagels, “Exegesis of Genesis 1 and the Gospels of Thomas and John,” JBL 118 (1): 477–6.

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A resurrection reading of Gos. Thom. 7 also explains the curious reverse transformation of the “cursed” human eaten by the lion. Two questions regarding this part of the logion have troubled commentators: why the human is “cursed,” and how—and why—the lion is nonetheless transformed into human.46 As to the first of these questions, why should such a harsh sentence be given to the person eaten by the lion? As covered above, previous explanations suggest that the “curse” is levied because of the human’s failure to control the passions, or because the human being is trapped in the carnal cycle of meat-eating. As for the latter question, it is not clear just what kind of a curse is described, since in the end the cursed human element nonetheless triumphs over the lion. By reading Gos. Thom. 7 through the lens of early Christian discourse about the resurrection, the “curse” in question may be clarified. In the context of early Christian resurrection discourse, “cursed” does not entail a simple negative valuation. Rather, “cursed” may be read in the context of first- and second-century soteriology and christology, much in the manner of Paul’s christological reading of Deut 21:23, “for anyone hung on a tree is under God’s curse” (Gal 3:13 NRSV). As in the case of Paul’s allegorical reading, in which the man who is cursed and hung on a tree would be resurrected, so in Gos. Thom. 7 it is the person who is cursed and devoured by the lion who will nonetheless return to the authentically human state in the future. Reading Gos. Thom. 7 in the context of early Christian resurrection discourse also explains the curious “failure” of the curse, which is ultimately negated, in that it is the lion that becomes human even after ingesting the human, in contrast to the normal physiological process of digestion. In being eating by the lion, the human becomes lion, his body is assimilated, and his constitutive elements or humors become one with the lion. Nonetheless, just as the paradigmatic “cursed” figure of Christ crucified was resurrected and saved from the jaws of death, so too will this “cursed” human not miss out on the future eschatological transformation. The parts of the lion with which the human had been assimilated would revert to their authentically and ideally human form at the time of the general resurrection. That is to say, the lion will become human. In this reading, at the heart of the mystery of Gos. Thom. 7 is God’s undefeatable transformative power through the resurrection. Reading Gos. Thom. 7 as an allegorical saying concerning the resurrection not only clarifies the logion’s obscurities regarding bodily transformation, but also clarifies the peculiar usage of the lion specifically, a feature that previous exegetical approaches have not. Jackson, for example, has amassed an extensive catalogue of 46 So H. E. W. Turner and Hugh Montefiore, who write, “The difficulty here is that the lion

seems to get the better of the bargain both ways and it is not surprising that suggestions for emendation have already been made” (Thomas and the Evangelists [SBT 3; Naperville, IL: Allenson, 162], 4).

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leonine imagery in ancient Judaism, Platonism, Gnosticism, Manichaeism, and Mandaeism in search of the lion as deity, demiurge, and passion, as noted previously.47 But it is rather striking that he makes no use of the predominant and most obvious use of leonine imagery in the Jewish Scriptures: the lion as death. In fact, the elements of the Jewish Scriptures that Christians used most readily in christological exegesis, especially the Psalms and Daniel, draw especially on the lion as a symbol of death. So Ps 7:1–2, “O Lord my God, in you I take refuge; save me from all my pursuers, and deliver me, or like a lion they will tear me apart; they will drag me away, with no one to rescue” (NRSV). And Ps 10:8–: “Their eyes stealthily watch for the helpless; they lurk in secret like a lion in its covert” (NRSV); Ps 17:12: “They are like a lion eager to tear, like a young lion lurking in ambush” (NRSV). Or the heavily christological Ps 22:12–13, 21: “Many bulls encircle me, strong bulls of Bashan surround me; they open wide their mouths at me, like a ravening and roaring lion. . . . Save me from the mouth of the lion” (NRSV). And to an early Christian, what biblical proof text would a cursed man being devoured by a lion evoke more readily than Daniel 6? Daniel’s descent into and miraculous emergence from the lion’s den was a commonplace christological motif and “served mainly as an example of . . . the hope of deliverance from death.”48 Read in this context as part of this mainstream of Christian reflection on the resurrection, the lion of Gos. Thom. 7 may be recognized as an indispensable and meaningfully resonant component of the logion. I believe that this resurrection reading of Gos. Thom. 7 has been overlooked primarily because of the common assumption that the Gospel of Thomas is at heart a gospel without resurrection, regardless of whether Thomas is determined to be Gnostic or encratite, a late and derivative composition or among the earliest Christian texts. Gregory Riley sums up the view succinctly: “Thomas Christianity denied the resurrection of the flesh, even that of Jesus.”4 Yet we should not be too quick to reject the possibility of a Thomasine theology of the resurrection, or at least the existence of a strand or stratum within the Thomas tradition. For Thomas does not necessarily present a coherent and consistent theology, although it may have been received that way in various interpretive communities. Rather, Thomas grew through a series of “accretions,” a “rolling corpus” in April DeConick’s terminology, as a collection of wisdom traditions passed down first orally and later in written form that preserve community reactions to various crises in theology and leadership.0 Thus, a number of Thomasine logia may be understood in the context of early Christian reflection on eschatological 47 Jackson,

Lion Becomes Man, 13–183, 21–233, pls. 1–1. J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 13), 273; also J. Duncan M. Derrett, “Daniel and Salvation History,” DRev 0 (182): 63–68, reprinted in his Studies in the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 186), 4:132–3. 4 Riley, “Gospel of Thomas in Recent Scholarship,” 240. 0 DeConick, Recovering the Original Gospel of Thomas, –63, 7–110, 1–237. 48 John

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themes, including reflection on the fate of the bodies of the living and deceased in the coming end of the age.1 So compare Gos. Thom. 22, for example: Jesus saw some little ones nursing. He said to his disciples, “What these little ones who are nursing resemble is those who enter the kingdom.” They said to him, “So shall we enter the kingdom by being little ones?” Jesus said to them, “When you (plur.) make the two one and make the inside like the outside and the outside like the inside and the above like the below, and that you might make the male and the female be one and the same, so that the male might not be male nor the female be female, when you make eyes in place of an eye and a hand in place of a hand and a foot in place of a foot, an image in place of an image—then you will enter [the kingdom].” (trans. Layton)

Risto Uro has identified logion 22 as “a Thomasine version of the Christian resurrection belief,” in which Thomas “conceptualize[s] future salvation in terms of bodily existence and describe[s] the replacement of the earthly body with a new asexual body.”2 Uro further observes that “Thomas comes near to the Pauline view of the resurrected body,”3 a connection that I have suggested may also be at work in Gos. Thom. 7. Such a Thomasine eschatological stratum may further be reflected in many other logia, such as Gos. Thom. 11, already cited, which shares with logion 7 the twin motifs of eating and transformation: “Jesus said, ‘This heaven will pass away, and the one above it will pass away. And the dead (elements) will not die. In the days when you (plur.) used to ingest dead (elements), you made them alive” (trans. Layton).4 It also must not be forgotten that at least one recension of Thomas preserves explicit support of the resurrection. The Greek version of Gos. Thom.  as preserved in P.Oxy. 64 (which also preserves Gos. Thom. 7) reads: 27 28 2 30 31

τὸ ὂν ἔμπροσ-] λέγει Ἰ(σοῦ)ς· γ[νῶθι i θεν τῆς ὄψεώς σου, καὶ [τὸ κεκαλυμμένον] ἀπό σου ἀποκαλυφήσετ[αί σοι · οὐ γάρ ἐσ-] τιν κρυπτὸν ὃ οὐ φανε[ρὸν γενήσεται], καὶ θεθαμμένον ὃ ο[ὐκ ἐγερθήσεται].

1 See ibid., 161–6; DeConick sees Gos. Thom. 7 (in its emended form, see above nn. 10– 12) as part of Thomasine accretions that reflect apocalyptic concerns. 2 Uro, Thomas at the Crossroads, 7. 3 Ibid., 76, as cited previously, n. 44. 4 Uro points out that a number of other logia describe “salvation,” however envisaged, as a future event: Gos. Thom. 4, 18, 22, 23, 27, 44, 4, 7, 60, 70, 7, 7, 106, 111 (Thomas at the Crossroads, 1–6). Helmut Koester has also identified a number of “originally eschatological sayings” (3, 10, 16, 82, 1, and 113) (Introduction to the New Testament, vol. 2, History and Literature of Early Christianity [Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 182], 13), and John H. Sieber has suggested many others that may also “have once been eschatological in nature” (18, 21, 23, 36, 37, 40, 44, 47b, 1, 7, 61, 68, 73, 7, 88, 1, and 8) (“The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament,” in Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings [ed. James E. Goehring et al.; Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 10], 64–73, at 73).  Ed. Harold Attridge, in Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2–7.

612

Journal of Biblical Literature 126, no. 3 (2007)

The final stanzas in this recension thus read, “For there is nothing hidden that will not be [made cl]ear, and nothing buried that [will no]t [be raised]” (my trans.). While the final words ο[ὐκ ἐγερθήσεται] fall into one of the many lacunas in the manuscript, their reconstruction is solidly based on a parallel text preserved on a late antique Christian burial shroud from Oxyrhynchus.6 The existence of clear evidence of a doctrine of resurrection in some strands in the Thomasine tradition suggests that not only does a resurrection reading of Gos. Thom. 7 untangle the interpretive difficulties of the logion as a discrete saying, but it also connects the saying thematically to other elements in the Gospel. A resurrection reading of Gos. Thom. 7 furthermore links the logion to theological motifs in later periods, for example, the theological literature of Edessa, the likely site of composition for the Gospel of Thomas and a lasting locus of Thomasine theological reflection. In the poetry of Ephraem the Syrian, the lion itself functioned as a symbol of the resurrection by way of the Eucharist. In his Hymns on the Unleavened Bread Ephraem draws on the leonine imagery of Judg 14:8– as a prefiguration of the salvific power of the Eucharist: )tYM )Yr) )wh )M+ b+ dK 8 htwrYrM tBhY )twYLX

)Y)P )$Bd

)twM trM

)rYrM )Yr)B  )YLX )rY+PB

Although the dead lion was unclean [Judg 14:8–] its bitterness yielded sweetness. In the bitter lion, beautiful honey, but in the sweet, unleavened bread, deathly bitterness. (Ephraem, De azymis 1.8–)7

While the context of Ephraem’s exegesis is certainly different, in his case a vicious condemnation of Jews and praise of the saving medicine of the Eucharist, he, like Gos. Thom. 7, finds in the lion an especially powerful metaphor for salvific transformation. In the disciplinary and theological literature of late antique monasteries of 6 H.-C. Puech, “Un logion de Jésus sur bandelette funéraire,” RHR 147 (1): 126–2. The reconstruction is accepted as probable by, inter alia, Ron Cameron, “Ancient Myths and Modern Theories of the Gospel of Thomas and Christian Origins,” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 11 (1): 236–7, at 246 n. 13. More details on the problems of the Greek and Coptic recensions of Gos. Thom.  may be found in Steven R. Johnson, “The Hidden/Revealed Saying in the Greek and Coptic Versions of Gos. Thom.  & 6,” NovT 44 (2002): 176–8. 7 Edmund Beck, ed., Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Paschhymnen (CSCO 248, Scriptores Syri 108; Louvain: Secretariat of the CSCO, 164), 3. I wish to thank Tina Sheperdson of the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, who brought this interesting passage to my attention in another context and shared her own unpublished translation (from which my own differs slightly) with the Models of Piety in Late Antiquity working group at the 200 AAR/SBL annual meeting.

Crislip: Gospel of omas Logion 7

613

Upper Egypt we may also hear echoes of the same theological concerns about the resurrection that I have highlighted with respect to Gos. Thom. 7, specifically the problem of humans eaten by beasts. So Shenoute (fl. ca. 38–46), archimandrite of a federation of three monasteries near the modern city of Sohag, considers this same issue in I Am Amazed, a theological treatise directed specifically against the reading of certain “apocryphal books” (n`wwme napokrufon).8 So he writes: Concerning the resurrection, as for those who have drowned in waters, those who have been burned up in fire, and those who are in the tomb, it is necessary that they all rise. And those whom beasts have eaten (nentaneqhrion ouomou), and those who died in other various ways, it is necessary for them all to rise according to the scriptures. . . . For also the Lord and his saints raised up others, signifying the great resurrection (tno2 nanastasis) on the day that he will herald, and the dead will rise, being incorruptible, and we will be transformed.

If my reading of Gos. Thom. 7 is correct, then Shenoute would have found an unlikely theological ally for his doctrine of the resurrection in this apocryphal book. 8 Tito

Orlandi, ed., Shenute contra Origenistas (Rome: C.I.M., 18), 30 (§303), et passim; see the concordance at p. 6. For the more definitive codicological reconstruction, which corrects Orlandi’s text and incorporates the numerous other manuscript witnesses, see Stephen Emmel, Shenoute’s Literary Corpus (CSCO Subsidia –600; Louvain: Peeters, 2004), 646–48, and table  (74–801). Emmel suggests that the sermon dates most likely to 444–44 (“Theophilus’ Festal Letter of 401 as Quoted by Shenute,” in Divitiae Aegypti: Koptologische und verwandte Studien zu Ehren von Martin Krause [ed. Cäcilia Fluck et al.; Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1], 3–8, at 4).  Orlandi, Shenute contra Origenistas, 38 (§§38–0), my trans. For more on Shenoute’s theology of the resurrection, see Caroline T. Schroeder, Monastic Bodies: Discipline and Salvation in Shenoute of Atripe (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), 14–1.

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EDMONDO F. LUPIERI “Lupieri offers a very fair overview of most of the problems with the book of Revelation, without hesitating to admit that many unsolved questions remain. . . . Overall a very handy and substantial commentary. . . . I recommend it highly.” — Joseph Sievers ISBN 978-0-8028-6073-6 • 425 pages • paperback • $36.00

1 AND 2 THESSALONIANS A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary

Editorial Assistant: Monica Brady, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556

BEN WITHERINGTON III

President of the Society: Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ 08542; Vice President: Jonathan Z. Smith, University of Chicago, Chicago, IL 60637; Chair, Research and Publications Committee: Benjamin G. Wright III, Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA 18015; Executive Director: Kent H. Richards, Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329.

“Ben Witherington is a master at crafting commonsense commentaries that are accessible to a broad spectrum of readers and conversant with the best of scholarship. In this regard his 1 and 2 Thessalonians does not disappoint. It is one of his best.” — Bruce W. Longenecker

The Journal of Biblical Literature (ISSN 0021–9231) is published quarterly. The annual subscription price is US$35.00 for members and US$150.00 for nonmembers. Institutional rates are also available. For information regarding subscriptions and membership, contact: Society of Biblical Literature, Customer Service Department, P.O. Box 133158, Atlanta, GA 30333. Phone: 866-727-9955 (toll free) or 404-727-9498. FAX: 404-727-2419. E-mail: [email protected]. For information concerning permission to quote, editorial and business matters, please see the Spring issue, p. 2. The Hebrew font used in JBL is SBL Hebrew and is available from www.sbl-site.org/Resources/default.aspx. The JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (ISSN 0021–9231) is published quarterly by the Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329. Periodical postage paid at Atlanta, Georgia, and at additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Society of Biblical Literature, P.O. Box 133158, Atlanta, GA 30333. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

ISBN 978-0-8028-2836-1 • 318 pages • paperback • $30.00

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VOLUME 126, NO. 3 “The Levite in Your Gates”: The Deuteronomic Redefinition of Levitical Authority Mark Leuchter 417–436 Reading Ruth through a Bakhtinian Lens: The Carnivalesque in a Biblical Tale Nehama Aschkenasy 437–453 Revisiting the Prologue of Proverbs Timothy J. Sandoval 455–473 The Postexilic Exile in Third Isaiah: Isaiah 61:1–3 in Light of Second Temple Hermeneutics Bradley C. Gregory 475–496 Jonah Read Intertextually Hyun Chul Paul Kim

497–528

Encomium versus Vituperation: Contrasting Portraits of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel Jerome H. Neyrey, S.J. 529–552 The “Works of the Law” in Romans and Galatians: A New Defense of the Subjective Genitive Paul L. Owen 553–577 The Syntax of ἐν Χριστῷ in 1 Thessalonians 4:16 David Konstan and Ilaria Ramelli 579–593 Lion and Human in Gospel of Thomas Logion 7 Andrew Crislip 595–613 US ISSN:0021-9231