Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. 127, No. 2 (Summer 2008)

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B AY L O R U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S

JOURNAL OF

BIBLICAL LITERATURE

Judaism and the Gentiles SUMMER 2008

Jewish Patterns of Universalism (to 135 CE)

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The First Letter of Peter A Commentary on the Greek Text

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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE

Terence L. Donaldson

VOLUME 127, NO. 2 Privative Preposition Nm in Purification Offering Pericopes and the Changing Face of “Dorian Gray” Roy E. Gane

209–222

Writing as Oracle and as Law: New Contexts for the Book-Find of King Josiah Jonathan Ben-Dov

223–239

Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case Jeffery M. Leonard

241–265

Psalm 137: Complex Communal Laments John Ahn

267–289

Metaphor and Dissonance: A Reinterpretation of Hosea 4:13–14 Karin Adams

291–305

The Presentation of the Ancient Prophets as Lawgivers at Qumran Alex P. Jassen

307–337

The Meaning and Etymology of +w) Tzvi Novick

339–343

A Ghost on the Water? Understanding an Absurdity in Mark 6:49–50 Jason Robert Combs

345–358

Moral Vision and Eschatology in Mark’s Gospel: Coherence or Conflict? David J. Neville

359–384

“Will the Wise Person Get Drunk?” The Background of the Human Wisdom in Luke 7:35 and Matthew 11:19 Thomas E. Phillips

385–396

ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ (Romans 16:7) and the Hebrew Name Ye˘hiunnı¯ Al Wolters

397–408 US ISSN 0021-9231

JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE

SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITOR OF THE JOURNAL General Editor: JAMES C. VANDERKAM, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556

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EDITORIAL BOARD Term Expiring 2008: ELLEN B. AITKEN, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec H3A 2T5 Canada MICHAEL JOSEPH BROWN, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 TERENCE L. DONALDSON, Wycliffe College, Toronto, ON M5S 1H7 Canada STEVEN FRIESEN, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712 JENNIFER GLANCY, Le Moyne College, Syracuse, New York 13214 A. KATHERINE GRIEB, Virginia Theological Seminary, Alexandria, VA 22304 ARCHIE C. C. LEE, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Shatin New Territories, Hong Kong SAR DANIEL MARGUERAT, Université de Lausanne, CH-1015 Lausanne, Switzerland RICHARD D. NELSON, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist Univ., Dallas, TX 75275 DAVID L. PETERSEN, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, University of Durham, Durham, England, DH1 3RS, United Kingdom PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 2009: DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland EUNG CHUN PARK, San Francisco Theological Seminary, San Anselmo, CA 94960 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL 60645 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 2010: BRIAN BRITT, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 MICHAEL FOX, University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI 53706 STEVEN FRAADE, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520-8287 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 CATHERINE MURPHY, Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, CA 95053 EMERSON POWERY, Lee University, Cleveland, TN 37312 ADELE REINHARTZ, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON K1N 6N5 Canada RICHARD STEINER, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 SIDNIE WHITE CRAWFORD, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE 68588-0337

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN THEMES IN BIBLICAL THEOLOGY Jeffery J. Neihaus

Ancient Near Eastern Themes in Biblical Theology traces the many parallels between the Old Testament (and Bible as a whole) and the ancient Near East, including creation and flood narratives, common literary and legal forms, the supposed acts of deities and the God of the Bible, and more. Jeffrey Niehaus explains that these parallels cannot be identified as cases of biblical dependence on ancient Near Eastern theology, nor are they mere coincidences. Rather, he proposes that they represent a “a shared theological structure of ideas in the ancient Near East, a structure that finds its most complete and true form in the Old and New Testaments.” These truths, then, provided a matrix of thought so God’s revelation would come to a people theologically prepared to receive it. $18.99 | paperback | 208 pp. ISBN 978-0-8254-3360-3

Editorial Assistant: Monica Brady, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 President of the Society: Jonathan Z. Smith, University of Chicago, Chicago, IL 60637; Vice President: David Clines, University of Sheffield, Sheffield S10 2TN England; 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. 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

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Avaiable from your favorite online or local bookstore or from Kregel directlly at 800-733-2607. Professors can request examination copies by e-mailing us at [email protected].

JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 209–222

Privative Preposition Nm in Purification Offering Pericopes and the Changing Face of “Dorian Gray” roy e. gane [email protected] Andrews University, Berrien Springs, MI 49104

Jacob Milgrom has recently responded to my privative (“from”) interpretation of the preposition Nm in goal formulas of purification-offering (t)+x sacrifice) pericopes.1 I am honored by his kind words and, as always, impressed by the penetration and clarity of his argumentation. As he recognizes, my book Cult and Character has affirmed some aspects of his seminal “picture of Dorian Gray principle,” but has challenged other aspects.2 Milgrom’s explication of the purification-offering system has much to commend it, including attention to detail, elegant and profound theological synthesis, and heuristic power. My investigation has found further support for his overall conclusion that “the priestly theodicy” involves human sin leaving its mark on the sanctuary, “and unless it is quickly expunged, God’s presence will depart. . . . the sanctuary bears the scars and, with its destruction, he [the sinner] too will meet his doom.”3 On the other hand, I have not found the evidence to substantiate another component of Milgrom’s “Dorian Gray” hypothesis, namely, that the function of every purification offering is to purge the sanctuary and its sancta of inadvertent moral Jacob Milgrom, “The Preposition Nm in the t)+x Pericopes,” JBL 126 (2007): 161–63. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005). 3 Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 260. Milgrom earlier published this theory in “Israel’s Sanctuary: The Priestly ‘Picture of Dorian Gray,’” RB 83 (1976): 390–99. 1

2 Roy

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008)

fault or severe physical ritual impurity that has already reached it from afar when the impurity or sin occurred. According to his view, since purification offerings never need to remove such evils from the offerers themselves, on “the analogy of Oscar Wilde’s novel, the Priestly writers would claim that sin may not leave its mark on the face of the sinner . . . the sinner may be unscarred by his evil. . . .”4

I. Methodological Differences Diverging conclusions result from differing methodologies of ritual analysis. In developing his theory of purification-offering function, Milgrom took into account the concluding goal formulas of the pericopes that prescribe or describe purification offerings (including the piel verb rpk + prepositions or direct object, etc.), which interpret the meaning of the activity systems according to the ritual authority behind the text. He stated: “Finally, a study of the kipper prepositions is decisive.”5 I agree that they are decisive; however, he placed assessment of the goal formulas after reaching a tentative hypothesis that the purification offering never purifies its offerer. So he based this hypothesis on factors other than the goal formulas. These factors include: 1. Purification of offerers through ablutions or repentance before they bring purification offerings, which Milgrom took to indicate that the persons need no further purification through sacrifice. 2. The fact that elsewhere in the Bible and in Hittite ritual, physical application of blood to sacred objects and structures (such as occurs in the purification offering) purifies those objects and structures, rather than persons. 3. Most significantly, the fact that purification-offering blood is never physically applied to a person.6

By the time Milgrom reached the rpk prepositions, he readily recognized usages that supported his hypothesis, especially the fact that while rpk can take the sanctuary and its sancta as direct objects (Lev 16:20, 33), this verb never takes persons as direct objects. Rather, persons require indirect expression with the prepositions l( or d(b (e.g., Lev 4:20; 9:7).7 However, he overlooked the preposition Nm, the precise rendering of which he now agrees “is critical, for on it hangs the fundamental understanding of the modus operandi of the pollution caused by sin and its purification.”8 In Cult and Character, I investigate the function of purification offerings from a different starting point: a methodological foundation in ritual theory. It is a fun4 Milgrom,

Leviticus 1–16, 260. 255. 6 Ibid., 254–55. 7 Ibid., 255–56. 8 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 161. 5 Ibid.,

Gane: Privative Preposition Nm

211

damental principle of ritual theory that ritual meaning/function is not inherent in ritual actions themselves; rather, meaning is attached to activity by a ritual authority (e.g., a religious authority).9 So there is not a one-to-one correspondence between meanings and actions. A given activity, such as a sevenfold sprinkling of blood, can serve different functions even in the same individual ritual (e.g., 16:16, 18–19—purgation and reconsecration, respectively).10 Observations regarding patterns of ritual activity, such as the fact that t)+x blood is applied only to objects and never to persons, are not a reliable guide to ritual meaning, especially when we take into account that ritual-activity systems are believed to transcend constraints on cause and effect that operate in the material realm. When our access to an ancient ritual is only through a text (e.g., Leviticus) that provides interpretation of the activities it prescribes/describes, that interpretation, however cryptic it may be, is our primary source for identification of meaning/function.11 Accordingly, I primarily base my understanding of purification-offering function on systematic study of the language formulas that summarize what they accomplish, such as: wl xlsnw wt)+xm Nhkh wyl( rpkw, “Thus shall the priest effect purgation on his behalf Nm his wrong, that he may be forgiven” (4:26b).12 Here I cite Milgrom’s rendering, but leave the preposition Nm (in wt)+xm) untranslated.13 What does Nm mean? The factors exposed below yield my conclusion.

II. Nm and Removal of Evils from Persons

In clauses governed by the verb rpk, followed by l( and then Nm + a term for a kind of evil as the object of the preposition (e.g., t)+x, “sin/wrong”),14 the object of the preposition l( is the person or thing receiving the benefit of the ritual, and the object of Nm is the evil that the ritual remedies. So the pattern is: rpk + l( + recipient of benefit + Nm + evil (see, e.g., in 4:26 above). Within the syntactic pattern just described, the “recipient of benefit” and “evil” slots vary according to the nature of the case. The recipient of benefit (object of l() can be the offerer (or pronoun with the offerer as antecedent), as in Nhkh wyl( rpkw, “Thus shall the priest effect purgation for his benefit” (4:26; cf. 5:6, 10; 12:7; 14:19; 15:15, 30; 16:34; Num 6:11). Alternatively, the recipient can be part of the sanctuary, as in #dqh-l( rpkw, “Thus he shall effect purgation for the benefit of the holy 9 Frits Staal, Rules without Meaning: Ritual, Mantras and the Human Sciences (Toronto Studies in Religion 4; New York: Peter Lang, 1989), 127–29, 134, 137, 140, 330. 10 Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1037. 11 Gane, Cult, 3–24; building on idem, Ritual Dynamic Structure (Gorgias Dissertations 14, Religion 2; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2004). 12 See esp. Gane, Cult, 106–43, including tables. 13 Trans. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 227. Here he translates Nm as causative, “for.” 14 Excluding Nm in Exod 30:10, where the object of the preposition is blood rather than a kind of evil.

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(of holies)” (Lev 16:16). The evil following Nm can be a moral fault, as in wt)+xm, “Nm his sin” (4:26; 5:6, 10; cf. 16:34; Num 6:11), or a physical ritual impurity, as in wt)m+m, “Nm his impurity” (Lev 14:19; cf. 15:15, 30). Because the variation of prepositional objects occurs within a consistent pattern, it would logically appear that the meanings of l( and Nm remain basically the same, signifying similar relations with the verb, unless we find compelling evidence to the contrary. Taking into account the difference between human and non-human objects, the force of l( is indeed quite consistent. Even if l( in 16:16 were interpreted literally as “on” with a nonhuman object, that is, “on the holy (of holies),”15 this area of the sanctuary receives the benefit of the purgation.16 By “receives the benefit,” I mean that it is better off as a result of its purgation, without personifying the sanctuary to imply ridiculously that it has sinned and needs expiation the way an Israelite would. Regarding Nm, if in some instances it must have the causative sense “because of ” (or equivalent “for”) an evil, the default is for such a rendering to apply in all cases.17 On the other hand, if Nm sometimes must refer to removal of evil from the recipient of benefit, whether the offerer or part of the sanctuary, the preposition should consistently be translated with privative “from” (or equivalent “of ”) unless some additional factor solidly indicates otherwise.18 To proceed from a clear instance of Nm on which Milgrom and I agree: in 16:16 this preposition contributes to expressing removal of evil from the recipient of benefit (inner sanctum): Mt)+x-lkl Mhy(#pmw l)r#y ynb t)m+m #dqh-l( rpkw, “Thus he shall purge the adytum of [Nm] the pollution and transgressions of the Israelites, including all of their sins.” Here Milgrom appropriately renders “purge . . . of,” signifying removal of evils.19 A causative “purge . . . because of” could be correct by itself: purgation of the sanctuary is necessary because of the evils caused by the Israelites. However, this would miss the point of emphasis: benefit to the sanctuary (cf. v. 16b—“and he shall do likewise for the Tent of Meeting”), from which defilement is removed (cf. v. 19—“Thus he shall purify it of [Nm] the pollution of the Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 255. the parallel in Leviticus 14 between l( rpk formulas for persons (v. 20) and houses (v. 53). Of course, the occupants of such a house also receive benefit, and purgation of Yhwh’s sanctuary on Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16) benefits him. 17 For the causative sense of Nm, see, e.g., IBHS, 213, §11.2.11d. 18 Regarding privative Nm, see IBHS, 214, §11.2.11e. Cf. the privative use of Nm with the piel of rh+ (“purify”) or sbk (“wash”) to express separation of evils from persons; see Ps 51:4 (Eng. 51:2); Jer 4:14; 33:8; Ezek 36:33; Neh 13:30. 19 Trans. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1010 (emphasis supplied). Jay Sklar mentions that Milgrom’s translation disregards l( here following a privative interpretation of Nm (review of Gane, Cult, RBL 4 [2007]). The reason is not the privative, but because Milgrom understands l( with a nonhuman object following rpk as literally “on” (Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 255). Rather than rendering “effect purgation on,” he abbreviates to “purge.” 15 So

16 Cf.


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Israelites and consecrate it”).20 In this context, therefore, Nm is best understood in the sense of removal, which is close to the basic ablative meaning of the preposition. In 16:16 the object of Nm consists of physical ritual impurities and moral faults belonging to the Israelites. Similarly, in 4:26; 5:6, 10; 14:19; 15:15, 30; 16:34, which are equivalent to 16:16 in that Nm occurs in rpk clauses, the objects of Nm are sins or physical impurities belonging to persons, whether individually or (in 16:34) collectively.21 So it is legitimate to expect that, in these cases also, Nm indicates removal (“from/of ”), as it does in 16:16, unless further language evidence contradicts this. The difference is that in 4:26, etc., the recipients of benefit (objects of l() are persons rather than the sanctuary. When the sanctuary is the recipient, it is purged, as confirmed by verses in which parts of the sanctuary are direct objects of rpk (16:20, 33). This would imply that when persons are recipients, they are purged. But as Milgrom has rightly pointed out, there are no verses in which persons are direct objects of rpk.22 Nevertheless, there are other pieces of evidence confirming removal of evil from persons. The goal of the parturient’s purification offering is: hrh+w hyl( rpkw hymd rqmm (12:7), which Milgrom renders: “and effect expiation on her behalf, and then she shall be pure from [Nm] her source of blood.”23 Here he translates with privative “from” to express removal of evil from the woman. In other goal formulas where persons are recipients of benefit, he avoids the idea of removal from the offerer by rendering “for” (meaning “because of ”), as in 15:30—“and the priest shall effect purgation on her behalf, for her impure discharge.”24 This causative sense indicates that the sacrificial purgation remedies the evil, but does not admit that the evil is removed from the offerer, which would imply that such evils leave cultic “marks” on persons. Therefore, the translation “for” does not impinge on Milgrom’s Dorian Gray theory, according to which “physical impurity is removed by ablution . . . the hi atitiā't never purifies its offerer.”25 So why does Milgrom inconsistently render “from” in 12:7? Here Nm is not in the clause governed by rpk but in the following clause, governed by the qal of rh+, “be pure,” which states the result of rpk: “she shall be pure.” This means that the purification offering removes physical impurity from her.26 Milgrom cannot render Trans. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1010. misses this syntactic correspondence to 16:16 when he finds it unclear that Nm is privative in the other instances because they “are not syntactically equivalent to 12:7 or 16:30: 12:7 and 16:30 use the NIm in a result clause, while none of the other verses do (this is especially clear from Gane’s table on 126).” But see Gane, Cult, 116, 118–19, 134, and esp. 135 (table). 22 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 255. 23 Ibid., 742 (emphasis supplied). 24 Ibid., 903 (emphasis supplied); cf. trans. of 4:26; 5:6, 10, 13; 14:19; 15:15 (pp. 227, 293, 828, 902). 25 Ibid., 254. 26 Sklar notes “that Milgrom himself states on Lev 12 that ‘the parturient is purified by the 20

21 Sklar

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Nm as causative “because of ” (or “for”) here because it would create nonsense: “then she shall be pure because of her source of blood.” If Nm can only mean removal from the person here, why would it not signify removal from offerers in other goal formulas summarizing equivalent events, accomplishing expiation for Israelites to remedy their evils throughout the year, on days other than Yom Kippur? Even if we rendered Nm as causative elsewhere, functional equivalence between the purification offerings themselves would imply a privative kind of result on the basis of comparison with 12:7.27 Any remaining doubt that purification-offering rpk removes evil from persons should vanish in light of two passages where persons are direct objects of the piel of rh+, following rpk. In Numbers 8, the pair purification offering + burnt offering effects rpk for the Levites (v. 12) Mrh+l, “to purify them” (v. 21).28 In Lev 16:30, on Yom Kippur, wrh+t hwhy ynpl Mkyt)+x lkm Mkt) rh+l Mkyl( rpky, which Milgrom translates: “shall purgation be effected on your behalf to purify you [Mkt) rh+l] of [Nm] all your sins; you shall become pure before the Lord.”29 Here the purpose/result of rpk is to purify (piel of rh+) the Israelites, which means that they become pure (qal of rh+, as in 12:7). As in 12:7, Milgrom properly interprets Nm in the sense of removal, with “of ” synonymous to privative “from.” Causative “because of ” (“to purify you because of all your sins”) would not yield the sense that fits the context.30 Thus far I have shown that Nm + evil in goal formulas of purification offerings action of both sacrifices’ [758], i.e., by the burnt offering and purification offering. I have been unable to find a place where he reconciles this with his thesis on the purification offering as a whole.” 27 Sklar agrees. 28 For analysis of this portion of Numbers 8, see Gane, Cult, 120–22. Christian Eberhart tries to distinguish between the effects of the purification and burnt offerings in such pairs throughout the year: “blood rites do purge the sanctuary and its components, while burning rites accomplish forgiveness for sins that the offerer bears” (review of Gane, Cult, RBL 7 [2006]). Eberhart is off target on three counts: (1) Blood rites of purification offerings throughout the year do not purge the sanctuary and its components. (2) Expiatory sacrifices do not accomplish forgiveness; they are only prerequisite to forgiveness, which is granted directly by Yhwh (Gane, Cult, 51–52, 125, 194–95). In addition, forgiveness (xls) is especially associated with purification and reparation offerings (esp. in Leviticus 4–5); it is not explicitly mentioned with independent burnt offerings (ch. 1). (3) In Lev 5:6–10 and Num 15:24–28, purification offering + burnt offering pairs are functionally equivalent to (i.e., accomplish the same goals as) lone purification offerings. In such a case the burnt offering contributes in a quantitative sense to make what amounts to a greater purification offering, rather than carrying separate qualitative significance (Gane, Cult, 196, 219–20). 29 Trans. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1011 (emphasis supplied). 30 To discount this evidence from 16:30 (or v. 34; see above) on the basis of presumed H rather than P authorship (see below) would miss the point that here we are discussing aspects of Hebrew language (including syntax) that transcend source/redaction-critical considerations.


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is privative, and therefore these sacrifices remove evils from persons.31 So we can render 4:26: “Thus shall the priest effect purgation for his benefit from his wrong. . . .”32 This revises my understanding of “Dorian Gray” to mean that t)+x sacrifices throughout the year do acknowledge an impact of nondefiant sins on those who commit them.

III. Do Purification Offerings Always Purge the Sanctuary? Milgrom and I have already agreed that, on Yom Kippur, purification offerings purge the sanctuary (16:16, 18-20, 33a), thereby secondarily purifying the people (vv. 6, 11, 30, 33a, 34).33 A further question, then, is: Do purification offerings on days other than Yom Kippur purge parts of the sanctuary in addition to purifying the offerers?34 It is true that the purification offering for the unique initial consecration (piel of #dq) of the outer altar purifies (piel of )+x) it (8:15; cf. Exod 29:36–37), just as the special Yom Kippur sacrifices purify (piel of rh+) and (re-)consecrate (piel of #dq) it (Lev 16:19). But in goal formulas for purification offerings on other days, which do not involve consecration/reconsecration of the altar, there is not even a hint that purification of this object or any other part of the sanctuary is involved. This lack is not the result of abbreviation, so that the sanctuary’s purification should be assumed from Leviticus 8 or 16. These chapters presuppose data from earlier portions of Leviticus, so that is the direction of the abbreviation, not the other way 31 In his review of my Cult and Character, Sklar agrees with this overall point: “Most impor-

tant, it [Gane’s book] proves well—and it seems unequivocally—that one can no longer argue that the purification offering only cleanses the sanctuary itself (and never the offerer).” A privative interpretation of Nm is consistent with Milgrom’s interpretation of t)+x (“purification offering”) as derived from the privative piel verb )+x (“purify”), which can describe the function of the t)+x sacrifice (Exod 29:36; Lev 8:15; Ezek 43:20, 22, 23; 45:18; Jacob Milgrom, “Sin-Offering or Purification-Offering?” VT 21 [1971]: 237; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 253). Regarding transfer of evil from offerers to such purification offerings, I have suggested: “Apparently it is because the offerer has a connection with his offering as its owner and transfers ownership to Yhwh, as affirmed by the hand-leaning gesture when this is required. . . . I argue that it is the departing ownership connection rather than the physical contact itself that is the point” (Gane, Cult, 176). Eberhart misrepresents my point when he says I assume that the hand-leaning gesture has two different meanings: the end of ownership (in most sacrifices), and transfer of sin (in outer-altar and outersanctum purification offerings). 32 Cf. NJB: “This is how the priest must perform the rite of expiation for him to free him from his sin” (emphasis supplied). Herbert C. Brichto also recognized privative Nm in 4:35 [sic, for 26] and 15:15, 30 (“On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 47 [1976]: 31, 33). 33 Gane, Cult, 126–27; cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1056: “Yet as the sanctuary is polluted by the people’s impurities, their elimination, in effect, also purifies the people.” 34 Sklar gives an affirmative answer to this question.

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around.35 While it is proper to take the language syntax of Leviticus 8 and 16 into account when comparing purification-offering goal formulas, it would be methodologically unsound to assume on the basis of these unique ritual occasions that other purification offerings also cleanse the sanctuary.36 If purgation of the sanctuary, which is explicitly emphasized as primary on Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16), were part of the picture on other days, it is unbelievable that a dynamic of this magnitude would go completely unmentioned while benefit for persons is repeated in every purification-offering pericope. It is, therefore, out of the question that throughout the year purification offerings primarily purge the sanctuary and thereby secondarily remove evils from persons, as on Yom Kippur. There is even less evidence for primary purification of persons secondarily purging the sanctuary or equal purification of persons and the sanctuary, dynamics that do not appear in any goal formulas, even on Yom Kippur. Arguing for purgation of the sanctuary throughout the year requires an unsupported assumption of an ellipsis, which amounts to an interpreter’s eisegetical interpolation, to read 4:26, for example, as, “Thus shall the priest effect purgation [of the altar] for his benefit from his wrong [of polluting the altar], that he may be forgiven.” But does the biblical text concur that pollution of the altar is the sin for which the sinner is forgiven? In 5:13, concluding the last of a series of purificationoffering pericopes (here a graduated/graded purification offering of grain), the priest effects rpk for the offerer’s benefit xlsnw hl)m tx)m )+x-r#) wt)+x-l( wl, “for the wrong he committed in any of these matters so that he may be forgiven.”37 The plain sense is that the sacrifice remedies the (nondefiant) violations of divine commands specified in vv. 1–4 (cf. v. 5, “in any of these matters”), one of which is the sin (t)+x) that (r#)) the offerer committed (qal of )+x; literally, “sinned”).38 If the “sin” here were a resultant wrong of polluting the sanctuary, the same language of t)+x + r#) + qal of )+x in 4:14, 23, 28 strangely tells us that when an inadvertent sinner’s sin is made known to him, he is told that he has committed the sin of polluting the sanctuary. No, the relevant information specifies the 35 For example, 8:17 assumes 4:12, which specifies the ash dump as the location at which to dispose of carcasses outside the camp; 16:24 assumes instructions in ch. 1 for performing the burnt offering; 16:27 also assumes the ash dump. 36 Sklar missed this point. The consecration purification offering (8:14–17) was part of a ritual complex performed only at the initial institution of the cult, and it was uniquely officiated by Moses, before inauguration of purification offerings officiated by the Aaronic priesthood (9:8– 11). So its function (as interpreted by the biblical text) is not an adequate basis for assuming that every subsequent purification offering purges the altar. 37 Trans. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 293. 38 For t)+x + r#) + qal of )+x, cf. 4:3, 14, 23, 28, 35; 5:10. Cf. Gane, Cult, 128–29, with Hyam Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 178–79; against Jacob Milgrom, “Impurity Is Miasma: A Response to Hyam Maccoby,” JBL 119 (2000): 732; idem, Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3B; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2462.


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commandment violation itself (cf. vv. 2, 13, 22, 27), which constitutes the sin that the sacrifice remedies. Numbers 6 is specific regarding the nature of the sin remedied by a Nazirite’s purification offering: In the event that he is contaminated by an unexpected death (v. 9), thereby accidentally violating the categorical divine prohibition against incurring corpse contamination during the period of his vow (vv. 6–7), he must offer a purification and burnt offering pair so that the priest performs rpk for his benefit “from that which he sinned concerning the corpse” (v. 11). The verse does not say, “from that which he sinned concerning the altar/sanctuary.” The sin remedied by the Nazirite’s purification offering is violation of a command regarding physical ritual impurity (cf. Lev 5:2–3). When a purification offering remedies physical impurity itself, Milgrom is right that the impure person needs only purification, but no forgiveness as a sinner would (see, e.g., 12:7–8; 14:19– 20).39 But he has just told us that application of t)+x blood to objects and areas of the sanctuary purges these “on behalf of the person who caused their contamination by his physical impurity or inadvertent offense.”40 His next step introduces a serious inconsistency: “The inadvertent offender needs forgiveness not because of his act per se—as indicated above, his act is forgiven because of the offender’s inadvertence and remorse—but because of the consequence of his act. His inadvertence has contaminated the sanctuary, and it is his responsibility to purge it with a hi atitāi 't.”41 So it seems that polluting the sanctuary is a sin that requires forgiveness, and a physically impure person contaminates the sanctuary, but this individual needs no forgiveness? Something doesn’t add up here. For me the problem simply does not exist. Purification offerings throughout the year remove evils only from their offerers, prerequisite to forgiveness (xls) from sin, or accomplishing a final level of purification (rh+) from physical ritual impurity. In a second stage of rpk on Yom Kippur, beyond forgiveness or purification of physically impure persons, impurities and moral faults accumulated at the sanctuary are removed from it, thereby (with regard to the moral faults) secondarily accomplishing corporate moral cleansing (verb rh+) of the Israelites (16:30).42 39 Milgrom,

Leviticus 1–16, 256.

40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. 42 For Sklar, it is difficult to differentiate this moral cleansing from forgiveness, which offer-

ers would receive throughout the year. There is certainly a sense in which forgiveness can be regarded as a kind of moral cleansing (see Psalm 51; Jer 33:8). It is striking, however, that while the verb xls, meaning “forgive” (cf. Num 14:19–38 in the sense of limited amnesty), appears numerous times with sacrifices throughout the year (Lev 4:20, 26, 31, 35, etc.), it never shows up in the context of Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16; 23:26–32; Num 29:7–11). Conversely, purification (rh+) from moral faults is attested only as a result of the corporate Yom Kippur ceremonies (Lev 16:30) following occasions of forgiveness throughout the year. Thus, although “all their sins” in 16:16 includes sins already remedied by sacrifices throughout the year (Gane, Cult, 277–78), moral

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This moral cleansing means that their sins have no further relevance for the divine– human relationship because they do not even affect God’s sanctuary, which represents his administration.43 To wrap up our discussion thus far, I basically agree with John Gammie when he finds that Milgrom “has failed to establish (1) that human beings are not purged with the ‘purgation offerings’ and (2) that every ‘purgation offering’ purges a portion of the sanctuary or sancta.”44 Rather, most purification offerings “purge from their sins or uncleannesses the person or persons in whose behalf they were presented (see esp. Lev. 4:20, 26, 31, 35; 5:6).”45 Gammie’s conclusions enable him to observe a fascinating irony: Under Milgrom’s view the slate was constantly being wiped clean, so to speak, with every sin offering. Under the view argued above, the sanctuary for the priestly writers was far more a portrait of Dorian Gray than Milgrom’s own theory would allow. . . . Sanctuary and sancta indeed reflected the state of the people’s sinfulness precisely because the uncleannesses that the former accrued were not removed at every hat i ti āi 't offering.46

IV. Answers to Objections Now we are prepared to parry Milgrom’s specific objections to my privative (“from/of ”) interpretation of the preposition Nm (when the object of the preposition is an evil), most of which relate to factors outside the decisive language of goal formulas: 1. Milgrom maintains that Israelites who have had severe physical impurities must already be completely ritually pure to be allowed entry into the sanctuary rh+ from those sins on Yom Kippur refers to something qualitatively unique to this day, which an Israelite who had already been forgiven needed and would receive only if he/she participated in showing loyalty to Yhwh through self-denial and abstaining from work (vv. 29–31; cf. 23:27– 32). 43 Gane, Cult, 306, 317–18, 322, 342–43. Milgrom, in agreement with Israel Knohl, regards 16:29–34a as an H interpolation, distinct from P (Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 62–63, 1064–65; idem, Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000], 1343; cf. Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995], 27–28, 105), which would imply that he would not integrate this passage with the rest of ch. 16 in reconstructing a theology of Yom Kippur, as I have done. Thus, whereas P refers only to xls (“forgiveness”), in 16:30 H employs rh+ for moral purification (Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 37). However, Milgrom elsewhere explains that moral impurity is irremediable in H (Leviticus 17–22, 1326), so moral purification in 16:30 does not accord with his view of H. 44 John G. Gammie, Holiness in Israel (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 39. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid., 41.


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with their t)+x sacrifices. Therefore, these sacrifices cannot purify their offerers; rather, they must purge the altar of the defilements that the persons inflicted on it.47 However, statements that such persons are “pure” after they are healed, wait, and perform ablutions (e.g., 15:13) do not mean that subsequent purification offerings play no role in purifying them. Purification from serious impurities is in stages, which is why the formerly scale-diseased person can be regarded as “pure” (qal of rh+) following ritual purification (including ablutions) of the first day, which allows him to enter the camp but not his tent (14:8), again be called “pure” on the seventh day following additional ritual purification (v. 9; also including ablutions), and yet again be termed “pure” on the eighth day following a complex of reparation, purification, burnt, and grain offerings (v. 20). So “he/she is pure” means “pure enough for that stage of purification.”48 Even in some cases where rh+ does not appear following performance of a purification offering, the language of rpk + (privative) Nm + evil indicates purification (15:15, 30). Milgrom’s hypothesis that purification offerings purge the altar in cases such as those just mentioned is without textual support. It is true that in Lev 20:3 and Num 19:13, 20 certain wanton cultic sins automatically pollute the sanctuary when they are committed.49 In these instances, however, the perpetrators are condemned to the terminal divine punishment of extirpation (trk), with no opportunity for rpk through sacrifice.50 There is no evidence for extending the dynamic of automatic defilement to less severe cases that allow for remedy through t)+x sacrifice. We must conclude, therefore, that the purpose of such a sacrifice is to remove a kind of evil from the offerer, as the biblical text explicitly states (e.g., Lev 4:26 with privative Nm). 2. Milgrom finds my understanding of Lev 15:15b in terms of the priest effecting purgation on behalf of (= for the benefit of) the offerer from his discharge, that is, to remove residual ritual impurity (cf. v. 30—“her impure discharge”) from him, to be “simply incomprehensible. Purgation (rpk) is not offered ‘from’ but ‘for, because of ’—‘his flow’ (15:15). . . .”51 So why does Milgrom render “from” rather “Preposition Nm,” 161–62. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function (JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 60. 49 Milgrom refers to automatic defilement as “aerial” (Leviticus 1–16, 257). 50 Contrast trk in Num 15:30–31 with expiation through purification offerings in vv. 22– 29; cf. the death penalty for defiling the sanctuary in Lev 15:31. 51 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 162, referring to Gane, Cult, 116. Sklar thinks that a privative translation of Nm in such verses creates a problem for rendering l(. But l( simply refers to the person or thing receiving the benefit of the removal that is indicated by rpk followed by Nm (see above). While l( rpk appears to carry a consistent basic meaning, probably something like “make amends for the benefit of,” with various kinds of sacrifices (e.g., Lev 1:4, burnt offering; 5:16, reparation offering), the addition of privative Nm (explicit; or implicit by abbreviation, e.g., 4:31) uniquely in the context of purification offerings interprets the rpk remedy in the sense of making 47 Milgrom,

48 Nobuyoshi

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than the causative sense of Nm in 12:7, “from her source of blood,” also referring to residual impurity in terms of its physical origin (see above)? The fact is, only “from” is comprehensible in 12:7, and a consistent rendering of “from” elsewhere is only incomprehensible if one approaches the purification-offering goal formulas with an a priori assumption.

3. Milgrom argues that “wt)+xm and wt)+x-l( are synonymous, and just as wt)+x-l( can only mean ‘for his/her impurity [sic, for sin],’ so too wt)+xm.”52 I agree that wt)+x-l( means “for/concerning his sin.” But syntactically equivalent placement of different lexemes does not level semantic differences between them, especially in the precise linguistic environment of Leviticus. For example, on Yom Kippur, purgation of the sanctuary is rpk + l( or b or t) (Lev 16:16–18, 20, 27, 33), with these prepositions (l(, “on”/receiving benefit; b, “in”) or the direct object (receiving the action) indicating different aspects.53

4. Milgrom judges my theory untenable, representing it as follows: “the t)+x brought by the bodily impure or the inadvertent sinner absorbs the impurity; the priest brings the impure blood of the t)+x to the altar, and the holiness of the altar wipes out the impurity . . . the altar sanctifies the allegedly impure blood.”54 However, I never expressed (or thought) the idea that the holiness of the altar eradicates impurity or sanctifies impure blood. In grappling with the problem that the blood of most holy purification offerings is paradoxically allowed to bear a kind of defilement onto the most holy altar, I refer to limited immunity: “Human pollution does not negate the acceptability, holiness, or purity of the purification offerings, interrupt the holy function of the sanctuary, or disqualify its priests. However, the immunity of the cult has its limits: the sanctuary must be purified once per year.”55 It is true that t)+x blood is never explicitly called )m+ (“impure”), but this does not invalidate my theory. For one thing, the blood is only a cultic carrier of defilement that is downgraded by preliminary purification.56 Furthermore, sacred

amends by removing/purifying evil from someone or something (Gane, Cult, 139–40; cf. 194). Because the purification offering is mandatory rather than a freewill gift, the whole sacrifice (to which all of its required activities contribute) removes and in a sense “pays” an obligation/debt to Yhwh that has obstructed the offerer’s relationship with him. This does not contradict the basic function of the sacrifice as an offering = gift in the broader sense of something given over to the deity (ibid., 65–67; with Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 253; against Eberhart). 52 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 162. 53 Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 255, and Milgrom’s fine distinction between l( rpk and rpk d(b, both of which he takes to mean “on behalf of,” the former referring to a recipient of benefit other than the subject and the latter to a recipient who is the same as the subject (255–56). 54 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 162, citing Gane, Cult, 176–81. 55 Ibid., 178. Milgrom agrees that (at least super) holiness, such as that of the high priest on Yom Kippur, can be immune to impurity (Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 163). 56 Gane, Cult, 179; cf. Kiuchi, who distinguishes between impurity in sancta and impurity in other contexts (Purification Offering, 140).


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things in general are not explicitly described as impure (adj. or qal of )m+), even though they can be polluted (piel of )m+ in 15:31; 20:3; Num 19:13, 20, implying an impure state that could have been expressed with the adj. or qal) and impurities can be purged from them (Lev 16:16). This “indicates the sensitivity of the biblical text in avoiding the implication that the sancta are disqualified.”57 Regarding Lev 6:20 (Eng. 6:27), Milgrom’s commentary has exposed the ambivalent/paradoxical nature of the purification offering. Although it is most holy, a garment on which its blood spatters must be washed, indicating that the garment is treated as if it is impure (cf. 11:25, 28, 40; 15:5–8, 10–11). The blood, “having absorbed the impurity of the sanctum upon which it is sprinkled, now contaminates everything it touches.”58 “Thus Scripture was forced to tolerate the contradictory notion that the technique of purging the sanctuary of its impurities—the purification offering—could simultaneously be a most sacred offering and a source of impurity.”59 In reacting to my book, Milgrom now reverses his prior position by adopting the view that because the garment in 6:20 (Eng. 27) must be washed “in a holy place,” it “is treated as holy, not impure.”60 But in his commentary he had already ruled out this possibility: The fact that the garment is not confiscated by the sanctuary shows that it does not become holy. The reason why it must be washed in a holy place, that is, within the tabernacle courtyard, is because the purification offering (including its blood, which must be washed off the garment) is treated as holy.61 Other cases in which purification offerings transmit defilement by contact remove all doubt that a most holy ritual remedy can carry residual impurity. In 16:28 an assistant who incinerates the special Yom Kippur purification offerings that purge the sanctuary, arguably the holiest of all sacrifices because they uniquely require the high priest to enter the inner sanctum (vv. 12–17), is subsequently required to perform ablutions before he is permitted to reenter the camp. In Num 19:7–8, those who participate in the red cow purification offering need ablutions and are explicitly “unclean ()m+) until evening.”62 These cases do not involve removal of contagious holiness. While there are plenty of instances in which washing removes various kinds and degrees of impurities, there is no solid evidence for ablutions removing holiness.63 The earlier Milgrom has convinced me that purification-offering blood absorbs defilement, but (against his position) not from something sacred (the outer 57 Gane,

Cult, 179. Leviticus 1–16, 403–4. 59 Ibid., 406. 60 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 162. 61 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 403–4. 62 Not explained by Eberhart’s “assumption that the red ashes that contain the cow’s blood are holy as such and purge the human being by virtue of this holiness.” 63 Gane, Cult, 166–67 n. 8, 186–90; against Eberhart. 58 Milgrom,

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altar) in Lev 6:20.64 Since blood is a sticky substance, when a priest would apply it with his finger to the horns of the altar (4:25, 30, 34), it would not ricochet through the air onto a garment. Nor does the text specify that only blood that has contacted the altar contaminates a garment in this way. Confirmation that the altar is not the source of the defilement is found in 6:21 (Eng. v. 28), where purification-offering flesh eaten by the officiating priest (cf. v. 19 [Eng. v. 26]) is treated as contaminated, imparting impurity to vessels (cf. 11:31–33), even though it never contacts the altar.65 So what is the source of the defilement carried by the blood? It can only be the offerer, from whom the residual evil is removed.66 Now we can understand why t)+x blood is never physically applied to an offerer, as reflected by the fact that a person is never the direct object of rpk: “this blood is already carrying his/her defilement, whether it results from sin or ritual impurity.”67 5. Milgrom objects to another “paradox” in my interpretation: “on Yom Kippur the t)+x blood changes its nature from a pollutant to a purifier; erstwhile impure blood now purifies the entire sanctuary and its sancta.”68 No, I have not implied that purification-offering blood switches its nature. Like blood in the circulatory system of a living body, it is always a carrier:69 Throughout the year (stage 1), it carries defilement away from offerers, thereby secondarily contaminating the sancta to which it is then applied. On Yom Kippur (stage 2), the blood of unique purification offerings is directly applied to the sancta to absorb the accumulated defilement and carry it away. The meaning of these two stages of rpk is a massive, dynamic enactment of theodicy: When Yhwh extends mercy by freeing Israelites from the results of evils they have caused, he bears responsibility (symbolized by defilement of his sanctuary, representing his administration) for compromising justice. This imbalance between justice and mercy is rectified on Yom Kippur, when Yhwh’s justice is vindicated (symbolized by removal of evil from his sanctuary) at the same time as his people demonstrate their loyalty to him (16:29–31; cf. 23:27–32).70 64 Verses 19, 21 (Eng. 26, 28) indicate that this is the eaten purification offering, the blood of which is always applied at the outer altar (cf. v. 23 [Eng. v. 30]). 65 Sklar finds the parallel with 11:31–33 to be “interesting but not decisive for the simple reason that 11:31-33 is dealing with unclean animals, whereas 6:22 [29] explicitly states that the purification offering is most holy.” However, this contrast is illusory because the animals and the purification offering are not really functional equivalents in the respective cases: The former are a primary source of impurity, but the latter is a ritual remedy that secondarily carries a residue of the defilement it remedies (see above). 66 Gane, Cult, 167–69, agreeing on this point with Noam Zohar, “Repentance and Purification: The Significance and Semantics of t)+x in the Pentateuch,” JBL 107 (1988): 612. 67 Gane, Cult, 175; cf. 180. 68 Milgrom, “Preposition Nm,” 163; cf. Sklar. 69 Gane, Cult, 174. 70 Ibid., 267–333.

JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 223–239

Writing as Oracle and as Law: New Contexts for the Book-Find of King Josiah jonathan ben-dov [email protected] University of Haifa, Mount Carmel, Haifa 31905, Israel

Two recent collections of articles have introduced new horizons to the study of prophetic literature: Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (2000) and Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (2006).1 These volumes have given the formal stamp to a trend that has already gained some influence in recent research. This new agenda centers on the relation between the mantic arts, prophecy, and the scribal culture. Based on the commonly accepted view that the lion’s share of the production of prophetic books was carried out by scribes rather than prophets, scholarly effort is increasingly focusing on the relationships among prophets, diviners, and scribes in order to ascertain the precise role each of these parties played in the “publishing” process of a prophetic book.2 In addition, more attention is being paid to the relevance of This paper was first presented in a workshop entitled “The Roles of Books in Ancient Societies” at the Institute of Advanced Studies at the Hebrew University in June 2005. I would like to thank Professors Guy Stroumsa and Margalit Finkelberg, the organizers of the workshop, as well as the participants of the group. In addition, Professor Bustenai Oded read the article and made helpful comments. English translations of biblical material follow the NJPS version. 1 Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H. Floyd, eds., Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (SBLSS 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000); Michael H. Floyd and Robert D. Haak, eds., Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 427; New York/London: T&T Clark, 2006). 2 See Lester L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1995); James C. VanderKam, “Prophecy and Apocalyptic in the Ancient Near East,” CANE 3:2083–94; Anne Marie Kitz, “Prophecy as Divination,” CBQ 65 (2003): 22–42; E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, “Prophetismus und Divination—Ein Blick auf die keilinschriftlichen Quellen,” in Propheten in Mari, Assyrien, und

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extrabiblical prophetic texts, the study of which has introduced new data to the already weighty discourse on biblical prophetic literature.3 Finally, acknowledgment of early Judaism’s textual orientation has augmented the consideration being given to the gradual textualization of prophecy.4 Given the increased importance of writing and books, on the one hand, and the enormous scholarly interest in the book-find of King Josiah, on the other hand, it is a natural step to relate the two issues. The narrative of 2 Kings 22–23 stands at the intersection of various streams of tradition in ancient Israel regarding the value of written documents. A diachronic analysis of the story’s composition and the book’s implied contents reveals a burgeoning appreciation for the “Book” in Israelite religion, constituting the foundation stone for what in due course would emerge as the “religion of the Book.” It will be suggested below that a pre-Deuteronomistic (pre-Dtr) narrative—embedded in 2 Kings 22–23—conceived of the book not as a document of law but as a sign from heaven, part of the routine oracular procedure in ancient Near Eastern royal courts. The particular value attributed to texts in Jewish sources is usually considered to be a product of the Babylonian exile, during which the scattered community was cut off from the temple cult. As James L. Kugel has noted, however, “This change, certainly characteristic of post-exilic life, is probably not a mere reflex of events of the exile. . . . [S]omething of the growing independent life of texts may perhaps be glimpsed even among writings that preceded the return.”5 In the present article, I wish to highlight the value attributed to written texts in preexilic Israelite religion. At the same time, I will ground this religious concept in the matrix of ancient Near Eastern religions, thus tracing possible origins for the concept noted by Kugel.

Israel (ed. Matthias Köckert and Martti Nissinen; FRLANT 201; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003) 33–53. 3 See the articles by John Van Seters, Karel van der Toorn, and Martti Nissinen, in Writings and Speech, ed. Ben Zvi and Floyd, and the articles by Nissinen and Armin Lange in Prophets, Prophecy and Prophetic Texts, ed. Floyd and Haak. 4 See esp. Michael H. Floyd, “‘Write the Revelation!’ (Hab 2:2): Re-imagining the Cultural History of Prophecy,” in Writings and Speech, 103–43; idem, “The Production of Prophetic Books in the Early Second Temple Period,” in Prophets, Prophecy and Prophetic Texts, 276–97; Joachim Schaper, “The Death of the Prophet: The Transition from the Spoken to the Written Word of God in the Book of Ezekiel,” in Prophets, Prophecy and Prophetic Texts, 63–79; idem, “Exilic and Postexilic Prophecy and the Orality/Literacy Problem,” VT 55 (2005): 324–42; Hindy Najman, “The Symbolic Significance of Writing in Ancient Judaism,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 139–73. 5 James L. Kugel, “Early Interpretation: The Common Background of Late Forms of Biblical Exegesis,” in idem and Rowan A. Greer, Early Biblical Interpretation (LEC 3; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), 17.

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Josiah was not the first ancient king to enact a religious reform. Nadav Na’aman has summarized the similarities between Josiah’s acts and those of other religious reforms.6 In a lecture delivered before the Israeli Academy of Sciences, he discussed issues of royal authority, religious initiative, and the public response to the cult reform. Here I aim to clarify an additional element that was only touched on by Na’aman: the divine oracles adduced by the monarch as an endorsement for his plan. Although the motif of the book-find as oracular support for religious acts has been discussed in previous scholarship,7 it is now time to investigate it again with new sources and renewed perspectives. More specifically, recognition of the role of “the book that was found” as an oracular object may enhance our understanding of the use of written media in the prophetic process.

I. Torah—From Divine Oracle to Law Code and Canon Since Josiah’s book is frequently designated “the Book of torah,” a preliminary discussion of the polyvalent Hebrew term hrwt (tôrâ) and the various meanings it carries in the Hebrew Bible constitutes a critical task. Michael Fishbane has demonstrated the development of (the concept of) hrwt in Hebrew religion and thought up to the time of its status as a prominent symbol of Judaism.8 hrwt, from the root hry, designates any kind of instruction—such as the words of a parent to a child (Prov 6:20; 7:1–2) or a teacher’s instruction of a disciple (Prov 13:14). While this meaning of the term, common in wisdom literature, retains a secular aspect,9 elsewhere in biblical literature hrwt conveys a divine message, mediated by a 6 Nadav Na’aman, The Past That Shapes the Present: The Creation of Biblical Historiography in the Late First Temple Period and after the Downfall (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Bialik, 2002), 47– 48. 7 E. Naville, “Egyptian Writings in Foundation Walls, and the Age of the Book of Deuteronomy,” Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology 29 (1907): 232–42; S. Euringer, “Die ägyptischen und keilinschriftlichen Analogien zum Fund des Codex Helciae (4Kg 22 u. 2 Chr 34),” BZ 10 (1912): 13–23; Wolfgang Speyer, Bücherfunde in der Glaubenswerbung der Antike: Mit einem Ausblick auf Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Hypomnemata 24; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970); Lowell K. Handy, “Historical Probability and the Narrative of Josiah’s Reform in II Kgs,” in The Pitcher Is Broken: Memorial Essays for Gösta W. Ahlström (ed. Steven W. Holloway and Lowell K. Handy; JSOTSup 190; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 252–75; Thomas C. Römer, “Transformations in Deuteronomistic and Biblical Historiography: On ‘Book-finding’ and Other Literary Strategies,” ZAW 109 (1997): 1–11. 8 Michael Fishbane, “Torah” (in Hebrew), Encyclopaedia Miqra'it (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1971– 88) 8:469–83. See also Félix García López, “hrwt tôrah,” TWAT 8:597–637; Moshe Greenberg, “Three Conceptions of the Torah in Hebrew Scriptures,” in Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Erhard Blum et al.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990), 365–78. 9 Fishbane, “Torah,” 480.

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prophet, priest, or diviner. It is this signification primarily that is relevant to the present discussion. As the word of God mediated by God’s agents, hrwt is expressed in various forms. In Priestly literature, it takes the shape of a short cultic instruction, covering any of the situations occurring in the priest’s profession. The Sitz im Leben of the priestly hrwt can be seen in Hag 2:11–13. Priestly instructions were recorded on short scrolls, each carrying a specific instruction and marked by a colophon, at either the beginning or the end.10 Those scrolls, however, are never designated by the term rps (sēper).11 An additional form of divine instruction was mediated by the prophets. The prophetic message is usually termed rbd (dābār, “word”), but on several occasions—notably in First Isaiah—hrwt indicates the divine word. This can be seen from the parallelism of hrwt and rbd in Isa 1:10, as well as in Isa 2:3: “hrwt will come forth from Zion / and the rbd of the LORD from Jerusalem” (cf. Isa 8:16; 42:4; 51:4).12 Proverbs 29:18 preserves the parallelism of Nwzx (hiāzôn, “prophetic vision”) and hrwt, reinforcing the oracular aspect of hrwt. The prophetic use of the term hrwt as a divine oracle resembles the cognate Akkadian term têrtu(m).13 Alongside its administrative usage, this Akkadian term is strongly connected to divinatory practices, mainly by extispicy, in which the decision of the god revealed in the form of the inspected liver is perceived as an “instruction” to the human realm. Têrtu(m) carries the meaning “decree, commission issued by gods,” but also more specifically “extispicy” and even “exta, liver.”14 The use of têrtu(m) as the instruction of an oracle is especially pronounced in the inscriptions of the Babylonian king Nabonidus, whose particular importance for the present topic will be discussed below.15 A wider meaning is attached to hrwt in Deuteronomy and its related literature.16 Here the term often refers to the novel concept of an all-embracing collec(1980): 438–49; García López, “hrwt,” 605–6; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 382–83. 11 Menahem Haran, The Biblical Collection: Its Consolidation to the End of the Second Temple Times and Changes of Form to the End of the Middle Ages (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Bialik, 2003), 2:35. 12 Fishbane, “Torah,” 473; cf. Hans Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Continental Commentaries; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 91. 13 García López, “hrwt,” 600, and bibliography given there. 14 CAD T, 363–67; cf. AHw, s.v. têrtu(m), 1350B: “Weisung(en) von Göttern, Opferschau, Omina,” and in Mari “ Wortorakel.” 15 See the glossary in Hanspeter Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Grossen, samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften: Textausgabe und Grammatik (AOAT 256; Münster: Ugarit, 2001), 686. 16 Several mentions of hrwt in Deuteronomy still retain the simpler meaning “oracle” (17:11; 33:4). On the priestly oracular judgment in Deut 17:8–13, see Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 127–30. It is 10 Michael Fishbane, “Biblical Colophons, Textual Criticism, and Legal Analogies,” CBQ 42


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tion of laws. In Deuteronomy, the hrwt moves from being merely a marginal element in Israelite religion to being its core.17 hrwt designates the entire book of Deuteronomy and subunits in it, as is clear from the book’s incipit (1:5)—“Moses undertook to expound this hrwt”; it is also “the hrwt that Moses set before the Israelites” (4:44; cf. 4:8; 17:18; 27:3; etc.). Menahem Haran has noted that Deuteronomy—or, more specifically, source D, which constitutes the core of the present Deuteronomy—views itself as the initial embodiment of a canonical composition in Israel.18 For the first time, the word of God, through the speech of his servant, Moses, is incorporated within one comprehensive document, whose observance is a necessary and sufficient condition for attaining the required degree of piety. In place of the plural form, known from other sources (e.g., Lev 26:46; Ezek 43:11; 44:24), Deuteronomy uses the singular form hrwt, often with the definite article, turning hrwt into a specific document. The final chapters of Deuteronomy contain several mentions of “the book of hrwt” (Deut 28:61; 29:20; 30:10; 31:26; and passim), thus adding further emphasis to the work’s written aspect.19 In these chapters, the hrwt is referred to as “this hrwt” (28:58; 31:11–12; and passim)—as if from the outside—as a complete and self-contained document.20 Deuteronomy gives special attention to writing as a medium for the word of God.21 Thus, in 31:9, 24, Moses writes a hrwt scroll and assigns it to the priests for preservation; “All the words of this hrwt” should be copied on twelve stones, serving as memorial stelae for YHWH’s covenant (27:2–3, 8), while the king is ordered to inscribe a personal copy of the hrwt (17:18).22 In Deut 6:9 and 11:20 the people are required to write “the words,” on the door posts and gates of their dwellings. revealing to note that the oracular judgment of the priests in Deut 17:8–11 is transformed in the Temple Scroll (11QTa LVI.2–8) into a textual one: “According to the word they will tell you from the Book of the torah.” 17 See Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile (trans. and abridged Moshe Greenberg; Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1960), 174–75; Barnabas Lindars, “Torah in Deuteronomy,” in Words and Meanings: Essays Presented to David Winton Thomas on His Retirement from the Regius Professorship of Hebrew in the University of Cambridge, 1968 (ed. Peter R. Ackroyd and Barnabas Lindars; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 117–36, esp. 131. 18 Haran, Biblical Collection, 2:170–84. A more intricate view of the relationship between Deuteronomy and the Book of Torah is presented in Jean-Pierre Sonnet, The Book within the Book: Writing in Deuteronomy (BIS 14; Leiden: Brill, 1997), esp. 259–62. 19 The Hebrew rps can designate any written document: a letter, a scroll, a legal note, and so on (see BDB). I use the translations “book” and “scroll” indiscriminately. On the question whether rps can also denote an ostracon, see Nadav Na’aman, “The Distribution of Messages in the Kingdom of Judah in Light of the Lachish Ostraca,” VT 53 (2003): 178 n. 17. 20 Haran, Biblical Collection, 2:71; Sonnet, Book within the Book, 103–12. 21 Haran, Biblical Collection, 2:174–84; cf. Ehud Ben Zvi, “Introduction: Writings, Speeches, and the Prophetic Books—Setting an Agenda,” in Writings and Speech, ed. Ben Zvi and Floyd, 7–8. 22 The meaning of hrwth hn#m in Deut 17:18 is “a second (copy of the) hrwt”; (on the implications of the copying of hrwt, see Sonnet, Book within a Book, 72–78). A similar concept

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In summary, in Deuteronomy hrwt combines elements from all the various meanings adduced above. It is a divinely inspired composition, which corresponds to the use of the term in prophetic circles. It is also the testament of a great master, Moses, in which he instructs his disciples in proper conduct.23 The reader of Deuteronomy, like the reader of Proverbs (1:9; 3:3, 22; 4:9; 6:21–22; 7:3), is urged to meditate on the words of the hrwt while awake and when retiring, in his house and outside it, to write the hrwt on his door posts, and to tie it as a jewel on his arms and forehead (Deut 6:6–9; 11:18–20). At the same time, like the priestly twrwt (tôrôt), hrwt in Deuteronomy also constitutes a collection of commandments. While the priestly twrwt were short statutes known to priests only, the Deuteronomic hrwt was a comprehensive law code, with which every individual under the covenant should become familiar. It was Deuteronomy that first created the equation: hrwt = word of God = law.24 The Deuteronomic hrwt was dominant throughout the redaction of the historical books, Deuteronomistic (Dtr) authors employing hrwt as one of their primary guidelines.25 In this respect, Josiah’s reign brings Dtr history to its climax when, for the first time, hrwt is publicly declared to be the ultimate source of authority. 2 Kings 23:1–3 narrates how Josiah read the “words of the rps of the covenant” to the people in public and required their commitment to them. What causes one to wonder, however, is the extent to which the centrality of the Book of hrwt in 2 Kings 22–23 itself constitutes the product of a Dtr writer. In other words, the question we should be asking ourselves is whether the place of hrwth rps in 2 Kings 22–23 reflects the view of a pre-Dtr author regarding the original course of events or that of later writers. My suggestion here is that the crucial act of the book-find may have carried nuances in its original setting different from those attributed to it by Dtr authors, who wrote approximately a century post factum. A can be seen in the royal court of Assyria, where King Assurbanipal kept a luxurious copy of the omen series Enūma Anu Enlil for his own perusal, the monarchy being the institution most in need of divine instruction. See Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Essarhaddon and Assurbanipal (AOAT 5.1–2; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1983; repr., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), no. 319 (= SAA 8, 19). Similarly, Nabonidus ordered tablets of the same omen series to be sent to him in Arabia, where he spent a great part of his reign. For this episode, see Peter Machinist and Hayim Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. Mark E. Cohen et al.; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993), 146–51. 23 For the indebtedness of Deuteronomy to wisdom traditions, see classically Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 244–81. 24 This equation became dominant in subsequent phases of Judaism, until the hrwt of Moses was finally identified as nomos, “law.” See the classic treatment in Charles H. Dodd, The Bible and the Greeks (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1935), 25–42; García López, “hrwt,” 634–35. 25 See the roster of Deuteronomistic terms relating to hrwt in Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 334–39; G. J. Venema, Reading Scripture in the Old Testament: Deuteronomy 9–10, 31, 2 Kings 22–23, Jeremiah 36, Nehemiah 8 (OTS 48; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 50–52.


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similar process of development of hrwt from oracle to law as outlined above may also have taken place with regard to the understanding of Josiah’s book-find.

II. The Composition of 2 Kings 22–23 and the Roles of the Book The historical-literary analysis of 2 Kings 22–23 has been the subject of numerous studies in the past sixty years and is too complex to be summarized here.26 As with respect to other episodes in the book of Kings, it is commonly assumed that the Josiah narrative contains a certain amount of material written by a pre-Dtr source close to the time of Josiah, subsequently interwoven by one or more Dtr redactors into a later composition. Opinions regarding this process vary from the view that the entire story is non-Dtr, with the sole exception of a redactional framework in 22:2 and 23:24–27 together with several glosses, to the assertion that the entire story is Dtr apart from the short notice in 23:8a.27 The structure of the narrative in its present state can be outlined as follows: 22:1–2 22:3–10 22:11–20 23:1–3 23:4–20 23:21–23

Chronographic formula and evaluation of Josiah’s reign. Temple renovation. The book is found and read to the king. The king’s response. An oracular inquiry to Huldah and her reply. The king reads the book to the people. Covenant. Reform report in Judah, Bethel, and Samaria. Passover celebrations in Jerusalem.

26 For valuable surveys, see Gary N. Knoppers, Two Nations under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual Monarchies, part 2, The Reign of Jeroboam, the Fall of Israel, and the Reign of Josiah (HSM 53; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994); Christoph Hardmeier, “King Josiah in the Climax of the Deuteronomic History (2 Kings 22–23) and the pre-Deuteronomic Document of a Cult Reform at the Place of Residence (23.4–15): Criticism of Sources, Reconstruction of Literary Pre-stages and the Theology of History in 2 Kings 22–23,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings (ed. Lester L. Grabbe; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 393; London/ New York: Continuum, 2005), 123–63. 27 For the former opinion, see Haran, Biblical Collection, 2:24–25; somewhat similarly— although with regard to the reform report only—already Gustav Hölscher, “Das Buch der Könige, seine Quellen und seine Redaktion,” in ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΗΡΙΟΝ: Studien zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments; Hermann Gunkel zum 60. Geburtstage, dem 23. mai 1922 (ed. Hans Schmidt; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1923), 158–213, esp. 206–10: “Wenn hier nicht eine geradezu authentische Geschichtsüberlieferung vorliegt, so gäbe es überhaupt keine”; Rudolph Kittel, Die Bücher der Könige (HAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1900), 297. For a contrasting opinion, see primarily Christoph Levin, “Joschija im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk,” ZAW 96 (1984): 351–71. For the basic authenticity of the reform narrative, see Christoph Uehlinger, “Was There a Cult Reform under King Josiah? The Case for a WellGrounded Minimum,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings, ed. Grabbe, 279–316.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) 23:24–27 23:28–30

Concluding evaluation concerning Josiah’s rule. Chronographic formula and additional information

Strictly speaking, Dtr phraseology is restricted to the following passages: the opening (22:2); Huldah’s prophecy (22:16–20);28 the covenant renewal and Passover celebration (23:1–3, 21–23);29 glosses and expansions in the reform report in Judah (23:4–14);30 the reform in Bethel and Samaria (23:15–20);31 and the evaluation and concluding formula (23:24–27). Thus, although the general framework of 22:2– 23:30 betrays an editorial hand, an earlier, pre-Dtr kernel is by no means precluded. I do not intend to argue here for a maximalistic historical-literary analysis of 2 Kings 22–23. For the present purposes, it is sufficient to argue (with Gary Knoppers) that at least a minimal part of the Josiah narrative originated in a contemporary pre-Dtr source.32 This source comprised at least parts of the book-find and the prophetic consultation (22:3–14), as well as of the reform report (23:4–14). With respect to the latter, the authenticity of parts of the reform report in 23:4–14 is now commonly acknowledged.33 With regard to the former, however, skeptical views still prevail in recent scholarship concerning the existence of a preDtr book-find story.34 The evidence marshaled by proponents of this persuasion, however, is usually based on the setting rather than on phraseology, while in fact the book-find report demonstrates clear marks of authenticity. Most significant in this respect is the mention of Huldah—hardly a Dtr celebrity—in this passage, together with her identification as “the wife of Shalum son of Harhas, the keeper of clothes.” As James A. Montgomery rightly claims, the mention of Huldah constitutes a clear marker of authenticity.35 The otherwise unknown details in the presentation of Huldah’s husband Shalum represent additional evidence for the existence of a noneditorial hand. It is the presence of sundry personal names and titles that gives the entire episode in chs. 22–23 its mark of antiquity. Compare, for example, the equally unknown titles in the reform report (23:8, 11). 28 Knoppers,

Two Nations under God, 2:131–33.

29 Hardmeier, “King Josiah in the Climax of the Deuteronomic History,” 143–44; Knoppers,

Two Nations under God, 2:157, 216–17. 30 Hardmeier, “King Josiah in the Climax of the Deuteronomic History,” 159–60. 31 See Mordechai Cogan, “A Slip of the Pen? On Josiah’s Actions in Samaria (II Kgs 23:15– 20),” in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume; Studies in Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism (ed. Chaim Cohen et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 3–8. 32 Knoppers, Two Nations under God, 2:121–25. 33 Ibid., 2:176–81; Uehlinger, “Was There a Cult Reform under King Josiah?”; Hardmeier, “King Josiah in the Climax of the Deuteronomic History,” 153–60. 34 Knoppers, Two Nations under God, 2:130; Hardmeier, “King Josiah in the Climax of the Deuteronomic History,” 141–44. 35 James A. Montgomery, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1951), 545. In contrast, Hardmeier’s suggestion (“King Josiah in the Climax of the Deutronomic History,” 138 n. 49) that “the Dtr construction of history lifts the otherwise completely unknown Huldah into the office of a prophet” is unconvincing.


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The clear impression created is that an editorial hand refashioned an older narrative in order to align it with the Dtr agenda. A central element of the editorial activity lies in the identity of the book discovered: It is primarily in Dtr passages that the reader is encouraged to identify the book with Deuteronomy. The various designations employed for the book throughout the narrative comport with the distinctions suggested above. Only in the two most clearly discerned Dtr passages— 23:1–3, 21–23—is the phrase tyrbh rps (“book of the covenant”) employed, reflecting the self-identification of Deuteronomy as a covenantal object (Deut 28:69; 29:8; and passim). In contrast, the reform report does not mention the book at all. As a rule, the book-find story refers neutrally to the book as “a/the book” (22:10, 13, 16). The twice-invoked designation hrwt rps (22:8, 11) may consequently be perceived, according to the discussion below, as a non-Dtr designation for an object conveying heavenly instruction in the form of an oracle. While it may be doubted whether the book was truly found or whether the entire scene was staged by Hilkiah and his party—just as speculations concerning the exact contents of the book, whether parts of Deuteronomy or otherwise, may also be indulged—the fact of the matter is that, in the eyes of the Israelites, a book was found and was considered to serve as a catalyst for the cult reform. The considerable portion of pre-Dtr prose contained in 2 Kings 22–23 could not have sustained the authority of the book in Dtr terms. Sufficient explanation must rather be adduced from non-Dtr conceptions to account for the authority attributed to the discovered book. In other words, how did the non-Dtr author, unacquainted with Deuteronomic ideas concerning books and writing, understand the authority of the book? One must note, first of all, that the book was not initially understood as the Book, a text that would engender a drastic transformation of Israelite religion. The initial declaration of Hilkiah the priest—“I have found the book of hrwt in the house of God” (22:8)—did not contain the elaborate meanings and nuances of the term hrwt as found in Dtr literature. 2 Kings 22–23 therefore encompasses two different conceptions of the discovered book—as well as two different meanings of hrwt. The pre-Dtr comprehension understood the book-find as conveying the word of God to the king through a miraculous document. This understanding related to the book as simply “the book,” or “the book of hrwt,” the latter referring to the object’s oracular aspect. A different view, stemming from the Dtr circles which shaped the present narrative, perceived the book as an ancient Mosaic composition, long forgotten but now rediscovered. This layer of the text refers to the book as “The Book of Covenant” (23:2, 21), emphasizing its link to Deuteronomy.36 The following discussion will clarify these two conceptions. 36 I

might suggest clarifying this distinction using contemporary Akkadian terms. While the first notion of the book was something akin to an u 'iltu—a note or report written in horizontal i a text format not meant for long-term archival preservation—the later narrative viewed it as tuppu, written in vertical format intended to be a permanent record. On this distinction, see Martti

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III. Books and Book-finds as Oracular Media Since a large part of a reformer king’s acts conflicted with well-rooted religious practices, such a monarch was compelled to obtain divine confirmation for the acts he chose to perform. Each of the current practices was supported by an institution—priestly, political, or sometimes both. In his lecture, Na’aman noted that reforming kings made use of a variety of oracular techniques in order to achieve the desired divine message.37 Good examples are the Neo-Assyrian kings Sennacherib, Essarhaddon, and Assurbanipal, all of whom presented numerous queries to the gods in order to confirm their cultic and religious innovations. Most of these queries were answered by extispicy, and quite a few of them have been discovered in Assyrian archives.38 Several reformer kings spoke of the discovery of ancient books as evidence of oracular support for their cultic acts. This fact is especially clear in examples from ancient Egypt.39 A chapter from “The Book of the Dead” declares the text to have been found during a temple renovation in Egyptian antiquity. Similarly, a report from the Ptolemaic period concerning the renovation of the Dendra temple notes that an ancient document discovered there revealed the program for this temple, including its physical layout and a detailed account of its rites. A similar phenomenon appears in the reign of the Babylonian king Nabonidus, whose enormous building and renovation activity commenced early in his reign.40 Nabonidus was especially keen to legitimize his temple renovations by digging up ancient deposits, laid at the foundations of those temples by the ancient Nissinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” in Writings and Speech, ed. Ben Zvi and Floyd, 247–48. 37 On the use of divination as a political instrument in Mesopotamian royal courts, see Beate Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien: Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König in 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (SAAS 10; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1999). 38 Ivan Starr, Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (SAA 4; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1990), nos. 262–65, 315. Parpola reinterprets sections of the prescriptive text BM 121206 (G. van Driel, The Cult of Aššur [SSN 13; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1969], 74–119) as reflecting additional queries to the sun god; see Simo Parpola, “The Originality of the Teachings of Zarathustra in the Light of Yasna 44,” in Sefer Moshe, ed. Cohen et al., 376 and n. 13. 39 Naville, “Egyptian Writings,” 232–42; Euringer, “Die ägyptischen und keilinschriftlichen Analogien,” 13–23. Book-finds from the Greco-Roman world, some of which belong explicitly in the realm of prophecy and oracles, have been noted and discussed by Speyer, Bücherfunde. Since the present study does not intend to trace the entire history of this motif, however, I have not analyzed them here. 40 On Nabonidus, see Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus King of Babylon 556–539 B.C. (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1989). The inscriptions of Nabonidus have been collected by Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids.


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kings who had built them. He thus declares with regard to the temple of Šamaš in Sippar: I made excavations all around the cella and the central area of the platform, and I gathered city elders, citizens of Babylon, many wise scribes who dwell in the temple academy. . . . I sent them to deliberate, thus ordering them: “Look for the old foundations . . . .” With ardent prayers to Šamaš my lord and supplications to the great gods, the assembly of scholars found the old foundations and made excavations in the cella and the platform.41

Nabonidus was noted among Babylonian kings as especially learned in writing, wisdom, and divination, possessing a special regard for the god’s word in the form of oracles, omens, and various other signs.42 Nabonidus’s finds consist mainly of artifacts of former kings, however, whereas we are seeking parallels to the Josiah narrative, in which the object found is a text, the actual word of a god. Closer parallels to the biblical text can be adduced from the Hittite culture. The Hittite king Mursili II (late fourteenth century B.C.E.), troubled by a plague that struck Hatti during his reign, repeatedly inquired of the gods after the cause of this plague through various media. In his “second plague prayer,” Mursili recounts the outcome of one such inquiry: [The matter of the plague] continued to trouble [me, and I inquired about it] to the god [through an oracle]. [I found] two old tablets: one tablet dealt with [the ritual of the Mala river]. Earlier kings performed the ritual of the Mala river, but because [people have been dying] in Hatti since the days of my father, we never performed [the ritual] of the Mala river. The second tablet dealt with the town of Kurustamma: how the storm god of Hatti carried the men of Kurustamma to Egyptian territory and how the storm god of Hatti made a treaty between them and the men of Hatti . . . the men of Hatti thereby suddenly transgressed the oath of the gods . . . When I found the aforementioned tablet dealing with Egypt, I inquired about it to the god through an oracle. . . . And it was confirmed by the oracle. Because

41 From the “Ebabbar cylinder” (Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids, 386; trans. Beaulieu, Reign of Nabonidus, 7). Similarly also: “The foundation of Eulmaš of Akkad, from the time of Sargon, king of Babylon, and of his son Naram-Sin, former kings, had not been seen up until the reign of Nabonidus, king of Babylon” (Schaudig, 454). Nabonidus continued the habit of his predecessors; see Paul-Alain Beaulieu, “Nabopolassar and the Antiquity of Babylon,” in Hayim and Miriam Tadmor Volume (ed. Israel Eph(al et al.; ErIsr 27; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2003), 1*–9*. 42 See Machinist and Tadmor, “Heavenly Wisdom”; Hanspeter Schaudig, “Nabonidus, der ‘Gelehrte auf dem Königsthron’: Omina, Synkretismen und die Ausdeutung von Tempel- und Götternamen als Mittel zur Wahrheitsfindung spätbabylonischer Religionspolitik,” in Ex Mesopotamia et Syria Lux: Festschrift für Manfred Dietrich zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (ed. Oswald Loretz et al.; AOAT 281; Münster: Ugarit, 2002), 619–45.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) of the plague I also asked the oracle about the ritual of the [Mala] river. And then too it was confirmed that I should appear before the Storm-god of Hatti, my lord. I have [just] confessed [the sin before the storm-god of Hatti]. It is so. We have done [it. But the sin did not] take place in my time. [It took place] in the time of my father . . .43

Having realized the cause behind the plague, the king immediately confessed the sin44 and acted to correct it. It is clear from Mursili’s prayer that the finding of the two tablets was considered part of the divinatory process.45 The tablets were discovered after an initial inquiry was presented to the god, and they were then double-checked with the oracle to make sure their message concurred with the official divine line of thought. Although examples of the double-checking of oracles abound in ancient Near Eastern cultures,46 Mursili’s story, which involves a book-find, strongly evokes the story of Josiah. In light of the above, it is a natural step to understand the book-find in Josiah’s reign as part of a routine oracular process. A monarch’s need for an oracle was felt both in times of distress and in times of serenity; temple renovation represented the cause for an oracle inquiry just as did a disastrous plague. In fact, Josiah’s book-find may well have been preceded by an oracle request on the king’s part. Various oracular practices existed in Jerusalem around the royal court in the eighth and seventh centuries B.C.E., as attested, for example, in Isa 8:19–20. The 43 CTH 378.III (Emmanuel Laroche, Catalogue des textes hittites [Études et commentaires 75;

Paris: Klincksieck, 1971]), according to Itamar Singer, Hittite Prayers (SBLWAW 11; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), 58–59. See earlier ANET, 394–96. On the political background of the covenantal violation, see Hans G. Güterbock, “Mursili’s Accounts of Supiluliuma’s Dealings with Egypt,” RHA 18 (1960): 57–63. In Mursili’s “first” plague prayer, the oracle states somewhat differently that the plague is due to a violation of a covenant made by Mursili’s father with regard to the former king, Tudhaliya (Singer, 61). Here the oracle does not include a book-find. 44 Note that Mursili lays the blame on his father, just as Josiah does in 2 Kgs 22:13: “because our fathers did not obey the words of this scroll.” 45 Cf. the statement of King Muwatali, himself a reformer: “Whatever I . . . now find from written records, this I shall carry out. . . . And whenever I shall examine a venerable old man, as they remember a (certain) rite and tell it, I shall also carry it out. . . . I shall follow the (covenantal) bond of the gods that I am rediscovering, and it shall be henceforth carried on” (KB xi 1, apud Moshe Weinfeld, “Deuteronomy, Book of,” ABD 2:175). 46 For this practice, see ARM XXVI 81; Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars, 486; Starr, Queries to the Sungod, XXXII. Handy has pointed out several examples of the double-checking of oracles pertaining to cult reforms, especially by Essarhaddon and Nabonidus: see Lowell K. Handy, “The Role of Huldah in Josiah’s Cult Reform,” ZAW 106 (1994): 40–53. He concludes that both the rps and Huldah’s prophecy are Dtr fictions, invented in order to replace the practices of observing omina and consulting foreign gods for oracles. This, however, is too far-reaching a verdict, since books were used as omens already by Hittite kings, hardly devout monotheists themselves. While the present form of Huldah’s prophecy has evidently been heavily glossed by the Deuteronomists, they surely did not invent the inquiry to Huldah.


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Judean king and his court were keen “consumers” of prophecies and oracles. Although from the eighth century onwards Israelite prophets were accustomed to delivering their admonitions to the entire population rather than confining their audience to the court, traditional court prophecy still maintained its status in later periods. Cultic prophecy was oriented toward the king. The prophetess Huldah, wife of a minor official in the temple’s personnel (2 Kgs 22:14), probably belonged to the cultic prophetic institution, hence she was the one asked to confirm the contents of the book rather than the prophets Jeremiah or Zephaniah, who were already active by then.47 Classical prophecy had been at war with institutional prophecy/ divination almost since its inception, as can be seen from historical and prophetical literature alike (1 Kings 22; Deut 18:9–15; Isa 8:1–22).48 During the period of Josiah’s successors, Jeremiah had to confront several such prophets and justify the hostile tone of his own prophecies (Jer 23:9–40; 27:14–18; 28:1–16). At the same time he was also summoned to present the word of God to the king (Jer 37:17–27). By the end of the seventh century B.C.E., prophetic books were considered a standard medium for the word of God in Judah.49 Somewhat later, in the Lachish letters, the report of a Judean army officer mentions a rps that was sent to the front by a prophet or official: Who is your servant (but) a dog that my lord should have sent (him) the king’s letter [spr] and those of the officials asking me to read them? The [official’s/ prophet’s] statements are not good—(they are of a kind) to slacken your courage and to weaken that of the men . . .50

The Hebrew Bible contains several examples of scrolls inscribed with prophetic sayings. Isaiah in the eighth century is commanded to write down his oracles, whether as a means of preservation or as part of the efficacy of the prophetic act (8:1–4, 16–20; 30:8–11; cf. 34:16).51 More than a century later, Habakkuk reports 47 John

Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), 726. classification of various mantic practitioners—prophet, false prophet, cult prophet, court prophet, diviner, priest, and so on—has been the subject of continuous scholarly debate. The classifications used in the biblical text seem to have little value with regard to the contemporary phenomenology of prophecy; see Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages. 49 See, e.g., Schaper, “Exilic and Post-exilic Prophecy.” Schaper’s reasoning, although more nuanced, similarly concludes that the institutions of prophecy and scribalism became closer from late preexilic times onwards. 50 Lachish 6 (trans. Dennis Pardee, COS 3:80–81). On the reading nb (“prophet”) in Lachish ' letters 3 and 6, see ibid. n. 21; this reading is supported also by Simon B. Parker, “The Lachish Letters and Official Reactions to Prophecies,” in Uncovering Ancient Stones: Essays in Memory of H. Neil Richardson (ed. Lewis M. Hopfe; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 65–78. For a slightly different reading, see Na’aman, “Distribution of Messages,” 176–78. 51 On the significance of committing prophetic sayings to writing, see the works cited in nn. 1 and 2 above, where specific discussions are dedicated to the prophetical passages mentioned here. 48 The

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how Yahweh commanded him to preserve his predictions in writing so that they would stand as witnesses for future times (Hab 2:2–3; cf. Isa 30:8).52 Similarly, Jeremiah is ordered in 36:2: “Get a scroll53 and write upon it all the words that I have spoken to you” (cf. 25:13; 30:2). Ezekiel (2:9–3:2) is ordered to consume a written scroll so that he can transmit its contents to the people of Israel.54 Once inscribed, the prophetic scroll becomes a divine object rather than a merely technical means for collecting the words of God. In Najman’s words, “some later exilic and postexilic passages portray writing as the medium of revelation itself.”55 Though none of the prophetic scrolls noted above is designated as hrwth rps, as is Josiah’s book, they adduce sufficient prophetic background for the way books have been conceived. In fact, the story written on Jeremiah’s scroll in Jeremiah 36 demonstrates a strong link with Josiah’s story in 2 Kings 22. The two accounts depict opposing scenarios of a king’s response to a sacred book of oracles. When Josiah hears the words of the book, he tears his clothes and repents; his son Jehoiakim fails to repent, burns the scroll, and persecutes the prophet (Jer 36:24).56 In summary, the presence of pre-Dtr prose in 2 Kings 22–23 permits us to conclude that the primary function of Josiah’s book was the transmission of a divine oracle. This is supported by reports on prophecies both within and without the Hebrew Bible.

IV. Josiah’s Book as Lawbook and as Object of Study While the designation hrwth rps in 2 Kings 22 belongs to non-Dtr narrative, the Dtr view of this book is best expressed by the designation tyrbh rps, “the 52 Reading d(wml Nwzx d(, “the vision is a witness to the appointed time,” instead of MT dw(; cf. Isa 30:8; Dan 8:17, 26; 11:35. For the possible background of this practice in Neo-Assyrian culture, see Schaper, “Exilic and Post-exilic Prophecy,” 330–31. 53 Hebrew rps tlgm is a pleonastic construction combining two words that refer both to the writing material and to the written text. See Avi Hurvitz, “The Origins and Development of the Expression rps tlgm: A Study in the History of Writing-Related Terminology in Biblical Times,” in Texts, Temples and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (ed. Michael V. Fox et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), *37–*46. In Jeremiah 36, the scroll is sometimes also labeled just hlgm (vv. 6, 14, 21, 23, 25) or rps (vv. 10, 11, 13, 18). In v. 32 both designations appear, with a possible difference in nuance. 54 See Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 66–68, 73; Schaper, “Death of the Prophet.” 55 Najman, “Symbolic Significance of Writing,” 169. 56 On the relation between 2 Kings 22–23 and Jeremiah 36, see Charles D. Isbell, “2 Kings 22:3–23:24 and Jeremiah 36: A Stylistic Comparison,” JSOT 8 (1978): 33–45; Caetano Minette de Tillesse, “Joiaqim, repoussoir du ‘Pieux’ Josias: Parallélismes entre II Reg 22 et Jer 36,” ZAW 105 (1993): 352–76; André Kabasele Mukenge, “Les derniers rois de Juda et la lecture du ‘Livre’: Josias (2 R 22–23), Joiaqim (Jr 36) et Jékonias (Ba 1, 1–14),” RTL 30 (1999): 11–31; Römer, “Transformations,” 9; Najman, “Symbolic Significance of Writing,” 163–64.


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book/scroll of the covenant,” which appears in two key redactional passages: 23:1– 3 and 21–23. This concept resembles the self-definition of Deuteronomy, which conceives of itself as a written covenant (Deut 29:19, 26). 2 Kings 23:1–3 recounts the covenant reenactment. This passage contains unmistakably Dtr elements, identifiable not only by typical phraseology but also by its reconstruction of an earlier setting known from Deuteronomy. Knoppers has gone so far as to claim that “the account of Josiah’s covenant (2 Kgs 23:1–3) is the deuteronomist’s own composition.”57 Most notably, the heart of v. 3—“that they would follow the LORD and observe his commandments, his injunctions, and his laws with all their heart and soul”—reflects a transformation of the book’s identity. It no longer contains a reproof or a prophecy of future doom, as assumed in previous passages, but rather a collection of laws. The people are admonished to obey those ordinances, as is usual with regard to the hrwt in Deuteronomy and Dtr passages (cf. Deut 30:10; Josh 23:6; 1 Kgs 2:3). In fact, the Deuteronomists emphasized the new identity they attributed to Josiah’s book as a manifestation of their conception of Deuteronomy itself. They consequently orchestrated the implementation of a public assembly along the lines of Deuteronomy 29–30 and Josh 23:2; 24:1b, insinuating that Josiah reenacted the type of public reading stipulated in Deut 31:11–13. Further Dtr activity is seen in the description of the Passover festival in 2 Kgs 23:21–23. Although once again we meet here the rps of the covenant, this time it is mentioned for the sake of one specific rule contained in it,58 the rule of the Passover sacrifice in Deut 16:1–8. This fact serves as a further demonstration of the nature of the discovered book: it dictated not only the vague “commandments” of 23:3 but also specific religious statutes.59 The two key passages just noted offer two different manifestations of piety— ritual and textual. Along with the cultic feast of the Passover, Josiah also commissioned a public assembly in which he read the text of the hrwt, a verbal-textual act. This was naturally performed as part of a larger covenant ceremony in the temple court, and as such it was an act rooted in a cultic background.60 What we note, 57 Knoppers,

Two Nations under God, 2:157. For a more moderate view, see Montgomery, Books of Kings, 528. 58 The majority of scholars see the entire passage as Dtr; see Knoppers, Two Nations under God, 2:216–17 with detailed references. Haran (Biblical Collection, 2:25) claims that the passage contains a pre-Dtr kernel. 59 It may therefore be suggested that the chronology of Josiah’s reign in Chronicles is more original than that of 2 Kings 22–23, which gives the impression that the entire Josianic reform was initiated by the book-find in Josiah’s eighteenth year. On the version in Chronicles, see Lyle Eslinger, “Josiah and the Torah Book: Comparison of 2 Kgs 22:1–23:28 and 2 Chr 34:1–35:19,” HAR 10 (1986): 37–62; but cf. Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988), 296. 60 Menahem Haran, “The Bĕrît ‘Covenant’: Its Nature and Ceremonial Background,” in Tehillah le-Moshe: Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg (ed. Mordechai Cogan et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 203–19.

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however, is that, following the Dtr instruction, Josiah enacts a religious rite that involves neither sacrifices nor temple liturgy. The religion of the Book, prevalent in Judaism of the Second Temple period and afterwards, thus has its origins in the acts of Josiah, carried out several decades before the temple’s destruction.61 What made this activity possible was the amalgam of cultic, sapiential, and prophetic currents achieved in the Book of Deuteronomy. Josiah did not conceive of the book as a substitute for the temple. This idea appears neither in the original pre-Dtr narrative nor in the Dtr framework. He did, however, elevate the book to the level of a significant religious object and thus laid the foundations for the religion of the Book. Although this kind of religion emerged from the background of ancient Near Eastern cults,62 it gradually developed into the unique kind of literate spirituality that is typical of later Judaism.63

V. Conclusion: The Book-Find of Josiah in History and Tradition I have suggested here that a preliminary story that assigned an important role to the book discovered in the temple in Josiah’s reign was augmented in Dtr circles in order to reflect the special (but different) role played by books in the latter kind of religious ideology. In the older story, the book-find was interpreted as traditionally understood in ancient Near Eastern royal courts—that is, as a divine oracle

61 Similar ideas concerning Josiah’s acts were expressed in Römer, “Transformations”; idem, “Du Temple au Livre: L’idéologie de la centralization dans l’historiographie deutéronomiste,” in Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible. Essays in Honour of John Van Seters (ed. Steven L. McKenzie and Thomas Römer; BZAW 294; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), 207–25, esp. 222–24. There is no reason to believe with Römer that the narrative of the book-find is a piece of literary fiction, however. It may well be that even prior to the destruction of the temple, Deuteronomy-type circles transformed Israelite religion in the direction of a less cultic and more “humanistic” worldview. See Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 191–243; idem, “Jeremiah and the Spiritual Metamorphosis of Israel,” ZAW 88 (1976): 17–56; recently also Na’aman, Past That Shapes the Present, 44–47, with up-to-date bibliography. 62 Karel van der Toorn, “The Iconic Book: Analogies between the Babylonian Cult of Images and the Veneration of the Torah,” in The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. Karel van der Toorn; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 229–48. 63 Michael Fishbane, The Garments of Torah: Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989); idem, “Law to Canon: Some ‘Ideal-Typical’ Stages of Development,” in Minhiah le-Nahium: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna (JSOTSup 154; ed. Marc Brettler and Michael Fishbane; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 65–86; Robert Goldenberg, “Law and Spirit in Talmudic Religion,” in Jewish Spirituality, vol. 1, From the Bible through the Middle Ages (ed. Arthur Green; World Spirituality 13; New York: Crossroad, 1987), 232–52.


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sent to legitimize the king’s actions. In contrast, the redactional framework of this story construed this book as a comprehensive law book. Books, scrolls, and tablets—any kind of writing material, in effect—are a tabula rasa, subject to various manipulations in the realm of religion. Josiah’s bookfind occurred in a significant period, one that is justifiably considered a turning point in Israelite religion. The traditional Jerusalemite religion was based on a divinely ordained monarch who enjoyed the support of a band of prophets and diviners—very similar to other royal ideologies in the ancient world. In Josiah’s time, and under the influence of Deuteronomy, this gradually gave place to a more restrained, somewhat élitist religion, in which the book played an important part. A new conception of the book was fashioned by Deuteronomic circles to fit this kind of religion, in which old conceptions from various religious streams were combined and adapted. This conception, in turn, had considerable influence on the production of prophetic books during the Second Temple period.

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JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 241–265

Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case jeffery m. leonard [email protected] 4869 Southlake Parkway, Hoover, AL 35244

Although the task of identifying textual connections is not a new one for biblicists, the study of inner-biblical allusion has enjoyed renewed prominence since the publication of Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, Michael Fishbane’s magnum opus on the subject.1 In the wake of this study, countless books and articles have appeared, exploring more fully the web of textual connections in the Bible and, more recently, in extrabiblical literature. Despite Fishbane’s extensive treatment of the types and techniques of inner-biblical allusion, however, several methodological issues have continued to demand attention. The categories suggested by Fishbane for classifying textual allusions—scribal, legal, aggadic, and mantological—have not been widely accepted. In a review that broadly praises Fishbane and his work, James Kugel nevertheless criticizes him for employing an overly synchronic approach that imposes on the biblical material categories more appropriate for rabbinic exegesis. He suggests that a more helpful I would like to thank Professor Marc Brettler of Brandeis University for the many helpful and insightful comments he offered as I worked through the early drafts of this study. 1 Michael A. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). Fishbane has also produced a variety of shorter studies treating issues of interpretation in antiquity. See, e.g., “Revelation and Tradition: Aspects of Inner-biblical Exegesis,” JBL 99 (1980): 343– 61; “Inner Biblical Exegesis: Types and Strategies of Interpretation in Ancient Israel,” in Midrash and Literature (ed. Geoffrey H. Hartman and Sanford Budick; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), 19–37; “Inner-Biblical Exegesis,” in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, vol. 1, From the Beginnings to the Middle Ages (until 1300), part 1, Antiquity (ed. Magne Sæbø, with Chris Brekelmans and Menahem Haran; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 33–48; “Types of Biblical Intertextuality,” in Congress Volume: Oslo 1998 (ed. André Lemaire and Magne Sæbø; VTSup 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 39–44; and “The Hebrew Bible and Exegetical Tradition,” in Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel (ed. Johannes C. De Moor; OtSt 40; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 15–30.

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approach would have been to write a history of biblical interpretation in ancient Israel, showing the development of exegetical techniques over time. Kugel also questions whether every textual allusion in the Bible need be regarded as exegetical, wondering whether some authors might not evoke earlier texts in ways that fall short of outright exegesis.2 Scholars following Kugel have continued to wrestle with matters of classification as they determine precisely how connected texts relate to one another. The sustained debates over terminology (intertextuality, allusion, exegesis, discourse, etc.) that characterize the field highlight the challenges in this area.3 Antecedent to the task of categorizing textual allusions, however, lies a more fundamental problem of method, namely, determining just how textual allusions are to be confidently identified in the first place and then evaluated in terms of their direction of dependence. What evidence is needed to establish a link between one biblical text and another text or tradition? If a link between texts can be established, what evidence is needed to ascertain the direction of the textual or traditional influence?4 There are no easy answers to these questions. Methodologically, however, they are of vital importance, particularly so given the promise innerbiblical allusion holds for illuminating the historical development of the texts involved. In recent years, inner-biblical allusion has been used with considerable effect to evaluate the relationship of Deutero-Isaiah to the prophecies of Isaiah ben Amoz and, perhaps more importantly, to Jeremiah.5 New light has been shed on the 2 James L. Kugel, “The Bible’s Earliest Interpreters,” Proof 7 (1987): 274–76, 280. Similar criticisms are lodged by William M. Schniedewind (“‘Are We His People or Not’: Biblical Interpretation during Crisis,” Bib 76 [1995]: 541) and Michael H. Floyd (“Deutero-Zechariah and Types of Intertextuality,” in Bringing Out the Treasure: Inner Biblical Allusion in Zechariah 9–14 [ed. Mark J. Boda and Michael H. Floyd, with a major contribution by Rex Mason; London: T&T Clark, 2003], 225). 3 For a thorough explanation of the types of allusion used by biblical authors, see Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 6–31. See further James D. Nogalski, “Intertextuality and the Twelve,” in 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, 1996), 102– 24; and David L. Petersen, “Zechariah 9–14: Methodological Reflections,” in Bringing Out the Treasure, ed. Boda and Floyd, 210–24. 4 As should be evident from my reference to determining direction of influence, I make no attempt here to address issues of “intertextuality” in the sense described by Julia Kristeva, Roland Barthes, Harold Bloom, Jonathan Culler, and other “new” literary critics. My concern is rather with the more traditional search for allusions to specific texts. Introductions to the former approach are available in Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 14–21; Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture, 6–10; and especially Beth LaNeel Tanner, The Book of Psalms through the Lens of Intertextuality (Studies in Biblical Literature 26; New York: Peter Lang, 2001). 5 See esp. Sommer, Prophet Reads Scripture; and idem, “Allusions and Illusions: The Unity of the Book of Isaiah in Light of Deutero-Isaiah’s Use of Prophetic Tradition,” in New Visions of

Leonard: Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions

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compositional history of the Book of the Twelve through examination of patterns of inner-biblical allusion in Zechariah 9–14.6 Inner-biblical allusion has been employed as a means of exploring the background of various psalms, the relationships between significant narratives in the Torah and Former Prophets, and the background of certain postbiblical works.7 Tantalizing though these varied insights may be, to be valid they must rest on genuine textual connections whose direction of dependence can actually be established. That this is possible has not been universally accepted. In an article sharply critical of Fishbane’s method, Lyle Eslinger argues that Fishbane’s approach is doomed from the start because it rests on “the diachronic assumptions of historical-critical literary history.”8 Eslinger remains profoundly skeptical that biblical texts can be dated with sufficient certainty to know which way the “vector of allusion” points and thus insists on a “self-consciously literary analysis” that forgoes any historical framework.9 Even among those who accept the notion that textual relationships can be established, there is considerable disagreement as to the kind of evidence that should take precedence in demonstrating the connection. To cite just one example, various scholars have posited a connection between the story of Judah and Tamar Isaiah (ed. Roy F. Melugin and Marvin A. Sweeney; JSOTSup 214; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 156–86. For an additional example, see Baruch Halpern’s discussion of Isa 62:4 (“The New Names of Isaiah 62:4: Jeremiah’s Reception in the Restoration and the Politics of ‘Third Isaiah,’” JBL 117 [1998]: 623–43) and H. G. M. Williamson’s response (“Isaiah 62:4 and the Problem of Inner-Biblical Allusions,” JBL 119 [2000]: 734–39). 6 See esp. the recent publication of Rex Mason’s influential dissertation from 1973 (“The Use of Earlier Biblical Material in Zechariah 9–14: A Study in Inner Biblical Exegesis”) with a series of related essays from other contributors in Bringing Out the Treasure, ed. Boda and Floyd. 7 In the Psalms, see, e.g., Schniedewind, “‘Are We His People or Not’”; W. Dennis Tucker, Jr., “Psalm 95: Text, Context, and Intertext,” Bib 81 (2000): 533–41; and somewhat earlier, Nahum M. Sarna, “Psalm 89: A Study in Inner Biblical Exegesis,” in Biblical and Other Studies (ed. Alexander Altmann; Philip W. Lown Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies, Brandeis University 1: Studies and Texts; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1963), 29–46. Among the works on extrabiblical literature, see, e.g., James H. Charlesworth, “The Pseudepigrapha as Biblical Exegesis,” in Early Jewish and Christian Exegesis: Studies in Memory of William Hugh Brownlee (ed. Craig A. Evans and William F. Stinespring; Scholars Press Homage Series 10; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 139–52; Steven Weitzman, “Allusion, Artifice, and Exile in the Hymn of Tobit,” JBL 115 (1996): 49–61; and George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Tobit, Genesis, and the Odyssey: A Complex Web of Intertextuality,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity (ed. Dennis R. MacDonald; SAC; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 41–55. Similar examples from the NT could be adduced as well. To cite just one example from the Torah, William H. C. Propp has recently explored connections between Exodus 2; 6; and Ezekiel 20 to argue for the integrity of the Priestly narrative in the Torah (“The Priestly Source Recovered Intact?” VT 46 [1996]: 458– 78). 8 Lyle Eslinger, “Inner-Biblical Exegesis and Inner-Biblical Allusion: The Question of Category,” VT 42 (1992): 52. 9 Ibid., 56–58.

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in Genesis 38 and the Succession Narrative in 2 Samuel 9–20; 1 Kings 1–2.10 This connection is predicated on similarities in the names (Tamar, Bath-Shua, etc.) and themes (Judah-David, sexual mistreatment of Tamar, deception) found in the two stories. Paul Noble, however, insists that these individual common elements provide an insufficient basis for connecting the two passages.11 For the connection to be genuine, he maintains, the shared elements must move beyond mere “resemblances” and be to some degree exegetically significant. Noble argues that, at least for Genesis 38, Robert Alter’s biblical type-scenes provide a better model for evaluating connections and that these type-scenes point toward a different constellation of texts than the Succession Narrative.12 An area that has recently held my attention in the debates over inner-biblical allusion is that of the so-called historical psalms and especially Psalm 78.13 At a time when there is increasingly sharp disagreement over the development of Israel’s historical traditions and the process by which they coalesced to form the Pentateuch, these psalms have the potential to provide an external window of sorts on various stages of their formation. In Psalm 78, the challenges involved in judging textual allusions loom particularly large, a point highlighted by the substantial disagreement the psalm has generated among its commentators. Many scholars maintain that Psalm 78 relied on one or more of the Pentateuchal sources.14 Others deny 10 See,

e.g., Nahum Sarna, Genesis = Be-reshit: The Traditional Hebrew Text with New JPS Translation/Commentary (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 263–64; Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes, “Tamar and the Limits of Patriarchy: Between Rape and Seduction (2 Samuel 13 and Genesis 38),” in Anti-Covenant: Counter-Reading Women’s Lives in the Hebrew Bible (ed. Mieke Bal; JSOTSup 81; Sheffield: Almond, 1989), 135–56; David M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 249–53; Gary A. Rendsburg, “David and His Circle in Genesis xxxviii,” VT 36 (1986): 438–46; and Craig Y. S. Ho, “The Stories of the Family Troubles of Judah and David: A Study of Their Literary Links,” VT 49 (1999): 514–31. 11 Paul R. Noble, “Esau, Tamar, and Joseph: Criteria for Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions,” VT 52 (2002): 219–52. 12 See Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 47–62. 13 The historical sources used by the psalmist who composed this lengthy psalm were the focus of my doctoral dissertation, completed under the direction of Marc Brettler (“Historical Traditions in Psalm 78” [Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2006]). 14 A few scholars suggest that the psalmist relied on the completed Torah: Hermann Gunkel and Joachim Begrich, Introduction to the Psalms: The Genres of Religious Lyric of Israel (trans. James D. Nogalski; Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1998), 248; Marco Treves, The Dates of the Psalms: History and Poetry in Ancient Israel (Pisa: Giardini, 1988), 67; A. A. Anderson, “Psalms,” in It Is Written—Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars, SSF (ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 61; Edward L. Greenstein, “Mixing Memory and Design: Reading Psalm 78,” Proof 10 (1990): 201-2. More often, commentators posit a connection with some but not all of the pentateuchal sources. John Day argues for reliance on J but not P or E (“Pre-Deuteronomic Allusions to the Covenant in Hosea and Psalm LXXVIII,” VT 36 [1986]: 9, 11). Franz Delitzsch sees familiarity with the “Deuteronomic, Elohimistic, and Jehovistic” accounts (Biblical Com-


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that any such connection existed.15 Still others suggest that it was the Pentateuch that was influenced by the psalm.16 The uncertainty surrounding the psalm’s allusions to other historical sources (or lack thereof) makes the psalm an apt proving ground for testing the sort of methodological principles that can guide the search for allusions in other biblical texts.

I. Evaluating Evidence for Textual Links When evidence emerges for one text’s dependence on another, some standard is needed for gauging the strength of that evidence.17 To use an obvious example, mentary on the Psalms, trans. Francis Bolton, vol. 5 of C. F. Keil, Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament [repr., Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1996], 522, 525). Hans-Joachim Kraus sees references mainly to the “JE sources,” but cautions that these may have been received in an oral rather than a written form (Psalms 60–150 [trans. Hilton C. Oswald; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 123). Aarre Lauha concludes that Psalm 78 knows an older version of the J tradition (Die Geschichtsmotive in den alttestamentlichen Psalmen [AASF; Helsinki: Finnischen Literaturgesellschaft, 1945], 53, 73, 80, 132). See also Richard J. Clifford, “In Zion and David a New Beginning: An Interpretation of Psalm 78,” in Traditions in Transformation: Turning Points in Biblical Faith (ed. Baruch Halpern and Jon D. Levenson; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1981), 134 n. 26; Clifford, Psalms 73–150 (Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries; Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), 47; and Notker Füglister, “Psalm LXXVIII: Der Rätsel Lösung?” in Congress Volume: Leuven 1989 (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 43; Leiden: Brill, 1991), 264–97. 15 Otto Eissfeldt insists it cannot be demonstrated that the psalmist depended on the Pentateuch or its sources in any case: “läßt sich in keinem einzigen Falle aufzeigen” (Das Lied Moses, Deuteronomium 32, 1-43, und das Lehrgedicht Asaphs Psalm 78, samt einer Analyse der Umgebung des Mose-Liedes [Sächsische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, Philologisch-Historische Klasse 104/5; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1958], 34). Antony F. Campbell argues at length that the psalm is not a product of Deuteronomistic circles and does not depend on the present pentateuchal text (“Psalm 78: A Contribution to the Theology of Tenth Century Israel,” CBQ 41 [1979]: 51–79; see also p. 67 n. 46). Concerning the specific influence of Deuteronomy on our psalm, Artur Weiser questions whether such influence “is due to direct literary dependence” or may instead have its origin in a “common cultic tradition which may belong to a much earlier period than that of its literary record” (The Psalms: A Commentary [trans. Herbert Hartwell; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962], 540). Erik Haglund does not offer a single, comprehensive view of the psalm’s sources but generally casts doubt on its connections with the Torah (Historical Motifs in the Psalms [ConBOT 23; Uppsala: CWK Gleerup, 1984], 90, 93, 97, 100). 16 Samuel E. Loewenstamm argues that the Pentateuch drew on “the underlying tradition which preceded the psalm” (The Evolution of the Exodus Tradition [trans. Baruch J. Schwartz; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1992], 96). A similar position is outlined by Michael Goulder, who concludes, “At point after point we have seen signs that hints in [Psalm 78’s] text have been interpreted and often misinterpreted, both in the later Psalm 105 and in our Exodus-Numbers-1 Samuel” (“Asaph’s History of Israel [Elohist Press, Bethel, 725 B.C.E.],” JSOT 65 [1995]: 128; see also p. 78 n. 17). See further Goulder, The Psalms of Asaph and the Pentateuch: Studies in the Psalter, III (JSOTSup 233; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 113–14. 17 Jeffrey Stackert explores issues of literary dependence in a recent dissertation on literary

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a paragraph-long quotation, complete with citation, would naturally present a stronger claim for a textual connection than would a single, subtle wordplay offered without citation. Although this example is so clear-cut that it may seem unnecessary, we could, if we were so inclined, begin to formulate certain principles for evaluating the claims of the two passages. We could, for example, clarify that a quotation constitutes stronger evidence for a connection than a wordplay, that a passage with a citation presents a stronger candidate for allusion than a passage without, and so forth. These principles are fairly straightforward. For cases that are less clear-cut, I propose the following eight principles as methodological guidelines: (1) Shared language is the single most important factor in establishing a textual connection. (2) Shared language is more important than nonshared language. (3) Shared language that is rare or distinctive suggests a stronger connection than does language that is widely used. (4) Shared phrases suggest a stronger connection than do individual shared terms. (5) The accumulation of shared language suggests a stronger connection than does a single shared term or phrase. (6) Shared language in similar contexts suggests a stronger connection than does shared language alone. (7) Shared language need not be accompanied by shared ideology to establish a connection. (8) Shared language need not be accompanied by shared form to establish a connection. In the discussion that follows, I clarify the import of each of these principles. 1. Shared language is the single most important factor in establishing a textual connection. In his study of Nehemiah 9, Mark Boda argues against limiting the search for textual connections to “lexical data,” noting that “evaluation limited in this way will not always yield results.”18 To the degree that the search for allusions departs from the lexical data, however, it introduces an element of subjectivity that tends to undermine the strength of any supposed connection. As Risto Nurmela has argued concerning the use of thematic connections to link Zechariah 9–14 to other prophetic books, many “themes” appear across broad sections of the Hebrew Scriptures. As a result, there is often little basis for narrowing a thematic connection to one section of the Tanak as opposed to another. Thus, while it may be the case that not all textual allusions contain shared language, Nurmela is surely correct in insistrevision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness legislation (“Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation” [Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2006], 26–35). Other attempts at establishing guidelines for allusions are available in Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 29–32; and Cynthia Edenburg, “How (Not) to Murder a King: Variations on a Theme in 1 Sam 24; 26,” SJOT 12 (1998): 72–74. 18 Mark J. Boda, Praying the Tradition: The Origin and Use of Tradition in Nehemiah 9 (BZAW 277; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1999), 2–3. Boda does acknowledge the element of subjectivity that enters when the search for allusions is extended to a “comparison of traditions on a notional level.”


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ing that verbal parallels provide the most objective and verifiable criteria for identifying these allusions.19 In his treatment of textual allusions that lack explicit citation formulae, Fishbane makes a similar point: It is not by virtue of objective criteria that one may identify aggadic exegesis, but rather by a close comparison of the language of a given text with other, earlier Scriptural dicta or topoi. Where such a text (the putative traditio) is dominated by these dicta or topoi (the putative traditum), and uses them in new and transformed ways, the likelihood of aggadic exegesis is strong. In other words, the identification of aggadic exegesis where external objective criteria are lacking is proportionately increased to the extent that multiple and sustained lexical linkages between two texts can be recognized, and where the second text (the putative traditio) uses a segment of the first (the putative traditum) in a lexically reorganized and topically rethematized way.20

Psalm 78 does not fall strictly under the heading of aggadic exegesis as described by Fishbane. Even so, Fishbane’s focus on “multiple and sustained lexical linkages” applies equally well to the identification of sources in the psalm and to the passages he addresses.21 A signal example of lexical overlap between Psalm 78 and the Torah is found in the psalm’s recitation of the plagues. The description of the plagues in Psalm 78 is filled with language that corresponds to the plague narratives in the Torah. In the final plague, for example, the psalmist describes the striking of the firstborn with the phrase Myrcmb rwkb-lk Kyw, “he struck every firstborn in Egypt” (v. 51). The parallel between this description and the language of Exodus is unmistakable. In Exod 12:12, we find Myrcm Cr)b rwkb-lk ytykhw, “I will strike every firstborn in the land of Egypt,” and again in Exod 12:29, Myrcm Cr)b rwkb-lk hkh hwhyw, “Yhwh 19 Risto Nurmela, “The Growth of the Book of Isaiah Illustrated by Allusions in Zechariah,” in Bringing Out the Treasure, ed. Boda and Floyd, 246–47. See further Nurmela, Prophets in Dialogue: Inner-Biblical Allusions in Zechariah 1–8 and 9–14 (Åbo: Åbo Akademi University Press, 1996), 21–27; and Nicholas H. F. Tai, Prophetie als Schriftauslegung in Sacharja 9–14: Traditionsund kompositionsgeschichtliche Studien (Calwer Theologische Monographien A17; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1996), 7–8. 20 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 285 (emphasis added). Adapting terms from Douglas Knight, Fishbane uses traditum to refer to the “content of tradition” and traditio to signify the “long and varied process of transmission” (see Knight, Rediscovering the Traditions of Israel: The Development of the Traditio-historical Research of the Old Testament, with Special Consideration of Scandinavian Contributions [SBLDS 9; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1975], 5). 21 Fishbane rightly warns that some terminology is shared not because of “exegetical interdependence” but rather because of a “shared stream of linguistic tradition” (Biblical Interpretation, 288). Concerning Proverbs 1–9 and Deuteronomy, for example, he notes that the terminological overlap in the two may not be the result of either text’s borrowing from the other, but may instead demonstrate that the same group of “sage-aphorists” helped produce both works.

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struck every firstborn in the land of Egypt.” In this example, the parallel is clear; there is little evidence, however, to suggest that the psalmist drew on one source rather than the other (Exod 12:12 is P; 12:29 is JE). Elsewhere in the psalmist’s recitation, this is not the case. Careful examination of the correspondences between Psalm 78 and the plague narratives in Exodus reveals a pattern of connections that are limited almost exclusively to the JE account.22 Most importantly, the psalmist refers to every one of the JE plagues, using the same vocabulary as JE to identify each one: Md (Exod 7:14– 18, 20b–21, 23–25; Ps 78:44), (drpc (Exod 7:26–29; 8:3b–11a; Ps 78:45b), br( (Exod 8:16–28; Ps 78:45a), rbd (Exod 9:1–7; Ps 78:48–50), drb (Exod 9:13–34; Ps 78:47), hbr) (Exod 10:1–19; Ps 78:46), rwkb (Exod 11:4–8; 12:29–32; Ps 78:51). The value of this terminological overlap should not be underestimated. Although general references to the plagues are found in various places in the Tanak, lists of the plagues are preserved in only a handful of texts: JE, P, the composite text of Exodus, Psalm 78, and Psalm 105. Among this group, only JE and Ps 78 agree concerning the number (seven) and names of the plagues. The overlap between JE and Psalm 78 is all the more striking given the fact that at least two of the plagues in the JE narrative are matched by doublets from P’s account: br( (JE) is matched by Mynk (P), rbd (JE) by Nyx# (P).23 In both cases, the psalmist’s recitation includes the JE plagues but not their Priestly counterparts.24 22 Over the last several decades, the former consensus (or, at least, near consensus) concerning the formation of the Pentateuch has steadily fallen into disarray. While a full treatment of the recent developments in pentateuchal studies lies beyond the scope of this article, I would make several observations: First, despite the recent skepticism expressed by many concerning the Documentary Hypothesis, I have found neither the criticisms of the model sufficiently damning nor the alternative proposals that have been advanced sufficiently convincing to warrant its abandonment. To my mind, scholars have too readily dismissed both the depth of the evidence in favor of the model and the breadth of its explanatory power. Second, even the most ardent critics of the Documentary Hypothesis generally draw a distinction at least between “priestly” and “non-priestly” materials in the Pentateuch. Readers no longer convinced of the existence of J or E or JE can in this study simply read “non-priestly” in their place. Third, and finally, one of the chief findings of my larger study of Psalm 78 is that the psalmist relied solely on these “nonpriestly” traditions. The fact that the psalm depends so heavily on sources usually supposed to be early (the Song of the Sea in Exodus 15, the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32, the Ark Narrative in 1 Samuel 4–6 and 2 Samuel 6, and JE) but does not draw on P has significant implications for many of the recent models for pentateuchal formation, particularly if my assignment of the psalm to the Hezekian period is correct (see further, Leonard, “Historical Traditions in Psalm 78”). 23 See William H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 2; New York: Doubleday, 1998), 319–20; and Moshe Greenberg, “The Redaction of the Plague Narrative in Exodus,” in Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (ed. Hans Goedicke; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1971), 246. Greenberg finds confirmation of gnats, boils, and darkness (// locusts) as doublets in the fact that none of these three is included in Psalm 78. 24 Other examples of terminological overlap between Psalm 78 and JE could be added to this list. Like JE, Psalm 78 uses the expression Mdl Kph to describe the transformation of the waters


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2. Shared language is more important than nonshared language. The presence of shared language may serve to indicate a connection between texts or traditions. More importantly, however, the fact that a text contains additional language that is idiosyncratic or not shared in no way undermines the possibility of a connection. Unique or idiosyncratic language may be a reflection of the creativity or writing style of a given author. It may even point toward an author’s use of multiple sources. It tells us very little, however, about the existence or nonexistence of allusions in the language that is shared with other texts. By way of example, we need only consider certain famous phrases such as “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind,” or “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” When a person says, “one small . . . for . . . ; one giant . . . for . . . ,” it really makes no difference what words are used in place of Armstrong’s “man” and “mankind”; the allusion is certain. One speaker or author will doubtless be more creative than another in manipulating the phrase. The allusion is quite sure, however, no matter what is added. Similarly, when a person utters the phrase “It was the best of . . . , it was the worst of . . . ,” it makes little difference whether the speaker’s reference is to the state of affairs in eighteenth-century Europe or the state of the cuisine at a local restaurant. The language that is added does not detract from the primary allusion. Biblical allusions are rarely as explicit as those just mentioned. The principle remains the same, however. Nonshared language may suggest that a biblical author has partially assimilated an allusion to his own vocabulary or ideological concerns. It may even suggest that the author has drawn on multiple traditions, some of which may no longer be available to us. The use of nonshared language has no bearing, though, on the existence of the allusion itself. To use an example from the historical psalms, the verbal correspondences between Ps 106:31 (hqfdfc;li wOl b#e$xft'@wA) and Gen 15:6 (hqfdfc; wOl@ hfbe#$;x;y,Aw)A raise the possibility of an allusion from one text to the other. It is possible that no allusion exists between the two. The fact that the psalmist uses the phrase in reference to Phinehas and the tradent in Genesis to Abram, however, in no way undermines the likelihood of the allusion.25

(Ps 78:44; cf. Exod 7:15, 17, 20b). The Priestly writer describes the same transformation using the construction Md hyh (cf. Exod 7:20a). Only JE and Psalm 78 refer to the Egyptians’ difficulty in finding drinking water, both using forms of the verb ht# to do so (Exod 7:21, Myrcm wlky-)lw twt#l; cf. Ps 78:44, Nwyt#y-lb). Neither P nor Psalm 105 refers to this aspect of the plague. Both JE and Psalm 78 use the verb xl# to describe the sending of the swarms plague (Ps 78:45; cf. Exod 8:17). The Priestly writer does not use this verb at all in his plague account. The psalmist’s use of tx# in his description of the damage inflicted by the frogs in v. 45 is likely drawn from the adjacent swarms plague in JE’s narrative (cf. Exod 8:20). The psalmist’s hnqm and twm in the description of the pestilence plague (vv. 48–50) match JE’s use of these terms in the same plague (cf. Exod 9:3–7). 25 Noble argues that those searching for textual connections are obliged to give equal weight to both similarities and dissimilarities between the texts in question. Thus, for example, he insists

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In a study of Psalm 78, Antony Campbell argues that the psalm’s recitation of the plagues cannot depend on the Pentateuch: A survey of the plagues and their sequence shows that it is impossible to claim that Psalm 78 must depend on the Pentateuchal sources. It makes use of language that is absent from these sources, disregards material present in them, and presents the plagues in a sequence that is different. The differences of expression are marked enough, even in plagues that are common, to invalidate any linguistic argument for dependence of Psalm 78 on the traditions available to us in the Pentateuch or Psalm 105.26

Campbell is quite right in his catalogue of the differences between Psalm 78 and the version(s) of the plagues in the Torah. The psalmist does use language not found in the Torah sources; he does disregard material present in them; and he does present the plagues in a different sequence. None of these observations, however, is capable of discounting the positive evidence for a connection between the psalm and the pentateuchal sources. To demonstrate that two texts are not connected requires more than highlighting the differences between those texts. After all, an author certainly has the ability to borrow from a given text and then subtly or even radically to reshape the borrowed material for his or her own purposes.27 To deny outright the possibility of a connection between Psalm 78 and the plague narratives of Exodus, Campbell is obliged to demonstrate either that the psalm does not share significant language with those narratives or that the psalmist must have drawn that language from a source other than those narratives. Anything short of this leaves open the possibility that the psalmist did draw from the plague narratives in Exodus. The fact that the psalmist’s recitation of the plagues includes terms not found in JE (lysx alongside JE’s hbr), lmnx alongside JE’s drb, P#r alongside JE’s rbd) may testify to the creativity of the psalmist in expanding on the JE narrative. It may point toward the psalmist’s reliance on other traditions in addition to JE. There is no reason, howthat Rendsburg’s association of the firstborn son of Judah and the bat šûav with the firstborn son of David and Bathsheba is illegitimate because Rendsburg cannot extend the connection through the second- and third-born sons as well (Noble, “Esau, Tamar, and Joseph,” 224–25; cf. Rendsburg, “David and His Circle,” 443). Regardless of whether Rendsburg is correct in his association of the two sons, the grounds for Noble’s objection are insufficient. Noble appears to insist that ancient authors were obligated to allude to every part of a narrative if they wished to make any allusion at all. Particularly when reshaping preexisting traditions rather than creating them out of whole cloth, however, biblical tradents had to maneuver between the competing interests of evoking other texts, on the one hand, and maintaining the integrity of the original tradition, on the other. Not surprisingly, different tradents reached different conclusions as to how much allusion was required to satisfy these goals. 26 Campbell, “Psalm 78,” 69. 27 See, e.g., Sommer’s discussion of “reversals” and “repredictions” in Deutero-Isaiah (Prophet Reads Scripture, 35–57).


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ever, why these additional terms should discount the possibility of a connection with JE in the first place.28 3. Shared language that is rare or distinctive suggests a stronger connection than does language that is widely used.29 When two texts are marked by shared vocabulary, there exists the possibility that one alludes to the other. Our ability to prove or even lend support to such an allusion, however, depends in some measure on the nature of the vocabulary the two texts share. If the shared language consists solely of common terms (rm), )wb, b), etc.), it does not automatically negate the possibility of a connection; after all, an author can borrow common terms as well as distinctive ones. It would make it quite difficult to prove that a connection exists, however.30 On the other hand, if the language shared by two texts is relatively rare or is used in a manner that is distinctive, it can lend support to the possibility of a connection.31 This point is illustrated by an example from Psalm 78. In v. 13, the psalmist describes the miracle God performed at the Reed Sea. As part of his description, the psalmist declares that God made the waters stand “like a heap” (dn-wmk). This is the same phrase that is used in the Song of the Sea (Exod 15:8) to describe the event. The similarity of expression in these two texts raises the possibility that they are directly connected. In this case, the connection finds support in the fact that the term dn used by both authors occurs so rarely in the Hebrew Scriptures (only six 28 Although a complete lack of overlapping vocabulary would cast considerable doubt on the existence of a textual allusion, an author’s failure to mention specific elements from a source text is insufficient cause for denying such an allusion. For example, the fact that Psalm 78 fails to mention the role of Moses in the plagues is hardly evidence for denying altogether a connection between Psalm 78 and Exodus. The psalmist, like any other author, is at liberty to choose which elements of the source text will be included and which will be excluded. 29 This principle is similar to Hays’s “volume” criterion and Edenburg’s “unique recurrence of peculiar formulations” (see Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 30; Edenburg, “How [Not] to Murder a King,” 72). 30 A similar point is made in Sommer, “Allusions and Illusions,” 159. 31 Noble criticizes this notion, arguing that even inherently improbable resemblances between texts are to be expected, provided the texts in question are sufficiently long (“Esau, Tamar, and Joseph,” 249–51). Noble uses the illustration of shared birthdays to make his point. While finding a shared birthday in a group of two people would be highly improbable, finding shared birthdays in much larger groups naturally would not. Noble’s argument does not really prove, though, that improbable resemblances are of no value in establishing textual connections. As he himself admits, finding four shared birthdays in a group of five or six “would provide strong evidence that the groups had not been chosen at random” (ibid., 250). Thus, what we really have is a continuum of probability, with the reader bearing the burden of deciding when the improbability of a resemblance is sufficiently high to propose an actual connection. Further, the fact that some improbable resemblances occur by chance does not mean that all do. The reader’s task lies in assembling evidence to distinguish between the two.

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times).32 Had the psalmist chosen to use the term hmwx to describe the waters, there might still be an allusion to an earlier tradition; after all, hmwx is used for this purpose in Exod 14:22, 29. Because hmwx appears so frequently (133 times) compared to dn, however, it would be more difficult to prove the connection. Taking this example a step further, the psalmist could also have used ryq to refer to the walls of water. Had he done so, though, our ability to prove a connection based on this term alone would be quite weak: ryq is not used in any biblical text to describe the seawaters. A supporting cast of allusions could establish the fact that the psalmist drew on a given text, in which case our hypothetical ryq could be regarded as the psalmist’s own contribution (see the preceding principle). By itself, though, ryq could not establish a connection.33 4. Shared phrases suggest a stronger connection than do individual shared terms. While individual terms may well point toward a connection between texts, the sharing of longer phrases tends to strengthen such a connection. To use the example from Ps 106:31 cited above, it is possible that the psalmist could have alluded to Genesis 15 using only the word hqdc. Were this the case, though, we would be hard pressed to prove the allusion or perhaps even to identify it in the first place. It is the fact that the psalmist replicates a longer phrase from Genesis that makes the allusion more likely.34 Turning again to Psalm 78, various lines from the psalm do more than repeat key terms from the exodus and wilderness narratives. Instead, they paraphrase longer phrases from the Torah accounts. Consider the following examples:

Mhyr)y Mdl Kphyw Mdl r)yb-r#) Mymh-lk wkphyw

Myrcmb rwkb-lk Kyw Myrcm Cr)b rwkb-lk hkh Myrcm Cr)b rwkb-lk ytykhw

Ps 78:44 Exod 7:20b (JE) Ps 78:51 Exod 12:29 (JE) Exod 12:12 (P)

32 There is some uncertainty concerning the full roster of passages in which dn appears. Exodus 15:8; Josh 3:13, 16; and Ps 78:13 are certain. The MT of Isa 17:11 has dn", but this reading is suspect. The Vg. has ablata est messis, “harvest has retreated,” suggesting that dn here may derive from ddn, “to retreat, flee” (see HALOT and the note in BHS). Frank Moore Cross apparently regards the appearance of dn in Ps 33:7 as suspect (Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973], 128 n. 58), but Peter C. Craigie argues convincingly both for its appearance in the verse and its dependence on Exodus 15 (Psalms 1–50 [WBC 19; Waco: Word Books, 1983], 272–73). 33 Similarly rare examples are found in terms such as br( and (drpc in the recounting of the plagues in Psalm 78. Both of these terms are found in only three places in the Tanak: Exodus 7–8; Psalm 78; and Psalm 105. 34 This principle must be balanced with principle 3 cited above. A single rare term (e.g., dn) can be more probative than a longer common phrase (e.g., l) hwhy rm)yw).


dn-wmk Mym-bcyw dn-wmk wbcn Mym

ry)hl #) dwm(b hlylw Krdh Mtxnl Nn( dwm(b Mmwy #) rw)b hlylh-lkw Mmwy Nn(b Mxnyw hl( P) hq#n #)w rb(tyw hwhy (m# Nkl wp) rxyw hwhy #) Mb-r(btw hwhy (m#yw

253 Ps 78:13 Exod 15:8 Ps 78:14 Exod 13:21 (JE) Ps 78:21 Num 11:1 (JE)

In each of these cases, the fact that the texts share longer phrases increases the likelihood of a connection. 5. The accumulation of shared language suggests a stronger connection than does a single shared term or phrase. While an isolated term or phrase may well constitute an allusion, the likelihood of a connection increases with the accumulation of other shared terms. Arguing along similar lines, Benjamin Sommer concedes that a textual connection based on just one or two allusions could be dismissed. He insists, however: “But if I find scores of such borrowings, and if they display consistent patterns in their reuse of older material, then the notion that all these cases result from happenstance becomes untenable.”35 The same case is made by Rex Mason concerning parallels between Zechariah 9–14 and the rest of the Twelve: While great caution has to be shown in too quickly assuming that a certain verse or reference has been inspired by this particular text or that, there is a cumulative weight to a great number of probabilities which in the end proves decisive.36

One of the strongest arguments supporting a connection between Psalm 78 and JE’s manna and quail account in Numbers 11 is the fact that the connection does not depend on just one or two overlapping terms. As the chart on the following page demonstrates, the psalmist repeatedly echoes elements of the underlying historical narrative. An implication flowing from the principle outlined here is the notion that strong evidence for allusions in some cases can lend support to less certain allusions elsewhere. Each additional connection found in a text provides supporting evidence for affirming less obvious allusions.37 Returning to v. 21 of our psalm as an 35 Sommer,

Prophet Reads Scripture, 5; see also 72.

36 Rex Mason, “Zechariah 9–14,” in Bringing Out the Treasure, ed. Boda and Floyd, 201. See

also Hays, who pursues a similar idea under his “recurrence” test (Echoes of Scripture, 30), and Edenburg, who introduces her criteria for establishing textual dependence by arguing, “Since each individual criterion is subjective to some degree, the weight of accumulative evidence will strengthen the claim of interrelatedness” (“How [Not] to Murder a King,” 72). 37 Robert Alter cites the example of Rahab’s speech in Josh 2:9 (The Pleasures of Reading: In an Ideological Age [New York: Simon & Schuster, 1989], 116–18). The paraphrase of a line from

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Psalm 78 v. 21 v. 21 v. 21 v. 21 v. 19 v. 19 v. 18 v. 18 v. 23

v. 24

Numbers 11

hwhy (m# Nkl

v. 1

hq#n #)w hl( P)

v. 1

. . . l) lkwyh

v. 1

rb(tyw

wrm) Myhl)b wrbdyw

Mb-r(btw

v. 1 v. 1

hwhy #)

v. 14 v. 4 v. 13 v. 18

xtp Mym# ytldw

v. 6

-Ngdw lk)l Nm Mhyl( r+myw wml Ntn Mym#

v. 31

v. 28 wytnk#ml bybs whnxm brqb

v. 31

Mymy lwxk . . . rp(k

wrz-)l Mhl )by Mtw)tw vv. 29-30 Mtw)tm v. 29 v. 30 v. 31

d)m w(b#yw wlk)yw Mhypb Mlk) dw(

Mhb hl( Myhl) P)w

l)r#y yrwxbw Mhynm#mb grhyw v. 31 (yrkh

ydbl ykn) lkw)-)l

r#b wnlk)y ym hlk)nw r#b wnl-hnt r#b wnlk)y ym h#by wn#pn

-Nm Mxl Mkl ry+mm ynnh Exod 16:4 Mym#h

wz(b ghnyw Mym#b Mydq (sy v. 26 Nmyt v. 27

wp) rxyw

ynz)b (r Mynn)tmk M(h yhyw hwhy

M#pnl lk)-l)#l M#pnl

hwhy (m#yw

hwhy t)m (sn xwrw

v. 31 . . . Mytm)k . . . hk Mwy Krdk v. 4

hnxmh twbybs

hw)t ww)th

v. 34 hw)th twrbq v. 34 Myw)tmh M(h-t) wrbq M# v. 32 Myrmh hr#( Ps) +y(mmh v. 33 v. 33

Mhyn# Nyb wndw( r#bh M(b hrx hwhy P)w

v. 33 d)m hbr hkm M(b hwhy Kyw


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example, we find the psalmist’s expression rbf@(at;y, iwA, referring to God’s anger toward his people. By itself, this verb would not appear to allude to any particular text. Further examination of the context, however, shows a number of allusions to Num 11:1–3. Set against the background of these allusions, it becomes more likely that rb(tyw is a wordplay based on the place name Taberah (hr(bt) and the fire that broke out (r(btw) against the murmurers there.38 6. Shared language in similar contexts suggests a stronger connection than does shared language alone.39 Terms such as (m# and #) initially seem too common to serve as evidence for a textual connection. When the psalmist uses these terms in v. 21, however, he does so in a specific context, describing God’s response to the people’s complaints about food. Interesting for our purposes is the fact that Num 11:1 uses these same terms in exactly the same manner and context as our psalm. The overlap in context tends to strengthen the possibility that the two texts are connected. When context is paired with the earlier principle concerning distinctive terms, the likelihood of a textual connection is even greater. While not precisely “rare,” the terms hw) and hw)t occur with only modest frequency in the Tanak.40 Among the Torah’s wilderness accounts, these terms appear in only one context, in the Kibroth-hattaavah account found in Numbers 11. It is surely significant, then, that these same terms appear in Pss 78:29–30 and 106:14–15, passages that refer to the same wilderness incident. This overlap of (relatively) rare terms and identical context strongly suggests a textual connection. 7. Shared language need not be accompanied by shared ideology to establish a connection. A writer who depends on a particular text or tradition will often draw on the language of that underlying tradition. There is no reason to expect, though, that a later writer would understand or feel compelled to duplicate the ideological concerns of the earlier tradent.41 Many of the most obvious examples of this tenthe Song of the Sea (Exod 15:15–16) in the speech alerts the reader to consider other allusions to the exodus traditions. Among these, Alter notes the parallels between the crossing of the Jordan and the crossing of the Reed Sea, the hiding of the spies in the thatch and the hiding of Moses in the bulrushes, the spies’ flight to the “mountain” (Josh 2:16) and the Israelites’ flight to the mountain of God. Whether these allusions are genuine is not the immediate concern of this study. More important for our purposes is the fact that the evidence for these allusions is stronger with Rahab’s paraphrase of Exodus 15 than it would be without it. 38 To use a more modern example, the fact that Melville’s Moby Dick is so thoroughly filled with religious symbolism makes it easier to suppose that a particular, perhaps less obvious element in the work might also be symbolic. It is this feature that highlights the symbolism in Melville’s ships the Jungfrau and Bachelor, whose names by themselves do not require a symbolic reading. 39 Noted also by Edenburg, “How (Not) to Murder a King,” 72. 40 hw) occurs thirty-three times in the Tanak, hw)t twenty-one times. 41 Sommer notes that new texts generally do not claim to explain other texts. He rightly

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dency are found in the literature of early Christianity and rabbinic Judaism. Authors from these faith communities allude constantly to earlier texts and traditions, yet they apparently felt perfect liberty to push those allusions in new and unexpected directions that could hardly have been anticipated by the original authors. The fact that these later writers advanced ideologies different from those of the original authors has no bearing on the question of whether they allude to their writings.42 8. Shared language need not be accompanied by shared form to establish a connection. As with ideology, there is little reason to expect that writers in different generations would have fully appreciated or felt compelled to duplicate the Gattungen of the earlier texts or traditions on which they relied. On the contrary, it seems more likely that the different Sitze im Leben faced by these later authors would have prompted them to use the elements of the earlier traditions in quite different ways. As Fishbane notes: Materials are always moving from one setting to another, being joined to different genres, and resulting in new redactional units for instruction. Indeed, we must take note of the fact that traditions were always being integrated and moved from one sphere of instruction—be that oral, written, priestly, sapiential, or whatever—to another.43

Common form could actually point away from an allusion by raising the possibility that commonalities between texts are the result of parallel rather than dependent development.44 Campbell has argued that differences in form are a basis for denying the dependence of Psalm 78 on the pentateuchal murmuring tradition.45 Citing the careful studies of George Coats, he emphasizes the fact that the psalmist formulates the people’s complaints differently and does not use the key language of the Torah’s Gattung—Nwl, d(y, lhq, hml, (wdm.46 Campbell is certainly correct in the differences he observes between the murmuring accounts in the Torah and the verobserves that new texts often “present an innovative variation of the older text’s ideas” and sometimes argue against other biblical texts (Prophet Reads Scripture, 27–28). 42 Fishbane identifies an example of this process in the use in Isaiah 58 of terminology from the Yom Kippur legislation in Leviticus 16 (“Exegetical Tradition,” 26). He argues that Isaiah 58 uses several “punning allusions” as a “deliberate attempt to invert false piety by turning the terms of one tradition—the ritual theme of affliction or fasting—towards other values.” 43 Fishbane, “Exegetical Tradition,” 18. 44 Edenburg cautions that structural similarity in texts belonging to a common genre or literary pattern need not argue in favor of an association (“How [Not] to Murder a King,” 65). She cites as an example the similarities in business letters, which share a common form even though they derive from different authors and different times. 45 Campbell, “Psalm 78,” 65–66. 46George W. Coats, Rebellion in the Wilderness: The Murmuring Motif in the Wilderness Traditions of the Old Testament (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1968).


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sion presented in Psalm 78. Methodologically, however, it is not clear that these differences work to sever the link between these two traditions. As Coats demonstrates, there is a definite Gattung in the Torah accounts. There is no reason to expect, however, that the psalmist would have recognized this form or, if he had, would have tried to duplicate it. The psalmist’s form was his own to direct.

II. Determining Direction of Influence The principles outlined above offer guidance for the difficult task of identifying textual allusions. Equally difficult, if not more so, is the matter of determining the direction of these allusions. When one text is obviously later than another, as, for example, in NT allusions to passages in the Hebrew Scriptures, the direction of allusion is easily ascertained. When dealing with passages in the Tanak, however, it is rarely possible to establish so definitively the priority of texts, especially since demonstrably early texts often contain later, secondary elements. Some scholars have found the difficulties in assigning dates to texts so great as to warrant the abandonment of the diachronic approach altogether. As noted earlier in this study, Lyle Eslinger has expressed his pessimism concerning “the diachronic assumptions of historical-critical literary history,” arguing that the only legitimate approach to inner-biblical allusion is a “self-consciously literary analysis” that reads texts “atemporally and without assumptions about vectors of dependence.”47 Eslinger’s position is born out of a skepticism over the Bible’s value as a historical resource. The history of the biblical text, he argues, presupposes a plot of ancient Israel’s history that is in turn derived from the Bible. He maintains that this is an enormous bit of circular reasoning, concluding, “There is little basis for consensus about Israel’s history, once we set aside the plot of the Bible itself, and even less for a dependent scheme of biblical literary history.”48 For those who embrace this sort of historical minimalism, a purely synchronic approach may be a last refuge of sorts for the study of textual connections. The phenomenon of inner-biblical allusion is one that ought to raise questions about the minimalist approach to begin with, however. In that some texts manifestly do allude to others (we need look no further than direct quotations for proof), it is clear that there is at least some diachronic element at work in the biblical text. That some scholars continue to work out methods for charting this process of development rather than wave a white flag to the challenges of historiography should be welcomed, not derided as “literary naiveté.”49 47 Eslinger, “Inner-Biblical Exegesis,” 52, 56–58. Eslinger’s arguments are ably addressed by Sommer in his article, “Exegesis, Allusion and Intertextuality in the Hebrew Bible: A Response to Lyle Eslinger,” VT 46 (1996): 479–89. 48 Eslinger, “Inner-Biblical Exegesis,” 52. 49 Ibid., 49.

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If we accept the premise that some biblical texts do rely on others, it remains to consider what sorts of evidence offer insight into the direction of the textual relationship. Here I suggest a series of fundamental questions can guide our search: (1) Does one text claim to draw on another? (2) Are there elements in the texts that help to fix their dates? (3) Is one text capable of producing the other? (4) Does one text assume the other? (5) Does one text show a general pattern of dependence on other texts? (6) Are there rhetorical patterns in the texts that suggest that one text has used the other in an exegetically significant way? As in the preceding section, the following discussion clarifies the significance of these questions, particularly as they relate to Psalm 78. 1. Does one text claim to draw upon another? Various texts in the Hebrew Scriptures explicitly claim to draw on other texts. Thus, Neh 8:15 cites the instructions for Sukkoth written in Lev 23:40; Dan 9:2 refers to a prophecy from Jeremiah (cf. Jer 25:11; 29:10); and numerous texts refer to some variation of the “Book of the Law of Moses” (cf. Josh 8:31, 34; 23:6; 2 Kgs 14:6//2 Chr 25:4; Ezra 6:18). Psalm 78 does not explicitly identify a particular text as its source. Importantly, however, elements in the introduction to the psalm can be understood as the psalmist’s acknowledgment that he drew upon earlier sources. In vv. 2–3, the psalmist declares:

.Mdq-ynm twdyx h(yb) yp l#mb hxtp) .wnl-wrps wnytwb)w M(dnw wn(m# r#)

I will open my mouth in a parable; I will pour forth riddles from of old, Which we have heard and known, Which our fathers have told us.

These references to older traditions suggest there is at least some warrant for searching for Psalm 78’s sources, whatever those sources prove to be.50 2. Are there elements in the texts that help to fix their dates? Most biblical texts are marked by features—orthography, morphology, syntax, vocabulary, content, and so on—that can at least help to narrow the range of dates available for their composition. Naturally, each of these features is subject to debate, as evidenced by the fact that reputable scholars manage to settle on divergent dates for nearly every

50 Moses Buttenwieser contends, “There has been much unnecessary speculation on the question of on which source or sources of the Hexateuch the lengthy review of the remote past rests” (The Psalms: Chronologically Treated with a New Translation [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1938], 139). He concludes that the psalmist expressly claims to have relied on oral tradition and suggests that he depends on the Yahwistic and Elohistic sources prior to their being committed to writing.


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biblical text. The fact that these elements are debatable should not, however, be used as grounds for removing this line of evidence from the discussion.51 The essence of biblical scholarship is to interact with and evaluate these arguments in the hope of settling upon a conclusion that best fits the evidence. The greater the confidence that can be achieved concerning the respective dates of the texts in question, the more securely the direction of their textual dependence can be established. In the case of Psalm 78, several lines of evidence converge to narrow the range of dates available for the psalm’s composition. Various scholars have noted the incongruity between the buoyant tone of the psalm’s concluding verses and a date for the psalm after the fall of the Jerusalem temple.52 This is especially true given the psalmist’s use of the defeat of Shiloh as evidence for God’s rejection of northern hegemony (vv. 59–67). No one who knew of the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple could take seriously this argument and yet ignore the implications flowing from Jerusalem’s even greater defeat. A preexilic date for Psalm 78 is suggested also by the fact that the psalm shares considerable language with historical traditions usually thought to be early—the Song of the Sea in Exodus 15, the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32, the Ark Narrative in 1 Samuel 4–6 and 2 Samuel 6, and the Yahwistic and Elohistic narratives—but shows no certain overlap with the later Priestly narrative.53 In his study of the features of early Israelite poetry, David Robertson locates Psalm 78 at a point where “standard forms are overwhelmingly predominant, but where early ones are more numerous than in standard poetry.”54 He aligns this period with the late tenth to early ninth centuries b.c.e.55 Robertson’s is only a rel51 See

Bob Becking, “No More Grapes from the Vineyard? A Plea for a Historical Critical Approach in the Study of the Old Testament,” in Congress Volume: Oslo 1998, ed. Lemaire and Sæbø, 123–41; and the forceful comments throughout Avi Hurvitz’s study in the same volume, “Can Biblical Texts Be Dated Linguistically? Chronological Perspectives in the Historical Study of Biblical Hebrew,” 143–60. Interestingly, Nurmela advocates a diachronic approach to inner-biblical allusion but admits to have “completely given up on the idea of establishing the direction of dependence on the basis of dating” (“Growth of the Book of Isaiah,” 247). 52 Passages such as Lamentations 2 highlight the distinctive character of the description of the temple in Psalm 78. Unlike our psalmist, the author of Lamentations 2 cannot mention the glories of Zion and the temple without mourning over their current, tragic state. 53 The fact that Psalm 78 and P share so few terms, especially when compared to the psalm’s extensive use of JE vocabulary, raises the possibility that the psalmist and the Priestly writer drew independently on common traditions or even that P relied on Psalm 78. Unfortunately, there is not enough evidence to decide conclusively in favor of one or the other of these possibilities. Taking a step back, however, the larger point is that the psalmist clearly did not rely on P. 54 David A. Robertson, Linguistic Evidence in Dating Early Hebrew Poetry (Society of Biblical Literature for The Seminar on Form Criticism: Dissertation Series 3; Missoula, MT: University of Montana, 1972), 154. 55 Robertson’s conclusions are similar to those of Mitchell Dahood, who draws attention to the unprecedented accumulation in the psalm of simple prefix forms (yqtl) expressing past time:

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ative chronology, however, allowing for some flexibility in the psalm’s date. Elsewhere, I have argued in favor of a slightly later date for the psalm, one associated with Hezekiah’s reforms and especially his outreach to the north (cf. 2 Chr 30:1–9). The details of this proposal are too extensive to be rehearsed here. It should be evident, however, that narrowing the psalm’s date to this historical moment yields important implications for determining the direction of influence for textual connections found in the psalm. 3. Is one text capable of producing the other? When comparing texts that appear to be connected, it is important to consider whether one text has sufficient breadth and depth to generate the other. Consider the following example: A famine strikes the land of Canaan, forcing God’s people to go down to Egypt. While there, Pharaoh puts God’s promises to his people in jeopardy, relenting only when God strikes his house with plagues. In the aftermath of the plagues, Pharaoh drives the people out, though not before they have amassed great wealth. This is, of course, the story of the exodus. Or is it? In fact, it is the story of Abram and Sarai’s journey to Egypt in Gen 12:10-20, though the similarities to the exodus story are so striking that the two must be directly connected.56 The question is which story has left its mark on the other. The answer seems obvious. It is easy to imagine that a skillful tradent might have modeled a tradition from the Abraham narratives on the pattern of the exodus. It is nearly impossible, though, to understand how an isolated pericope in Abram’s story could have given birth to the great complex of traditions that make up the exodus story. For example, how could the single clause in Gen 12:17, “And Yhwh struck Pharaoh and his house with great plagues,” have generated the extensive plague accounts preserved in JE and P? Samuel Loewenstamm and Michael Goulder argue that Psalm 78 is the source of various traditions in the prose sources.57 It is difficult to understand, though, how the psalm’s brief and often oblique references to events could have spawned the longer narratives found in these prose sources. In Ps 78:45, for example, the psalmist describes the plagues of frogs and swarms using only six words: Mhb xl#y Mtyx#tw (drpcw Mlk)yw br(, “he sent swarms against them and they devoured them, and frogs and they destroyed them.” How could the author(s) in Exodus have see vv. 15, 26, 29, 38 (3x), 40 (2x), 45, 47, 49, 58, 64, 72 (Psalms II: 51–100; Introduction, Translation, and Notes [AB 17; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968], 238–39). Dahood concludes: “Since the yqtl was the normal form of expressing past events in Ugaritic poetry and, to a lesser extent, in early biblical poems, one may use this linguistic feature as a criterion for the early dating of the psalm.” He suggests that the historical references in the psalm point toward a composition during the divided monarchy. 56 Additional examples are detailed in Yair Zakovitch, “And You Shall Tell Your Son . . .”: The Concept of Exodus in the Bible (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1991), 46–98. 57 See Loewenstamm, Evolution of the Exodus Tradition; Goulder, “Asaph’s History of Israel”; and idem, Psalms of Asaph and Pentateuch.


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derived such lengthy accounts from this brief line? The description of the frogs is particularly difficult. Throughout his recitation of the plagues, the psalmist shows little interest in the pervasiveness of the plagues, preferring instead to focus on the damage each one inflicted. In the case of the frogs, though, pervasiveness seems to be the only element worth noting. Certainly, there is little in the frogs themselves to merit the psalmist’s powerful tx#. How then is this term to be explained? If Psalm 78 relied on JE, it is possible that the psalmist drew the term tx# from the next plague in JE’s narrative, the swarms (cf. Exod 8:20). This reading would help to explain the psalmist’s odd combination of the swarms and frogs into the same poetic line. If the reverse is true, however, if Exodus has drawn upon Psalm 78, the use of tx# is more difficult to explain. The one feature Psalm 78 does mention, the frogs’ “destroying” Egypt, Goulder would have Exodus omit. A feature Psalm 78 does not mention for any plague—namely, pervasiveness—he would have Exodus turn into the plague’s sole feature. 4. Does one text assume the other? A common feature in medieval Jewish commentary is the use of partial citations to represent larger cross-references. Although only a few words are cited, the parshan assumes that the reader will know to bear in mind the larger passage when considering the interpretation. In biblical texts as well, when weighing the possibility that one passage depends on another, it is important to consider the possibility that the later author assumes that the lemma will already be known.58 A clear example of this is found in Ps 106:14–15: They craved a craving in the wilderness. They tested God in the desert. He gave them what they asked for, Then sent a wasting disease against them.

Although the psalmist’s reference is clearly to the events of Numbers 11, his description of these events is quite oblique, requiring reference to this tradition to be fully understood. The psalmist does not mention the people’s disdain for the manna, their longing for meat, or God’s provision of quail. These elements the psalmist is content to leave in the underlying tradition. A similar situation may be evident in Psalm 78. I have argued elsewhere that the psalmist’s recitation in vv. 58–69 concerns the events surrounding the loss of the ark to the Philistines (cf. 1 Samuel 4–6) and offers support for identifying an originally separate ark narrative that included 2 Samuel 6. As the psalmist alludes to these events, however, he does so in language that is quite subtle, only rarely using a word from the ark narrative and never specifying outright matters such as the 58 Edenburg outlines a similar principle as she searches for cases in which “comprehension of the one text is dependent upon knowledge of the other text” (“How [Not] to Murder a King,” 73-74).

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names of people or places (or naming the ark!). The psalmist expects these elements to be inferred from the hearer’s knowledge of the earlier tradition. 5. Does one text show a general pattern of dependence on other texts? When it can be established that a given author is in the habit of borrowing from other texts, a certain precedent may be established for deciding difficult cases. This is especially true when the other author in question does not appear to be similarly inclined toward borrowing. In his study of intertextuality in Joel 2:1–17 and Jonah 3:1–4:11, Thomas Dozeman pursues a synchronic approach in which he explores the “mutual relationship” between the two passages.59 Rather than argue for a particular direction of influence, Dozeman first reads Jonah as an inner-biblical interpretation of Joel and then Joel as an inner-biblical interpretation of Jonah. The flaw in this otherwise valuable study lies in the fact that these two readings are not equally compelling. While Dozeman’s reading of Jonah as a satire of Joel’s oracle is quite strong, the evidence he adduces for reading in the opposite direction is meager by contrast and ultimately unconvincing. A more helpful approach to these texts would have been simply to embrace a more diachronic reading and then pursue the implications this reading entails. Here additional support for Jonah’s reliance on Joel rather than the reverse would be found in the numerous studies that highlight Jonah’s penchant for satirizing earlier material, a feature not equally in evidence in Joel.60 In the case of Psalm 78, a general pattern of borrowing coupled with poetic expansion seems to be in evidence throughout the psalm. Thus, when deciding, for example, whether it is the psalmist who has drawn on a complex of traditions such as the Ark Narrative or the Ark Narrative that has drawn on our psalm, the general tendency in the psalm to borrow from other texts must be counted as a piece of evidence in favor of the former possibility. This is all the more true given the psalmist’s express intention in vv. 2–3 to recount those things “which we have heard and known, which our fathers have told us.” The ark narrative makes no such claim and shows no corresponding tendency to draw on earlier material. 6. Are there rhetorical patterns in the texts that suggest that one text has used the other in an exegetically significant way? In his studies of Deutero-Isaiah, Benjamin Sommer focuses heavily on stylistic and rhetorical features as a means of 59 Thomas B. Dozeman, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation of Yahweh’s Gracious and Compassionate Character,” JBL 108 (1989): 207–23. Dozeman’s approach is not strictly synchronic in the sense that Eslinger advocates, since he does, for example, argue that both Joel and Jonah draw on Exodus 32–34. 60 Dozeman is aware of the literature on this subject and draws on it in his reading of Jonah (see his helpful list of works on p. 213 n. 17). He does not take advantage of this tendency in Jonah, however, to draw conclusions about a particular direction of influence in Jonah and Joel.


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determining the direction of inner-biblical allusions. Observing in Deutero-Isaiah a tendency for terminology shared with other biblical texts to be found in particular stylistic patterns, Sommer argues that these patterns are “common enough and distinctive enough to serve as a sort of stylistic signature of Deutero-Isaiah, a flag that points to the presence of an allusion or echo.”61 He adds, “A stylistic pattern recurrently displayed by borrowed vocabulary can help a reader identify genuine cases of allusion. Such a pattern highlights and emphasizes the dependence on the older text.”62 That these patterns mark deliberate allusions to earlier texts is confirmed by Deutero-Isaiah’s tendency to reshape the underlying texts, reversing their meaning, announcing their fulfillment, or redirecting their focus through “reprediction.” Although Psalm 78 is not marked by the same stylistic patterns as are found in Deutero-Isaiah, there are clear indications that the psalmist has reshaped his source material in exegetically significant ways. This reshaping is particularly evident where the psalmist appears to have encountered texts containing contradictions or ambiguities that beg for clarification. The JE account of the Taberah incident in Num 11:1–3 is noteworthy for its failure to specify the substance of the people’s bitter complaint. Apparently recognizing this lacuna, our psalmist clarifies the complaint in vv. 19b–20 by supplying a quotation from the Israelites: Can God prepare a table in the wilderness? True, he struck a rock, and waters flowed, and streams gushed out, Can he also give bread? Can he provide meat to his people?

This quotation from the Israelites is the only example of direct speech in Psalm 78. That this speech should occur at precisely the point where the prose tradition was unclear supports the notion that the psalmist crafted the speech to remedy a deficiency in the underlying account. A further example of exegesis is found in the recitation of the plagues in Psalm 78. It has long been observed that JE’s version of the plagues presents certain conceptual difficulties. Most notably, after the hail plague’s dreadful attack on Egypt’s crops, there should be no vegetation left for the locusts to consume (Exod 9:25; cf. 10:4–5). The interpolation in Exod 9:31–32 explaining that some of Egypt’s vegetation actually did survive highlights the fact that this difficulty was felt at a very early stage in the development of the plague tradition. Psalm 105 attempts to resolve this difficulty by limiting the work of the hail to vines and fig trees, saving the rest of Egypt’s vegetation for the locust plague (cf. Ps 105:32–35). Psalm 78 resolves the problem in JE’s account in a similar fashion, directing the hail plague toward Egypt’s

61 Sommer,

Prophet Reads Scripture, 71. Sommer labels Deutero-Isaiah’s stylistic features the “split-up” pattern, sound play, word play, and identical word order. 62 Ibid., 67.

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vines and sycamores and the locusts toward the crops and produce.63 Psalm 78 takes this process a step further, however, by relocating the locust plague to a position prior to the hail. The effectiveness of this move is readily apparent. Because hail wreaks its havoc on everything in its path, its early position in JE could hardly avoid creating a problem for later plagues. The psalmist solves this problem by trusting in the more discriminating palates of the locusts, which could eat the more vulnerable “crops and produce” while leaving the hardier “vines and sycamores” for the hail. Important for the purpose of determining the direction of textual dependence is the difficulty of imagining how either of the preceding examples could have worked in the opposite direction. A psalmist drawing on JE’s narrative would have encountered various inconsistencies requiring just the sort of clarifications outlined above. For the direction of dependence to be reversed, however, would require the JE tradent to take clear historical recollections from the psalm and transform them into the laconic and often contradictory accounts found in the JE narrative. While this process is not beyond the realm of possibility, the evidence gleaned from the psalm points in the opposite direction.

III. Conclusion Although the principles outlined here guide the process of identifying and determining the direction of allusions, the process is often more art than science. In this regard, the situation resembles that described by Emanuel Tov concerning textual criticism: To some extent textual evaluation cannot be bound by any fixed rules. It is an art in the full sense of the word, a faculty which can be developed, guided by intuition based on wide experience. It is the art of defining the problems and finding arguments for and against the originality of readings. Indeed, the quintessence of textual evaluation is the formulation and weighing of these arguments. Often it deals with arguments which cannot be compared at all, such as the style of a given literary unit, its language, the morphology of biblical Hebrew, and the logical or smooth flow of a given text. Within this subjective evaluation, there is room for more than one view. That view that presents the most convincing arguments is probably the best.64

Various principles guide the process of evaluating textual variants. These principles are only guidelines, however. They do not hold true in every situation and thus 63 B. Margulis notes the possibility that Psalm 105, which also limits the hail to plant life, has

been influenced by Psalm 78 in this regard (“The Plagues Tradition in Ps 105,” Bib 50 [1969]: 496). 64 Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 309–10.


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must be applied with careful skill. Similarly in the search for textual allusions, certain principles circumscribe the process. These principles must be applied carefully, however, and with a recognition of their limitations. Charting the full roster of inner-biblical allusions in Psalm 78 lies beyond the scope of this article. Here the focus has been on refining the methodological principles that guide the search for allusions and help determine their direction. Psalm 78 has served merely as the proving ground for these principles. Even so, it should be clear that allusion plays an important role in shaping the rhetoric of the psalm. Just as important, the allusions in the psalm have a significant bearing not only on the provenance of the psalm but also on the sources on which the psalm relies. I hope to provide a more thorough explanation of my findings on these matters in the near future.

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JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 267–289

Psalm 137: Complex Communal Laments john ahn [email protected] Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Austin, TX 78705

Classifying Psalm 137 is complex. The form may be a communal lament, a modified Zion psalm, or a malediction against Edom and Babylon.1 Verses 8–9 are one of the most difficult texts in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament.2 The retributive anger and hatred-laden imprecation encapsulated in a beatitude formula—“Blessed is the one who seizes and dashes to pieces your children against the rock” (v. 9)— has made the text all the more complicated to interpret.3 I wish to thank Lawrence Schiffman (1993), Dennis Olson (1997), Brevard Childs (1999), and John Collins and Robert Wilson (2005) for helpful comments on previous drafts. Select sections of this paper were presented at the SBL annual meeting in San Antonio, Texas, in 2004, and at the SBL International Meeting in Edinburgh in 2006. 1 The basic structure of a communal lament in Psalm 137, as described by Claus Westermann (The Living Psalms [trans. J. R. Porter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989], 26) is as follows: Address (v. 7), Lament (vv. 1–2), Its contrasts (vv. 3–4), Petition (vv. 5–6), Double request (vv. 7– 8b), and Vow of praise (vv. 8c–9). For a thorough treatment of the form of lament genre, see Paul Wayne Ferris Jr., The Genre of Communal Lament in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (SBLDS 127; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992); and especially F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible (BibOr 44; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1993). See also Hermann Gunkel, Psalms (completed by Joachim Begrich; trans. James D. Nogalski; Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1998), 234–35. Gunkel places Psalm 137 within the rubric of “Smaller Genres” under blessings and curse. However, he relates that this curse-wish psalm is better suited to the genre of individual and communal complaint song. 2 For a history of interpretation of v. 9, see Siegfried Risse, “Wohl dem, der deine kleinen Kinder packt und sie am Felsen zerschmettert: Zur Auslegungsgeschichte von PS 137, 9,” BibInt 14 (2006): 364–84. For a more comprehensive treatment, see Birgit Hartberger, “An den Wassern von Babylon”: Psalm 137 auf dem Hintergrund von Jeremia 51, der biblischen Edom-Traditionen und babylonischer Originalquellen (BBB 63; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Hanstein, 1986). 3 My translation. Later I take issue with the NRSV’s rendering, “Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!” (vv. 8b–9).

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But beyond the form-critical and the literary and hermeneutical implications, this piece attempts to demarcate distinctive sociological issues germinating from the first (597 b.c.e.) and second (587 b.c.e.) waves of forced Judean migrants (not to be confused with first and second generation Judeo-Babylonians) to Babylon. The issues surrounding the 597 group (vv. 1–6) were displacement, loss of influential position and power, corvée labor on the irrigation canals of Babylon,4 and religious or ethnic insults. The issues accosting the 587 group (vv. 7–9) were the collective experiences of the destruction of Jerusalem and the more personal and particular pathos of the atrocious dashing, decapitation,5 mutilation, or burning6 of little children—the loss of an entire generation. Following this prelude, we will begin with a discussion of the (1) Sitz im Leben, Gattung, and structure of Psalm 137 within the matrix of the sociological approach.7 This will then be followed by (2) a literary analysis. Extrinsic8 and intrinsic9 terms

4 W. Pemberton, J. N. Postgate, and R. F. Smyth, “Canals and Bunds, Ancient and Modern,” in Irrigation and Cultivation in Mesopotamia, Part 1 (Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 4; Cambridge: Sumerian Agricultural Group, 1988), 207–21; W. van Soldt, “Irrigation in Kassite Babylonia,” in ibid., 104–20; Robert McCormick Adams, Heartland of Cities: Surveys of Ancient Settlement and Land Use on the Central Floodplain of the Euphrates (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), esp. 27–51; E. Vogt, “De Nehar Kebar: Ez 1,” Bib 39 (1958): 211–16. 5 Imagine the act of decapitating little children or infants against the edge or corner of the walls of Jerusalem. Something that is supposed to protect is now employed to behead. The violent and traumatic visual image of such a repeated act goes beyond anything we can comprehend. However, for a modern parallel, visit the Yad Vashem (Israel) or the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. Note the memorial of the collection of the children’s shoes. 6 Moshe Weinfeld, “Burning Babies in Ancient Israel,” UF 10 (1979): 411–13. 7 Robert R. Wilson, Sociological Approaches to the Old Testament (GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984); A. D. H. Mayes, The Old Testament in Sociological Perspective (London: Marshall, Morgan, & Scott, 1989). For a concise history leading up to the social-scientific approaches to the HB/OT, see Norman K. Gottwald, “Angles of Vision in the Hebrew Bible,” in The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 5–34; Keith W. Whitelam, “The Social World of the Bible,” in The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation (ed. John Barton; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 35–49; Charles E. Carter, “Opening Windows onto Biblical Worlds: Applying the Social Sciences to Hebrew Scripture,” in The Face of Old Testament Studies: A Survey of Contemporary Approaches (ed. David W. Baker and Bill T. Arnold; Grand Rapids: Apollos & Baker Books, 1999), 421–51. For a more comprehensive treatment, see Robert R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984); Stephen L. Cook, Prophecy and Apocalypticism: The Postexilic Social Setting (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995). 8 According to some modern literary critics, “extrinsic” is another name for the historicalcritical approach. This is contrasted with an “internal,” intertextual, text-oriented reading without adherence to external influences from historical criticism. In my judgment, the historicalcritical approach must be the starting point for biblical scholarship. 9 For a description of the intrinsic approach, see Robert B. Robinson, “Interpretation in a

Ahn: Psalm 137: Complex Communal Laments

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will help situate the placement of Psalm 137 within the final redacted literary corpus of the book of Psalms. (3) Lastly, the work of Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (1966), already in use by John Collins in research on the biblical Diaspora,10 among other works,11 will furnish the necessary theories to undertake our task. New Key: Intrinsic Criticism of the Bible,” Bangalore Theological Forum 25–26 (1993–94): 51–64, esp. 53–58. Robinson, however, notes that he is skeptical of a unified or “single programme or interpretation” of the intrinsic and extrinsic paradigms (emphasis added). In other words, he does not think that the literary school of thought and the historical school of thought can come together. He provides Robert Alter’s work or approach as an example that attempts to incorporate both. In this combined approach, Robinson relates that the focus shifts to the author who is historically rooted with interpretative possibilities. He further notes his skepticism because “Whether the author [Alter] represents a stable interpretive center” is questionable. “The author, it seems to me, is far too formal and empty an interpretive construct to adjudicate the competing claims of such different ways of making sense of a text” (Robinson, 62–63). Robinson’s statement needs qualification. I agree that, at times, the author is far too formal and lacks the range of interpretative possibilities. However, not all interpretations need to be stable. At times what the reader may deem formal and empty may actually adjudicate an interpretative possibility. Rather than focusing on the author, then, the more encompassing question is, What about the final redactor—the canonical redactor who deliberately chose, selected, and then placed Psalm 137 in the midst of thanksgiving and hallelujah psalms following the Psalms of Ascents? Is the redactor also too formal or empty? What needs to be emphasized is Robinson’s ordering of the “intrinsic and extrinsic,” not extrinsic and intrinsic. The point is that when the exegete begins with the intrinsic and then imports the extrinsic (historical-critical), the exegesis or formulation will be disjunctive and hard to follow. He is correct on this point. However, when one begins with the extrinsic (historical-critical), understanding that there are limits with the historical-critical approach, proceeds as far as the methodology allows, and then subsequently shifts to the intrinsic for balance and illumination, the “extrinsic and intrinsic” approaches will result in optimal interpretive parameters while preserving and introducing newer approaches to solve past problems in scholarship. Although I adhere to Robinson’s terms, I cannot adhere to his “programme.” A key point in reference is the classic commentary on Exodus by Brevard S. Childs (The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary [OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974]). Observe the subtitle—A Critical, Theological Commentary—an extrinsic, intrinsic approach. For a more recent work, see David M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996). 10 John J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in Hellenistic Diaspora (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 2. 11 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1959); Jürgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis (trans. Thomas McCarthy; Boston: Beacon, 1975); idem, The Theory of Communicative Action, vol. 1, Reason and the Rationalization of Society (trans. Thomas McCarthy; Boston: Beacon, 1984); Anthony Giddens, Modernity and SelfIdentity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991). The rise of phenomenological sociology—Alfred Schutz leading to Berger and Luckman, among others, is set within a group of specific approaches: conflict theory (Marx/Weber, but also Ralf Dahrendorf, and C. Wright Mills); exchange theory (utilitarianism and psychological behavior-

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I. Sitz im Leben, Gattung, Structure With respect to the Sitz im Leben, composition, and provenance of Psalm 137, Charles Briggs notes that the internal evidence of the psalm points to a time in Babylon, shortly after the destruction of Jerusalem. Acknowledging the contexts of lament genre and execration with echoes of élégie funèbre, E. Beaucamp writes, “Le psaume 137 occupe une place unique dans le psautier. Il est d’abord le seul à pouvoir être daté, avec une absolue certitude. . . . Il n’est certes pas question de chanteurs dans les groupes des déportés de 597 ou 586.” Moreover, William L. Holladay argues, “There is one psalm that was clearly composed during the exile, Psalm 137.” Brevard S. Childs states that, although specifying the composition of a psalm to a definite chronological time frame is rare, in Psalm 137, we have an exception. Hans-Joachim Kraus further asserts that Psalm 137 was the only psalm that could be reliably dated to the exile. Referring to Psalm 137, Walter Brueggemann points out that the psalmist was reminiscing about Jerusalem, yearning to go home. Lastly, within this group, David Noel Freedman writes, “Psalm 137 is one of the few poems in the Bible concerning the date and provenience of which there is general scholarly agreement. It is reasonably certain that it was composed in Babylon during the first half of the sixth century b.c.e. It echoes vividly the experience and emotions of those who were taken captive, and may, therefore, be assigned to the first generation of the Exiles . . . bridging the period from Jeremiah to Second Isaiah.”12

ism—George Simmel leading to George Homans, B. F. Skinner, and Peter Blau); symbolic interaction (George Herbert Mead, Herbert Blummer, Alvin Gouldner, Erving Goffman); feminist theory (Dorothy Smith and, in theological circles, Elizabeth A. Johnson, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Rebecca Chopp, Anne E. Carr, and Sandra Schneiders); critical theory (the Frankfurt school), and postmodernism (Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Jean-François Lyotard), an aftermath of functionalism (Talcott Parsons, Robert Merton, Kingsley David, Wilbert Moor) of the 1950s and ’60s. See Readings in Social Theory: The Classic Tradition to Post-Modernism (ed. James Farganis; 3rd ed.; Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2000). See also Social Theory: The Multicultural and Classic Readings (ed. Charles Lemert; Boulder, CO: Westview, 1993). 12 Charles A. Briggs, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms (2 vols.; ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1907), 2:485; E. Beaucamp, Le Psautier, vol. 2, Ps. 73–150 (Paris: Gabalda, 1979), 266; William L. Holladay, The Psalms through Three Thousand Years (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 57; Brevard S. Childs, Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 191; Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalmen (2 vols.; BKAT 15; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1989); Eng. trans., vol. 2, Psalms 60–150 (trans. Hilton C. Oswald; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989), 501; Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984), 74; David Noel Freedman, “The Structure of Psalm 137,” in Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (ed. Hans Goedicke; Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971), 187 (emphasis added).


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However, Artur Weiser has argued that Psalm 137 was composed after the exiles returned to Jerusalem (as the city continued to exist in ruins). Mitchell Dahood also thinks that the psalmist recently returned from Babylon and composed Psalm 137 in a postexilic context. And James L. Mays says, “The psalm seems to be the voice of exiles who have returned to live in the ruins of a Jerusalem not yet rebuilt.”13 The arguments for dating the composition of Psalm 137 either in the forced migrations period (Babylonian exile) or in the returned migrations period (back in Yehud) are briefly sketched out in Ulrich Kellermann’s article “Psalm 137,” or more thoroughly in Leslie C. Allen’s Psalms 101–150.14 In short, the problem of dating, composition, and provenance depends on how one understands the first three verses. The reference to the pathos of the first forced migration (vv. 1–3) with tones that the exile was still not over (vv. 5–9) suggests composition in Babylon. However, the perfect verbs and the repeated demonstrative adverb M# (“there”) suggest that the exile was past in time and space, and thus the psalm may have originated after the return. Patrick D. Miller notes that, although there may be historical references in a psalm such as Psalm 137, “even the most apparently obvious of such psalms remain to some degree debatable. The looseness of the psalms from all that historical rootage is not a problem, but a gain and opens up interpretive possibilities.”15 As related in the opening, the Gattung, or the literary genre, of Psalm 137 is without uniformity. Scholars have suggested a lament commemorating the destruction of Jerusalem (Zech 7:3),16 a ballad,17 a song of Zion,18 a modified Song of

13 Artur Weiser, Die Psalmen (1935; repr., Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967); Eng.

trans. The Psalms: A Commentary (trans. Herbert Hartwell; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 794; Mitchell Dahood, Psalms: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, vol. 3, Psalms 101–150 (AB 17A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970), 269; James L. Mays, Psalms (IBC; Louisville: John Knox, 1994), 421. 14 Ulrich Kellermann, “Psalm 137,” ZAW 90 (1978): 43–58; Leslie C. Allen, Psalms 101–150 (WBC 21; Waco: Word Books, 1983), 238–39. 15 Patrick D. Miller, Interpreting the Psalms (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 23. 16 See J. H. Eaton, Psalms: Introduction and Commentary (TBC; 1967; repr., London: SCM, 1977), 298. 17 Hans Schmidt places Psalm 137 in a category by itself. He labeled this psalm a narrative poem, a “ballad” (Die Psalmen [HAT; Tübingen: Mohr, 1934], 242). See Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 501. 18 For Zion Psalms, see Kraus, Psalms 1–59 (trans. Hilton T. Oswald; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988), 58; Westermann, Living Psalms, 283–88; and Hermann Gunkel, The Psalms: A Form-Critical Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967).

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Zion,19 a Song of Ascent,20 a complaint,21 a mock-śimhâi ,22 and an imprecation.23 Psalm 137’s complexity is due to the fact that it begins as a communal lament (vv. 1–3 or 1–4), has elements of a Zion psalm (vv. 4–6), and concludes as a proscription (vv. 7–9).24 Structurally,25 Freedman divides the text as introduction (vv. 1–2), opening (v. 3), central section (vv. 4–6), closing (v. 7), and conclusion (vv. 8–9).26 Taking syntax as the substructure of his thesis (with the repetition of yk and M#), Shimon 19 The proponents of this view include Willy Schottroff (‘Gedenken’ im alten Orient und im Alten Testament: Die Wurzel zākar im semitischen Sprachkreis [WMANT 15; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1964], 145), Kellermann (“Psalm 137,” 48–51), and Allen (Psalms 101–150, 238–41). 20 The designation Psalms of Ascents (Psalms 120–134) refers to a poetic form on an ascending style or hymns or prayers that were employed by pilgrims journeying to Jerusalem for the three major cultic festivals (Deut 16:16): (1) Passover (Pesahi) or the Feast of Unleavened Bread, (2) Shavuot (Pentecost), or Feast of Firstfruits or Weeks, and (3) Sukkot, or Feast of Booths or Tabernacles. As the pilgrim would “ascend” or “go up” (Ps 122:4; 1 Kgs 12:25; Isa 2:3) to Jerusalem or the sanctuary, they would pray or possibly sing one of these psalms. See the notes on Song of Ascents in The HarperCollins Study Bible: New Revised Standard Version (ed. Wayne A. Meeks; New York: HarperCollins, 1993), 918. Holladay points out that in Judaism, these Psalms of Ascents were recited during the winter months on Sabbath afternoons (Psalms through Three Thousand Years, 145). Mays argues that Psalm 137 resembles a Song of Ascent (see Psalms, 422). 21 On the basis of the works of Dahood, Westermann, and Schottroff, Allen argues that Psalm 137 is a complaint (cf. Georg Fohrer, Introduction to the Old Testament [initiated by Ernest Sellin; trans. David E. Green; Nashville: Abingdon, 1968], 292). However, Dahood characterizes this psalm as a lament (with vengeance) rather than a complaint. “In this lament, the psalmist recently returned from Babylon, prays for vengeance on Israel’s enemies. . . . The language of this sixth century lament is marked by originality and vividness” (Dahood, Psalms 101–150, 269; see also Allen, Psalms 101–150, 237). 22 Harris Lenowitz, “The Mock-śimhâ i of Psalm 137,” in Directions in Biblical Hebrew Poetry (ed. Elaine R. Follis; JSOTSup 40; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1987), 149–59. 23 Hermann Gunkel, Ausgewählte Psalmen, übersetzt und erklärt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1904), 192–93; idem Die Psalmen (HKAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1926), 580. L. Clinton McCann, Jr., groups Psalm 137 with Psalms 109 and 82 in a section entitled “Prayer and Activity: Vengeance, Catharsis, and Compassion” (A Theological Introduction to the Book of Psalms [Nashville: Abingdon, 1993], 112–22). 24 See A. A. Anderson, The Book of Psalms, vol. 2, Psalms 73–150 (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 896. For recent articles on Psalm 137, see William H. Bellinger, Jr., “Psalm 137: Memory and Poetry,” HBT 27 (2005): 5–20; Christopher B. Hays, “How Shall We Sing? Psalm 137 in Historical and Canonical Context,” HBT 27 (2005): 35–55. 25 Oswald Loretz, Die Psalmen (2 vols.; AOAT 207; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1979), 315–24; Pierre Auffret, “Essai sur la structure littéraire du psaume 137,” ZAW 92 (1980): 346–77; Morris Halle and John J. McCarthy, “The Metrical Structure of Psalm 137,” JBL 100 (1981): 161–67; Marc Girard, Les Psaumes redécouverts: De la structure au sens 101–150 (Québec: Bellarmin, 1994), 412–23. 26 Freedman, “Psalm 137,” 187–205.


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Bar-Efrat divides the text as follows: vv. 1–4, vv. 5–6, and vv. 7–9.27 In a recent study of Psalm 137, George Savran also keeps vv. 1–4 as the setting and context of lament; vv. 5–6 are considered the individual oath section; and vv. 7–9 are seen as a plea to God for revenge against the Babylonians and Edomites.28 I agree with Efrat and Savran’s works which most closely follow the MT. Beyond this structural division, however, my interest lies in the unique changes in the two contexts of the psalm. In Psalm 137, there are two distinctive laments—both socially conditioned. Verses 1–6 describe the experience of the first wave of the 597 b.c.e. group, while vv. 7–9 encapsulate the pain and aftermath of the 587 b.c.e. group. What is crucially and centrally missing, however, is the voice of the third wave (in 582 b.c.e.). If the psalm is indeed postexilic, where is the voice of this 582 b.c.e. group? As previously noted, one of the central points for dating the text has been the demonstrative adverb M# (“there”).29 My suggestion is that this lexeme poetically replaces “Babylon” without having to repeat the term overtly and constantly. In the liturgical context of Psalm 137, “there” (vv. 1, 3) takes the place of the Israelites’ captors or captivity. (Imagine constantly voicing Hitler, or “that place,” more frequently than invoking God’s name or Jerusalem during liturgy.) If Psalm 137 is to be seriously considered a postexilic psalm, there has to be some reference to the third wave of forced migrants, that is, the 582 b.c.e. group, as represented by Jonathan son of Kareah, Azariah son of Hoshaiah, Jeremiah, and others who fled to Tahpanhes, Egypt (Jeremiah 42–43), or the 745 Judeans taken to Babylon (Jer 52:28–30). The following two references will illustrate the point. The mashal in Ezekiel 15 describes an image of a vine charred on the ends and the middle.30 Although there is some debate as to which migrations (721, 597, 587, 582) the image describes, in the context of Ezekiel 12 and 15, and the book of Ezekiel as a whole, it clearly depicts the threefold destructions of Jerusalem in 597, 587, and 582. This threefold destruction of Jerusalem is further emphasized in the postexilic book of Daniel, as Daniel is noted to have prayed three times a day fac27 Shimon

Bar-Efrat, “Love of Zion: A Literary Interpretation of Psalm 137,” in Tehillah leMoshe: Biblical and Judaic Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg (ed. Mordechai Cogan, Barry L. Eichler, and Jeffery H. Tigay; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 3–11. 28 George Savran, “How Can We Sing a Song of the Lord? The Strategy of Lament in Psalm 137,” ZAW 112 (2000): 43–58. 29 Of Babylon: Gen 11:2, 7, 9, 31; Exod 15:25c, 27c; 17:3; Pss 87:4, 6; 107:36; Isa 13:21 (3 times); 28:10; 33:21; 35:8; Jer 2:6; 13:4, 6; 16:13; 23:3, 8; 29:6, 14, 18; 32:37; 42:15; Ezek 1:3; 3:15 (twice), 22, 23; 4:13; 11:16; 12:16; 20:35; 37:21; 39:28; Dan 9:7; Mic 4:10. 30 See William A. Irwin, The Problem of Ezekiel: An Inductive Study (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1943), 33–41; Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 209; see also Rudolf Smend, Der Prophet Ezechiel (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1880); Johannes Hermann, Ezechielstudien (BZAW 2; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1908); Gustav Hölscher, Die Profeten (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1914); idem, Geschichte der israelitischen und jüdischen Religions (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1922); Walther Eichrodt, Ezekiel: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970).

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ing Jerusalem—remembering the threefold destruction of Jerusalem in 597, 587, and 582. Now, because there is not even the slightest hint of this last 582 b.c.e. group in Psalm 137, we can be reasonably certain, that our psalm cannot be postexilic. In its final form, as it stands, Psalm 137 is likely to have been composed after 587, but prior to the arrival of the 582 group. Thus, the work of Briggs, Beaucamp, Holladay, Childs, Brueggemann, and Freedman is substantiated.

II. Extrinsic and Intrinsic Approaches The extrinsic, or historical-critical, approach has demarcated, highlighted, and even offered a solution to the problem of dating Psalm 137. Form-critically, however, establishing a specific Gattung for this rich and complex mixture of genres is a major challenge. Then again, it is the fluid movement from a communal lament, to a Zion psalm, to an anathema that opens up creative interpretative possibilities. As we now move to the poem itself, “naturalization”31 within the intrinsic approach becomes a helpful tool. In the broadest sense, naturalization is a process of de-alienating or making a poem more intelligible by reducing the poem or psalm’s strange language or structure. It is making the poetic devices, schemes, and artifices appear natural.32 However, as Veronica Forrest-Thompson opposed the rush to naturalization, and Jonathan Culler further delineated naturalization into five levels, and Michael Riffaterre’s theory guards against arbitrary and subjective reading, we begin by “recognizing the important role of the individual reader in producing the final sense of the text.”33 By the role of the “individual reader,” I mean the final redactor of the book of Psalms, who decided to place Psalm 137 in the midst of hallelujah and thanksgiving psalms.34 Preceding Psalm 137 are the Psalms of Ascents, Psalms 120–134. Following these are Psalm 135 (hallelujah psalm) and Psalm 136 (Hôdû or thanksgiving psalm). After Psalm 137, there is another thanksgiving psalm, Psalm 138. 31 This

term was coined by Veronica Forrest-Thomson in 1972 and further explicated in Poetic Artifice: A Theory of Twentieth-century Poetry (New York: St. Martin’s, 1978). Cf. Robert B. Robinson, “Levels of Naturalization in Obadiah,” JSOT 40 (1988): 83–97, esp. 96 n. 2. See also Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics and the Study of Literature (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975); and Michael Riffaterre, Semiotics of Poetry (Advances in Semiotics; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978). 32 Robinson, “Levels of Naturalization,” 84. “Naturalization becomes a name for the reader’s orderly process of making sense of a text, a process broad enough to take account of all significant factors” (p. 86). 33 Ibid., 87 (emphasis added). 34 Gerald Henry Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985).

Ahn: Psalm 137: Complex Communal Laments Ps 135:1

hwhy ydb( wllh hwhy M#-t) wllh hy wllh Praise Yahweh! Praise the name of Yahweh; Praise, O servants of Yahweh.

Ps 136:1

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wdsx Mlw(l yk

bw+-yk hwhyl wdwh

Give thanks to Yahweh, for he is good, For his steadfast love endures forever.

Ps 137:1

Nwyc-t) wnrkzb wnykb-Mg wnb#y M# lbb twrhn l(

By the irrigation canals of Babylon, there we lived and also wept when we remembered Zion.

Ps 138:1

Krmz) Myhl) dgn ybl-lkb Kdw)

dwdl

Of David I give thanks to you with my whole heart; In the presence of God, I sing to you.

Kraus relates that Psalm 135 belongs to the category of songs of praise (parallel to Psalm 136) while Psalm 138 is a song of thanksgiving.35 Mays refers to Psalm 135 as a “Hymn of Praise,” Psalm 136 as “Companion to Psalm 135,” and Psalm 138 as a “Song of Whole-Hearted Thanksgiving for Salvation.”36 He further observes that Psalm 137 “concludes the three psalms (135–137) attached to the collection of the songs [of ascents].”37 Kraus points out that Psalms 135, 136, 137, and 138 were communally recited or prayed in a liturgical context as believers “intoned at temple celebrations” or as personal prayers in the courtyard of the temple.38 Psalms 135–137 are, then, a small cluster of praise and thanksgiving psalms. This grouping would close off the Psalms of Ascents,39 as there would be joy, praise, thanksgiving, and adoration as the pilgrims descended from Jerusalem after the splendors of the festivals; appropriately, they may be called the Songs of Descent. Yet why would Psalm 137, accentuated by laments and curses, be placed in the midst of these thanksgiving and praise psalms? This is a bold but unconventional editorial move that proposes to give thanks and praise through laments laden with honest feelings of enmity. Thanksgiving and praise arise not only from positive elements in life. Rather, the true mark of these practices is finding the courage and strength to praise and give thanks when there is nothing worthwhile or praise35 See

Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 490. Mays, Psalms, 418. 37 Ibid., 422. 38 See Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 491–92, 497, 502, 506. 39 Loren D. Crow, The Songs of Ascents (Psalms 120–134): Their Place in Israelite History and Religion (SBLDS 148; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986). 36 See

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worthy. Brueggemann says that Psalm 137 is marked not by despair but by hope.40 However, we cannot move into this hopeful realm all too quickly without allowing the pathos to resound and have its rightful place. The question is, Can those in Babylon, both the first wave and second wave of forced migrants, collectively voice “Hallelujah” or “Thanks be to God” in the midst of their most difficult time? The answer seems to be complex.

III. Text Verses 1-4 1 By the irrigation canals of Babylon— there we lived and also wept when we remembered Zion. 2 Upon the willows, in its midst, we hung up our harps. 3 For there our captors asked us for words of a song, but our tormentors asked us for mirth, “Sing for us from the song of Zion.” 4 How could we sing the song of the Lord on foreign soil?

According to Berger and Luckmann, the reality of everyday life generates the theoretical through phenomenological analysis. The realissimum of consciousness is present in the “here and now” of everyday experience. “I experience everyday life in the state of being wide-awake.” In addition, “[t]he reality of everyday life further presents itself to me as an intersubjective world, a world that I share with others. . . . Indeed, I cannot exist in everyday life without continually interacting and communicating with others.”41 The first verse of Psalm 137 depicts the everyday experience of the first wave of the forced Judeo-Babylonian immigrants. It was “there,” by the irrigation canals of Babylon that the community lived and wept when they remembered Zion. It is essential that we do not read vv. 7–9 into the context and setting of vv. 1–4. There is no information about the destruction of Jerusalem. The poem naturally says that the forced migrants remember Jerusalem. A contrast is being drawn between those residing in Babylon and those who continue to live in Jerusalem. The collective “we” (first person common plural) indicates that the members of the community are interacting with one another, but v. 3 reveals that this interaction is more complex. 40 Brueggemann,

Message of the Psalms, 75. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (New York: Anchor Books, 1966), 21, 23. 41 Peter


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1. Verse 1 reflects established “ethnic enclaves,” in contrast to “ghettos” (the former producing high levels of economic output in contrast to the latter, which cannot).42 The opening words of the psalm are best rendered, “By the irrigation canals of Babylon” to illuminate and establish a concrete social context in contrast to the more generic “By the waters of Babylon.” It should be noted that Chebar or ka-ba-ru is attested in the Murašu documents (9.84) as one of the primary canals in the Nippur region.43 The foremost social information that is conveyed at the outset of our psalm is the location of the first wave of the forced Judean migrants (the 597 b.c.e. group)—they were “there,” by those irrigation canals. There has recently been extensive research on the environment and especially the importance of the “hydraulic hypothesis” which ascribes and buttresses the control of water and political systems in ancient southern Mesopotamia.44 The centrality of controlling hydraulics cannot be overemphasized.45 The opening words of the verse draw the reader into the first half of the sixth century, the Babylonian backdrop, when the first wave of Judeans was forced to work on these irrigation canals. The major and continuous problem of salinization was prevalent on all primary, secondary, and tertiary irrigation canals.46 The ardu42 For example, Tel-abib on the Chebar canal. See Ezek 1:1 and 3:15; cf. also 3:23; 10:15, 20, 22; 43:3; and Dan 8:2 for canals of Ulai by the Euphrates River. See Anderson, Book of Psalms, 898; Dahood, Psalms 101–150, 269; Allen, Psalms 101–150, 235; and Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 502. See also Israel Eph‘al, “The Western Minorities in Babylonia in the 6th–5th Centuries b.c.: Maintenance and Cohesion,” Or 47 (1978): 74–90; idem, “On the Political and Social Organization of the Jews in the Babylonian Exile,” ZDMG suppl. 5 (1980): 106–12. In the first two decades of the twentieth century in the United States, large numbers of ethnic enclaves of Italians, Poles, Russians, and other Europeans existed throughout the country. In the 1940s and ’50s, these ethnic enclaves gradually declined as the second and subsequent generations moved away to more affluent neighborhoods. Since the 1970s (with the passing of the 1965 Immigration Act by Congress, which sought to overturn racial and ethnic restrictions), there has been an explosion of new ethnic enclaves. Chinatowns in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York have become more populated with Hispanic/Latino/a, Vietnamese, and Koreans, and other immigrants have migrated to Chicago, Dallas, Washington, D.C., and Atlanta. These cities attracted relatively few immigrants in the first half of the century. For a socioeconomic study of immigration and urban development, see Thomas Muller, “Immigration and Urban Areas: The United States Experience,” in Immigrants, Integration and Cities: Exploring the Links (Paris: OECD, 1998), 33–35. 43 R. Zadok, “The Nippur Region during the Late Assyrian, Chaldaean and Achaemenian Periods, Chiefly according to Written Sources,” IOS 8 (1978): 266–332, esp. 287. 44 Karl W. Butzer, “Environmental Changes in the Near East and Human Impact on the Land,” in CANE 1:123–51. 45 Robert C. Hunt, “Hydraulic Management in Southern Mesopotamia in Sumerian Times,” in Irrigation and Cultivation in Mesopotamia, Part 1, 189–206. 46 David Oates and Joan Oates, “Early Irrigation Agriculture in Mesopotamia,” in Problems in Economic and Social Archaeology (ed. Gale D. G. Sieveking, I. H. Longworth, and K. E. Wilson; London: Duckworth, 1976), 109–35; Christopher J. Eyre, “The Agricultural Cycle, Farming, and Water Management in the Ancient Near East,” in CANE 1:175–89. See also Hermann Gasche and

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ous and ceaseless task of removing salt from the canals was forced upon the Judeans.47 Ironically, those who were formerly in political, social, and religious control of Judah, that is, the royal officials and the members of the temple, were now reduced to corvée. In this reversal of power, the once high and mighty were stripped of status and forced to labor for Babylonian economic gain.48 The opening phrase “By the waters of Babylon” has troubled past commentators. A. B. Ehrlich observed that the word for rivers or waters (in plural) is contrasted with the word Zion, which evokes the image of barrenness or dryness NwOycF (“dry land”). Ferdinand Hitzig suggested that the community gathered by the waters because their synagogues stood near the water for purification purposes, while Rudolf Kittel, on a similar note, stated that the exiles went to the waters to pray for personal purification. E. W. Hengstenberg commented that the streams symbolically represented the tears of the exiles, and Bernhard Duhm noted that after an arduous day’s work, the exiles went to the waters to relax.49 Although these classical insights should not be lost, we need to move beyond and allow for newer interpretive possibilities—that the everyday world of the first wave of forced immigrants involved the arduous labor of maintaining the numerous irrigation canals. The exiles did not go to the waters to relax, but primarily to work (and perhaps, secondarily, to worship, as the Hebrew cognate suggests). With respect to the statement of Berger and Luckmann concerning the “here and now,” the demonstrative adverb M# (“there”) captures the experience of those in forced migration. This single term reduces the past and collapses the present notion of the here and now to “there.” It was there, in Babylon, by the irrigation canals, that the first wave of Judeans lamented. Poetically, this demonstrative adverb slows down the reading, as M# voices Babylon without having to mention explicitly the place of their captivity. This lexeme is heard again in v. 3, “for there” our captors asked us for words of a song, echoing Babylon (lbb) without having overtly to utter it. After v. 1, Babylon is not mentioned again until the curse in v. 8. Moreover,

Michel Tanret, Changing Watercourses in Babylonia: Towards a Reconstruction of the Ancient Environment in Lower Mesopotamia, vol. 1 (Mesopotamian History and Environment; Series 2, Memoirs 5; Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1998). This volume is invaluable, with up-to-date aerial and satellite photographs. 47 M. P. Charles, “Irrigation in Lowland Mesopotamia,” in Irrigation and Cultivation in Mesopotamia, Part 1, 1–39; G. van Driel, “Neo-Babylonian Agriculture,” in ibid., 121–59. 48 Niels Peter Lemche notes, “It was impossible for the deported elites to maintain their social position in exile. . . . [I]n the eyes of the Babylonians they could be put to little use within the complicated administrative system” (Ancient Israel: A New History of Israelite Society [Biblical Seminar; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988], 180). 49 Arnold B. Ehrlich, Die Psalmen (Berlin: Poppelauer, 1905), 355; Ferdinand Hitzig, Die Psalmen (Leipzig: Winter, 1863), 405; Rudolf Kittel, Die Psalmen (KAT; Leipzig: Deichert, 1914), 466; E. W. Hengstenberg, Commentar über die Psalmen, vol. 4 (2nd ed.; Berlin: L. Oehmigke, 1852), 436; Bernhard Duhm, Die Psalmen (KHC; Freiburg: Mohr, 1899), 283.


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the first of two hapax legomena in v. 3, wnybw# and wnyllwt (traditionally rendered “our captors” and “our tormentors”), may in fact refer to the Babylonians, as Babylon is called “foreign soil or land” (rkn tmd)) in v. 4. It appears that the psalmist (or redactor) was deliberate and careful in employing the term Babylon. The author or redactor may have chosen to replace lbb (“Babylon”) with M# (“there”), wnybw# (“captors”), and rkn tmd) (“foreign soil”). One reason for this may have been the desire not to call a thing or place by its rightful name.50 The mere fact that it was “there” is sufficient for the community to know that the reference was to Babylon. Another reason may have been to avoid uttering or mentioning lbb alongside Nwyc (Zion) or Ml#wry (Jerusalem) especially in a liturgical context where Babylon would be publicly (or privately) uttered in equality with Jerusalem or Zion.51 Thus, in the context of this psalm, the demonstrative adverb M# is best understood as a term representing or replacing Babylon. Berger and Luckmann write that the knowledge of everyday life is structured in terms of relevances. “Some of these are determined by immediate pragmatic interests of mine, others by my general situation in society. . . . An important element of my knowledge of everyday life is the knowledge of the relevance structures of others.”52 For the psalmist, the structure of relevance of the other is on two levels: internal, within the group who “live there and also (or loudly53) wept” (v. 3) and external, their captors and oppressors. The phrase wnykb-Mg wnb#y traditionally has been rendered “we sat and also wept.” However, Savran points out that the phrase is an idiomatic expression, as seen in Neh 1:4, “I sat and wept and mourned” (cf. El in UT, 67, VI:11–15: “He sat upon the ground. He poured ashes of grief upon his head, dust of wallowing upon his skull”).54 Conversely, in 2 Sam 3:16; Ps 126:6; and Jer 22:20; 41:6; 50:4 “walking and weeping” demarcates a course of action in pre-exilic times over and against those “sitting and weeping” in exilic (or postexilic) times. This is further heightened by the double entendre that the exiles “dwell” in Babylon, which is contrasted with the reason for tears, not being able to live in Zion. The continuous flow of tears relays the fact that, for the displaced and marginalized Judeans, life was fraught with the hardships that many first-generation immigrants face—loss of prestige and identity, cultural and language barriers, and 50 Vincenz Zapletal, Der Schöpfungsbericht der Genesis (1,1–2,3) (Regensburg: G. J. Manz, 1911), 15–16. 51 In Psalm 137, lbb (Babylon) is written (or uttered) twice (vv. 1 and 8). In contrast, there are two occurrences of Zion and three occurrences of Jerusalem. However, if we replace or insert lbb for every M# or hapax or reference to foreign soil, then Babylon would be uttered or mentioned six times throughout the psalm. We contrast this to five occurrences of Zion and Jerusalem; a ratio of 6:5 (Babylon to Zion/Jerusalem). 52 Berger and Luckmann, Social Construction of Reality, 45. 53 Dahood suggests that Mg describes the state of weeping, hence “loudly” (Psalms 101–150, 269). 54 Savran, “How Can We Sing a Song of the Lord?” 45.

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political and societal difficulties especially exacerbated by hard physical labor. In the first verse, living and weeping by the irrigation canals captures the realissimum of the first wave (597 b.c.e.) of Judeo-Babylonians. 2. In verse 2, the psalmist notes, “We hung our harps (lyre) in the midst of the willows.”55 The knowledge of everyday life is even structured around the musical (religious) instruments that hang in the midst or middle of trees rather than being played. Here is a silent tune that once possibly filled the halls of the temple. But there, by the waters, the inanimate objects reflect the sorrow and pathos of those in corvée. The personification of inanimate objects lamenting appears also in Lam 1:4, “The roads of Zion mourned,” and Lam 2:18, “the wall mourned.” The psalm verse depicts a scene of willow groves being planted along the side of the irrigation canals for beauty, shade, comfort, and rest. However, in the context of the first wave of the forced migration of 597 b.c.e., the willow groves display not a scenic image but one of weeping willows whose tears are for those who hung the harps. For the community in forced migration, beauty was lament; the shade was the shadows in which they lived. Comfort, rest, and peace were altogether absent. Forced to migrate, displaced from their former temple occupation and guild, stripped of artistry and musicianship, these temple elites were now reduced to irrigation ditch diggers. They have symbolically hung their lives in a deploring tone. 3. Humiliation, mockery, and scoffing become more visible and audible in vv. 3 and 4. Poetically, we notice the alliteration of the sibilants—wnybw# wnwl)# M#. There is also a wordplay in v. 2 between wnybw# (“our captors”), wnyllwt (“our tormentors”), and wnylt (“we hung”). Both wnybw# and wnyllwt are hapax legomena.56 These two terms have not been sufficiently treated in past works on Psalm 137. 55 The term hbr( has been identified as the “Euphrates poplar” (Populus euphratica). However, despite its name, botanists and flora specialists see the poplar, a hydrophate—a riverine community of wetland plants, willow (Salix), oriental plane (Platanus orientalis), Euphrates poplar, tamarisk (Tamarix) among others, as a willow rather than a true poplar. The Akkadian equivalent is sai rbatu and the Sumerian is GIŠ.ÁSAL. See J. V. Kinnier Wilson, “Hebrew and Akkadian Philological Notes,” JSS 7 (1962): 173–83; Allan S. Gilbert, “The Flora and Fauna of the Ancient Near East,” in CANE 1:153–74. 56 Frederick E. Greenspahn, Hapax Legomena in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of the Phenomenon and Its Treatment since Antiquity with Special Reference to Verbal Forms (SBLDS 74; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984). Dahood says that tôlālênû (“our tormentors or mockers”) is structurally parallel to šôbênû (“our captors”) (Psalms 101–150, 270–71). He says they are synonymous and notes also that the form tôlālênû can be derived from the root hll in the poel conjugation, “to make a fool of, or mock.” Gesenius suggests the piel from the root lly (a vexer, tormentor) with the Arabic cognate hr)pt (Gesenius’s Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon [trans. Samuel P. Tregelles; London: Samuel Bagster and Sons, Paternoster Row, 1853], DCCCLIX). Although Alfred Guillaume’s suggestion that Myllwt were the harsh Babylonian slave drivers who led the Judeans eastward is wide of the mark, he was nevertheless more or less on the correct path (“The Meaning of llwt in Psalm 137:3,” JBL 75 [1956]: 143–44).


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With respect to the asking for a song, “our captors,” or the Babylonians, may have been simply asking for words of any generic Judean song. However, commentators have asked the following questions: Why would the Babylonian captors ask for the lyrics of a song that would elevate Yahweh, Yahweh’s people, and Jerusalem unless they aspired to mortify the exiles with the impotence of their song, their God, and their identity? What is noteworthy is that the ensuing group, the wnyllwt (“our tormentors”) quickly understand the implied meaning and rejoin and clarify what type of song it is that the Judeans ought to sing—one of the songs of Zion. The psalmist may not have been initially offended by the request of the captors (wnybw#). What troubles and causes grief, disgust, and outrage is the request of the tormentors (wnyllwt). The syntax of v. 3, beginning with the recitative or conjunctive yk, is conventional. However, the waw followed by a nonverbal element clearly warrants a disjunction—“but” not “and.” ry#-rbd wnybw# wnwl)# M# yk Nwyc ry#m wnl wry# hxm# wnyllwtw. Hence, the rendering should be: “For there our captors asked us for the words of a song, but our tormentors asked for mirth, ‘Sing for us a Zion song!’ ” The identity of those in forced migration is projected through the interaction with and relevances of others, and especially through the social distribution of individuals with whom they that interact, that is, their captors and tormentors. In other words, the self is a reflected entity, reflecting the attitudes first taken by significant others toward it; the individual becomes what he [she] is addressed as by his [her] significant others. This is not a one-sided, mechanistic process. It entails a dialectic between identification by others and self-identification, between objectively assigned and subjectively appropriated identity. . . . What is most important for our considerations here is the fact that the individual not only takes on the roles and attitudes of others, but in the same process takes on their world. . . . To be given an identity involves being assigned a specific place in the world.57

The identity and the projected role of the 597 group may in fact be embedded in the hapax legomena. Like a time capsule, these two lexemes have preserved the social stratifications and hegemony of the ancient Near East. In a study of Sumerian agriculture, Kazuya Maekawa made several important observations on the agricultural system of Sumer. It should be noted that there was a substantial period of time between the Sumerians and the Neo-Babylonians, but agricultural practices and traditional institutions remained virtually unchanged—even down to modernity in certain parts of the world. Maekawa notes that specific measures were taken from preparing the field for sowing, to the spreading of seeds, to the harvest, and even the threshing. However, with respect to the “interim period between sowing and harvesting, the farmer tells his son to irrigate the fields three or four times, according 57 Berger

and Luckmann, Social Construction of Reality, 132.

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to the growth of the cereal.”58 To illuminate the practice for high-volume production, Maekawa studied the labors of the erín-people in Lagash (CT III 18343). In CT III 18343, there were two sets of workers, from different camps under the jurisdiction of overseeing groups. One set (the collective labor of four erínteams) was taken from the temple of dNanše; the other set was taken from the temple of dGá-tùm-du10. To this hybrid of two separate groups, a supervisory group for the first team (Lugal-lú-ša6-ša6) and supervisors for the second group (Su-šem-a nu-bànda) were added. It is safe to assume that, by the Neo-Babylonian period, the two separate supervisor groups were reduced to one—the Babylonians. But the inherited system of integrating various ethnic and religious groups, as especially evidenced in the Assyrian period, continues to be reflected in the Neo-Babylonian times. The chief difference in the sixth century b.c.e., however, is that the practice is Babylon-centered—Babylon-centered ideology and economy rather than the more costly peripheral management system of the Assyrians. Every raw and natural resource, including human labor, was brought to Babylon.59 In light of this information, it seems that the psalm refers to two different religious and ethnic groups working side by side supervised by the Neo-Babylonians. In other words, the Babylonian overseers are called “our captors” (wnybw#), the first hapax. “Our tormentors” (wnyllwt), then, are the second group that was forced to work on the irrigation canals alongside the Judeans. This secondary religio-ethnic group may be Anatolians, Syrians, Phoenicians, Egyptians, or Tyrians60 (based on Israel Eph‘al’s study of toponyms in the Murašu documents). 4. The initial imprecation of the psalm is found in the rhetorical question, How could we sing a song of Yahweh on foreign soil? A. A. Anderson suggests, “How can we who are unclean [since they are in a foreign land (cf. Amos 7.17)] sing Yahweh’s praises to unclean people in an unclean land?” (cf. Isa. 6:5).61 Weiser thinks that the act of singing the Lord’s holy song as a form of entertainment to an audience of foreigners was repugnant.62 The natural sense of the psalm, however, simply continues to heighten and expand on the motif of lament that resulted from social-religious-ethnic denigration. This first half of the imprecation now clearly unveils the psalmist’s own social reflexivity—the psalmist is a former temple singer and musician. One further point is noteworthy: in the text of Psalm 137, the word Cr) 58 Kazuya

Maekawa, “Agricultural Production in Ancient Sumer,” Zinbvn 13 (1974): 1–60, esp. 42–43. 59 David Stephen Vanderhooft, The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets (HSM 59; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 45–48, 89–114. 60 Eph‘al, “Political and Social Organization,” 106–12. 61 Anderson, Book of Psalms, 899. 62 Weiser, Die Psalmen, 795.


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(“land”) is not employed. Rather, hmd) (“ground” or “soil”63) is coupled in construct with “that which is foreign.” The New Jewish Publication Society Version captures the essence: “How can we sing a song of the Lord on alien soil?” This vocabulary suggests the context of irrigation and fits structurally with the first three verses. The construct chain rkn tmd) governed by the preposition l( recalls v. 1, lbb twrhn l(. A similar usage of tmd) governed by the preposition l( is seen in Zech 2:16 (Eng. 2:12). This Zechariah pericope occurs in a similar context, with daughter Babylon, Zion, and forced migrations. There is a third occurrence (in an agricultural setting) in Isa 32:13. Commentators (e.g., Walther Zimmerli, Joseph Blenkinsopp) have observed that the communities by the Chebar canal (Ezek 1:1; 3:15, 23) represent displaced foreign workers maintaining Babylonian canals.64 They did not conclude, however, that it was for Babylonian economic-agricultural gain. Farmers would be more likely to choose the word “soil” over a more generic term such as “earth” or “land.” Dennis Olson describes his life on a farm and carefully speaks of “soil” in relation to farming. “Having been born and raised on a farm, I enjoyed working with the soil.”65 In the Sitz im Leben of Psalm 137, the soil, the land, and everything around the exiles is foreign, the reason for tears—the primary contrast to Jerusalem, which is to follow. Verses 5–6 5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither! 6 Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy.

5–6. The loyalty of the psalmist to Jerusalem is heard in vv. 5–6.66 Ιn this section, the psalm moves from the communal collective first person plural to the individual first person singular. The Vergegenwärtigung67 of the psalmist’s selfJ. G. Plöger, “hmd),” TDOT 1:88–98. was one of three principal bases of economic activity in Babylon (barley and wheat being the primary crops). For a socioeconomic history of Babylon, see A. K. Grayson, “History of Mesopotamia-Babylon,” ABD 4:768–69. Although outdated, see Georges Contenau, Everyday Life in Babylon and Assyria (New York: St. Martin’s, 1954), 79–94; and H. W. F. Saggs, The Greatness That Was Babylon: A Sketch of the Ancient Civilization of the Tigris-Euphrates Valley (New York: Hawthorn Books, 1962), 269–98. 65 See Dennis T. Olson, “Biblical Perspectives on the Land,” WW 6 (1986): 18–27. 66 Gary Rendsburg and Susan L. Rendsburg, “Physiological and Philological Notes to Psalm 137,” JQR 83 (1993): 385–99. 67 See Joseph W. Groves, Actualization and Interpretation in the Old Testament (SBLDS 86; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987). 63 See

64 Agriculture

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imprecating vow is heard for the first time. For Erving Goffman, first impressions are important in everyday life: “In stressing the fact that the initial definition of the situation projected by an individual tends to provide a plan for the co-operative activity that follows—in stressing this action point of view—we must not overlook the crucial fact that any projected definition of the situation also has a distinctive moral character.”68 These words are echoed in the psalmist’s shift to the first person singular, “If I forget,” to emphasize remembering in the converse of v. 1. The psalmist then adds, “let my right hand wither (be paralyzed69)!” The meaning of this terse phrase requires a minor clarification. Anderson’s suggestion, “let my right hand forget (her cunning)” (initially suggested by Calvin) is helpful, but in order to grasp the full meaning of this verse, one must join the idea of being a righthanded musician or lyrist with the reference to “harps” or lyres70 in v. 2. Our psalmist has finally and completely unveiled himself. The psalmist is a right-handed musician, mostly likely a Levite, who is willing to forgo the two most important parts of his body—the right hand, which plays the instrument, and the mouth or tongue, which praises God. The Levitical musician is calling for paralysis as a form of self-imprecation if he does not remember Jerusalem. These points have been structured in a chiasmus. A

A

If I forget you O Jerusalem B let my right hand wither B´ let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth If I do not remember you

(forget) (part of body) (part of body) (forget)

Verses 5 and 6 are not independent, but depend on vv. 2, 3, and 4. The strings that sustain the psalm cohesively are references to Babylon or “there,” Jerusalem, and Zion; vocabulary pertaining to music or song; and the ideas of remembering or forgetting. Nowhere in first six verses is there a reference to the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 b.c.e. The conflagration and destruction of Zion are yet to be mentioned. It is only with vv. 7–9 that we hear the direct words of such destruction. Goffman, Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, 11–13. Eitan, “An Identification of tiškahi yĕmīnī, Ps 137:5,” JBL 47 (1928): 193–95. 70 Lyres were depicted on walls in Egypt; they were popular in Mesopotamia, and were depicted on the Pithos A of Kuntillet vAjrud. The instrument is usually held in the left hand (for a right-handed person) and played or plucked with a kinnor held in the right. The harp in the Hebrew Bible is more likely to be a lyre. The history of the instrument dates as far back as ca. 3000 b.c.e. The harp that David played was actually a kithara; see the entries “lyre,” “harp,” and “kithara,” in Harvard Dictionary of Music (2nd ed.; ed. Willi Apel; Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1977), 495–96, 375–77, 454; (4th ed; ed. Don Michael Randel; Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 2003), 477, 382–85, 446. See also the entries “lyre” and “kithara” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music (vols. 15 and 13; 2nd ed.; ed. Stanley Sadie; executive ed. John Tyrrell; London/New York: Grove, 2002), 416–29, 638–40. 68 See

69 Israel


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Reading the context of the second half of the psalm into the setting of vv. 1–6 misidentifies and confuses the Sitz im Leben. The first six verses speak about the experience of the first wave of forced migrants in 597 b.c.e. Verses 7–9 7 Remember, O Lord, against the sons of Edom the day of Jerusalem, how they said, “Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to her foundations!” 8 O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Blessed is the one who71 repays you for what you have done to us! 9 Blessed is the one who siezes and dashes your children against the rock!

7. Verse 7 marks a new Sitz im Leben. For the first time in the psalm, the actual aftermath of the events of 587 b.c.e. is heard. There is clearly a heightened and more dramatically unrehearsed emotional outburst of pain. Verse 7 begins with imperatives. The compositional style no longer holds the lyrical poetic beauty that was present in the previous sections. It is slightly more terse, and the vocabulary, theme, and images become unilaterally children-based, war-oriented, and connected to specific locales. The historical reference to the Edomites, in an almost prophetic-like condemnatory speech, is rehearsed. As an outcry, this is the very first direct reference to Yahweh in the psalm. Here the motif to remember takes on a very different meaning. It is no longer a comparison of past and present but an invective. There is a consensus that the setting is 587 b.c.e. This new setting suggests a new psalmist or group that directly petitions Yaha concise history of the relative pronoun and the relationship between r#) and #, see John Huehnergard, “On the Etymology of the Hebrew Relative še-” in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives (ed. Steven E. Fassberg and Avi Hurvitz; Publications of the Institute for Advanced Studies, Hebrew University 1; Jerusalem: Magnes; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 103–26. For northern dialect origin, see Gary A. Rendsburg, Linguistic Evidence for the Northern Origin of Selected Psalms (SBLMS 43; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990); idem, Israelian Hebrew in the Book of Kings (Occasional Publications of the Department of Near Eastern Studies and the Program of Jewish Studies, Cornell University 5; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2002); and idem, “Israelian Hebrew in the Song of Songs” in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting, 315–23. 71 For

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weh to remember the evils that the Edomites did as they handed fleeing Judeans over to the Babylonians while they looted, sacked, and pillaged Jerusalem during its destruction (cf. Isaiah 34; 63:7–64:11; Ezek 25:12–14; 35:2–9: Obad 8–14).72 Rainer Albertz reminds us that, in 1 Esdr 4:36–46, the Edomites were especially singled out and found to be responsible for the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple.73 Indeed, in vv. 7–9 a distinctive new set of voices has joined a previously existing community. Behind this textual synthesis and integration is a sociological indication of the second wave (587 b.c.e.) of Judeo-Babylonians being incorporated and expanding their lament in a more heightened cadence. It is interesting that the malediction against Edom (cf. Lam 4:21) precedes the curse against the Babylonians. Kraus notes that “revenge against Edom was a special theme of lamentation over the fall of Jerusalem.”74 For the community reflected in vv. 7–9, the Edomites are guiltier. They deserve precedence in this imprecation because not only were they geographically neighbors of Israel but also, as descendants of Esau, they were related to the Israelites by blood. 8–9. Some of the most distressing words in the Hebrew Bible are found in vv. 8 and 9. The unfathomable plea to kill innocent children (cf. 2 Kgs 8:12; Isa 13:16; Hos 14:1; Nah 3:10) is structured in the beatitude formula, “Blessed is the one (he) . . . ” or the lackluster conventional NRSV rendering, “O Daughter Babylon,75 Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!” Again, the NJPSV preserves a more accurate rendering, “a blessing on him who repays you in kind what 72 Elie Assis, “Why Edom? On the Hostility Towards Jacob’s Brother in Prophetic Sources,”

VT 56 (2006): 1–20; Nadav Na’aman, “Sources and Composition in the Biblical History of Edom,” in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume; Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism (ed. Chaim Cohen, Avi Hurvitz, and Shalom M. Paul; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 313–20; John R. Bartlett, “Edomites and Idumeans,” PEQ 131 (1999): 102–14; Horst Seebass, “Edom und seine Umgehung nach Numeri xx–xxi: Zu Numeri xxi 10–13,” VT 47 (1997): 255–62; Bert Dicou, Edom, Israel’s Brother and Antagonist: The Role of Edom in Biblical Prophecy and Story (JSOTSup 169; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994); Graham S. Ogden, “Prophetic Oracles against Foreign Nations and Psalms of Communal Lament: The Relationship of Psalm 137 to Jeremiah 49:7–22 and Obadiah,” JSOT 24 (1982): 89– 97; J. M. Myers, “Edom and Judah in the Sixth-Fifth Centuries B.C.,” in Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William Foxwell Albright (ed. Hans Goedicke; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971), 377–92. 73 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), 28; see also n. 51 on the same page. 74 Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 503. 75 Dahood argues that this construction should not be rendered “Daughter of Babylon”; see the section on “Daughter Babylon,” in Psalms 101–150, 273. See also Elaine R. Follis, “The Holy City as Daughter,” in Directions in Biblical Hebrew Poetry, ed. Follis, 173–83.


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you have inflicted on us . . . a blessing on him who seizes your babies and dashes them against the rocks!” It is not difficult to imagine why the psalmist would utter such devastating words. The events of 587 entailed not only a collective experience of the destruction of the temple and the city but also the painful personal loss of children. Here is the key social marker that sets the second wave of forced migrants apart from the first wave. In contrast to the collective lament for displacement and loss of prestige in vv. 1 and 2, in the closing verses of the psalm those who experienced the aftermath of 587 are outraged that God would allow innocent children to be slaughtered by the Babylonians.76 The family-related terms “son,” “daughter,” and “children” in vv. 7–9, coupled with Edom and Babylon, foreshadow the shocking conclusion. v. 7 v. 8 v. 9

Mwd) ynbl lbb-tb Kyll(

Sons of Edom Daughter Babylon77 Your children/daughter

The reference to “sons of Edom” (v. 7) is bound to the idea of “remembering” and to the mocking words “Tear it down! Tear it down!” In v. 8, “daughter Babylon” is bound, in synonymous parallelism,78 to the “devastator” (or “you who are devastated”). In v. 9, the central reference to “infants” or “children” with the imprecation “Blessed is the one who takes your children [sons and daughters] and dashes them against the rock” is presented in the prosperity-blessing formula. Here Gunkel’s words are especially illuminating and important. This change of the ancient blessing formula [bārūk to 'ašrê] may coincide with the belief which grew steadily over the course of history, that a real blessing was impossible for the laity. It could only come from priests. Therefore, one can maintain that the blessing saying which is introduced with 'ašrê was the characteristic blessing form for the laity [emphasis added]. . . . This presumption finds welcome additional evidence in the observation that the blessing saying beginning with 'ašrê appears nowhere as the blessing of the priest, while the ancient form introduced with bārūk is demonstrable in examples of priestly blessings stemming precisely from the period in which only the priesthood had the privilege of carrying out a blessing [Pss 115.15; 118.26]. . . . All of the blessing forms described originally existed as a predicate and subject or (with 'ašrê) as the call to prosperity with the dependent genitive of the one being blessed. The blessing form designates the receiver of the blessing to the degree that the blessing treats 76 Eaton

(Psalms, 299), like other commentators, notes that Jewish mothers probably experienced the tragedy of their babies being slaughtered by the Babylonians. 77 Follis, “Holy City as Daughter,” 173–83. 78 See James L. Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (1981; repr., Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), esp. 45–58; David L. Petersen and Kent Harold Richards, Interpreting Hebrew Poetry (GBS; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 21–35; and Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985), 3–26.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) specific persons. It suffices to have the name, if the one receiving the blessing is addressed, or the second person pronoun, or the third person pronoun if the person is not present, but is known. If no specific person is to receive the blessing, then a more specific characteristic is necessary using a relative sentence, or a participle. . . . The relative clause and participles frequently express the reason why one should receive the blessing.79

In contrast to the privileged Levitical musician in vv. 1–6, vv. 7–9 depict lay parents losing their children. One can now see clearly the two social classes and the very different causes for the laments in Psalm 137. Indeed, commentators have been troubled by this ending, and in the liturgies of certain communities, these final verses have even been omitted. Goffmann’s point may provide additional insight. “During sudden disruptions of a performance, and especially at times when a misidentification is discovered, a portrayed character can momentarily crumble while the performer behind the character ‘forgets himself ’ and blurts out a relatively unperformed exclamation.”80 In simple terms, these words from our psalmist (vv. 7–9) again cannot be postexilic or later redactions. They appear to be extemporaneous, words captured during a momentary collapse. The recent ordeal of the psalmist’s own children becomes the synecdoche for all lost children of the 587 b.c.e. group. This loss and pathos, against the rock or the wall of Jerusalem (cf. Lam 2:18), are the unrehearsed emotional outburst.81 What is painfully interesting, however, is that the words of the curse are enveloped in a lay blessing formula projected not to any third person but to Yahweh (the antecedent), who is called upon (not only to remember but moreover) to do likewise. It is this retributive act and image of God dashing innocent children against the rock that immensely troubles us. To be more specific about the previous point, in vv. 8 and 9, the Hebrew verbal construction seeks a subject for “Blessed is the one who repays you, blessed is the one who seizes and dashes to pieces your children against the rock.” As noted by Gunkel, the 'ašrê formula seeks a person, but in our psalm, it is unlikely that this “generic third person” is a human agent. Rather, the antecedent is Yahweh (v. 7) as further evidenced in the small cluster of the Songs of Descent (Psalms 135–137). The final redactor has opted to employ this relative pronoun for Yahweh. Ps 135:8, 10 The one who [Yahweh] struck the firstborn; the one who [Yahweh] struck the great nations 79 Gunkel,

Psalms, 224–26 (emphasis added); see 1 Sam 25:33; 2 Sam 2:5; 1 Kgs 10:8. Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, 168. See his account of the encounter between the American general dressed in civilian clothes and the MP asking for the trip ticket. The MP blurted out “Good Lord! I didn’t recognize you, sir” (pp. 168–69). 81 Shimon Bar-Efrat, “Love of Zion: A Literary Interpretation of Psalm 137,” in Tehillah leMoshe, ed. Cogan et al., 9–10. 80 Goffman,


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Ps 136:23

The one who [Yahweh] remembers us in our lowly state

Ps 137:9

Blessed is the one who [Yahweh] takes your children (little ones) and dashes them against the rock!

Is the blessing-laden imprecation a real attempt at uttering genuine praise and thanksgiving in the midst of the most painful period of the community’s existence, or is the psalmist (or editor) seeking genuine retribution? Historically, the Persians did not lift the sword against the Neo-Babylonians, and, thus, here is our final complex element. As modern interpreters, we should not seek to alter too quickly the tensions of such laments, self-imprecations, and communal curses, or to change the final placement of the psalm. The sociologically conditioned laments of the 597 group and the second wave of the 587 group are parallel but noticeably different. Both are real and laden with pain, suffering, and unbearable reminders of the past. At the core of those who came in 597 b.c.e. was remembering the loss of privileges and their current situation; for those who came in 587 b.c.e., it was not forgetting the children—both the psalmist’s own and daughter Jerusalem.

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JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 291–305

Metaphor and Dissonance: A Reinterpretation of Hosea 4:13–14 karin adams [email protected] The University of Winnipeg, Winnipeg, MB R3B 2E9, Canada

Hosea 4:13–14 has long been used as a critical piece of evidence for the practice of so-called sacred prostitution in the ancient Near East.1 With its blending of I would like to thank Peggy L. Day for her comments and suggestions on an earlier draft of this article. 1 The notion that Hosea condemns Israelite involvement in Canaanite-style fertility rites involving prostitution is ubiquitous in the scholarly literature. See W. E. Crane, “The Prophecy of Hosea,” BSac 89 (1932): 487; Elmer A. Leslie, Old Testament Religion in the Light of Its Canaanite Background (New York: Abingdon, 1936), 174–75; Rolland Emerson Wolfe, Meet Amos and Hosea (New York: Harper & Bros., 1945), 94; Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets (New York: Harper & Row, 1962), 45; J. B. Phillips, Four Prophets: Amos, Hosea, First Isaiah, Micah: A Modern Translation from the Hebrew (London: Geoffrey Bles, 1963), 35; Jared J. Jackson, “Yahweh v. Cohen et al.: God’s Lawsuit with Priest and People—Hosea 4,” Pittsburgh Perspective 7 (1966): 31; James M. Ward, Hosea: A Theological Commentary (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), 76; Walter Brueggemann, Tradition for Crisis: A Study in Hosea (Richmond: John Knox, 1968), 49; James Luther Mays, Hosea: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 72; J. F. Craghan, “The Book of Hosea: A Survey of Recent Literature on the First of the Minor Prophets,” BTB 1 (1971): 83–84; Henry McKeating, The Books of Amos, Hosea, and Micah (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 99; Edwin M. Yamauchi, “Cultic Prostitution: A Case Study in Cultural Diffusion,” in Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. Harry A. Hoffner, Jr.; AOAT 22; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 218; Hans Walter Wolff, Hosea: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Hosea (trans. Gary Stansell; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 72; G. W. Anderson, “Hosea and Yahweh: God’s Love Story,” RevExp 72 (1975): 430; John Olen Strange, “The Broken Covenant: Bankrupt Religion (Hosea 4–6),” RevExp 72 (1975): 441; Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Hosea: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 24; Garden City, NY: Doubleday,1980), 343; Karl A. Plank, “The Scarred Countenance: Inconstancy in the Book of Hosea,” Judaism 32 (1983): 346; Harold Fisch, Poetry with a Purpose: Biblical Poetics and Interpretation (Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature; Bloomington: Indiana

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cultic language (v. 13: wxbzy, “they make sacrifice,” and wr+qy, “they make sacrifices smoke”), sexual language (vv. 13–14: hnynzt, “they prostitute,” and hnp)nt, “they commit adultery”), and the occurrence of the term tw#dq (qĕdēšôt [v. 14], traditionally translated as “sacred prostitutes” or the like2), the text has played well into the notion of licentious cultic behavior practiced by Israel’s rivals (and apostate Israelites themselves):

wr+qy tw(bgh-l(w hlc bw+ yk .hnp)nt Mkytwlkw hnp)nt yk Mkytwlkw-l(w wxbzy tw#dqh-M(w

wxbzy Myrhh y#)r-l( hl)w hnblw Nwl) txt Mkytwnb hnynzt Nk-l( hnynzt yk Mkytwnb-l( dwqp)-)l wdrpy twnzh-M( Mh-yk +bly Nyby-)l M(w

13

Upon the mountain tops, they [i.e., male Israelites] make sacrifice, and upon the high places they make sacrifices smoke, under oak, poplar, and terebinth, because their shade is good. Therefore your daughters prostitute, and your daughters-in-law commit adultery.

14

I will not visit punishment upon your daughters for prostituting, nor upon your daughters-in-law when they commit adultery, for they [i.e., male Israelites] themselves go aside with prostitutes,

13

14

University Press, 1988), 148; James Limburg, Hosea-Micah (Interpretation; Atlanta: John Knox, 1988), 23; H. D. Beeby, Grace Abounding: A Commentary on the Book of Hosea (ITC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 2; Michael Lee Catlett, “Reversal in the Book of Hosea: A Literary Analysis” (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1988), 218; David Allan Hubbard, Hosea: An Introduction and Commentary (TOTC; Leicester: InterVarsity, 1989), 106; Douglas Stuart, Hosea-Jonah (Word Biblical Themes; Dallas: Word Books, 1989), 21; Lloyd J. Ogilvie, The Communicator’s Commentary: Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah (Dallas: Word Books, 1990), 79; G. I. Davies, Hosea (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 126; Thomas Edward McComiskey, The Minor Prophets: An Exegetical and Expository Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1992), 65; William D. Whitt, “The Divorce of Yahweh and Asherah in Hos 2:4–7:12ff,” SJOT 6 (1992): 57; Joel F. Drinkard, “Religious Practices Reflected in the Book of Hosea,” RevExp 90 (1993): 213; Marvin A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), 48–49. 2 The traditional translation of qĕdēšôt is “sacred prostitutes” or some similar variation, for example, “cult prostitutes” or “temple prostitutes.”

Adams: A Reinterpretation of Hosea 4:13–14

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and make sacrifice with the tw#dq3 And a people without discernment is thrust down.

Recently, a number of scholars have persuasively opposed the reconstruction of sacred prostitution in the ancient Near East, dismissing Hos 4:13–14 and similar texts as evidence for this alleged practice.4 Briefly, the arguments against the case for sacred prostitution are the following: (1) There is no unambiguous textual or material evidence in the ancient Near Eastern corpus for sex cults, nor any direct evidence indicating that the relevant extant cognates of Hebrew h#dq—Ugaritic qdšt and Akkadian qadištu—should be translated as “sacred prostitute.”5 (2) The reconstruction relies to a great extent on anachronistic and otherwise flawed secondary evidence.6 Finally, (3) the metaphorical sexual language used by the Hebrew 3 In light of recent arguments that deconstruct the notion of widespread ancient Near Eastern “sex cults” (discussed throughout this paper), I have left the term tw#dq untranslated for the time being. 4 See, e.g., Eugene Fisher, “Cultic Prostitution in the Ancient Near East? A Reassessment,” BTB 6 (1976): 225–36; Stephen Hooks, “Sacred Prostitution in Israel and the Ancient Near East” (Ph.D diss., Jewish Institute of Religion, 1985), 10–45; Mayer I. Gruber, “Hebrew Qĕdēšâ and Her Canaanite and Akkadian Cognates,” UF 18 (1986): 133–47; Robert A. Oden, Jr., The Bible without Theology: The Theological Tradition and Alternatives to It (New Voices in Biblical Studies; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), 131–53; Christina Bucher, “The Origin and Meaning of ZNH Terminology in the Book of Hosea” (Ph.D. diss., Claremont Graduate School, 1988), 29–73; Elaine J. Adler, “The Background for the Metaphor of Covenant as Marriage in the Hebrew Bible” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1989), 164–295; Phyllis Bird, “‘To Play the Harlot’: An Inquiry into an Old Testament Metaphor,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel (ed. Peggy L. Day; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 75–94; Jo Ann Hackett, “Can a Sexist Model Liberate Us? Ancient Near Eastern ‘Fertility’ Goddesses,” JFSR 5 (1989): 65–76; Joan Goodnick Westenholz, “Tamar, Qĕdēšâ, Qadištu, and Sacred Prostitution in Mesopotamia,” HTR 82 (1989): 245–65; Julie Galambush, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel: The City as Yahweh’s Wife (SBLDS 130; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 30 n. 16; Göran Eidevall, Grapes in the Desert: Metaphors, Models, and Themes in Hosea 4–14 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1996), 59; Karin R. Shrofel, “No Prostitute Has Been Here: A Reevaluation of Hosea 4:13–14 (M.A. thesis, University of Winnipeg, 1999), 173–87; Alice A. Keefe, Woman’s Body and the Social Body in Hosea (JSOTSup 338; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 100–102; Ehud Ben Zvi, Hosea (FOTL 21A/1; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 114–15; Martha T. Roth, “Marriage, Divorce, and the Prostitute in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Prostitutes and Courtesans in the Ancient World (ed. Christopher A. Faraone and Laura K. McClure; Wisconsin Studies in Classics; Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 21–39. 5 In particular, see Gruber, “Hebrew Qĕdēšâ”; Westenholz, “Tamar”; and Roth, “Marriage.” 6 For the most elaborate discussion of this issue, see Oden, Bible without Theology, 141–47. Oden explores the widespread use of Herodotus as a source for sacred prostitution in the ancient Near East—this despite the well-known tendency of Herodotus grossly to exaggerate his descriptions of non-Hellenistic cultural practices (and even to fabricate barbarous practices by nonHellenistic peoples) in order to glorify Greek culture. See also Stewart Flory, The Archaic Smile of

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prophets to castigate apostate practices has been mistakenly literalized, with its intended rhetorical dimensions largely ignored or misunderstood.7 It is to this last point, the misunderstanding of the nature and function of metaphor, that I will turn my attention. It has been the least explored of the problems in the debate over the historicity of sacred prostitution. Of greater concern, however, is the continued misinterpretation of metaphorical sexual language in biblical texts, including especially Hos 4:13–14, by critics of the sacred-prostitution hypothesis themselves.8 Specifically, these scholars posit that, though Hos 4:13–14 is not a condemnation of sacred prostitution, the text is a diatribe against literal sexual offenses. They contend that the text identifies actual acts of adultery and prostitution committed by female Israelites (i.e., the “daughters” and “daughtersin-law” named in the text),9 or even “common” prostitution engaged in by the tw#dq.10 In my view, this literal reading of the sexual language in Hos 4:13–14 Herodotus (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987); François Hartog, The Mirror of Herodotus: The Representation of the Other in the Writing of History (New Historicism; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988); Donald Lateiner, The Historical Method of Herodotus (Phoenix Supplement 23; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989); Alan B. Lloyd,“Herodotus on Egyptian Buildings: A Test Case,” in The Greek World (ed. Anton Powell; London: Routledge, 1995), 273–300. 7 Oden, Bible without Theology, 131–53; Hackett, “Sexist Model,” 73–74. Recent work by feminist biblical scholars on Hosea’s metaphors sheds light on the rhetorical dimensions of these texts and offers illuminating alternative readings to traditional (and problematic) interpretations. See, e.g., T. Drorah Setel, “Prophets and Pornography: Female Sexual Imagery in Hosea,” in Feminist Interpretation of the Bible (ed. Letty M. Russell; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1985), 86–95; Renita J. Weems, “Gomer: Victim of Violence or Victim of Metaphor?” Semeia 47 (1989): 87– 104; eadem, Battered Love: Marriage, Sex, and Violence in the Hebrew Prophets (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Gale Yee, “Hosea,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary (ed. Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 195–202; J. Cheryl Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women (JSOTSup 215; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996); Yvonne Sherwood, The Prostitute and the Prophet: Hosea’s Marriage in Literary Theoretical Perspective (JSOTSup 212; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996). 8 Hooks (“Sacred Prostitution,” 182), Gruber (“Hebrew Qĕdēšâ,” 134), Bucher, (“Origin and Meaning,” 151), Adler (“Background,” 242–43), Bird (“To Play the Harlot,” 86), Galambush (Jerusalem, 50) and Eidevall (Grapes in the Desert, 59 n. 46) suggest that Hos 4:13–14 may refer to actual sexual offenses committed by female Israelites. Hooks and Bucher note the possibility that the sexual language in Hos 4:13–14 is entirely metaphorical; however, the notion is presented as one possible reading alongside literal interpretations. To my knowledge, Keefe is the only critic of the sacred-prostitution hypothesis who specifically examines Hos 4:13–14 and insists that the sexual language in this text is entirely metaphorical (Woman’s Body, 100–102). Her analysis differs from my own in her suggestion that the terms twnwz and tw#dq are in fact metaphors for “the priests who preside over the sanctuaries” who are castigated for “leading people astray” (p. 102). However, I concur with her assessment that “[a]ctual sexual intercourse is not indicated in the text” (p. 101). 9 E.g., Bird, “To Play the Harlot,” 80–83. 10 Gruber (“Hebrew Qĕdēšâ,” 133–35) and Adler (“Background,” 242–43) suggest that,


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results in part from a misunderstanding of the nature and function of the passage’s metaphorical language. I will make the case that the actual subject of this text is the commission of (nonsexual) acts of religious apostasy by female Israelites, which included a group of female cult functionaries (tw#dq) whose role was considered non-Yahwistic, and hence objectionable, by Hosea. To support my position and to demonstrate why I think that the literal reading is in error, I will explore two interrelated subjects: the nature and function of metaphor in general, and Hosea’s use of metaphorical sexual language in particular.

I. The Nature and Function of Metaphor I recall from high school a simple definition of “metaphor” that runs something like this: “A metaphor is a comparison of two similar things without using ‘like’ or ‘as.’” Without further analysis, most people would probably define “metaphor” in a like way, as a comparison of two similar things. Using this definition, “Bill roared at John” is a metaphor; without using the terms “like,” or “as,” and without explicitly using a word for a roaring animal, such as “lion,” Bill is being compared to a lion. This simple definition captures the essence of the “comparative view” of metaphor (a somewhat incomplete understanding according to contemporary theorists).11 It (correctly) suggests that metaphors invite comparison between two things, the “tenor” or topic of the metaphor (i.e., Bill), and the “vehicle” or figure used to describe the tenor (i.e., “a lion”).12 The comparative view, however, also misses and obscures fundamental features of metaphor. In his work on metaphor, Max Black contends that the simple comparative view of metaphor is inadequate because (1) it does not furnish an explanation of why a vehicle that is analogous or similar to the tenor is employed to describe the tenor; (2) it cannot explain how figurative language gives more pleasure or seems more interesting to the reader/listener than a literal statement; and (3) it seems to although the tw#dq were not cult prostitutes, the term tw#dq is synonymous with twnwz (“prostitutes”). Hooks also presents the possibility that tw#dq/twnwz may be interchangeable terms (“Sacred Prostitution,” 182). 11 Max Black, Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1962), 35. As I will discuss, Black counters the comparative view of metaphor, which he holds to be deficient in several respects, with the more nuanced “interactive view” of metaphor. 12 The terms “tenor” and “vehicle” are used by I. A. Richards to describe the components of metaphor (The Philosophy of Rhetoric [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1936], 96). Black, who builds on Richards’s work and on whose work I focus in this article, does not use the terms “vehicle” and “tenor”; he prefers to speak of a “frame” and a “focus” (Models, 28). I have, however, chosen to employ the former terms, since they are commonly found in the metaphor literature that I have examined.

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assume that similarities and analogies between the tenor and the vehicle are “objectively given.”13 In developing his interactive view of metaphor, Black addresses these deficiencies, beginning by defining the relationship between the tenor and vehicle as one of interaction rather than simple comparison.14 He focuses on how the tenor and vehicle of a metaphor interact with each other in a purposeful way to create meaning. A metaphor does not compare two similar things to highlight an objectively obvious meaning. Rather, it brings together two fundamentally dissimilar things in a purposeful way to create meaning. Black illustrates this interaction with his classic example, MAN IS A WOLF. There are many characteristics related to the term WOLF (the vehicle of this metaphor) that are not readily evoked by this metaphorical expression; MAN and WOLF are not obviously and objectively similar.15 For example, a wolf is a four-legged animal, lives in northerly climates, and often lives, hunts, and travels in a pack. These statements are true of wolves, and yet no one would likely pair any of these characteristics with MAN in understanding the metaphor MAN IS A WOLF (i.e., one does not understand the metaphor to mean that a man is a four-legged animal or a being who travels in a group). According to Black, metaphors draw on the audience’s “systems of associated commonplaces” about the vehicle. Associated commonplaces are rarely exhaustive lists of traits or dictionary definitions, but rather the most commonly and most readily evoked images, beliefs, superstitions, and stereotypes about the vehicle of the metaphor. In the case of the vehicle WOLF, the associated commonplaces likely have to do with wildness, ferocity, and predation. By pairing the tenor and the vehicle in a metaphor, the associated commonplaces of the vehicle are suggestively applied to or made to interact with the tenor (i.e., MAN IS A WOLF = “Man, like a wolf, is fierce and opportunistic”). However, though the tenor and vehicle interact to create meaning, they remain distinct categories of reality. In addition to his emphasis on inherent dissonance between vehicle and tenor, Black posits the crucial role played by both the author/orator and the reader/audience in the making of a metaphor’s meaning. Because metaphors intend to evoke the associated commonplaces of the vehicle in the minds of the audience mem-

13 Black,

Models, 37. further discussion of the interactive view of metaphor and its importance for the proper analysis of metaphors, see Ted Cohen, “Metaphor and the Cultivation of Intimacy,” Critical Inquiry 5 (1978): 1–13; Eidevall, Grapes in the Desert, 19–41; Peggy L. Day,“Metaphor and Social Reality,” in Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East; Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon (ed. John Kaltner and Louis Stulman; JSOTSup 378; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 63–71; and eadem, “A Prostitute Unlike Women: Whoring as Metaphoric Vehicle for Foreign Alliances,” in Israel’s Prophets and Israel’s Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H. Hayes (ed. Brad E. Kelle and Megan Bishop Moore; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 446; New York: T&T Clark, 2006) 167–73. 15 Black, Models, 40. 14 For


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bers, the author/orator must “know” his or her audience. Returning to the example metaphor MAN IS A WOLF, human beings do not dispassionately ascribe ferocity and carnivorousness to wolves. The vehicle evokes certain commonly held feelings about or attitudes toward it (in the case of WOLF, the feeling of terror), which play an important role in shaping how the audience is expected to feel about the tenor. To elicit the intended reaction and understanding from the audience, it is necessary for the metaphor maker to have a grasp of the associated commonplaces an audience shares about the metaphor’s vehicle.16 This intimacy between the author/orator and the audience is necessary to organize the audience’s view of the tenor.17 To summarize thus far, metaphors are best understood not as mere comparisons between two similar things. Rather, they are the skillful bringing together of two fundamentally dissimilar things by an author/orator who exploits the known associated commonplaces of his/her intended audience for a rhetorical end. Recognizing that difference rather than similarity characterizes the relationship between the tenor and the vehicle is thus crucial to the correct interpretation of metaphor. When the interactive and rhetorical dynamics of the tenor and vehicle are not recognized, misinterpretation of the metaphor’s meaning will likely result. In her study of the metaphor of marriage in Ezekiel 16 and 23, Peggy L. Day vividly demonstrates how scholars have failed properly to distinguish between the tenor (breach of covenant) and vehicle (adultery) of this metaphor and have, as a result, conflated their respective associated commonplaces.18 Specifically, scholars who have focused on the similarities between breach of covenant and adultery have overlooked the inherent differences between them. They then go on to interpret wrongly the four major punishments enumerated by Ezekiel (stripping, stoning, slicing up of the body, and punishment by a public assembly) as the actual, legal consequences for adultery. As Day’s exhaustive examination reveals, these punishments are clearly and demonstrably those prescribed for breach of covenant. Evidence that any of these punishments was a legal consequence of adultery is 16 Day illustrates the importance of the metaphor maker’s “knowing” his or her audience by

postulating how the metaphor MAN IS A WOLF may be interpreted in a cultural context where different attitudes are held regarding wolves. She cites a statement made by an elderly Nunamiut man who regards wolves primarily as playful, family-oriented, and hard-working creatures (as opposed to lone, ferocious hunters) and succinctly states: “Obviously, the statement ‘man is a wolf’ would resonate much differently in Nunamiut culture” (“Metaphor and Social Reality,” 65 n. 3). 17 Cohen, “Intimacy,” 8. 18 Peggy L. Day, “Adulterous Jerusalem’s Imagined Demise: Death of a Metaphor in Ezekiel XVI,” VT 50 (2000): 285–309. Day’s analysis of the metaphorical language in Ezekiel 16 and 23 is particularly pertinent to my examination of Hos 4:13–14. The Ezekielian chapters are rhetorically similar to Hos 4:13–14 in their use of metaphorical sexual language to condemn illicit cultic behavior in ancient Israel.

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ambiguous at best, if not entirely unsupportable.19 Day’s work shows how pronounced misinterpretation of social reality can result from an improperly analyzed metaphor. Any interpretation of biblical metaphor must therefore begin with a sound theory of metaphor, for both the proper understanding of the metaphor’s intended meaning and the correct representation of the social world from which it emerges. Bearing the features of the interactive view of metaphor in mind—namely, that dissonance and rhetorical purpose are its fundamental characteristics—I now turn to an analysis of the metaphorical language in Hos 4:13–14.

II. Interpreting the Metaphorical Language in Hosea 4:13–14 The metaphor that underlies Hos 4:13–14 is COVENANT IS A MARRIAGE.20 In this metaphor, Israel is cast in the role of the wayward bride of Yahweh, who is the wronged husband. The metaphor allows Hosea to speak about Israel’s religious apostasy as adultery (P)n), (e.g., Hos 2:2 [Heb. 2:4] and 3:1).21 Until recently, scholarly discussions of Hosea’s marriage metaphor have centered on the appropriateness of the use of sexual language to condemn apostasy that was (allegedly) sexual in nature. Critics of the sacred-prostitution hypothesis have deconstructed the connection between sexual language and cultic practice by casting serious doubt on the historicity of sacred prostitution.22 Many of these same scholars, however, persist in positing that Hosea’s language in 4:13–14 targets literal (though not cultic) sexual offenses.23 In my view, this (mis)reading arises in part from a failure properly to assess the dynamics of Hosea’s metaphorical sexual language, namely, the relationship between hnz (“to prostitute”) and P)n (“to commit adultery”), verbs that Hosea pairs in 4:13–14. hnz and P)n had distinct literal meanings in ancient Israel. Nevertheless, scholars who interpret Hos 4:13–14 as referring to literal sexual offenses either ignore or fail to problematize this difference. Prostitution (hnz) is sexual activity in exchange for payment, and although prostitutes and involvement with prostitutes/prostitution was considered marginal in the Hebrew Bible, it appears not to have been gen19 See

Day, “Adulterous Jerusalem,” esp. 296–308. metaphor is extended and developed most fully in Hosea 1–3; however, the sexual language related to this metaphor appears elsewhere in Hosea, e.g., 4:13–14. 21 The primary target of Hosea’s invective in chs. 1–3 and also in ch. 4 clearly seems to be Israel’s religious apostasy (i.e., cultic practices perceived by Hosea to be non-Yahwistic). Numerous references to an inappropriate cultic involvement with “Baal” or “the Baals” ([Heb] 2:10, 15, 18, 19) suggest that this apostate worship was “Canaanite” in orientation. 22 See n. 4 above. 23 See n. 8 above. 20 The


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erally condemned by law.24 In short, the prostitute’s sexual activity transgresses the authority of no man and is therefore not subject to legal censure. Adultery (P)n), on the other hand, defined as a married or betrothed woman’s engaging in extramarital sexual relations, was certainly a legal offense in ancient Israel, and elicited severe condemnation (e.g., Deut 22:22).25 Since a married woman was considered the property of her husband, adultery shamed the husband, who would likely be perceived by the community as one not being able to exercise adequate control over his property.26 Apart from the humiliation that a woman’s adultery likely caused for her husband/proprietor, extramarital sexual relations had serious implications for a patrilineal society where property rights were determined through the paternal line.27 Essentially, adultery was a “property valuation and not an ethical issue” that directly and adversely affected individual males and corporate (male) Israel.28 In the context of the metaphor COVENANT IS A MARRIAGE, P)n (“adultery”) is clearly the appropriate metaphorical vehicle for apostasy (i.e., like adultery, religious apostasy is an act of disloyalty toward one’s “master,” with whom one is expected to have an exclusive relationship). What, then, is the role of terminology derived from hnz (“prostitution”), which appears abundantly in Hosea? Why does Hosea in fact overwhelmingly choose hnz rather than P)n to characterize Israelite apostasy?29 Julie Galambush, in her brilliant analysis of the marriage metaphor in Ezekiel 16 and 23, suggests that the root hnz is frequently used in the Hebrew Bible as a metaphorical vehicle for P)n.30 In other words, the two terms are not synonymous; they are different concepts (with different associated commonplaces) that have been made to interact with one another in a metaphorical relationship. The rhetorical purpose of the metaphor P)n IS hnz (ADULTERY IS PROSTITUTION) is to give full expression to the shame and degradation felt by the male party wronged by the adulteress. The tenor, adultery or pre-marital sex, can be metaphorically expressed by hnz terminology (the vehicle) to the extent that, like the hnwz, “the (adulterous) woman . . . has allowed more than one man access to her sexual24 Bird

eloquently summarizes the status of the prostitute in ancient Israel: “The prostitute is that ‘other woman,’ tolerated but stigmatized, desired but ostracized,” noting that “attitudes toward prostitution are characterized by ambivalence in every society” (“To Play the Harlot,” 79). See also Galambush, who observes that the prostitute’s activity is not legally censured “because the sexual activity of a prostitute, while outside formal bonds, is in fact licit” (Jerusalem, 28 n. 9). 25 For an in-depth discussion of adultery and its punishments in the ancient Near East, see Raymond Westbrook, “Adultery in Ancient Near Eastern Law” RB 97 (1990): 542–80. 26 See Yee’s discussion of adultery as a source of male shame (“Hosea,” 197–98). 27 See Setel, “Prophetic Pornography,” 86–95. 28 Ibid., 89. 29 For instance, in Hosea 1–3, where the marriage metaphor is developed most fully, Hosea uses the root P)n only twice in his invective (2:2 [Heb. 2:4] and 3:1), while hnz is employed with greater frequency (see 1:2; 2:4, 6, 7; 3:3 [Heb], where hnz is used, often multiple times within a single verse). 30 Galambush, Jerusalem, 29.

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ity.”31 The wronged male in authority over the offending woman (husband, father), by (metaphorically) calling her hnwz, places upon her the stereotypes associated with this marginalized figure because it helps express the way he feels about her sexual offense.32 In this metaphor, the associated commonplaces for hnwz are multiplicity of sexual partners and lewdness.33 The difference between this particular vehicle and this tenor remains: the sexual activity of the prostitute is legal, socially tolerated service-for-hire, while the sexual activity of the adulteress is illegal, severely censured by the (patriarchal) community, and not a hired service. Galambush refers to the metaphorical usage of hnz to characterize literal P)n as a “first level” metaphor. For Galambush, a “second level” of metaphorical usage of hnz terminology occurs in the use of hnz to denote cultic apostasy. According to Galambush, the function of hnz terminology at this second level is intrinsically related to its first-level usage. The crucial difference, however, is that, when used to describe apostasy, hnz language does not necessarily denote any literal sexual activity. In Galambush’s reconstruction, the apostate male Israelites, likened to a woman and wife in order to define Yahweh and Israel’s covenant relationship metaphorically, are metaphorical adulteresses for their disloyalty to their “husband,” and they are thus metaphorically described as prostitutes. In other words, just as a husband might, in his anger, hurl the insult hnwz (“prostitute”) at his adulterous wife, Yahweh calls Israel a “prostitute” for her adultery (i.e., literally, cultic apostasy).34 The major implication of Galambush’s analysis is that Israel’s cultic apostasy, denounced in texts such as Hosea through the use of hnz vocabulary, “thus depends on a comparison between idolatry and adultery, not one between idolatry and prostitution.”35 The function of the hnz terminology is to give the fullest expression to the anger that Yahweh is depicted as experiencing at Israel’s religious defection, just as a husband may call his wife “prostitute” upon discovering her adultery against him, though she is not literally a prostitute. The employment of hnz is metaphorical, in fact doubly so, and is not, as some scholars suggest, inspired by actual sexual offenses committed in Israel. I contend that scholars who read literal sexual activity as the subject of Hos 4:13–14 have misunderstood the nature and function of Hosea’s sexual language, particularly the use of hnz.36 They have ignored the metaphorical interaction of hnz 31 Ibid. 32 For an incisive examination of patriarchal associations of sex and danger with the strange woman, a female figure who, much like the hnwz, stands outside the confines of marriage, see Carol A. Newsom, “Woman and the Discourse of Patriarchal Wisdom: A Study of Proverbs 1–9,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel, ed. Day, 142–60. 33 See Bird, “To Play the Harlot,” 79. 34 Galambush, Jerusalem, 29, 31. 35 Ibid., 31. 36 Though I have found her analysis extremely useful in analyzing Hosea’s sexual language, I nonetheless must number Galambush among scholars who I maintain (wrongly) posit that Hos 4:13–14 refers to literal sexual offenses committed by women. In Galambush’s view, the hnz lan-


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and P)n precisely because they have failed to distinguish between the two terms. In fact, several scholars are overt in their conflation of the meanings of hnz and P)n. For instance, Phyllis Bird defines hnz as “to engage in sexual relations outside of or apart from marriage,” a broad definition that implies that hnz could be used as an acceptable (literal) term for a married woman’s extramarital sexual relations.37 Christina Bucher similarly defines hnz as “a woman’s act of engaging in sexual intercourse with a man to whom she is not formally bound,” clarifying that “[the woman] is either an unmarried virgin daughter . . . or a professional prostitute.”38 Stephen Hooks defines the verb hnz as “primarily denot[ing] a sexual act committed outside a formal union.” According to him, it can be rendered “to prostitute, to play the harlot,” but can also mean “to engage in indiscriminate or unlawful intercourse, to be sexually promiscuous” and is therefore, in the case of a married woman who commits adultery, “synonymous with na 'ap.”39 Elaine J. Adler’s analysis of the hnz terminology is more detailed than those of Bird and Hooks. She defines hnz and P)n as having “overlapping” meanings; for this reason, hnz is able to replace P)n as the metaphorical vehicle for apostasy in the context of the overarching metaphor COVENANT IS MARRIAGE. She also maintains that hnz refers to a range of unlawful or objectionable sexual practices such as prostitution, adultery, and “perhaps it is also applied to a woman who had sex before marriage.” For Adler, the root hnz is used more frequently than P)n in biblical texts that employ the metaphor COVENANT IS MARRIAGE precisely because it connotes a host of sexual transgressions that would surely evoke male scorn. In this way, Adler recognizes that Hosea’s hnz terminology is more effective than P)n as a “rhetorical tool.”40 Still, Adler’s failure to regard hnz and P)n as categorically separate entities is problematic, and, I would argue, it fuels her own literal interpretation of the sexual language in Hos 4:13–14.

guage in this text does not indicate literal “prostitution”; however, it is being used in its “firstlevel” metaphorical sense (Jerusalem, 50). In other words, the women in this passage are committing actual adultery that is metaphorically characterized by hnz (“prostitution”). In her analysis of the metaphorical usage of hnz, Galambush argues that when hnz is being used to characterize apostasy (the second-level usage), the subject is always either male or mixed-gendered. In Hos 4:13–14, where hnz language is used in reference to females, Galambush concludes that the language must therefore be viewed as an instance of the “first-level” use of the metaphor (i.e., as a vehicle for actual illicit sex). As I will elaborate in the pages that follow, I maintain that the language in Hos 4:13–14 is of the second-level metaphorical type in which apostasy is the ultimate tenor of the metaphor (i.e., APOSTASY IS ADULTERY IS PROSTITUTION), even when the behavior of female Israelites is the subject. 37 Bird, “To Play the Harlot,” 76. Though Keefe (Woman’s Body, 20 and n. 10) reaches conclusions similar to my own regarding the metaphorical usage of sexual language in Hos 4:13–14 (see n. 8 above), she nonetheless follows Bird (and openly counters Galambush) in defining hnz. 38 Bucher, “Origin and Meaning,” 119. 39 Hooks, “Sacred Prostitution,” 70–71. 40 Adler, “Background,” 311–14, 349; quotations from 349, 314.

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As a result of the inappropriate conflation of the commonplaces associated with hnz and P)n, the door is opened to analyze hnz as something other than a metaphorical vehicle employed to characterize P)n. Indeed, Bird, Bucher, Hooks, Adler, and Mayer I. Gruber have done just that in interpreting hnz and P)n as referring to actual sexual offenses.41 For instance, Hooks, Adler, and Gruber all suggest that the term tw#dq in v. 14, while not identifying sacred prostitutes, may be a synonym for twnwz, that is, “common” prostitutes. For these scholars, literal prostitution near cultic shrines is the activity condemned in this text.42 Bird is reluctant to cast the tw#dq in a sexual role, although she does not completely abandon the possibility that the cultic role of the tw#dq “did involve some form of sexual activity . . . [that] was not understood by the practitioners as prostitution.”43 However, Bird maintains that the adultery and prostitution of the daughters and daughters-in-law described in vv. 13–14 is indeed literal. She even suggests that the twnwz (v. 14) were common prostitutes who “found the rural sanctuaries an attractive place to do business” and are obviously condemned by Hosea for their doubly inappropriate behavior (i.e., “illicit” sexual activity in a cultic context).44 In my view, Black’s interactive view of metaphor and Galambush’s insightful analysis of hnz as a metaphor for adultery, both of which focus on the dissonance between rather than the overlapping elements of hnz and P)n, reveal Hosea’s motives in employing this rhetorical language. Hosea uses metaphorical adultery to con41 I did not discuss Gruber’s definitions of hnz and P)n above because he defines neither in his analysis. Gruber believes that the Hebrew term qĕdēšâ denotes “prostitute” because “the root meaning of the term (qdš) is ‘she who is set apart’ whether for exaltation or degradation” (“Hebrew Q$ĕdēšâ,” 148). For Gruber, Hos 4:13–14, with its pairing of the terms tw#dq with twnwz, becomes (rather circularly) a proof text for his definition of qĕdēšâ as “prostitute” (p. 134). In my view, Gruber’s analysis is fundamentally flawed in its failure to take into account the metaphorical dimensions of the sexual language in Hos 4:13–14. He does not acknowledge the prominent marriage metaphor and the proliferation of terms derived from the stem hnz in the first three chapters of Hosea. Gruber merely cites Hos 4:14 as biblical evidence for the role he reconstructs for the tw#dq: “common” prostitutes (p. 134). According to Gruber, the pairing in v. 14 of the terms twnwz and tw#dq indicates “that the term qĕdēšâ is a by-word or poetic synonym of zônâ, the regular Hebrew word for prostitute.” Not even acknowledging Hosea’s use of hnz to be metaphorical, Gruber insists on a literal interpretation of the sexual language paired with tw#dq and reconstructs their role as synonymous with the Hebrew twnwz. 42 Gruber, “Hebrew Q$ĕdēšâ,” 134; Adler, “Background,” 242–43. Hooks presents several interpretations of the term tw#dq in his analysis, including the possibility that the tw#dq are cult functionaries condemned through the use of entirely metaphorical hnz language. He also asserts, however, that twnwz and tw#dq may be interchangeable terms meaning “prostitutes” and that Hosea’s rebuke is directed at “moral and social disintegration” (i.e., sexual impropriety) in Israel (“Sacred Prostitution,” 182). 43 Bird, “To Play the Harlot,” 87. 44 Ibid., 88. Bird does not qualify her characterization of the rural sanctuary as a sort of eighth-century red-light district. In my view, this assertion requires further evidence—evidence that is not unambiguously supplied in Hos 4:13–14.


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demn apostasy, and the second-level metaphor of prostitution to intensify the intended reaction of outrage. In Hos 4:13–14, it is clear that those guilty of religious apostasy included female Israelites. That the illicit behavior of the “daughters,” “daughters-in-law,” and the tw#dq is sexual in nature is not a necessary or even preferable reading of this text. So why do even those who reject the sacredprostitution hypothesis see literal sexual activity in Hos 4:13–14? Beyond the crucial factor of misreading Hosea’s metaphorical language, I propose that the answer is this: in Hos 4:13–14, women are the subject of Hosea’s invective.45 Bird in particular outlines overtly what I believe is implicit in the similar conclusions of others. Though she acknowledges that the sexual language in Hosea 1–3 is an entirely figurative characterization of apostasy, she is nonetheless convinced that “it is only in chapter 4 that sexual language is employed in a non-metaphorical way.” She goes on to explain that “the men’s worst offense is to dishonor God by their perverted worship. . . . The women’s worst offense is to show dishonor to their fathers and fathers-in-law by their sexual conduct,”46 a position echoed by Hooks and Adler.47 Bird claims that this “differential assessment of male and female behavior” is a patriarchal construct that would resonate with what is known about ancient Israelite society. In my view, however, this does not satisfactorily explain why the metaphorical hnz language, which has for the first three chapters of Hosea and most of the fourth referred to cultic apostasy, suddenly and jarringly shifts to a literal sense when applied to women. Certainly, Hosea’s condemnation of apostasy through a sexual metaphor was forged in a patriarchal context and aimed in general at a male audience. However, it is unnecessary to read Hos 4:13–14 as referring to literal sexual activity when women are the subject. Instead, the rebuke is broadened in these verses to indict female Israelites for their own cultic abominations and to condemn the entire community, inclusive of women, as a “people without discernment” (v. 14). In my assessment, Bird’s conclusions regarding literal sexual offenses in Hos 4:13–14 reflect a misunderstanding of the text’s metaphorical language. Her interpretation and those posited by the other interpreters whose work I have examined ironically apply an (unwarranted) double standard to male and female Israelites: women are the subject in Hos 4:13–14, the use of hnz terminology refers to actual sexual activity. Eidevall takes a similar stance in his interpretation of Hos 4:13–14, noting that, if Hosea’s sexual language is merely metaphorical in this passage, “it becomes difficult to explain why only women are involved” (“Grapes in the Desert,” 59 n. 46). 46 Bird, “To Play the Harlot,” 80–83, 86; quotations from 83, 86. 47 Hooks suggests that Hos 4:13–14 identifies actual adultery and prostitution among female Israelites as the result of “moral and social disintegration” because of the apostasy of (male) Israelites (“Sacred Prostitution,” 184). Adler claims that v. 13 “suggests that religious infidelity or the breakdown of religious orthodoxy leads to familial disintegration, so that daughters betray their fathers by engaging in pre-marital sex and daughters-in-law betray their new husbands in extra-marital liaisons” (“Background,” 237). 45 See n. 36, where I discuss what I contend is Galambush’s (mistaken) argument that, since

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males commit theological sins while females commit sexual sins. I believe that this is an erroneous reading of the text and that the result is inaccurate reconstruction of social reality. In a recent article treating prostitution in ancient Israel, Bird acknowledges that “[i]t is possible to argue that all of the uses of znh in this passage [Hos 4:13– 14] are extended or metaphorical,” but she asserts that such an interpretation “robs the accusation of some of its edge.”48 This position, in light of a closer examination of the nature and function of metaphor, represents neither a necessary nor even a preferable understanding of Hosea’s metaphorical sexual language. It resounds with the types of claims made by scholars who wish to make the case for sacred prostitution based on texts such as Hos 4:13–14. Though acknowledging the figurative dimensions of sexual language, such scholars insist that it was used because it was grounded so aptly in the literal situation Hosea was describing (i.e., Israelite involvement in sacred prostitution).49 This insistence on the similarity between the vehicle (adultery/prostitution) and the alleged tenor (sacred prostitution) has been shown to be misguided in light of the deconstruction of the myth of ancient Near Eastern “sex cults.” I contend that a literal interpretation of the sexual language in Hos 4:13–14 is similarly flawed. Not only does it inaccurately ascribe sexual offenses to female Israelites, but, to paraphrase Bird, in overlooking the central purpose of Hosea’s hnz language, which is to deliver a fiery and highly emotive condemnation of apostasy, it is the literal view that robs the metaphor of its edge. To summarize, I propose that Hos 4:13–14 accuses female Israelites of engaging in cultic apostasy through highly rhetorical, metaphorical sexual language. In v. 13, the “daughters” and “daughters-in-law” are censured for engaging in some manner of non-Yahwistic worship through their metaphorical characterizations as prostitutes and adulteresses (v. 13).50 The tw#dq (v. 14), though not sacred prostitutes, were likely women whose cultic role was regarded as non-Yahwistic, and hence objectionable, by Hosea.51 In v. 14, they are deliberately named alongside 48 Phyllis

Bird, “Prostitution in the Social World and Religious Rhetoric of Ancient Israel” in Prostitutes and Courtesans in the Ancient World, ed. Faraone and McClure, 40–58, esp. 58 n. 21. 49 For instance, consider Mays, who insists that we should understand Hosea’s wife Gomer bat-Diblaim as a h#dq (i.e., a “cult prostitute”) though she is never so designated anywhere in the book of Hosea. He states “[a] common prostitute would satisfy the public symbolism, but not as eloquently as one whose sexual promiscuity was a matter of the very harlotry of Israel in the cult of Baal” (Hosea, 26 [my emphasis]). In light of the recent deconstruction of the sacredprostitution hypothesis, Mays’s line of thought is clearly flawed. Bird similarly bases her reconstruction of the metaphor’s alleged tenor (i.e., actual sexual transgressions committed by female Israelites) on what she herself thinks most fitting of the metaphorical language of the text. In my view, however, Bird’s reading is highly subjective and is not demanded by the text itself. 50 Or, rather, their fathers/guardians were censured for allowing the involvement of their female charges in forbidden cultic worship (v. 14). 51 Though the deconstruction of the sacred-prostitution hypothesis has deflated the notion that the tw#dq were “sacred prostitutes,” cognates of h#dq often occur in the context of cult


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metaphorical twnwz (i.e., female apostates) to characterize their cultic office as utterly contemptible.52 A literal reading of Hosea’s sexual language in this passage is, in my view, unnecessary. It is founded on both a misunderstanding of Hosea’s metaphor and an unwarranted sexualization of female cultic activity. activity throughout the ancient Near East (for a summary of the evidence, see Westenholz, “Tamar”). There is also the obvious connection of the word h#dq with the root #dq (“holy”), which suggests that the term indicates a cultic role of some kind. The proscription of the office of the h#dq in Deut 23:18 (Heb.) further suggests that the role was known but prohibited in Yahwistic circles. In my view, the preferable translation of tw#dq is “female cult functionaries” until more is known about their role (see Shrofel, “No Prostitute,” 177–80). That the tw#dq are censured in Hos 4:13–14 is of no surprise, given the non-Yahwistic associations of this term. Assigning a sexual role to these women, however, is unwarranted (and unnecessary) in interpreting Hos 4:13– 14. 52 I contend that it is possible that twnwz and tw#dq of v. 14 are synonymous designations for the tw#dq (where twnwz is used to metaphorically cast the tw#dq as apostates). Alternatively, the two terms may denote two groups of women: female apostates in general (twnwz) and, specifically non-Yahwistic female cult functionaries (tw#dq). As I indicated in n. 8, Keefe provides an alternative interpretation for the identity of the twnwz and tw#dq, suggesting that the terms may have been used metaphorically and derogatorily for the male priests whom the prophet charges with “leading people astray” (Woman’s Body, 102). Although I am not fully persuaded by this reading, I nonetheless agree with Keefe’s position that Hos 4:13–14 does not discuss actual sexual activity.

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JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 307–337

The Presentation of the Ancient Prophets as Lawgivers at Qumran alex p. jassen [email protected] University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN 55455

The Qumran community, like nearly all segments of Second Temple Judaism, viewed itself as based on a revealed religion. This self-perception was grounded in the belief that the community represented the embodiment of biblical Israel and therefore possessed the true meaning of the revelation at Sinai and all subsequent revelations to Moses.1 At the same time, the community recognized that it lived in a time far removed from Sinai and Moses. Thus, the Qumran community was forced to renew this ancient world for its own time. One way that the community bridged this gap was to envision its legislative activity as the most recent stage in the progressive revelation of law (see 1QS 5:7– 13).2 The community believed that Moses received an initial one-time revelation of Earlier versions of this article were delivered in the Qumran section at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Philadelphia (2005) and at the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, Hebrew University (January 2006). I am especially grateful to the Orion Center for a travel grant to conduct research in Jerusalem in winter 2005–6. A number of people generously commented on earlier drafts of this article and offered many helpful suggestions. Thank you to Moshe Bernstein, Shani Berrin, Bernard Levinson, Lawrence Schiffman, and Mark Smith. Portions of several sections of this article can also be found in my book Mediating the Divine: Prophecy and Revelation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Second Temple Judaism (STDJ 68; Leiden: Brill, 2007). I thank the publisher for permission to reprint this material. 1 See, e.g., John J. Collins, “The Construction of Israel in the Sectarian Rule Books,” in Judaism in Late Antiquity, vol. 5, The Judaism of Qumran: A Systematic Reading of the Dead Sea Scrolls, part 1, Theory of Israel (ed. Jacob Neusner, Alan J. Avery-Peck, and Bruce Chilton; HO 56; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 25–42; James C. VanderKam, “Sinai Revisited,” in Biblical Interpretation at Qumran (ed. Matthias Henze; Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 44–60. 2 On the Qumran community’s belief in the progressive revelation of law, see Naphtali

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the Torah on Sinai. The interpretation of the Torah and the formulation of postbiblical law were disclosed to successive generations through a series of later revelations. The community viewed itself as the current beneficiary of this revelation. Its leaders, most notably the Teacher of Righteousness, were regarded as inspired individuals who interpreted the Torah and formulated law based on their status as recipients of legislative revelation. The Qumran rule books represent the record of the legislative activity of these inspired individuals during nightly study sessions. For the Qumran community, revelation serves as the source of all law. The members regarded Moses as both a lawgiver and a prophet and considered his lawgiving role to be directly related to his prophetic status as God’s intermediary. Indeed, the vast majority of Jews in the Second Temple period shared this view of Moses. In spite of the scholarly identification of this model, the prophetic framework for the formation and development of legal traditions in postbiblical Judaism and at Qumran is only episodically treated in Qumran scholarship and related fields.3 To be sure, the study of Qumran legal traditions and their foundations in the community’s understanding of progressive revelation, once notably underrepresented in Qumran scholarship, has now found a vibrant scholarly arena. Scholars have successfully outlined the community’s belief in progressive revelation and its implications for understanding the community’s legislative activity. Most of the attention, however, has focused on the role of Moses as the first recipient and the community as the most recent stage in the progressive revelation. Less attention has been

Wieder, The Judean Scrolls and Karaism (London: East and West Library, 1962), 67–70; Joseph M. Baumgarten, “The Unwritten Law in the Pre-Rabbinic Period,” in Studies in Qumran Law (SJLA 24; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 29–33; repr. from JSJ 3 (1972): 7–29; Lawrence H. Schiffman, The Halakhah at Qumran (SJLA 16; Leiden: Brill, 1975), 22–32; idem, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1995), 247–49. 3 For general treatments, see Bernard S. Jackson, “Jésus et Moïse: le statut du prophète à l’égard de la Loi,” Revue d’Histoire du Droit Français et Etranger 59 (1981): 341–60; idem, “The Prophets and the Law in Early Judaism and the New Testament,” Cardozo Studies in Law and Literature 4 (1992): 123–66 (translation of portions of the previous article). See the response to the latter article in Suzanne L. Stone “The Transformation of Prophecy,” Cardozo Studies in Law and Literature 4 (1992): 167–88. The most sustained treatment of this topic is found in the field of rabbinic literature. See Ephraim E. Urbach, “Halakhah ve-Nevuah,” Tarbiz 18 (1946–47): 1–27; repr. in Me-vOlamam šel Hi akhamim: Qoves i Mehikarim (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1988), 21–49; idem, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (trans. Israel Abrahams; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1975), 304–8; Menachem Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles (trans. Bernard Auerbach and Melvin J. Sykes; 4 vols.; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1994), 1:240–65; Aharon Shemesh, “Halakhah ve-Nevuah: Navi Šeqer ve-Zaqen Mamre,” in Mehuyavut Yehudit Mithai dešet: ‘Al ‘Olamo ve-Haguto šel David Hartman (ed. Avraham Sagi and Zvi Zohar; 2 vols.; Jerusalem: Shalom Hartman Institute and Kibbutz ha-me’uhad, 1998), 2:923–41; Günter Stemberger, “Propheten und Prophetie in der Tradition des nachbiblischen Judentums,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 14 (1999): 157–60.

Jassen: Ancient Prophets as Lawgivers at Qumran

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directed to the Qumran documents’ presentation of the ancient prophets as participants in the progressive revelation of law and the implications of this portrait for understanding the community’s conceptualization of the role of the contemporary prophetic word in the formation of law at Qumran and in Second Temple Judaism.4 Several documents in the Qumran corpus routinely represent the ancient prophets as mediators of divinely revealed law, often in cooperation with Moses. In the present study, I examine these documents in order to generate a full portrait of the community’s conceptualization of the ancient prophets as lawgivers and the relationship of this conceptual model to the lawgiving activity of the community.5 In general, scholarly discussion of the revelatory character of Qumran law discounts the importance of the prophetic framework from which it emerges. For example, Aharon Shemesh and Cana Werman contend that the revelation of law to the sectarian leaders is not a “prophetic” experience. They base this assertion on the observation that law is not merely revealed directly to the sect. Rather, the sectarian leaders receive the exegetical tools necessary to determine the law through their reading of Scripture. The emphasis on “human intellectual activity,” argue Shemesh and Werman, negates this process as a part of a larger “prophetic” encounter.6 Their observation that the formulation of law at Qumran involves the combination of divine revelation and human creative exegesis is correct. In this article, however, I 4 The

study of the presentation of the ancient prophets in the Dead Sea Scrolls has suffered from a scholarly imbalance. The vast majority of scholarship on the presentation of the ancient prophets in the Qumran corpus has concentrated on the conceptual model applied to the prophets in the pesharim. In these texts, the prophets are identified as unknowing predictors of the future origins and history of the Qumran community. This understanding of the ancient prophets serves as the foundation for the entirety of the community’s pesher exegesis, whereby the inspired exegete interprets the ancient prophetic word and identifies its contemporary application. See 1QpHab 2:5–10; 7:1–5. See discussion in Karl Elliger, Studien zum Habakuk-Kommentar vom Toten Meer (BHT 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1953), 118–64; David E. Aune, “Charismatic Exegesis in Early Judaism and Early Christianity,” in The Pseudepigrapha and Early Biblical Interpretation (ed. James H. Charlesworth and Craig A. Evans; JSPSup 14; SSEJC 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 133–37; Shani L. Berrin, “Qumran Pesharim,” in Biblical Interpretation, ed. Henze, 110–33. 5 It seems that there are two primary explanations for the lack of scholarly attention to this issue. Foremost, it is well known that law and legal traditions of the Qumran community were not at the forefront of early Qumran scholarship. In this particular case, early Qumran scholarship was far more interested in the presentation of the prophets and prophecy as articulated in the pesharim (see previous note). Second, the role of the biblical prophets in the formation of law is minimal (see below), a phenomenon that contributed to the lack of attention given it in biblical scholarship. This same situation is present in the study of rabbinic literature and later Judaism (with notable exceptions identified above in n. 3). Presumably, the influence of these two scholarly arenas on the shaping of research trajectories in Qumran scholarship (especially biblical studies) contributed to a lack of focus on prophecy and law. 6 Aharon Shemesh and Cana Werman, “Hidden Things and Their Revelation,” RevQ 18 (1998): 418; earlier version in Tarbiz 66 (1997): 471–82. See further eidem, “Halakhah at Qumran: Genre and Authority,” DSD 10 (2003): 105.

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suggest that this feature does not diminish its prophetic qualities and context. Rather, the alignment of the community’s legislative program with the similar activity of the ancient prophets is intended to identify the sectarian system of lawgiving as a contemporary realization of classical prophetic models. This study unfolds in three parts. In part 1, I examine briefly the relationship between prophecy and law in the Hebrew Bible. The goal of this section is to identify biblical models for the role of prophets and prophecy in the formation of law, with which the Qumran community would have been familiar. The identification of the various biblical models provides a literary control to compare against the instances where the Qumran corpus has reconfigured the biblical portrait of the prophets. This reconfiguration provides a model for identifying the independent contribution of the Qumran texts.7 In part 2, I turn to the Qumran documents and their re-presentation of the ancient prophets. I analyze eight passages (four sectarian, four nonsectarian) that re-present the ancient prophets as lawgivers. These texts provide the fullest portrait of the community’s conceptualization of the role of the ancient prophets in the process of revealing divine law. My analysis of these texts concentrates on their reconfiguration of the role of the ancient prophets. In this sense, I am interested in the nature of the juridical responsibilities applied to the prophets, their relationship to Mosaic law, and the location of the prophets in the progressive revelation of law. The analysis of the nonsectarian documents demonstrates that the community’s perspective was likewise shared by various wider segments of Second Temple Judaism, though the sectarian and nonsectarian models do not always agree in every detail. Following the method proposed above, the way that the portrait of the ancient prophets in the Dead Sea Scrolls differs from its biblical inspiration is critical to understanding how the relationship between law and prophecy began to be conceptualized at Qumran and in the late Second Temple period. Part 3 turns to explaining the Qumran documents’ presentation of the juridical responsibilities of the ancient prophets within the framework of the community’s model for the formation and development of postbiblical law. The contrast between the biblical models and their reconfiguration in the Qumran corpus is striking. Prophets in the Hebrew Bible rarely appear as lawgivers. Though they often champion the observance of the covenant and its laws, their prophetic capabilities are rarely employed to mediate newly revealed divine law. In contrast, the Qumran texts routinely represent the ancient prophets as mediators of divinely revealed law, sometimes in cooperation with Moses and sometimes independent of Moses. The presentation of the ancient prophets as lawgivers at Qumran therefore 7 The assessment of William M. Schniedewind (The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet

to Exegete in the Second Temple Period [JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1995], 22) that Chronicles is “on the one hand, an interpretation of ancient prophecy and, on the other hand, a reflection of post-exilic prophecy itself,” can be equally applied to the Qumran corpus.


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suggests a deliberate attempt to assign juridical responsibilities to the ancient prophets. The community viewed itself as the heir to the ancient prophetic lawgivers and saw its own legislative program as the most recent stage in the prophetic revelation of divine law. This entire model served to authorize the sectarian appeal to the contemporary prophetic word in the interpretation of Torah and the formation of postbiblical law. The portrait of the classical prophets is reworked in order to conform to the sectarian conception of the prophetic task of lawgiving. Simultaneously, the sectarian system of lawgiving is represented as a contemporary realization of the classical prophetic models.

I. Law and Prophecy in the Hebrew Bible The role of the prophets in the formation of law in the Hebrew Bible is relatively limited. Discussion of biblical models for the relationship of law and prophecy must begin by distinguishing between the activity of Moses and that of the classical prophets. In the Pentateuch, especially in Deuteronomy, Moses is presented as the prophetic lawgiver par excellence. The law is revealed to Moses on Sinai and he continually turns to divine revelation in order to legislate and adjudicate unclear legal situations.8 The classical prophets, in contrast, function as mediators of divine law in the Hebrew Bible only in a limited capacity.9 The relationship between prophets and the 8 In

addition to the revelation at Sinai, Moses is often presented as a prophetic lawgiver. Leviticus 24:10–23 and Num 15:32–36 describe, respectively, incidences in the desert where an individual is accused of blasphemy and gathering sticks on the Sabbath. In both instances, Moses is uncertain how to proceed and the individual is placed in custody until God reveals to Moses the appropriate punitive measures. Likewise, in Num 9:6-13, Moses turns to divine revelation in order to determine the proper procedure regarding individuals who could not offer the Passover sacrifice at the appropriate time (cf. Num 27:1–11). See also the numerous places where Moses receives legislative revelation in the tent of meeting (e.g., Lev 1:1). In Deuteronomy, the relationship between Moses’ lawgiving responsibilities and prophetic capabilities is made even more explicit (e.g., Deut 18:15–22). 9 Early source-critical scholarship argued that the prophets and the prophetic tradition knew nothing of pentateuchal law and thus never acted as lawgivers. See, e.g., Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (1885; repr., Cleveland: Meridian, 1965), 399: “It is a vain imagination to suppose that the prophets expounded and applied the law” (see further pp. 392– 410, 422–25). More recent scholarship, however, has corrected this fundamental misunderstanding by observing how the classical prophets interact with and are dependent on pentateuchal legal material. See, e.g., Yehezkel Kaufman, Toledot ha-'Emunah ha-Yisra'elit (4 vols.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1955), 3:384–88; Robert Bach, “Gottesrecht und weltliches Recht in der Verkündigung des Propheten Amos,” in Festschrift für Günther Dehn zum 75. Geburtstag am 18. April 1957 dargebracht von der Evangelisch-Theologischen Fakultät der Rheinischen Friedrich Wilhelms-Universität

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law in the Hebrew Bible manifests itself in two capacities. The classical prophets are often portrayed as emphasizing the importance of various elements of the law (particularly idolatry and social justice) and exhorting Israel to its proper observance.10 In this capacity, the prophets neither reveal new law nor reconfigure pentateuchal law, but merely enforce its observance. At the same time, the classical prophets also appear as independent lawgivers. This portrait, however, is encountered only episodically in biblical literature. Some late biblical texts ascribe to the prophetic class in general the task of transmitting divine law.11 Elsewhere, individual prophets are portrayed as instituting laws, of which some serve to amplify Mosaic law while others do not seem to be directly linked to Mosaic legislation.12 Thus, the relationship between prophets and the law in the Hebrew Bible manifests itself in two capacities. Prophets commonly exhort Israel to observe the covenantal laws properly. At the same time, prophets sometimes appear as indezu Bonn (ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1957), 23–34; Anthony Phillips, “Prophecy and Law,” in Israel’s Prophetic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Peter R. Ackroyd (ed. Richard J. Coggins, Anthony Phillips, and Michael A. Knibb; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 217–32; Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 292–96; Gene M. Tucker, “The Law in the Eighth-Century Prophets,” in Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs (ed. Gene M. Tucker, David L. Petersen, and Robert R. Wilson; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 201–16. 10 See Urbach, “Halakhah,” 1–2; Bach, “Gottesrecht,” 23–34; Tucker, “Law,” 204–14. 11 See 2 Kgs 17:13b; Ezra 9:10–11; Dan 9:10; 2 Chr 29:25. 2 Kings 17:13, though embedded in the homily on the fall of the northern kingdom, is generally assigned an exilic or even later date (see Marc Z. Brettler, “Ideology, History, and Theology in 2 Kings XVII 7–23,” VT 39 [1989]: 268–82), which would explain its proximity to the other three passages that are clearly late biblical texts. The ascription of legislative activity to prophets in these passages is seemingly intended to demonstrate that the process of transmitting divinely revealed law did not cease with Moses. This point is most explicit is 2 Chr 29:25. Hezekiah’s placement of the Levitical singers in the temple is supported by appeal to the ancient commandment (hwcm) of David and his prophets Gad and Nathan. As Sara Japhet observes, the situation described here clearly represents a cultic innovation ascribed to David (I & II Chronicles: A Commentary [OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993], 926). In order to prevent opposition to such an innovation, the Chronicler emphasizes that David’s innovation was enacted with prophetic approbation. The reliance on postMosaic prophetic legislation is supported by the additional statement “for the commandment was from the Lord through his prophets,” which explicitly claims that prophetic revelation of law continues even after Moses. 12 The most prominent example of this is Ezekiel, who is portrayed as reinterpreting ancient laws (e.g., ch. 18) and promulgating new laws (esp. chs. 40–48). On reinterpretation of law in Ezekiel, see Bernard M. Levinson, L’herméneutique de l’innovation: Canon et exégèse dans l’Israël biblique (Le livre et le rouleau 24; Brussels: Lessius, 2006), 43–48. On the legal system of chs. 40–48, see Steven S. Tuell, The Law of the Temple in Ezekiel 40–48 (HSM 49; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992). See also Isa 58:13 (“personal affairs” on the Sabbath); Jer 17:21–22 (carrying on the Sabbath), where the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, as divine spokesmen, each provide nonpentateuchal legislation concerning Sabbath law. See Urbach, “Halakhah,” 1–2; Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1021–27; Jackson, “Prophets,” 126–27.


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pendent mediators of revealed law, whereby they either transmit new law or reinterpret older law.13 Examples of such prophetic activity, however, are quite exceptional in the Hebrew Bible.14

II. Prophets and the Law in the Dead Sea Scrolls The decidedly nonjuridical role of the classical prophets in the Hebrew Bible is dramatically transformed in the Dead Sea Scrolls, whereby the ancient prophets, alongside Moses, become active mediators of divinely revealed law. To be sure, the more common biblical model persists in some texts. For example, the Apocryphon of Jeremiah, a parabiblical composition related to the character of Jeremiah,15 presents Jeremiah as championing the proper observance of Mosaic law and the concomitant absolute avoidance of all idolatrous activity.16 The importance of this fragment lies in the contrast it creates with other Qumran texts that speculate about the relationship between the ancient prophets and the 13 Both

types of prophets appear in 2 Kgs 17:13. In v. 13a, God sends “every prophet and every seer” to warn Israel and Judah to adhere to the law, which is identified in v. 13b as having been sent through the agency of “my servants, the prophets.” 14 The presentation of prophecy in Deuteronomy also deserves mention in this context. Deuteronomy 13 outlines a system for testing the legitimacy of any presumed prophet. The litmus test for such a prophet, however, is not whether he or she can demonstrate the ability to mediate the divine word. Even if the prophet is deemed a true prophet in that sense (i.e., his or her predictions come true), the prophet is branded as illegitimate and sentenced to die if he or she encourages the worship of foreign deities. Israel is exhorted to reject such a prophet and maintain absolute allegiance to God’s commandments. The other Deuteronomic presentation of prophecy (Deut 18:15–22) likewise subordinates the word of the prophet to the word of the law. This pericope identifies the entire class of prophets as “like Moses,” which consequently classifies the prophet as a “legist” (Bernard M. Levinson, “The First Constitution: Rethinking the Origins of Rule of Law and Separation of Powers in Light of Deuteronomy,” Cardozo Law Review 27 [2006]: 1883–84). As observed by Levinson, the primary function of this feature is to reduce the ecstatic and visionary character of prophecy and ensure that the prophetic word is subordinated to and aligned with the legal and political system outlined in Deuteronomy. Thus, all prophets are now constrained by the limitations of Torah law. Though Deuteronomy has identifed all prophets with the lawgiving capabilities of Moses, it simultaneously excludes all prophets as authorized sources of post-Mosaic revealed law. 15 See Devorah Dimant, Qumran Cave 4.XXI: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts (DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001), 91–260; Monica L. W. Brady, “Prophetic Traditions at Qumran: A Study of 4Q383–391” (2 vols.; Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 2000). 16 4Q385a 18 i a–b 7–11 (olim frg. 16): “And he commanded them what they should do in the land of [their] captivity, [(that) they should listen] to the voice of Jeremiah concerning the things which God had commanded him [to do ]and they should keep the covenant of the God of their fathers in the land [of Babylon and they shall not do] as they had done, they themselves and their kings and their priests [and their princes ] [(namely, that) they ]defiled[ the na]me of God to[ desecrate]” (Dimant, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 160).

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post-Sinaitic revelation of law. This text portrays the prophet Jeremiah in the role commonly associated with prophetic interaction with the law—as one who exhorts Israel to observe the law. By contrast, the overwhelming majority of Qumran texts, sectarian and nonsectarian, continue a trope that is found in far fewer biblical contexts—the prophet as mediator of divine law. Eight particular Qumran documents present this view of the ancient prophets. The first five contain general statements concerning the juridical capacity of the prophets with little explication of any specific understanding of this role. The second set of texts provides a much fuller portrait of the conceptualization of the lawgiving responsibilities of the classical prophets.

The Ancient Prophets as Lawgivers The Rule of the Community opens with an exhortation to the community members to do “what is good and right (r#yhw bw+h) before him, as he commanded through (dyb) Moses and through (dybw) all his servants the prophets” (1QS 1:23).17 The language of doing what is “good and right” is clearly drawn from Deuteronomy (6:18; 12:28; 13:19).18 While the expression in the Hebrew Bible can mean merely “good” or “appropriate,” the Deuteronomic use on which the Rule of the Community draws generally refers to the adherence to Deuteronomic law.19 This meaning continued to be applied in the Second Temple period and at Qumran, as demonstrated by the use of the expression in the nonsynoptic portion of the Temple 17 Elisha Qimron and James H. Charlesworth in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 1, Rule of the Community and Related Documents (ed. James H. Charlesworth; Princeton Theological Seminary Dead Sea Scrolls Project 1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994), 6–7. 18 Noted by William H. Brownlee, The Dead Sea Manual of Discipline: Translation and Notes (BASORSup 10–12; New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1951), 7; P. WernbergMøller, The Manual of Discipline (STDJ 1; Leiden: Brill, 1957), 44–45; Jacob Licht, Megillat haSerakhim: me-Megillot Midbar Yehudah (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1965), 59. For Deut 13:19, see the LXX, the Samaritan Pentateuch, and 11Q19 55:14. Deuteronomy 6:18 contains the phrase in the reverse order (bw+hw r#yh). Likewise, this order is found in the Samaritan Pentateuch in Deut 12:28 and in two places in the Temple Scroll (11Q19 59:16–17; 63:8). The other instances of the phrase in the Hebrew Bible (Jos 9:25; 1 Sam 12:23; 2 Kgs 10:3; Jer 26:14; Ps 25:8; 2 Chr 14:1; 31:20) all reflect the order of the MT for Deut 12:28. Whatever the original order of the two lexemes, the phrase as a whole seems to reflect an idiomatic expression. 19 For the general meaning, see 1 Sam 12:23; Jer 26:14; Ps 25:8; 2 Chr 14:1; 31:20. For full discussion of the phrase in Deuteronomistic literature, see Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 5; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 347. See also Exod 15:26; 1 Kgs 11:38, where the close phrase “doing what is right in the sight of the Lord” has a similar connotation. Weinfeld suggests that the phrase in Exodus may have undergone Deuteronomic reworking (Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic School [Oxford: Clarendon, 1972], 334).


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Scroll (11Q19 59:16–17) and in 4QMiqsiat Mavase Ha-Torah (4QMMT C 31).20 In the Rule of the Community, the phrase similarly denotes proper observance of God’s law; adherence to the Torah and its divine law is the very first exhortation to the members of the Qumran community. The law that the sectarians are charged to follow is qualified with: “as he commanded through (dyb) Moses and through (dybw) all his servants the prophets.” God’s law is not something commanded to Moses and the prophets but through (dyb) them. The prepositional phrase assumes that the prophets (and Moses) are the mediators of God’s law. Indeed, examination of the expression “through the prophets” (or a named prophet) in the Hebrew Bible further underscores this point. In the late biblical texts discussed above, the prepositional phrase has the specialized meaning of mediating divine law.21 In the Rule of the Community, the classical prophets, together with Moses, are presented in this same role—as mediators of divine law. The ancient revelation through Moses and the prophets provides the framework for the present-time ability to observe (tw#(l) the law properly. This passage, however, provides no explicit information concerning the way that the 20 The Temple

Scroll’s Law of the King concludes with an admonition that outlines the benefits of observing God’s law and the ruin that will result from failing to do so. After articulating the disastrous results of noncompliance with God’s law, the text expresses the profit of faithful adherence by the king to the divine directives: r#yh #(yw rwm#y ytwwcm t)w Kly ytwqwxb M)w ynpl bw+h, “But if he will walk in my statutes, and will observe my commandments, and will do what is right and good in my sight. . . .” The expression is found also in synoptic portions of the Temple Scroll’s Deuteronomic paraphrase (11Q19 53:7//Deut 12:28; 11Q19 55:14//Deut 13:19; 11Q19 63:8//Deut 21:9). In the third section of 4QMMT, the author encourages the addressee to observe all the “precepts of the Torah” (C 27). Compliance with this request, asserts the author, “will be counted as a virtuous deed of yours, since you will be doing what is righteous and good in his eyes (wnpl bw+h r#yhw Ktw#(b)” (C 31 = 4Q398 14–17 ii 7; 4Q399 [MS F] lacks bw+h and has wynpl). For the composite text, see Elisha Qimron and John Strugnell. Qumran Cave 4.V: Miqsai t Mavaśe Ha-Torah (DJD 10; Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 62. The shared language and imagery of the Law of the King and 4QMMT are not coincidental. As scholars have long noted, the Law of the King represents a polemic against the presumed excesses and abuse of power displayed by the Hasmoneans (see Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll [3 vols.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, the Shrine of the Book, 1983], 1:345–46). Commentators on 4QMMT have proposed that the document represents a letter sent by the early leadership of the Qumran community to their priestly brethren in Jerusalem. This is suggested by the personal pronouns employed in section B (“we,” “you” [pl.]). The admonition in section C, however, is formulated as a dialogue between the community (“we”) and one particular individual (you [sg.]). The constant comparison with the kings of old suggests that the addressee of the exhortation is a contemporary Hasmonean king (see Qimron and Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.V, 113–21). Thus, both documents may contain polemics against the same Hasmonean royal leadership concerning their assumed negligence in the observance of the law. The expression r#yhw bw+h appears one additional time in the scrolls (4Q502 163.2), though the text is far too fragmentary to supply any context. 21 2 Kings 17:13; Ezra 9:10–11; Dan 9:10; 2 Chr 29:25. On the expression in general in prophetic literature, see Japhet, I & II Chronicles, 926–27.

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ancient prophets mediated the divine law or about the precise nature of the relationship between the lawgiving function of the prophets and that of Moses. Similar general statements that posit a juridical role for the ancient prophets can be found in several other Qumran documents. In the Rule of the Community, the revelation of law to the ancient prophets is identified as the means by which the sectarian community can properly observe the law. In contrast, in the Damascus Document and Pesher Hosea, the enemies of the sect are singled out for their failure to adhere to the commandments. In each text, the prophets are further identified as the mediators of the commandments. In the Damascus Document, the “movers of the boundaries” are condemned because “they spoke defiantly (hrs wrbd)22 against the commandments of God (sent) through (dyb) Moses and also (Mgw) through23 the ones anointed with the holy (spirit) (#dwqh24 wxy#mb) (CD 5:21–6:1). The two main elements that were identified in the passage from the Rule of the Community are likewise present in this passage. First, the “commandments of God,” a general reference to the Torah, are identified as a system that was revealed through the mediating agency of both Moses and the prophets.25 As in the Rule of the Community, two revelatory phases language here is borrowed from Deut 13:6: hwhy l( hrs rbd yk. understand the bet here as a bet instrumenti that refers back to the process of the sending of the commandments (see IBHS, 196–97). Some scholars read it as an adversative bet, whereby the defiant speech is directed against both the commandments and the prophets (see Daniel R. Schwartz and Joseph E. Baumgarten in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 2, Damascus Document, War Scroll and Related Documents [ed. James H. Charlesworth; Princeton Theological Seminary Dead Sea Scrolls Project 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995], 23). The reliance on Deut 13:6 (see preceding note) suggests that the opposition to the commandments is indicated by the preposition l( (see Mal 3:13; Ps 31:19; 109:20). The preposition bet stands in parallelism to the instrumental dyb. Note that the preposition of instrument (dyb) found in the passage from 1QS and the biblical passages cited above is found only in the first half of this expression (for Moses), while the agency of the prophets is identified only with the preposition bet. Chaim Rabin goes so far as to suggest emending the text to dyb (The Zadokite Documents [Oxford: Clarendon, 1954], 21). This emendation, however, is unnecessary. Even without the full form dyb, the preposition by itself can denote an agent of instrumentality. Indeed, this meaning is found governing the root rbd, all instances of which are in prophetic contexts (Num 12:2, 6 [see however, BDB 89b]; 2 Sam 23:2; 1 Kgs 22:8; Hos 1:2; 2 Chr 18:27). 24 wxy#m (here and in CD 2:12) is generally understood as a scribal error for yxy#m (Yigael Yadin, “Three Notes on the Dead Sea Scrolls,” IEJ 6 [1956]: 158 [on CD 2:12]), a reading that is corroborated by the Qumran manuscripts (caves 4 and 6) of the Damascus Document (see 4Q267 2.5–6; 6Q15 3.4). 4Q269 4 i 1–3 preserves text parallel to CD 5:21–6:2, though is almost entirely fragmentary. See also 4Q270 2 ii 14; 4Q287 10.13, where the phrase also appears with a yod. 25 In this passage, the prophets are identified by the designation “anointed one” (xy#m), a term more commonly employed in reference to messianic figures. This designation for the prophets is rare in the Hebrew Bible (see 1 Kgs 19:16; Isa 61:1; Ps 105:15 = 1 Chr 16:22), but appears with increasing frequency in the Dead Sea Scrolls (1Q30 1.2 [?]; CD 2:12; 6:1 [= 4Q267 2.6; 6Q15 3.4]; 1QM 11:7–8; 4Q270 2 ii 14; 4Q287 10.13; 4Q377 2 ii 5; 4Q521 2 ii + 4.1; 8.9 [?]; 22 The 23 I


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are assumed here: one through Moses at Sinai and the remainder through the succession of post-Mosaic prophets. Second, like the Rule of the Community, the Damascus Document contends that the only way to observe the Mosaic Torah in its totality is with the added understanding provided by the prophetic revelation. In the Rule of the Community, this is the way that the community members properly observe the Torah. In the Damascus Document, the opponents of the community are condemned for their failure to do so. A similar model is found in the pesher on Hosea, 4QpHosa (4Q166 2:1–6), though with slight modifications. This pesher interprets Hos 2:10 as an allusion to the enemies of the sect, who “ate [and] were satisfied, and they forgot God who had f[ed them, and all] his ordinances they cast behind them, which he had sent to them [by the hand of] his servants the prophets (wydb( [dyb ]Mhyl) xl# r#) My)ybnh)” (lines 3-5).26 God’s commandments are once again identified as having been revealed to Israel through the agency of the prophets.27 As in the passage in the Damascus Document, the enemies of the sect are condemned for failing to adhere to the laws of the Torah. For the members of the Qumran community, complete observance of the Torah can occur only after they comprehend the entirety of the divinely revealed law, which includes the revelation to the prophets. Unlike the passages in the Rule of the Community and the Damascus Document, however, Pesher Hosea does not introduce the original revelation of law to Moses. The portrait of the prophets from Israel’s past as mediating God’s commandments is reflected also in two decidedly nonsectarian documents: the Apocryphon of Jeremiah (4Q390) and the Apocryphon of Moses (4Q375).28 Both of these texts are 9.3 [?]; 11Q13 2:18). The nominal form xy#m occurs twenty-eight times in the Qumran corpus. Thus, over one-quarter of all uses of “anointed” in the nonscriptural Qumran literature bears a prophetic sense. See further Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 85–103. 26 Maurya Horgan in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 6B, Pesharim, Other Commentaries and Related Documents (ed. James H. Charlesworth; Princeton Theological Seminary Dead Sea Scrolls Project 6B; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 116–17. See the alternate reconstructions and understandings of this passage in André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (trans. Geza Vermes; Cleveland: Meridian, 1962), 277; David C. Carlson, “An Alternative Reading of 4 Q p Oseaa II, 3–6,” RevQ 11 (1982): 417–21. 27 Note, however, that the preposition of instrumentality (dyb), common also to 1QS and CD, is restored in the lacuna. Some scholars restore ypb (John M. Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I: 4Q158–4Q186 [DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968], 31). Horgan correctly observes that dyb is far more common in the Hebrew Bible as an expression of the instrumentality of the prophets (Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books [CBQMS 8; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979], 141). Indeed, several biblical examples have been discussed already. Moreover, dyb is further retained in the scrolls as the dominant preposition denoting prophetic instrumentality. As such, this restoration is preferred. 28 There is general agreement that both of these texts are nonsectarian. See Devorah Dimant, “The Qumran Manuscripts: Contents and Significance,” in Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness: Papers on the Qumran Scrolls by Fellows of the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Hebrew

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classified as “parabiblical” documents, with the more specific generic classification “pseudo-prophetic,” because they adapt the biblical character and story (in varying degrees) of Jeremiah and Moses.29 Texts of this nature provide unique insight into the contemporary conception of past events and individuals at the same time as they open up the social and historical world of their composers. These texts also provide evidence that the sectarian portrait of the ancient prophets was shared by additional segments of Second Temple Judaism. The Apocryphon of Jeremiah is presented as an ex eventu prophecy revealed to Jeremiah, which contains a review of history spanning from biblical times until the eschatological age. At one point in the predictive portion of the text, God claims “and] in that jubilee they will be violating all my statutes and all my commandments which I shall have commanded th[em and sent throu]gh (d[yb xl#)w]) my servants, the prophets” (4Q390 2 i 4–5).30 This passage shows strong similarities with other passages examined thus far. The prophets, here labeled as God’s servants (see 1QS 1:2–3, cited above), are entrusted with the task of transmitting the commandments to the people. The language employed to express this instrumentality (dyb) is identical to that already seen in biblical literature and other Qumran documents.31 The two fragments of 4Q375 (Apocryphon of Moses) are generally understood as instructions for testing and exposing a false prophet.32 The ordeal concerning the University, Jerusalem, 1989–1990 (ed. Devorah Dimant and Lawrence H. Schiffman; STDJ 16; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 45, 49. On 4Q390, see, however, Ben Zion Wacholder, “Deutero-Ezekiel and Jeremiah (4Q384–4Q391): Identifying the Dry Bones of Ezekiel 37 as the Essenes,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after Their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 1997 (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman, Emanuel Tov, and James C. VanderKam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, Israel Museum), 445–61, esp. 450. On the similarities between the larger collection of manuscripts and sectarian literature, see the discussion in Brady, “Prophetic Traditions,” 2:539– 40. On 4Q375, see John Strugnell, “Moses-Pseudepigrapha at Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin (ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman; JSPSup 8; JSOT/ASOR Monographs 2; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 247-48; idem in Joseph Fitzmyer et al., Qumran Cave 4.XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2 (DJD 19; Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 130–36. 29 On this genre, see George J. Brooke, “Parabiblical Prophetic Narratives,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (ed. James C. VanderKam and Peter W. Flint; 2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1998–99), 1:271–301. 30 Dimant, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 246 (slightly modified). For discussion of the reconstruction of the lacuna, see eadem, “New Light on Jewish Pseudepigrapha—4Q390,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid, 18– 21 March, 1991 (ed. Julio Trebolle Barrera and Luis Vegas Montaner; 2 vols.; STDJ 11.1–2; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 2:428. The restoration of dyb is certain, since the final dalet is clearly visible on the manuscript. 31 Note as well that elsewhere in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah (4Q385a 18 i a–b 7–11, cited in n. 16 above), the more common biblical model of the prophet as law enforcer is found. 32 Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.XIV, 118; Gershon Brin, “The Laws of the Prophets in the Sect


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false prophet begins only in the middle of line 4. The first three and a half lines form part of a larger exhortation to observe the commandments and return to God (lines 1–4). Thus, the mention of the prophet in line 1 presumably refers to the general office of a true prophet. Here the speaker (Moses?) encourages the people to observe “[all that ]thy God will command thee by the mouth (ypm) of the prophet, and thou shalt keep [all] these [stat]utes.”33 Though the circumstances described assume a future time when they will be realized, the passage as it stands clearly has in mind the Israelite prophet in general. The prophet is depicted as mediating God’s laws and statutes.34

Prophets and Progressive Revelation In the five texts surveyed thus far, the ancient prophets appear as mediators of divine law, similar to the role traditionally assigned to Moses. While these texts begin to reveal the community’s understanding of the juridical role of the ancient prophets, very little information is supplied concerning the way that the prophets function as lawgivers and their precise relationship to Moses and Mosaic law. In each text, a general claim is advanced regarding this prophetic status. None of the texts, however, provides any explicit information concerning the precise manner in which these prophets function in this capacity. A second set of texts provides this desired context. Here the prophets are explicitly identified as the second stage in the progressive revelation of the law, a process begun with Moses at Sinai. The Rule of the Community 1QS 8:15–16 represents the most important text for comprehending the community’s conceptualization of the lawgiving capacity of the ancient prophets. Before discussing the presentation of the prophets, the immediate literary context of this passage must be treated. Columns 8 and 9 of the Rule of the Community describe the formation of the sectarian community and its withdrawal to the desert.35 Upon of the Judaean Desert: Studies in 4Q375,” in Qumran Questions (ed. James H. Charlesworth; Biblical Seminar 36; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 28–60; repr. from JSP 10 (1992): 19–51; repr. in Studies in Biblical Law (JSOTSup 176; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994), 128–63. 33 Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.XIV, 113. 34 Note the use of the prepositional phrase ypm rather than dyb. As noted above, however, many scholars prefer such a restoration for the passage in 4Q166 (see n. 27 above). The preposition ypm appears also in 4Q377 2 ii 5 referring to Moses’ mediation of divine law. 35 On this understanding of cols. 8–9, see Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 177; Jerome MurphyO’Connor, “La genèse littéraire de la Règle de la Communauté,” RB 76 (1969): 529–33; Christoph Dohmen, “Zur Gründung der Gemeinde von Qumran,” RevQ 11 (1982): 81–96. See, however, Sarianna Metso, “The Use of Old Testament Quotations in the Qumran Community Rule,” in

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recognizing that this group possesses the proper understanding, God will set it aside as a bulwark of truth (1QS 8:1–12). This group is then exhorted to retreat to the desert in order to “prepare there the way of the Lord” (8:12–13). This desired model is corroborated by appeal to Isa 40:3, “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make level in the desert a highway for our God,” which is interpreted to refer to the study of the Torah (hrwth #rdm) (1QS 8:15).36 The hrwth #rdm, “study of the Torah,” is characterized as that “wh[ic]h he commanded through (dyb) Moses to do (tw#(l) according to everything which has been revealed (from) time to time (t(b t( hlgnh lwkk), and according to that which the prophets have revealed by his holy spirit (w#dwq xwrb My)ybnh wlg r#)kw)” (1QS 8:15–16).37 The presence of the prepositional phrase dyb illustrates Moses’ intermediary role, similar to what was already seen for both Moses and the prophets. However, the question is, what exactly did God (the assumed subject of hwc) command Moses? The syntactical ambiguity of the passage makes the identification of the relative pronoun r#) difficult: is it the hrwth #rdm or just the hrwt?38 There can be little doubt that the assumed antecedent is the Torah itself and not the larger process of interpreting the Torah. If the antecedent is “study of the Torah,” then “to do” must refer to this exercise. P. Wernberg-Møller observes, however, that the use of the verb tw#(l in 1QS always refers to the performance of the law, not its exposition, a characteristic prominently featured elsewhere in the Qumran writings as well.39 Moreover, elsewhere in 1QS, the Torah of Moses is said to be commanded by God in language similar to the current passage (1QS 5:8). Accordingly, this passage in 1QS presents Moses in his traditional role of lawgiver of the Torah. Wernberg-Møller’s understanding of the use of tw#(l here provides a better appreciation of the remainder of the passage.40 The Torah of Moses, according to Qumran between the Old and New Testaments (ed. Frederick H. Cryer and Thomas L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Copenhagen International Seminar 6; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 223–24. 36 On the term hrwth #rdm in general, see Schiffman, Halakhah, 54–60. 37 Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 36–37. 38 The former reading is preferred by Dupont-Sommer, Essene Writings, 92 n. 2; and Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 177. 39 Wernberg-Møller, Manual of Discipline, 129. See 1QS 1:2, 7; 1QpHab 7:11; 8:1; 12:4; 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 15, 23. See the references collected by Stephen Goranson, “Others and Intra-Jewish Polemic in Qumran Texts,” in Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years, ed. Flint and VanderKam, 2:539 n. 14. See also Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 182. 40 Note, however, that one of the cave 4 manuscripts (4QSe) lacks any material corresponding to the text of 1QS from “commanded through Moses” (1QS 8:15a) until 1QS 9:12 (the statutes of the maśkîl) (see 4Q259 1 iii 5–6). Sarianna Metso argues that the text of 4QSe is earlier and the entirety of 1QS 8:15b–9:11 is a secondary insertion (The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule [STDJ 21; Leiden: Brill, 1997], 71–73). Here Metso is following the suggestion


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1QS, is not self-sustaining in the sense that it can be observed in full without recourse to any external explication and amplification. The employment of tw#(l introduces a twofold model for how the Torah transmitted by Moses can, in the words of Naphtali Wieder, be “applied” in full by the sectarian community, a model presumably demanded for the rest of Israel as well.41 First, the community is exhorted to observe the law “according to everything which has been revealed (hlgnh) (from) time to time” (1QS 8:15). This expression articulates the sectarian belief that the proper understanding of the Torah is apprehended through a system of periodic legislative revelations.42 This passage, however, seems to speak only in generalities, merely introducing the sectarian belief in progressive revelation as a mechanism for comprehending the Torah and its postbiblical application.43 Indeed, wedged between Moses and the prophets, these periodic revelations seem to lack a recognized time frame and an easily identifiable audience. The primary function of the passage is to indicate that the Torah is deficient without the periodic revelations. The next clause introduces the prophets, whose function is also described as providing a proper understanding of how to observe Torah, in the same way as the periodic revelations: “to do . . . according to that which the prophets revealed (wlg) by his holy spirit” (1QS 8:16). How should the role of the prophets in this passage be understood? More specifically, what is the precise relationship between their legislative revelation and the Torah transmitted by Moses? The role of the prophets here is extremely nuanced and slightly different from that seen in the texts already discussed. Though earlier in the Rule of the Community, Moses and the prophets seemingly share the role of transmitters of the Torah (or commandments) itself, here that responsibility is the exclusive domain of Moses. The prophets are entrusted with a secondary task. The description of Moses of a number of earlier scholars. See further eadem, “The Primary Results of the Reconstruction of 4QSe,” JJS 44 (1993): 304 n. 10 (see also eadem, “Use,” 226-28). Philip S. Alexander and Geza Vermes contend (also following earlier suggestions), that the shorter text of 4Q259 represents a secondary omission (Qumran Cave 4.XIX: Serekh ha-Yahai d and Two Related Texts [DJD 26; Oxford: Clarendon, 1998], 148). The other cave 4 manuscript (4QSd) with text corresponding to 1QS does not reflect this textual omission. 4Q258 [4QSd] 3 vi 7–8 (frg. 2 in Metso and Qimron and Charlesworth) runs entirely parallel to the material in 1QS (partially reconstructed), though it still contains a somewhat shorter text than 1QS. Though the text of 1QS may reflect a later development, it still contributes greatly to our discussion of the conception of prophets in the sectarian documents, though perhaps at a later stage in the sect’s history. See further p. 332 below. 41 Wieder, Judean Scrolls, 78. Compare 1QS 1:1–3, which employs the identical language of “performing” (tw#(l) the law of Moses. As already remarked, this passage seemingly provides no model for the actualization of the performance. 42 See n. 2 above. 43 So Wieder, Judean Scrolls, 78; Schiffman, Halakhah, 26; contra Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community (Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World, 200 bc–ad 200 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 135.

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is linked to the mention of the Torah. His role is marked with the same language of instrumentality that was seen in the previous passages (dyb). The prophets, on the other hand, are introduced not in this regard. Instead, their role is to illuminate the performance (tw#(l) of the Torah and to provide instruction on how to carry out this directive properly. Accordingly, there is no indication that the prophets are expected to introduce any radically new legislation independent of Mosaic law. Rather, entrusted with the task of facilitating the performance of Torah law, the prophetic activity here most likely involves the explication of the proper application of the legislation in the Torah and incorporation of extrabiblical traditions.44 The prophets are here conceptualized as possessing the proper understanding of the Torah of Moses and as empowered to share this knowledge with Israel. This juridical knowledge is intimately connected with their prophetic status. Following a general statement on the sect’s theory of progressive revelation, the prophets are described as the initial historical link in the succession of these periodic revelations. The revelatory experience at Sinai, consisting of the Torah of Moses, was incomplete with respect to the future legislative needs of Israel. The juridical activity of the prophets represents the first attempt to grapple with this problem. Non-Canonical Psalms The model envisaged by 1QS 8:15–16 is present in one fragment among the larger group of nonsectarian psalmlike compositions known as Non-Canonical Psalms (4Q380–381).45 4Q381 69.4 asserts that God “gave them to you (Mtnyw)46 by his spirit, prophets to instruct (lyk#hl) and to teach (dmllw) you.”47 The full import of this presumably technical expression is apparent only through analysis of the biblical base texts on which 4Q381 is drawing and of how it employs this biblical language and imagery. 44

See Wieder, Judean Scrolls, 78–79; Baumgarten, “Unwritten Law,” 30; Schiffman, Halakhah, 26; idem, Reclaiming, 248. 45 The Non-Canonical Psalms (4Q380–381) are generally classified as nonsectarian on account of the lack of any discernible sectarian terminology. See, e.g., Eileen Schuller, Non-Canonical Psalms from Qumran: A Pseudepigraphic Collection (HSS 28; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 22– 23; Dimant, “Qumran Manuscripts,” 47. On the general features of the collection, see Schuller, 1–25. 46 This word seems to come from the root Ntn. The intended form seems to be a third person singular masculine imperfect (waw consecutive), with a pronominal suffix. See Eileen Schuller in Esther Eshel et al., Qumran Cave 4.VI: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 1 (DJD 11; Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 151, for a brief discussion of the origins of this form. Though the preceding lacuna may contain the explicit identification of the pronominal suffix, the syntactical arrangement of the line suggests that “them” is a proleptic suffix referring to the prophets. Moreover, the association of the prophets and the spirit is well known (as observed by Schuller). 47 Schuller, Qumran Cave 4.VI, 150.


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As Eileen Schuller points out, the root “to teach” (dml) is common Deuteronomic terminology associated with Moses.48 Throughout Deuteronomy, the subject of Moses’ instruction is the law.49 In particular, he instructs the Israelites in the Myqx (“laws”) and My+p#m (“rules”) (Deut 4:1, 5, 14), with the sometime addition of the hwcm (“instruction”) (Deut 5:28; 6:150). Of these three subjects of instruction, two of them are mentioned in the present psalm (line 5) as transmitted to Israel through the agency of Moses (Myqx, twcm).51 The prophets in line 4 are therefore depicted as instructing Israel concerning these laws and rules similar to the way Moses appears in Deuteronomy and later in this fragment. The other word used to describe the prophetic instruction (lyk#hl) carries similar connotations. This is most apparent in the biblical base text on which 4Q381 is likely drawing—Nehemiah 9.52 The notice that God, through his spirit, sent the prophets to instruct (lyk#hl) Israel (line 4) is drawn from Neh 9:20, where God is lauded for bestowing on Israel “your good spirit to instruct them (Mlyk#hl).”53 The full meaning and impact of this verse can be ascertained only within the framework of the larger literary structure of the confession in which it appears. The unit is constructed as a literary reversal, whereby the second half of the literary unit functions as a refracted reversal of the first half.54 Nehemiah 9:20 is parallel to the earlier notice of the revelation of the law at Sinai and its continued mediation and interpretation through Moses (vv. 13–14). Based on the parallel structure of this pericope, the instruction by the spirit in v. 20 is no doubt in legal matters, particularly elucidation of the divine commandments. Indeed, in his analysis of the role of the spirit in this passage, John R. Levison points to the other uses of the root lk# in Nehemiah in support of this understanding. The root is regularly employed to describe the “study and interpretation of Torah” (Neh 8:8, 13). So too, Levison argues, this same function should be assigned to the enlightening spirit in Neh 9:20.55

48

Schuller, Qumran Cave 4.VI, 151. This root is employed in the Pentateuch only in Deuteronomy (Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, 189, 303). Elsewhere, it refers to formal instruction in wisdom or in a skill (see HALOT 2:531). 49 The one exception is Deut 31:19, 22, where Moses teaches the Israelites the Song of Moses. 50 Compare NJPS ad loc., which understands the “instruction” as a larger category that encompasses the “laws” and the “rules.” 51 A third element, the twrwt, also appears. 52 Schuller, Qumran Cave 4.VI, 149. See the extensive list of parallel language and imagery in eadem, Non-Canonical Psalms, 209–10. 53 See Schuller, Non-Canonical Psalms, 209; eadem, Qumran Cave 4.VI, 151. 54 See John R. Levison, The Spirit in First-Century Judaism (AGJU 29; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 195. On this feature in biblical literature, see Jon D. Levenson, Esther: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 5–12. 55 Levison, Spirit, 196. The use of the root lk# to refer to the proper elucidation of the Torah is found also in God’s exhortation to Joshua upon assuming the role of leader of Israel (Josh 1:7–8).

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The reference in Nehemiah to the spirit as the driving force is the textual and literary foundation for the passage in 4Q381. The precise role of the spirit, however, has changed slightly. In 4Q381 the divine spirit is the agent through which God sends the prophets to Israel. The prophets in 4Q381 assume the role played by the spirit in Neh 9:20. The biblical base text of 4Q381 provides further insight into the nature of the “instruction” the prophets are expected to perform. The instruction of the prophets, like the spirit in Nehemiah, is grounded in interpretation and elucidation of the Torah itself. This activity is intended to complement Moses’ initial formulation of the law.56 The role of Moses and the prophets in this fragment can now be understood more clearly. Line 5 recounts how God transmitted “la]ws, instructions, and commandments by the covenant established through [Moses].” As in line 4, this passage displays a dependence on Nehemiah 9, in this case vv. 13–14.57 The same sequence of divine laws is said to be transmitted “through (dyb) Moses your servant” (Neh 9:14). 4Q381 makes the initial mediation of the Torah and its laws the exclusive prerogative of Moses. This passage presents the prophetic legislative mission as independent of Moses and the Torah. The prophets, sent with the aid of a divine spirit, are identified with the task of “instruction” and “illumination.” The analysis of the use of these terms in 4Q381 in dialogue with their presumed biblical basis provides some contextual meaning for their application here. The prophets are not represented as transmitting the actual Torah, but are rather depicted as Torah instructors (dmll). Their function in 56 This understanding of the expression “to instruct and to teach” in 4Q381 is reinforced by the combination of these same two words in the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa). The desired curriculum of the youth (ages ten to twenty) is outlined as follows: “they shall instruct him (whdm[lyw]) in the Book of Hagi (yghh rpsb) and according to his age they shall enlighten him (whylyk#y) in the statute[s of] the covenant” (1QSa 1:7). Though there is intense debate on the meaning of the Book of Hagi (CD 10:6; 13:2; 14:7–8), many scholars assert that it is a reference to the Torah (see Isaac Rabinowitz, “The Qumran Authors’ SPR HHGW/Y,” JNES 20 [1961]: 111– 14; Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 256; Schiffman, Halakhah, 44; Knibb, Qumran Community, 149; Steven D. Fraade, “Hagu, Book of,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls [ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam; 2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000], 1:327). The latter half of the passage in 1QSa seems to refer specifically to the sectarian teachings and rules and not general Torah. Schiffman suggests that it is “the practical application of the commandments,” similar to the rabbinic instruction of children in the proper observance of the commandments (Lawrence H. Schiffman, The Eschatological Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Study of the Rule of the Congregation [SBLMS 38; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989], 15). As in the rabbinic communities, where the youth would be taught the Torah according to its rabbinic interpretation and application, Schiffman argues that the youth here would be initiated in the commandments according to their sectarian understanding. Thus, the youth curriculum stresses instruction (√dml) in the Torah (the Book of Hagi) and the illumination (√lk#) of its proper sectarian interpretation (the statutes of the covenant). 57 Schuller, Qumran Cave 4.VI, 151.


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this capacity is to make the Torah intelligible and applicable in the present setting (lyk#hl). Through this revelatory experience, the prophets continue the task of prophetic lawgiving begun with Moses at Sinai. Apocryphon of Jeremiah The final text that reconfigures the responsibilities of the ancient prophets is found in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah (4Q390). This document, as noted above, contains a review of history from biblical times through the eschatological age. 4Q390 frg. 1, as understood by Dimant, represents part of the final description of the biblical period and the initial period of the Second Temple.58 In general, this fragment heaps immeasurable scorn upon the last phases of the monarchy and the majority of Jews in the Second Temple period. In contrast to the disobedience that marks the “former days of their kingdom,” the initial returnees from the Babylonian exile are presented as steadfast and resolute in their fidelity to the covenant and God’s commandments.59 This behavior and the divine favor that it engenders are seemingly linked to the returnees’ desire to build the temple (lines 5–6). Up to this point, the apocryphal description of the returnees’ activity is drawn primarily from the biblical record, specifically Ezra-Nehemiah.60 The text, however, introduces an entirely new detail into their story. God declares that he will speak with the returnees and send them commandments (line 6).61 The locution hwcm Mhyl) hxl#)w hmhb hrbd)w, “And I shall speak to them and I shall send 58 Dimant,

Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 243. Florentino García Martínez argues that the larger contents of this fragment reflect the Hasmonean period (“Nuevos textos no bíblicos procedentes de Qumran,” EstBíb 49 [1991]: 130– 34). At the same time, he understands the “returnees” as a reference to the period of Ezra (p. 134). This reading is echoed by Michael A. Knibb, “A Note on 4Q372 and 4Q390,” in The Scriptures and the Scrolls: Studies in Honour of A.S. Van der Woude on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (ed. Florentino García Martínez, A. Hilhorst, and C. J. Labuschagne; VTSup 49; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 174. See further discussion in Brady, “Prophetic Traditions,” 2:466–69. At the same time, all agree that the circumstances of line 6 (the return) must be located in an early postexilic context. The fact that the individuals have come to rebuild the temple seems to rule out the period of Ezra, when the temple had already been built. The most plausible historical context for this group is the initial wave of Babylonian exiles that returned to Jerusalem (with Sheshbazzar) or perhaps the second set of immigrants (with Joshua and Zerubbabel), who actually succeeded in building the temple. The language of returning to rebuild the temple is drawn from Ezra 1:5, which describes the first set of returnees. 60 On the biblical base, see Dimant, “New Light,” 422; eadem, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 240; Brady, “Prophetic Traditions,” 2:479. 61 The text seems to indicate that the dialogue is between God and the returnees. See, however, Brady, “Prophetic Traditions,” 2:479, who understands the audience as the sinners mentioned earlier in the passage. Brady’s interpretation does not alter my overall understanding of the passage. 59

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them commandments,” as noted by Dimant, paraphrases Deut 5:28 (“I will speak to you all of the commandments and the statutes and the law”).62 In Deuteronomy, God instructs Moses to dictate to Israel a set of laws and commandments that will be incumbent upon the first generation of Israelites who will enter the land of Israel under the direction of Joshua. The Apocryphon of Jeremiah has recontextualized the meaning and application of the Deuteronomic passage. As a set of laws intended for those entering the land of Israel, they fit well the new narrative created by 4Q390 frg. 1. Rather than directed at Joshua’s generation, these divine laws are now intended for the first generation of returnees from the Babylonian exile. The laws transmitted in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah, however, are not merely a reproduction of those which God communicates to Moses in Deut 5:28. The Apocryphon indicates that God will confer on the returnees hwcm, rendered by Dimant as a collective noun “the commandments.”63 This word choice is no doubt drawn from Deut 5:28, where it refers to Mosaic legislation. In the Qumran corpus, however, Torah law is more often identified with the terms l) twcm or twwcm. hwcm is the more general term for sectarian law.64 There is little to recommend such a narrow understanding of the term here for the nonsectarian Apocryphon of Jeremiah. At the same time, it seems certain that the author of the Apocryphon has chosen his words deliberately in order to refer to a set of laws conveyed to the returnees that is not merely a restatement of Mosaic legislation.65 The exact content of this new non-Mosaic law is not clear from the text. Perhaps it would have contained specific instructions on how to build the new temple, the project previously mentioned in the fragment.66 Further in this fragment, the generations following the initial returnees are condemned for their failure to continue the exemplary conduct of the returnees. In particular, they are singled out for forgetting “statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant” (line 8). The proximity of this generation to the returnees suggests that some of these elements would have been contained in the legislation received by the returning generation.67 All of these four categories are well established features of Mosaic law. The current “commandment” would therefore likely include some amplification or supplement to this Mosaic legislation. 62

The latter half of the clause draws from Mal 2:4 (see below). See Dimant, “New Light,” 422; eadem, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 240. 63 Dimant, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 240–41. Wacholder (“Deutero-Ezekiel,” 451) and Brady (“Prophetic Traditions,” 2:472) translate as a singular. 64 See Schiffman, Halakhah, 47–49; Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 241. 65 So argued by Dimant, “New Light,” 422; eadem, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 241. 66 Following his interpretation of this passage, Knibb opines that the “commandment” refers to Ezra’s reforms (“Note,” 174). As noted above, the group of returnees cannot be identified with the period of Ezra, since this group set out to build the temple. Since God speaks “to them” and sends the commandments “to them,” it seems that this is same group that receives the commandments, thus precluding the period of Ezra. 67 See Dimant, “New Light,” 422; eadem, Qumran Cave 4.XXI, 241.


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It is reasonably certain that the Apocryphon of Jeremiah envisions God’s assigning the role of mediating the law to a prophetic agent. The imagery in the Apocryphon of God’s communicating laws to the returnees is drawn from the encounter between God and Moses in Deut 5:28. There God entrusts Moses, the first of the prophetic lawgivers, with the responsibility of transmitting divine law to Israel. This lawgiving role would therefore be taken up by a later prophetic lawgiver active during the period of the return of the Babylonian exiles. Indeed, the language of 4Q390 1.6 also draws from Mal 2:4, where Malachi informs the Levites, “Know then that I have sent this commandment (hwcm) to you.” Does the Apocryphon of Jeremiah envision Malachi as the prophetic lawgiver assigned the task of mediating new law to the early postexilic community? This is consistent with the chronological context and content of Malachi’s prophetic career as found in the biblical record. Indeed, the alignment of Moses and Malachi is a well-known trope found already in the epilogue to the biblical book (Mal 3:22 [Eng. 4:4]), where a later glossator places in Malachi’s mouth an exhortation to observe the law of Moses.68

Summary In the foregoing discussion, I have treated two sets of texts, each of which presents a relatively uniform portrait of the Qumran community’s conception of the classical prophets and their relationship to the law. In the first five (1QS 1:2–3; CD 5:21–6:1; 4Q166 2:1–6; 4Q390 frg. 2; 4Q375), the prophets are portrayed, sometimes together with Moses, as agents in the transmission and diffusion of divine law. This role for the prophets is not entirely new from the perspective of inherited biblical tradition. In a few late biblical passages, prophets are commissioned with the task of lawgiving (2 Kgs 17:13; Ezra 9:10–11; Dan 9:10; 2 Chr 29:25). These passages, however, present the minority biblical view. Thus, the Qumran texts have reconfigured the ancient prophets as lawgivers by drawing on the language (dyb) and imagery of this late biblical tradition. The precise role of the prophet in these Qumran passages, however, is not entirely clear. The texts do not provide enough information to determine the relationship of the prophetic lawgiving to that of Moses or of the prophetic legislation to Mosaic law. What is clear, however, is that the ancient prophets are conceptualized as active participants in the continued revelation of law after Moses. For the Qumran community, the Torah can be observed in its totality only through the law revealed by Moses and the prophets. The second set of texts supplies this desired context (1QS 8:15–16; 4Q381 frg. 69; 4Q390 frg. 1). In these passages, the prophets are presented as amplifying 68 On the relationship of Malachi to Moses, see further Dale C. Allison, A New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 76–77 n. 179.

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Mosaic law and actively engaged in the formation of non-Mosaic law. The sectarian texts, along with the nonsectarian works, schematize the development of legal traditions in ancient Israel as follows: Moses, as lawgiver and prophet par excellence, received the pentateuchal law and transmitted it to Israel. Moses’ role as lawgiver is intimately connected with his related status as prophet, which is marked through the use of technical terminology found in the Hebrew Bible for the prophetic transmission of divine law (dyb). In this respect, the Qumran community was in complete agreement with all other segments of Jewish society. The Qumran corpus identifies the second stage in this process with the revelation of law and its transmission through the agency of prophets. Their lawgiving activity, though intimately connected with that of Moses, is clearly singled out as an independent and secondary enterprise. Their activity seems to focus on facilitating the observance of Mosaic law through its further amplification and interpretation, a process conceptualized as drawing on the prophetic ability to reveal the divine will through the agency of the holy spirit. At times, this process involves the introduction of legislation that stands outside of the immediate framework of Mosaic law.69 The classical prophets, as conceptualized in the Qumran corpus, represent the second link in the ongoing revelation of law to Israel.70

III. Prophetic Lawgivers and Sectarian Lawgivers Why do the prophets appear with great regularity in the sectarian writings as mediators of divine law? Moreover, what is the relationship envisioned between the sectarian community as possessors of revealed law and the classical lawgiving prophets, who in previous times had received revealed law and disseminated it accordingly? The portrait of the ancient prophets from Israel’s biblical heritage is 69 The view advanced here is predicated on the understanding that the Second Temple period writers envisioned the ancient prophets not in conflict with Mosaic law and prophecy but as continuing participants in the prophetic lawgiving task initiated by Moses. Hindy Najman observes a similar phenomenon with respect to pseudepigraphical works attributed to or associated with Moses. Najman argues that texts such as Deuteronomy or Jubilees, which at first glance seem to supplant earlier Mosaic Scripture and therefore subvert Mosaic authority, are actually participants in an ongoing Mosaic discourse (Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism [JSJSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 2004]). 70 In light of the amplified context provided by this second set of passages, the role played by the prophets in the first set of passages can now be reassessed. Though context provides no immediate assistance in the first set of passages, it is plausible that the model found in 1QS 8:15– 16 and 4Q381 frg. 69 stands behind the traditions in these passages. Thus, reference to Moses and the prophets in 1QS 1:2–3 and CD 5:21–6:1 may indicate the role of the prophets as part of a later process of revealing divine law and as interpreters of Mosaic law. Allusions to the prophets as independent lawgivers (4Q166 col. 2, 4Q390 frg. 2, 4Q375) would then be understood as having in mind their unstated relationship to Moses and Mosaic legislation.


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not merely an attempt by Second Temple Jews to uncover the context and contours of their prophetic past. Rather, the classical prophets are imagined in language and imagery consistent with a contemporary understanding of the function of a prophet and the continuing role of the ancient prophets. The consistency in the representation of the classical prophets as mediators of revealed law in the sectarian and related nonsectarian texts indicates a heightened role for the prophetic word in the formulation of law both at Qumran and in some segments of wider Second Temple Judaism. The evidence provided by 1QS 8:15–16 provides an appropriate context in which to discuss the relationship of the classical lawgiving prophets and the contemporary sectarian recipients of revealed law. Earlier treatment of this passage focused on the presentation of Moses and the ancient prophets found therein. As I emphasized, 1QS 8:15–16 portrays Moses and the classical prophets as the first two stages in the revelation of law to Israel. The passage begins by introducing the Torah of Moses. The text continues by identifying two aspects of post-Mosaic juridical activity that serve to facilitate the application and observance (tw#(l) of the Mosaic Torah: periodic revelations and the explicit revelatory activity of the prophets. The latter of the two is easily identified with the classical prophets: “and according to that which the prophets revealed (wlg) by his holy spirit” (1QS 8:16). The prophets are pictured as actively disseminating revealed knowledge concerning the meaning of the Torah and the application of its commandments. The language and imagery employed in this passage represent an attempt by the author of the Rule of the Community to locate the sectarian receipt of revealed law within the historical landscape of progressive revelation. More specifically, this passage, in dialogue with others in the sectarian corpus, reflects a concerted effort by the Qumran community to present its own participation in the progressive revelation of the law as the third stage in this process. It viewed itself as the immediate heir to the classical prophetic lawgivers and its own experience as a direct continuation of this prophetic activity. In this sense, the community conceived of its lawgiving activity as a prophetic encounter. Let us turn to the evidence itself, beginning with 1QS 8:15–16. The employment of the root hlg in both clauses of 1QS 8:15–16 is seemingly intended to refer to the basic sectarian understanding of biblical and postbiblical law, the so-called nigleh (“revealed” law), as opposed to the nistar (“hidden” law).71 The nigleh is the general understanding of Scripture and its explicit laws (1QS 5:11– 12). This understanding, however, does not work with the present passage. The nigleh is by its nature immediately intelligible to all Israel. Its application would therefore be located in Moses’ initial transmission of the Torah and would not require periodic revelations or prophetic revelatory activity in order to illuminate the application of the Torah (tw#(l). 71 On

these terms, see Schiffman, Halakhah, 22–32.

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The key to understanding this passage lies in the alternate use of nigleh found in some places in the sectarian corpus. Alongside the standard model of the nigleh and nistar, col. 5 of the Rule of the Community presents a much different understanding of the meaning of these terms while delineating the requirements of the initiates into the council of the community: He shall take upon his soul by a binding oath to return to the Torah of Moses (h#wm trwt), according to all that he commanded (hwc r#) lwkk), with all heart and with all soul, according to everything which has been revealed (hlgnh) from it to the Sons of Zadok, the priests who keep the covenant and seek his will and according to the multitude of the men of their covenant. . . . (1QS 5:8–9)72

Here the nigleh is the proper understanding of the Torah that has been revealed specifically to the Sons of Zadok, the sectarian community.73 That this nigleh is the exclusive domain of the sectarians is strengthened by the text of the 4QS manuscripts, which reflect a truncated version of lines 9–10: “everything revealed (hlgnh lk) from the T[orah] to [the multitude of] the council of men of the community” (4Q256 4.7–8; 4Q258 1.6–7).74 The activity of the council thereby stands together with the divinely revealed nigleh. This is not the nigleh that is known to all of Israel as Scripture. Rather, 1QS col. 5 envisions two notions of the nigleh, one referring to revelation to all of Israel (lines 11–12) and the other to the sectarians alone (lines 8–9).75 Lawrence Schiffman opines that the nigleh of 1QS 5:8–9 is equivalent to the nistar of 1QS 5:11–12; that which is hidden to all of Israel is revealed to the sectarians.76 As outlined in table 1 on the next page, linguistic and thematic correspondence recommends the application of the meaning of the nigleh in 1QS 5:8–9 to 1QS 8:15–16:

72 Qimron

and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 20–23. Manual of Discipline, 95; Knibb, Qumran Community, 109. On the Sons of Zadok, see Schiffman, Halakhah, 72–75; idem, Reclaiming, 113–17. See also 1QS 5:2 and the pesher on Ezek 44:15 in CD 3:21–4:4. 74 This text follows 4Q258 (4QSd). 4Q256 (4QSb) is defective and requires far more reconstruction. I have followed the reconstruction of Qimron and Charlesworth for the lacuna immediately preceding the reference to the council of the community (bwrl, “to the multitude of ”). Alexander and Vermes suggest here yp l(, “in accordance with.” See Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 62–63, 72–73; Alexander and Vermes, Qumran Cave 4.XIX, 94, 97; Metso, Textual Development, 80. 75 Licht (Megillat ha-Serakhim, 131) first recognized that the meaning of nigleh in this passage is different from that which appears in 1QS 5:11–12. He is followed by Schiffman (see following note). 76 Schiffman, Halakhah, 24. He points to CD 3:13–14 with the phrase “to reveal to them the hidden things” (twrtsnh Mhl twlgl). This argument is also found in Wieder, Judean Scrolls, 67; Baumgarten, “Unwritten Law,” 30. 73 Wernberg-Møller,

Jassen: Ancient Prophets as Lawgivers at Qumran 1QS 8:15–16

h#wm dyb . . . hrwth

1QS 5:8–9

331 h#wm trwt

The Torah . . . through Moses

The Torah of Moses

Wh[ic]h he commanded

According to all that he commanded

hwc r[#])

t(b t( hlgnh lwkk tw#(l

To do according to everything that has been revealed (from) time to time

w#dwq xwrb My)ybnh wlg r#)kw

And (to do) as the prophets revealed through his holy spirit.

hwc r#) lwkk

lwkl #pn lwkbw bl lwkb . . . l) bw#l hnmm hlgnh

To return . . . with all heart and with all soul, according to everything that has been revealed from it

qwdc ynbl (hnmm hlgnh lwkl)

(according to everything that has been revealed from it) to the Sons of Zadok (4QSb,d : to [the multitude of] the council of the men of the community)

Table 1. 1QS 8:15–16 Compared to 1QS 5:8–9

Each passage begins with the Torah and identifies God as the one who “commanded” it (1QS 5:8 hwc r#) lwkk//1QS 8:15 hwc r[#])).77 In both passages, the nigleh is said to elucidate the Torah of Moses (1QS 5:8 h#wm trwt//1QS 8:15 hrwth h#wm dyb . . . ). This immediately marks the nigleh as independent of the Torah and therefore not the more common meaning of nigleh as the Torah itself. Most importantly, the nigleh serves to facilitate the observance of the Torah of Moses (1QS 5:8 l) bw#l//1QS 8:15 tw#(l).78 These two passages differ in one fundamental element. 1QS 8:15–16 identifies the general periodic revelations (t(b t( hlgnh) and prophetic revelatory activity (w#dwq xwrb My)ybnh wlg r#)kw) as how one properly observes the Torah. Parallel to this element, 1QS 5:8–9 indicates that the sect believed that the proper understanding and observance of the Torah are embedded in the revelations to the sectarian community, identified as the “Sons of Zadok” (1QS) or the “[multitude of] the council of the men of the community” (4QSb,d). The foregoing discussion has demonstrated two important points. First, the nigleh of 1QS 8:15–16 is not Scripture and its explicit meaning. Rather, nigleh is used in this passage to refer to the formally hidden material that is revealed only to

77 See Metso, who argues that the phrase in 5:8 (missing from 4QSb,d) is a later insertion (Textual Development, 80). 78 See Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 182.

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the members of the sect, equivalent to the more general use of nistar. Second, the Rule of the Community has established a close relationship between the sect’s selfawareness of its receipt of revealed law and the similar process as experienced by the classical prophets. In 1QS col. 8, the Torah is explicated by the general appeal to periodic revelations and the more specific reference to the prophetic participation in this process. In 1QS col. 5, the explanation of the Torah is conducted by the sectarian communal leaders, to whom the law and its interpretation have been revealed. This understanding of the relationship between cols. 5 and 8 of 1QS and the respective revelatory roles of the sectarian leaders and the ancient prophets is reinforced by 1QS 9:12–14, another passage in the Rule of the Community with important literary connections to 1QS 8:15–16 as well as textual proximity in some manuscript traditions. As indicated in the initial discussion of 1QS 8:15–16, one of the cave 4 copies (4QSe) lacks text equivalent to 1QS 8:15b–9:11 (4Q259 1 iii 5–6). 4QSe was originally dated by J. T. Milik as the earliest manuscript of the Rule of the Community, though this dating was challenged by Frank Moore Cross, who has located its copying after 1QS.79 The question still remains unresolved.80 4QSe is generally thought to reflect a recension of the Rule of the Community different from 1QS and perhaps earlier.81 1QS 9:12–14 must therefore be treated in two different contexts: 4QSe, where 9:12–14 immediately follows 8:15a, and 1QS, where these two passages are separated by the intervening text, though closely linked by other literary features. Let us first examine the evidence provided by the 1QS recension. Before proceeding with the general list of the requirements of the maśkîl, the Rule of the Community describes his task in general terms: He shall do God’s will (l) Nwcr 82t) tw#(l), according to everything which has been revealed from time to time (t(b t(l hlgnh lwkk). He shall learn all the understanding which has been found according to the times and the statute of the endtime. (1QS 9:13–14 = 4Q259 1 iii 8–10)83

79 See J. T. Milik et al., “Le travail d’édition des fragments manuscripts de Qumran,” RB 63 (1956): 60. 4QSe is dated by Cross to ca. 50–25 b.c.e. See Frank M. Cross, “Appendix: Paleographical Dates of the Manuscripts,” in Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 57. This dating is accepted by Alexander and Vermes, Qumran Cave 4.XIX, 133–34. 1QS is usually dated to around 100 b.c.e. See Michael A. Knibb, “Rule of the Community,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Schiffman and VanderKam, 2:795. 80 So Metso, Textual Development, 48. 81 See Alexander and Vermes, Qumran Cave 4.XIX, 134. Metso and Qimron and Charlesworth argue that 4QSe is an earlier recension (Metso, “Primary Results,” 303–8; eadem, Textual Development, 69–74; Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 54). See, however, Philip S. Alexander, “The Redaction-History of the Serekh Ha-Yahai d: A Proposal,” RevQ 17, special issue, Hommage à Józef T. Milik (1996): 445 n. 17. See above, n. 40. 82 4QSe lacks this word. 83 Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 1:40–41.


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The statutes of the maśkîl fulfill the role of explicating the Torah and enabling the observance of its laws and regulations. As illustrated in table 2, this passage, like 1QS 5:8–9, reflects deliberate correspondences with the presentation of the prophetic lawgivers in 1QS 8:15–16. 1QS 8:15–16

tw#(l . . . hrwth

1QS 9:13–14

l) Nwcr t) tw#(l

The Torah . . . to do

To do God’s will

According to everything which has been revealed (from) time to time

According to everything which has been revealed from time to time

And (to do) as the prophets revealed through his holy spirit.

He shall learn all the understanding which has been found . . .

t(b t( hlgnh lwkk

w#dwq xwrb My)ybnh wlg r#)kw

t(b t(l hlgnh lwkk

)cmnh lk#h lwk t) dwmlw

Table 2. 1QS 8:15–16 Compared with 1QS 9:13–14

In 1QS col. 9, performance (tw#(l) of God’s will (l) Nwcr) is facilitated, similar to 1QS col. 8, by two means: t(b t(l hlgnh lwkk and lk#h lwk t) dwmlw. The former of these two phrases points to the deliberate literary and thematic correspondence between this clause and 1QS 8:15–16.84 Based on my understanding of the closely related expression in 1QS 8:15,85 the phrase here refers to the general system of deciphering Scripture and formulating law through periodic revelations. In 1QS 8:15, this notice is further qualified by the identification of prophetic involvement in this process. Here the role of the prophets is replaced by the sect and its exegetical enterprise ()cmnh lk#h lwk t) dwmlw).86 This fits well with the sect’s own understanding of inspired exegesis as the way that the sectarian leaders gained access to the progressive revelation of law. Their revelatory activity, as with the prophets before them, represents the realization of the progressive revelation of law through periodic revelations. Columns 8 and 9 of 1QS both locate the proper understanding of the Torah and its laws in the general model of periodic revelations by employing nearly identical language (1QS 8:15, t(b t( hlgnh lwkk//1QS 9:13, t(b t(l hlgnh lwkk). The specific context for this periodic revelation in col. 8 is the prophetic activity of transmitting revealed law. Column 9 explains the periodic revelation as the larger framework for the sectarian revelatory process of determining law through inspired 84 See Licht, Megillat ha-Serakhim, 195; Knibb, Qumran Community, 142; Qimron and Charlesworth, Rule of the Community, 1:37 n. 212. 85 Note, however, that 1QS 8:15 has t(b t(. 86 On the understanding of this expression as a reference to the sectarian exegetical process, see Schiffman, Halakhah, 33–36.

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exegesis of Scripture. 1QS 9:13 therefore provides additional evidence for the alignment of the classical prophets and the sectarian leaders as recipients of revealed law. The recension of the Rule of the Community represented by 4QSe provides a truncated version of this tradition, which may reflect an earlier, more underdeveloped version. Reading along with 4QSe, the Torah of Moses is no longer accompanied by explanation grounded in periodic revelations and prophetic revelatory activity. Rather, immediately following the allusion to the Torah of Moses, the text introduces the list of statutes incumbent upon the maśkîl (lyk]#ml [Myqw]xh hl) M[hb Klhthl) (4Q259 1 iii 6–7 = 1QS 9:12). The textual tradition represented by 4QSe identifies the sectarian exegetical process as described in 1QS 9:13–14 as the most immediate manner in which the Mosaic Torah in 1QS 8:15a is explained and amplified. Periodic revelation is situated exclusively in its sectarian context in 4QSe. It is only in the (later?) recension of 1QS that the sectarian activity is explicitly identified with the identical process earlier envisioned for the classical prophets. 1QS 8:15–16, in dialogue with similar literary units in 1QS 5:8–9 and 1QS 9:13–14, generates a close relationship between the portrait of the classical prophets’ revelation of law and the similar sectarian activity. Sectarian literature further historicizes the nature of this relationship. The three stages identified in the progressive revelation of the law—Moses, the prophets, and the sect—are closely linked in the pesher on Amos 5:26–27 and Num 24:17 in the Damascus Document (CD 7:14– 21). There, the “booth of the king” and the “Nwyk of the images” in Amos are interpreted respectively as the “books of the Torah” and “the books of the Prophets.” This leads directly into the pesher on Numbers, where the “star” (also in Amos 5:26) and “staff ” are interpreted as the sectarian leaders the “Interpreter of the Law” and the “Prince of the Congregation,” respectively.87 The Damascus Document here envisions a direct link between the Mosaic tradition, the prophets, and the present sectarian community. Of the two sectarian leaders identified here, the Interpreter of the Law represents the community’s primary engagement with the progressive revelation of the law. The Interpreter of the Law in the Damascus Document is an inspired exegete whose readings of Scripture serve as the source for revealed sectarian law.88 The Amos-Numbers pesher locates the juridical activity of the Interpreter of the Law in direct continuity with the Torah and the prophetic tradition.

87 This

text does not appear in MS B of CD.

88 See Naphtali Wieder, “The ‘Law-Interpreter’ of the Sect of the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Sec-

ond Moses,” JJS 4 (1953): 161–67; Schiffman, Halakhah, 57–58; Michael A. Knibb, “Interpreter of the Law,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Schiffman and VanderKam, 1:383–84. The Interpreter of the Law appears in CD 6:7, where the “staff ” (qqwxmh = “lawgiver”) in Num 21:18 is understood as the Interpreter of the Law. Based on CD’s exegetical reading of the biblical verse, Schiffman identifies the role of the Interpreter of the Law in this passage as consisting of the formation of sectarian law through the reading of Scripture. Schiffman also points to 1QS 5:7–12, where inquiry (#rd) into the Torah results in the full understanding of the nistar (compare Wernberg-Møller, Manual of Discipline, 95).


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This model coheres well with the sect’s own conception of the numerous points of rupture in the history of Israel, and its location within this historical framework. The introduction to the Damascus Document charts the relationship between God and the righteous in Israel. In particular, the sect envisions itself as the first righteous link in the history of Israel since the exile. In this sense, the community continues the task of the preexilic prophets, the last faithful adherents of God’s covenant and the last authoritative recipients of divinely revealed law. Communication between God and Israel had been severely disrupted by Israel’s constant apostasy throughout the preexilic and postexilic period. The formation of the Qumran community represents the first attempt to repair the rupture created by Israel’s apostasy and the experience of exile. The sect presumably also envisioned a breach in the progressive revelation of law to Israel. During the period of Israel’s apostasy and exile, there likely would have been no widespread revelation of law except perhaps to the few righteous people in every generation. Accordingly, the sect envisioned itself, the first righteous postexilic community, as the first beneficiary of a full-scale revelation of law following the period of Moses and the prophets. The Damascus Document repeatedly condemns the rest of Israel for abandoning God’s law, thereby rendering them unfit to receive the periodic revelations of law (see, e.g., CD 3:10–12; 8:17–19).89 The reconstitution of the progressive revelation of the law within the sect provides an important link between the Qumran community and the last faithful adherents of the covenant. Indeed, CD col. 3 identifies the revelation of the “hidden things” (CD 3:13–14) as the first divine act following the forging of the sectarian community and the reestablishment of the covenant between God and Israel as a purely sectarian covenant.

IV. Conclusions The presentation of the ancient prophets as lawgivers in the Qumran documents is not merely an exact replica of the biblical portrait of these prophets. Rather, the Qumran corpus consistently reworks the biblical role of the classical prophets and refashions them as mediators of divinely revealed law. While other functions of the biblical prophets are emphasized in the Qumran texts (i.e., exhortation, prediction, social critiques), the heightened juridical responsibilities mark a significant distinction between the biblical and Qumranic presentations of the classical prophets. 89 Even David did not know the true law (CD 5:2–5). The law was finally revealed with the appearance of Zadok. Baumgarten suggests that this Zadok is the Zadokite priest Hilkiah, who discovered the “scroll of the law” during the period of Josiah (“Unwritten Law,” 31; following Louis Ginzberg, An Unknown Jewish Sect [Moreshet 1; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1976], 21). Thus, the sect envisioned the previous watershed point in the receipt of divine law as an act also carried out by one of its ancestral Zadokite priests.

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The sectarian system of legal hermeneutics provides the explanation for this literary project. The Qumran community authorized its own interpretation of the Torah and development of postbiblical law through the appeal to the progressive revelation of law. In authorizing this system, the sect pointed to the classical prophets as the ancient basis for contemporary sectarian practice. The role of Moses as prophetic lawgiver, according to the Qumran community, was continued in the program of the prophets from Israel’s biblical heritage. The community recontextualized the activity of the classical prophets as an earlier stage of the process upon which it now based its entire legal system. The constant and consistent portrait of the ancient prophets as mediators of divinely revealed law authorizes the identical sectarian pursuit. In conjunction with the reorientation of the ancient prophetic role, the sectarian texts reflect a deliberate attempt to highlight the points of contact between the present sectarian practice and that of the classical prophets. The sect viewed its own receipt of divinely revealed law through progressive revelation as a prophetic encounter in continuity with that in which it believed the ancient prophets were similarly engaged. Israel’s apostasy and the resultant rupture, however, created a historical gap between the prophets and the sect. The Qumran corpus bridges this gap by closely aligning the activity of the sect and their prophetic predecessors. In doing so, the Qumran literature identifies the present receipt of revealed law as the latest stage in the prophetic revelation of law. Throughout this study of prophecy and law at Qumran, I have treated sectarian texts together with those produced outside the Qumran community. The Qumran library housed texts from various strands of Second Temple Judaism. As such, these documents attest to larger theological and literary currents in Second Temple Judaism. In my examination of these texts, I was interested in the ability of these texts to provide a context for the Qumran material. The sectarian conceptualization of the ancient prophets as lawgivers is further reflected in several documents that represent the eclectic literary production of Second Temple Judaism (e.g., Apocryphon of Jeremiah, Moses Apocryphon, and Non-Canonical Psalms). Accordingly, it is likely that the perspectives on law and prophecy developed more fully in the sectarian documents were shared by wider segments of Second Temple Judaism and therefore reflect larger debates concerning the role of prophecy in the formation of postbiblical law. The Dead Sea Scrolls and the associated Qumran community represent only a small segment of the multiplicity of Jewish traditions in antiquity. Significant advances in the understanding of prophecy and law warrant the reexamination of these issues in the different literary and historical contexts of ancient Judaism. Perhaps the most fruitful arena for this study is in the area of rabbinic Judaism. Rabbinic legal hermeneutics, for the most part, proscribe the appeal to contemporary revelation and prophetic phenomena as support for the formulation of law.90 90 The classical talmudic example of this is the argument concerning the Oven of Akhnai between R. Joshua and R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanus in b. B. Mesii va 59a–b (parallel text in y. Moved


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Furthermore, some rabbinic statements reduce the potential juridical role of the classical prophets by denying the force of midrash halakah (legal exegesis) based on passages from the prophetic scriptural canon,91 though with notable dissent.92 With important exceptions, rabbinic Judaism marginalizes the role of post-Mosaic prophecy and revelation in the formation of halakah. The multiple voices in rabbinic literature have important biblical and Second Temple period antecedents. Accordingly, the marginalized role for prophecy and revelation, both old and new, in the formation of halakah should be reexamined in light of the advances made in the study of comparative legal traditions from the Second Temple period. Qat i. 3:1 81c–d). Though R. Eliezer’s legal position is repeatedly reinforced by appeal to divine sanction, R. Joshua and the entire bet midrash reject his opinion in favor of the majority. In articulating this statement, appeal is made to the Deuteronomic expression )yh Mym#b )l, “it is not in the heavens” (Deut 30:12). This phrase is understood in the context of rabbinic legal hermeneutics to require that all formulations of post-Mosaic law emerge through human creativity rather i qotai §13; y. Meg. 1:4 70d; than through appeal to revelatory jurisprudence. See further Sifra, Behu b. Šabb. 104b; b. Meg. 2b; b. Tem. 16a, where the explicit statement is found that no prophet may enact legal innovations. Furthermore, some rabbinic statements attempt to trace the entirety of prophetic speech back to Sinai (see Sifre Shelahi Š §111; b. Ber. 5a). Full discussion of the (non)role of prophecy in rabbinic law can be found in Urbach, “Halakhah,” 1–27; idem, Sages, 304–8; Elon, Jewish Law, 1:240–65; Stemberger, “Propheten,” 157–60 (see, however, Jackson, “Prophets,” 133– 38, together with Stone, “Transformation,” 170–72). Like many other aspects of rabbinic tradition, this was not a consensus opinion. See, e.g., b. vErub. 13b, where a heavenly voice mediates the disputes between the Houses of Hillel and Shammai. Later medieval traditions basically followed the dominant rabbinic attitude. See the especially restrictive position of Maimonides (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Yesodeh ha-Torah 9:1–4) (Elon, Jewish Law, 1:264–65). Rabbinic aggadic tradition went to great lengths to emphasize that even Moses’ post-Sinaitic legal consultations with God (see n. 8 above) were merely restatements of laws already revealed to Moses during the experience at Sinai. See Bernard J. Bamberger, “Revelations of Torah after Sinai: An Aggadic Study,” HUCA 14 (1947): 97–113. 91 See, e.g., the rabbinic statement hlbq yrbdm hrwt yrbd Nynd Ny), “we do not adjudicate the words of Torah from words of tradition” (b. Nid. 23a; see b. Hi ag. 10b; b. B. Qam. 2b for a similar i Talmudit (ed. Meir formulation). See further Urbach, “Halakhah”; “hlbq yrbd,” in Ensiklopedyah Bar-Ilan and Shelomoh Y. Yeiven; 23 vols.; Jerusalem: Mossad ha-Rav Kook, 1947–), 7:112. Schiffman proposes that the rabbinic hesitance to rely on scriptural support from the Prophets and Hagiographa is linked to the contemporaneous Christian use of these scriptural units in support of their theological arguments (Reclaiming, 222). 92 See, e.g., b. Git.i 36a, where the need for witnesses to sign a deed is supported by a passage from Jeremiah (32:44). A larger list of passages is discussed in Ginzberg, Jewish Sect, 185–86. See further discussion in “hlbq yrbd,” 112–14.

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The Meaning and Etymology of +w) tzvi novick [email protected] Yale University, New Haven, CT 06511

The word +w) occurs fourteen times in the Dead Sea Scrolls, all in the wisdom text now known as 4QInstruction (4Q415 18.2; 4Q416 2 II, 12; 4Q417 2 II, 3; 4Q418 79.2; 81.16; 101 I, 3; 103 II, 6; 107.4; 126 II, 2, 12, 13; 127.5; 177, 8; 4Q423 1 II, 3).1 It is generally and reasonably supposed that +), attested only in 4Q424 1.6, is a defective spelling of the same word.2 As 4Q424 is also a wisdom text, +w) may confidently be characterized as a wisdom lexeme. No consensus has formed on the meaning and etymology of +w). Two views predominate. According to the first, +w) has to do with secrecy and is to be associated etymologically with the Biblical Hebrew roots ++) and/or +)l. According to the second, +w) has to do with something like affairs or possessions; the etymology, on this view, is unclear.3 I contend here that the latter approach is correct. The first part of this article addresses the arguments offered for the first view. In the second part, I marshal contextual evidence for the rendering “property, affairs” and identify an etymology for +w) that supports this meaning. The best preserved instance of the word is that in 4Q424 frg. 1. Line 6 reads thus: Ktk)lm (yncy )l yk +) dqpt l) lc( dyb. Many interpreters see +) here as referring to a secret matter. Thus, for example, Daniel J. Harrington renders the 1

For two other possible attestations, see n. 15 below. e.g., Torleif Elgvin, “An Analysis of 4QInstruction” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1997), 213 n. 46. The distribution of +w) and +) is consistent with the observation of Antoon Schoors (“The Language of the Qumran Sapiential Works,” in The Wisdom Texts from Qumran and the Development of Sapiential Thought [ed. C. Hempel et al.; BETL 159; Leuven: Peeters, 2001], 95) that, among Qumran wisdom texts, “a more defective spelling is limited to 4Q185, 4Q392 and 4Q424.” The arguments advanced here assume and, insofar as they succeed, confirm the equivalence of +w) and +). 3 Other proposals are collected in J. F. Ewolde, review of Ben Zion Wacholder et al., A Preliminary Edition of the Unpublished Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew and Aramaic Texts from Cave Four, Fascicle Four, Concordance of Fascicles 1–3, DSD 4 (1997): 231. 2 See,

339

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line as follows: “In the hand of a fool do not entrust a secret (?), for he will not conceal your business.”4 Two arguments seem to support this rendering. First, an etymology can then be constructed for +w): it is related to the Biblical Hebrew adverb +)A ( l;) (“gently, quietly”) or to the Biblical Hebrew triradical root +)l (“to cover, conceal”).5 Second, (nc hiphil, which occurs in line 6, is thought to be associated with privacy and secrecy.6 Neither argument is persuasive. The Biblical Hebrew roots cannot support the rendering of +w) as “secret matter.” The adverb +)A ( l;) consistently indicates gentleness, slowness, or quiet (Gen 33:14; 2 Sam 18:5; 1 Kgs 21:27; Isa 8:6); nowhere is it associated with secrecy. The root +)l, as a conjugated verb or in the adverb +())lb, does convey concealment (Judg 4:21; 1 Sam 18:22; 24:5; 2 Sam 19:5; Job 15:11; Ruth 3:7), but it is clearly to be distinguished from the Biblical Hebrew root ++), which underlies +)A ( l;), and equally from the word +w). Nor is there any good reason to think that (nc hiphil describes an act of concealment. While rabbinic Hebrew does use the root (nc in connection with notions of privacy and modesty (e.g., m. Ter. 8:8; b. Ber. 8b), the biblical and Second Temple attestations have rather to do with caution and craftiness. This fact is amply demonstrated in the discussions of Hans-Joachim Stoebe and M. H. Segal.7 I will confine myself here to reviewing some salient examples and providing supplementary evidence. Proverbs 11:2, one of the two biblical instances of the root (nc, reads: Nwdz )b hmkx My(wnc M(w Nwlq )byw, “With impetuousness comes disgrace, but with My(wnc there is wisdom.” The (wnc characteristically lacks impetuosity. This verse is closely echoed in Prov 13:10: hmkx Myc(wn t)w hcm Nty Nwdzb qr, “Strife comes only through impetuousness, but with the counseled there is wisdom.” A comparison of the two verses confirms that the behavior of the (wnc is marked by careful consideration. The root carries the same connotation in Ben Sira. Ben Sira 16:25 reads: h(yb) y(d hwx) (nchbw yxwr lq#mb, “I will express my spirit in measure, and with (nch I will show my mind.”8 The parallelism indicates that (nch refers to considered 4 Daniel J. Harrington, Wisdom Texts from Qumran (Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls; New York: Routledge, 1996), 61. See also Gershon Brin, “Studies in 4Q424 1–2,” RevQ 18 (1997): 31; idem, “The Relationship between 4Q424 and the Book of Ben-Sira,” in Fifty Years of Dead Sea Scrolls Research: Studies in Memory of Jacob Licht (ed. Gershon Brin and Bilhah Nitzan; Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2001), 267; John Strugnell et al., Qumran Cave 4.XXIV: 4QInstruction (Musar leMevin): 4Q415ff. (DJD 34; Oxford: Clarendon, 1999), 31–32; Catherine M. Murphy, Wealth in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Qumran Community (STDJ 40; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 177. 5 Strugnell et al. (Qumran Cave 4.XXIV, 31–32) tentatively suggest a relation to +)A (l;). For an alleged link to forms of the root +)l in 2 Sam 19:5 and Judg 4:21, see Brin, “Studies,” 32. 6 This assumption is implicit in all the translations cited in n. 4 above. 7 See Hans-Joachim Stoebe, “Und demütig sein vor deinem Gott: Micha 6, 8,” WD 6 (1959): 180–94; M. H. Segal, Ml#h )rys-Nb rps (2nd ed.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1958), 104, 118, 196, 202, 284. Stoebe summarizes his results in his entry, “(nc sni v to be careful,” TLOT 3:1087–88. 8 Quotations of Ben Sira are taken from The Book of Ben Sira: Text, Concordance and an Analysis of the Vocabulary (Historical Dictionary of the Hebrew Language; Jerusalem: Academy

Novick: The Meaning and Etymology of +w)

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action. Ben Sira 42:8 is also instructive: yx lk ynpl (wnc #y)w tm)b ryhz tyyhw, “you should be careful indeed, and a (wnc man before all living.”9 The (wnc person is thus ryhz (“careful”). In the case of 4Q424 1.6 itself, the strong syntactic and semantic parallelism with the next line (4Q424 1.6–7: lk slpy )l yk xql [r]bd xl#t l)w Kytxr), “and do not send [him] on a purchase matter, because he will not measure out your paths”) suggests that (yncy, like slpy, to which it corresponds, indicates deliberate care.10 The same sense is also called for in 1QS IV, 5: tmr(b tkl (nch lwk, “to walk prudently with craftiness about everything.”11 The association of the root (nc with care persists into tannaitic Hebrew, where the term (wnc describes one who takes extra precautions to avoid violation of the law (e.g., m. Kil. 9:5; m. Mavaś. Š. 5:1). With neither etymology nor the contextual argument from (nc hiphil to support the rendering of +) as “secret affair” in 4Q424 1.6, the immediate context, in particular the parallelism with hk)lm (“business”), recommends that +) be understood as something like “property, affairs.” The proverb may thus be translated: “Do not entrust property to a lazy man, for he will not prosecute your business with care.”12 As +) in this line is the object of the verb dqp, so in 4QInstruction one finds dqp taking words from the semantic field of property as objects, as in 4Q416 2 II, 4–5: [htd]qp hkynwpc syk yk, “for you have entrusted the purse of your treasure,” and 4Q416 2 II, 9: hkl dwqpy wtdwb( M), “if he entrusts his work to you.”13 Likewise, the attestations of +w) in 4QInstruction almost always occur in the vicinity of such property words as Cpx, Pr+, and hdwb(.14 Parallelism with Cpx occurs, for example, in 4Q418 126 II, 12: wcpx #wrdy hk)n+mw h+w) hkdybw, “and in your hand is his property, and from your basket he will seek out his belonging.”15 +w) of the Hebrew Language and the Shrine of the Book, 1973). Ben Sira 16:25 is preserved in ms A from the Cairo Geniza. 9 Thus in ms B from the Cairo Geniza. The Masada ms is fragmentary: . . . tm)b ryhz tyyhw yxO O lk yn pO Ol. 10 It is noteworthy that lq#m, a lexeme belonging to the same semantic field as slpy (cf. Isa 40:12: Myrh slpb lq#w, “and he weighed the mountains with a scale”) occurs in parallel with (nch in Sir 16:25, quoted above. 11 In the Peshitta (1 Sam 23:22; Ps 83:4; Prov 1:4; 8:5), sn i v often corresponds to Hebrew Mr(. 12 Proposals along the lines of +w) meaning “property, affairs” have been suggested by various scholars, e.g., Torleif Elgvin, “Admonition Texts from Qumran Cave 4,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (ed. Michael O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994), 191. 13 The latter text continues (4Q416 2 II, 9 = 4Q418 8.7): hkyny(l hmwnt l)w hk#pnb xwnm l), “let there be no rest for your soul, nor slumber for your eyes.” The next line (4Q416 2 II, 10 = 4Q418 8.8) includes an obscure fragment, (ynchl #y M)w. Thus, the nexus of (nc hiphil, laziness, and entrusted business attested in 4Q424 1.6 recurs here. 14 For Pr+ as property, see in particular 4Q169 3 + 4 I, 11: Nwhh )wh wpr+w, “ ‘and his Pr+’: this is the property.” 15 For +w) in the vicinity of Cpx, see also 4Q418 107.4; 4Q418 127.5; 4Q423 1–2 I, 5–6. At

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parallels Pr+ in a phrase reconstructed from 4Q416 2 II, 1 and 4Q417 2 II + 23, 3: [yx lw]kl Pr+ ttlw w+w) yrwsxm lk )[lml, “to fill all of his material needs and to give provision for all living.”16 hdwb( and +w) occur together in 4Q416 2 II, 12: M) w+w) tmkxw wtdwb( qyzxt wnwcrb, “if with his favor you take hold of his work and the wisdom of his affairs.” While context thus strongly favors the meaning “property, affairs” for +w), this interpretation should be secured with a suitable etymology. I posit that +w) (“property, affairs”) arose by natural semantic development from Biblical Hebrew +) (“gentleness, slowness”). A parallel development occurred in the case of Nwh, another word for wealth, and one that is extremely popular in biblical and postbiblical wisdom literature. The cognate Arabic verb hāna can mean “to be or become gentle, easy,” and the expression valā hīnat- means “at one’s ease.”17 Nwh meaning “wealth, property” is, etymologically, that which affords opportunity for ease. The core sense of slowness or leisure is preserved not only in Arabic but also in Jewish Palestinian Aramaic. Nwh meaning “leisure” is in fact used by Targum Neofiti to render +) in Gen 33:14. Jacob declines Esau’s offer to travel together and explains that he is slowed by children and flocks. Esau should travel ahead, y+)l hlhnt) yn)w, “and I will travel at my leisure.” Neofiti has ynwhl Nwhty rbd) )n)w, “and I will lead them at my leisure.”18 The same interpretation of the word y+)l is preserved in Genesis Rabbah: Klhm yn) ynwhl ynwhl, “at my leisure I will proceed.”19 As Biblical Hebrew Nwh reflects a shift from “leisure” to “property,” so +w) underwent the same shift in the Hebrew of the Qumran wisdom texts.20 It is possible, but I believe less likely, that the semantic development of +w) occurred not in the general spoken language but in learned circles, through exege4Q416 2 II, 7 (paralleled in 4Q417 2 II + 23, 10; 4Q418 138.4), the DJD edition (Strugnell et al., Qumran Cave 4.XXIV, 90) reads hk+y )l, and at 4Q418 138.3 (ibid., 367), hk+y )wl. In both cases, the reading hk+w) is, on my examination of the plates, available and indeed more likely, and in both cases the word Cpx occurs in the immediate vicinity. 16 For +w) and Pr+ in sequence, see also 4Q418 81 + 81a, 15–16. 17 See Edward William Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon (London: Williams & Norgate, 1893), 3046. Cf. Latin otium and Greek σχολή. 18 Alejandro Díez Macho, Neophyti 1, Targum Palestinense ms. de la Biblioteca Vaticana (Textos y estudios del Seminario Filológico Cardinal Cisneros 7; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1968–79), 1:223. 19 Gen. Rab. 78 (Theodor-Albeck ed., 934). For another occurrence of -nwhl in Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, see Lev. Rab. 26 (Margulies ed., 609). Here the angel Gabriel, angry at Israel’s refusal to repent, wishes to cast coals upon them, but God stays him: Knwhl Knwhl. The phrase might be rendered idiomatically as “easy now, easy now.” 20 A similar semantic development may have occurred with the word txn. Probably a derivative of the verb xwn (“to rest”), txn indicates calm and slowness. Thus, in Isa 30:15, the promise that Israel’s redemption will come txnb is set in contrast to the image of frenzy and flight (swn) in 30:16. (Cf. the association between the roots zpx and swn in 2 Sam 4:4; Isa 52:12.) But in Sir 11:19, “to find txn” occurs in parallel with “to consume goods (hbw+).”

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sis of the aforementioned verse, Gen 33:14. Jacob declares that he will proceed Mydlyh lgrlw ynpl r#) hk)lmh lgrl y+)l, “at my +), according to the pace of the property [i.e., the flocks] before me, and according to the pace of the children.” An ancient exegete might have inferred, from the structure implied by the prepositional phrases (Mydlyh lgrlw[3] ynpl r#) hk)lmh lgrl [2] y+)l [1]) that +) anticipates the animals and children, and indicates a category encompassing both. This interpretation would have been encouraged by a unique feature of +) in this verse: it is the only instance in the Bible that takes a possessive suffix.21 These two explanations (natural semantic development, learned exegesis) are not, of course, incompatible: the ready association between leisure and wealth could, for example, have encouraged exegetes to render +) in Gen 33:14 as “possessions,” and thus to produce a new meaning for the word. A final note on morphology. +w) may be the precise Qumranic equivalent of Tiberian Hebrew +)a, given that many segolate nouns attested in the latter in the qatl form, like +)a, occur in the Dead Sea Scrolls in the qutl form.22 Compare, for example, Num 26:56: +(ml brA Nyb, “whether large or little,” and 1QS IV, 16: +(wml bwr Nyb. Alternatively, +w) represents another noun form from the same root. But the view that +w) meaning “property, affairs” arose through exegesis of Gen 33:14 must likely assume the first morphological account. If it is, indeed, a possessive suffix. Neither Onqelos nor the Peshitta renders the suffix. Jonah Ibn Janahi (My#r#h rps [trans. Yehuda ibn Tibbon; ed. Wilhelm Bacher; Berlin: H. Itzkowski, 1896], 23) claims that it is not a possessive pronoun but merely “additional,” and Ibn Ezra (ad loc.) also entertains this view. But the “paragogic y–i” is otherwise attested only in words (nouns, prepositions) governing nouns. See Joüon, 282–84 (§93l–q). 22 See Elisha Qimron, The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls (HSS 29; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1986), 65. Qimron notes in another context (p. 40) that the presence of labials and/or liquids tends to condition a shift of the vowel to u in Qumranic Hebrew, and indeed, most of the examples that he lists include a labial and/or liquid. But some, e.g., txwt, do not. 21

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JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 345–358

A Ghost on the Water? Understanding an Absurdity in Mark 6:49–50 jason robert combs [email protected] Yale Divinity School, New Haven, CT 06511

In Mark 6:49–50, the author dramatically defines the disciples’ miscomprehension of Jesus through the insertion of the absurd: the belief that a ghost could walk on water.1 Exegesis of the pericope of Jesus’ walking on the water is enhanced by an understanding of ancient beliefs about ghosts, as described in tales of hauntings and similar phenomena in Jewish, Greek, and Roman sources. By identifying in this ancient literature characteristics common to the Markan account, one may detect how Mark initially establishes the expectation for a phantasmic appearance and then diverges significantly to emphasize the disciples’ misconstrual of Jesus’ messiahship. There is currently a near consensus that the pericope that encompasses Mark 6:49–50 represents, at least in part, an epiphany.2 This categorization has much to I would like to thank Adela Yarbro Collins for her insightful reviews of previous drafts. A version of this paper was presented in the Synoptic Gospels Section at the Society of Biblical Literature annual meeting in Washington, D.C., November 21, 2006. 1 The “absurdity” of this belief in its ancient context will be documented below. For the sake of simplicity the author of the Gospel will be referred to as “Mark,” although I acknowledge that this pericope may very well have come from a pre-Markan source. See Paul Achtemeier, “Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan Miracle Catenae,” JBL 89 (1970): 281–84. 2 E.g., John Paul Heil, Jesus Walking on the Sea: Meaning and Gospel Functions of Matt. 14:22– 23, Mark 6:45–52 and John 6:15b–21 (AnBib 87; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1981), 72–73, 118; Robert A. Guelich, Mark, vol. 1, 1–8:26 (WBC 34A; Dallas: Word Books, 1989), 351; William Richard Stegner, who compares it specifically with the epiphany of Exodus 14 (“Jesus’ Walking on the Water: Mark 6.45–52,” in The Gospels and the Scriptures of Israel [ed. Craig A. Evans and W. Richard Stegner; JSNTSup 104; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994], 212–34); Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 27A; New York: Double-

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do with parallels with other epiphanies, and, consequently, these parallels have been influential in the interpretation of φάντασμα. Some scholars have argued for direct allusion to the appearance of Yhwh in the OT, and others for the prefiguration of NT resurrection motifs.3 Still others have seen the ostensible φάντασμα to be a foil to an actual “Christophany”; these scholars emphasize that the disciples actually think that Jesus is a ghost and therefore respond in fear instead of faith.4 Little has been done, however, to identify precise parallels to this account of a perceived ghost on a lake. Some have assumed that such an account is a sort of timeless tale, “wie es in den See-Erzählungen aller Völker und Zeiten spukt.”5 Others have simply noted the popular belief in apparitions among ancient people, emphasizing either

day, 2000), 429, 430; and Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 134. Ernst Lohmeyer considers the pericope an epiphany that has been combined with “die der Rettung aus Lebensgefahr” (Das Evangelium des Markus [1937; repr., Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954], 134); Gerd Theissen agrees and deems it a “soteriological epiphany” (The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition [trans. Francis McDonagh: Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983], 97); see also Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (2 vols.; EKKNT 2; Zurich: Benziger, 1978), 267–69. Moloney refutes Gnilka, arguing that evidence is lacking in the text for an original epiphany being transformed into a rescue story (Moloney, Gospel of Mark, 134 n. 92). Adela Yarbro Collins disagrees with Theissen’s emphasis on “an extraordinary visual phenomenon” but accepts that themes of both epiphany and rescue story are woven together in this pericope (“Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water,” in Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World: Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi [ed. Lukas Bormann et al.; NovTSup 74; Leiden: Brill, 1994], 211; see also 209–10 for a brief review of the positions of Dibelius and Bultmann). 3 J. Duncan M. Derrett notes the following Hebrew Bible epiphanies: “A φάντασμα was the chosen method by which Yhwh appeared to Abimelech . . . and in the guise of an Angel inspired the fainthearted Gideon and proved the strength of the ambiguous Jacob. . . . The spirit of the Lord was moving over the waters, yet those personally present instinctively thought it a ghost!” (“Why and How Jesus Walked on the Sea,” NovT 23 [1981]: 345). See also Lohmeyer, who suggests a less direct allusion to similar OT accounts: “so ging einst Jahve an Mose auf dem Sinai oder an Elia auf dem Horeb ‘vorüber’” (Evangelium des Markus, 133). Among those who draw on NT resurrection motifs, Austin Farrer argues that the “apparition” of Jesus on the water is the “closest type” for “the apparition of the angel at the tomb” (A Study in St Mark [London: Dacre, 1951], 178). Joel Marcus notes parallels between Mark 6 and Luke 24 (Mark 1–8, 433). Rudolf Bultmann, in his revised History of the Synoptic Tradition, considered the possibility that Mark 6:48ff. was a misplaced resurrection narrative (The History of the Synoptic Tradition [2nd ed.; trans. John Marsh: New York: Harper & Row, 1968], 425; see also Johannes Leipoldt, “Zu den Auferstehungs-Geschichten,” TLZ 12 [1948]: 737–42, esp. 741). 4 E.g., Guelich, Mark, 351; and Moloney, Gospel of Mark, 134. See also John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, who argue for a “contrast” between the “illusion” of a specter and “the calming words and actions of Jesus” (The Gospel of Mark [Sacra Pagina 2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002], 213). 5 E.g., Lohmeyer, Evangelium des Markus, 134–35.

Combs: An Absurdity in Mark 6:49–50

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Hebrew or Greek traditions.6 Although some of these sources indeed share certain characteristics with the account of Jesus walking on water, none of them mentions water, much less a ghost walking on water. A few scholars have attempted to locate a parallel sea-walking account. C. F. D. Moule cites Strack-Billerbeck as evidence that “Jewish popular belief often recounted the appearance of unusual apparitions on the sea.”7 Their primary example, however, is not only quite late, b. B. Bat. 73a, but also makes no mention of ghosts.8 The talmudic text instead recounts how sailors should use a special club inscribed with the name of the Lord to ward off extraordinary (but not ghostly) waves. Finding no informative parallels in Hebrew sources, others have turned to Greek. According to Eduard Schweizer, “Greek writers asserted that supermen and demons could walk upon the sea.”9 Yet “supermen” and the “demons” to which Schweizer refers are not ghosts.10 Adela Yarbro Collins has written a thorough treatment of the Greco-Roman texts that parallel Jesus’ walking on the sea and has quite convincingly demonstrated the wealth of evidence for gods, god-gifted rulers, and divine men walking on the sea.11 This, however, problematizes the passage further. Since there exists abundant evidence for gods and godlike beings who walk the seas, and no evidence outside of this pericope for the appearance of ghosts on water, why would Mark record that the disciples thought that Jesus was a ghost? Before this question can be answered one must first determine the plausibility of an ancient belief that a ghost could walk on water despite the lack of evidence for tales where ghosts did walk on water. 6 For ancient Jewish traditions, see Henry Barclay Swete, Commentary on Mark (1905; repr., Grand Rapids: Kregel, 1977), 138; he cites Job 4:15ff.; 20:8; and Wis 17:4, 15 in support of this belief. See also Vincent Taylor, who cites similar sources (The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes [London: Macmillan, 1966], 330). Derrett, in addition to the Hebrew Bible, cites several Greek sources, including Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes, 710; Plato, Phaedo 81D, Timaeus 71A; Dionysius of Halicarnassus 4.62.5; Plutarch, Dion 2.4; and Lucian, Philopseudes 29 (“Why and How Jesus Walked on the Sea,” 345 n. 63). 7 C. F. D. Moule, The Gospel According to Mark (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), 226–27. 8 Str-B 1:691. See also William L. Lane, The Gospel According to Mark (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 236–37; alluding to Strack-Billerbeck, he, too, cites b. B. Bat. 73a as ostensible evidence for the “popular belief that spirits of the night brought disaster.” Str-B also cites b. Sanh. 44a, which warns against greeting people at night for fear of demons, and b. Meg. 3a, which mentions only Daniel’s fearful response to a vision. Neither of these additional citations includes any mention of water. 9 Eduard Schweizer, The Good News According to Mark (Atlanta: John Knox, 1977), 141; no examples to support this claim are provided. 10 Although the Greek δαίμων can be used to signify “ghost,” the δαίμονες who walk on water are clearly gods not ghouls; see Yarbro Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men,” 207–27. 11 Yarbro Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men,” 207–27. Stegner has unconvincingly challenged the divine man interpretation of the pericope based on the use of the word φάντασμα (“Jesus’ Walking on the Water,” 231); the problems with his position will be dealt with below.

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I. Terminology Schweizer’s use of the terms “supermen” and “demons,” describing their frequent ambulation on the sea, demonstrates the importance of clarifying what is meant by the word φάντασμα, and how one should define a ghost. “Ghost” is certainly not the only possible translation for φάντασμα, and those who wish to emphasize the epiphanic nature of the appearance have a wealth of vocabulary from which to draw.12 During the time that Mark was written, φάντασμα was used synonymously with “signs,” or in parallel with “vision” (ὄψις) and “dream” (ὄναρ), or even to refer to an “angel” or heavenly being.13 Nevertheless, Rudolf Bultmann and Dieter Lührmann were correct to insist on the translation “ghost” for Mark 6:49, since the text seems to indicate that φάντασμα represents something other than the epiphany that the disciples were actually witnessing: they only “thought that he was a ghost” (ἔδοξαν ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν).14 Defining how “ghost” was understood in the ancient world is much more difficult than defining the word φάντασμα, which is only one of a series of words used interchangeably to signify “ghost” and also “god.” Schweizer’s assumption that “supermen” and “demons” who walked on water should be comparable to Mark’s “ghost” would seem to have merit since, as Debbie Felton acknowledges, “terminology used to refer to types of ghost was vague, and the various words were often used synonymously.”15 Philo, in his commentary On the Giants, insists that ultimately several words for “ghosts” and “divine beings” mean the same thing: “So if you realize that souls and demons and angels are but different names for the same one underlying object, you will cast from you that most grievous burden, the fear

12 See

nn. 3 and 4 above. synonymy with “signs,” see Josephus, J.W. 6.297; 7.438; Plutarch, Otho 4.1–4. For examples of φάντασμα in parallel with “vision” (ὄψις) and “dream” (ὄναρ), see Josephus, A.J. 2.82. Philo uses φάντασμα almost exclusively in parallel with “dream”; see Fug. 126–30, 142–46; Somn. 2.101–66. For φάσμα as “vision,” see Isa 28:7 and Job 20:8. For φάντασμα referring to an “angel” or heavenly being, see Josephus, A.J. 1.333; 5.277. It should be noted that some words for “ghost” (not φάντασμα) are also used for “divinity.” J. R. Porter notes that “the Hebrew word % t@]; is sometimes used in the Old Testament of the numirendered as ‘apparition’ in [Job 4.16] [hnFwm nous form of Yahweh” (“Ghosts in the Old Testament and the Ancient Near East,” in The Folklore of Ghosts [ed. Hilda R. Ellis Davidson and W. M. S. Russell; Mistletoe Series 15; Cambridge: Published for the Folklore Society by D. S. Brewer, 1981], 236; cf. 234–35); for example, the word hnFw%mt@; appears also in Num 12:8 and Ps 17:15. 14 Rudolf Bultmann and Dieter Lührmann, “φαίνω,” TDNT 9:6. Translating φάντασμα as something other than an epiphany is further necessitated by the conclusion that the disciples’ hearts were hard (Mark 6:52). 15 D. Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome: Ghost Stories from Classical Antiquity (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1999), 25. 13 For


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of demons or superstition” (4.16).16 Philo’s insistence on conflating these terms, however, suggests that many did not agree and thus did not consider the angels of heaven to be in the same category as the spirits of the dead. Thus, although Schweizer’s conflation of categories was argued in antiquity as well, those who were considered superstitious still distinguished, if not between terms, then between characteristics. Ghosts are typically distinguished from deities first by their origin: they are the spirits or souls of dead human beings. Even though the notion that ghosts are “the souls of the deceased” is familiar to modern folklore, Everett Ferguson notes that it “was actually a fairly common Greek idea.”17 This understanding of the origin of ghosts appears also in Jewish writings. According to 1 Enoch, the evil spirits that disturb humankind are the spirits of the giants who were begotten by the watchers and the daughters of men (15:7–16:1). Jubilees 10:1–13 suggests that fallen angels and evil spirits work together against humans and that, while many of the evil spirits of the deceased giants were already experiencing their condemnation, one-tenth were allowed to remain and torment humankind.18 This feature alone allows one to distinguish ghosts from those divine beings who could walk on water. According to Yarbro Collins, those who could walk on water included living heroes such as Hercules, Euphemus, and Orion, and also gods such as Neptune, who rides his chariot across the sea.19 There is, however, no account of the spirit or soul of one who had died walking on the sea. Other distinguishing characteristics are particular to the function of the phantom. For example, all apparitions that materialize in order to warn the living of some impending danger share certain features: they typically take place in daylight, during times of danger such as war or political strife. These phantoms are frequently female and deliver their message of warning either in direct speech or through signs.20 Two additional features have caused some to question whether these warning apparitions can indeed be called ghosts or if they are rather deities: they are abnormally large and their appearance is often accompanied by an earthquake or other physical manifestation of power.21 Thus, the particular features and functions of phantoms allow one to distinguish between ghost and god. 16 Philo, vol. 2 (trans. F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker; LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968), 453, cited by Everett Ferguson, Demonology of the Early Christian World (Symposium Series 12; New York/Toronto: Edwin Mellen, 1984), 83. 17 Ferguson, Demonology, 41. He here writes specifically of “demons”; however, as noted in the preceding paragraph, the terms “ghost” and “demon” are frequently used interchangeably (see also p. 42). 18 Life of Adam and Eve 16–17 describes the origin of these angels from heaven who rebelled and were cast down to earth. See Ferguson, Demonology, 76. 19 See Yarbro Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men,” 214–17. 20 Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 6, 30. 21 Ibid., 30.

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II. Characteristics of Apparitions In Mark, the ostensible phantom appears at night, specifically at the fourth watch, and causes fear. These few features are commonly associated with the haunting specter. Ghosts who haunt typically appear in dreams or at night and pester the living to have their remains properly buried. Cicero recounts the misfortune of two journeying Arcadians who stop for the night at Megara. After one is murdered the other sees his ghost in a dream: “As he slept on he saw another vision in which the same man begged him that he should not suffer his death to go unavenged” (Div. 1.57).22 Although in this account the ghost left its remains to seek his friend, it is more common for a ghost to haunt the location either of its death or of its remains. Pausanias records the ghostly battle that continues nightly on the plains of Marathon: “All night long there one can hear the sound of horses neighing and men at war” (Attica 32.4).23 Besides the dreams, the need for vengeance or proper burial, and the location of haunting, there are three additional common features that, as noted above, appear more obviously in Mark: (1) ghosts appear at night; (2) though difficult to see, they look as they did in life, yet pale or shadowy; and (3) they cause fear and terror for the living whom they encounter. A fuller examination of how each of these three characteristics functions in Mark 6 and other ghost stories will make clear that Mark fulfills the audience’s expectations for a ghost story before he diverges in a significant way.

At Night Each encounter with the spiritual realm narrated in Mark prior to the pericope encompassing 6:49–50 was an exorcism of a πνεῦμα ἀκάθαρτον, and each of these encounters seems to have occurred during the day.24 The pericope in Mark 6, which includes an ostensible ghost sighting, is the first such account said explicitly to occur at night: the account begins in 6:47 “when it was evening” (ὀψίας 22 Trans. Daniel Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts in the Greek and Roman Worlds: A Sourcebook (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 158. 23 Trans. Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 151. See also Tacitus, Hist. 5.13. 24 The exorcism in the synagogue can safely be assumed to have taken place during the day (Mark 1:23–27). The encounter with the Gerasene demoniac is less clear: they had entered the boats to cross the sea at evening (4:35). Jesus was sleeping on the boat (4:38), yet when they arrive there are no further references to time. The time of day does not seem to be significant for the pericope of the Gerasene demoniac; the conclusion, however, is narrated in such a way that the reader may assume it to be daylight: the herders observe the swine diving into the lake and quickly assemble the townsfolk to drive Jesus from their land (5:14–17). Mark 3:11–12 implies that Jesus had performed other exorcisms, but none of these is narrated.


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γενομένης) and continues through the fourth and final “watch of the night” (τετάρτην φυλακὴν τῆς νυκτός) in 6:48. This is significant for the sighting of the φάντασμα, since night is the ideal time for spotting a disembodied specter. Compare the modern superstition of a “bewitching hour.”25 In Pausanias’s description of the haunting of Marathon, the time is specific: “All night long,” he insists, “one can hear the sound of . . . men at war” (Attica 32.4). Night and darkness are also a primary theme in the Wisdom of Solomon, where a list of the Israelites’ blessings is followed immediately by a description of the terrorization of the Egyptians during the plague of darkness (17:1–17). Although intending to oppress the Israelites, the Egyptians become the ones “chained with darkness and fettered with a long night” (δέσμιοι σκότους καὶ μακρᾶς πεδῆται νυκτός [17:2]).26 It is in this dark and dreamlike state that they are tormented by “specters” (ἰνδάλματες [17:3]) and “faint phantoms” (φάσματα κατηφῆ [17:4]). Isaiah, in a warning to those who would engage in necromancy,27 suggests that such conjurers might find themselves in the fellowship of those they summon: they will “not have a dawn” (rx# wl-Ny) [Isa 8:20]) and “will be cast into distress and blackness and the gloom of distress and darkness” (xdnm hlp)w hqwc Pw(m hk#hw hrc hnhw [8:22]). Isaiah seems to be suggesting that those who consult ghosts become like ghosts, dwelling in the night. Mark, then, in this first allusion to a ghostly vision, and in contrast to the previous embodied specters of the exorcism accounts, selects nighttime as the ideal setting for such an occurrence.28

The Fourth Watch By narrating that the apparition was sighted during the “fourth watch of the night” (Mark 6:48), the author provides the account with another aspect of verisimilitude. The fourth watch, of course, encompasses the final hours of night: a time when the sun is not yet visible but its rays have just begun to illuminate the land. This is an important detail since, contrary to some depictions in modern media, in antiquity it was believed that ghosts did not glow; therefore, a minute amount of light was required for them to be seen.29 Rather than luminescent, ghosts 25 Felton,

Haunted Greece and Rome, 6–7. other references to night and darkness, see Wis 17:5–6, 14. 27 Prohibited in Deut 18:11. 28 In early Mesopotamian belief, evil spirits were thought to bring darkness as well as storms (Porter, “Ghosts in the Old Testament,” 222); whether such a belief was current in Mark’s time is uncertain. 29 Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 55. Porter suggests that, in ancient Mesopotamia, ghosts “[emitted] a pale light, so that they were known as khuu, the ‘luminous ones’” (“Ghosts in the Old Testament,” 232). Porter’s etymological explanation of the Akkadian khuu is his only evidence for an ancient belief in the luminescence of ghosts; evidence from any other ancient culture is not extant. 26 For

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are described as being as pale as death or as black as ash, having the image of their mortal body either in life or often at the time of their gruesome death.30 Some may have believed that the visibility of such “shadowy apparitions (σκιοειδῆ φαντάσματα) of souls” was possible because they “were not set free in purity” from the visible realm (Plato, Phaedo 81D).31 Regardless of why such souls became “shadowy,” the common belief that they were implied certain conditions for a proper sighting. Since these phantoms do not produce light, they are usually seen at night by the aid of fire; and since they are “shadowy,” too much light would cause them to disappear.32 According to the passage from Wisdom of Solomon cited in the previous section, the Egyptians experienced their dark terrors with the aid of a “self-lit fire” (αὐτομάτη πυρά [17:6]). This motif, the necessity of some light, is common in a variety of other texts as well. Greco-Roman funerary festivities generally included a lamplit procession in imitation of Hecate, who, as the patron deity of ghosts, was frequently depicted carrying a torch “to help light the way in the gloomy underworld.”33 Brutus, on the night before he was to lead his army from Asia into Europe, encountered an apparition at an ideal time for such a sighting. As Appian recounts, the ghost appeared to Brutus just as the light was dimming (μαραινομένου τοῦ φωτός).34 In Mark’s account, the light is just beginning to dawn. This liminal period, between night and day, would provide the perfect opportunity for sighting a specter.

Fearful Response At the sight of what the disciples believed was a ghost, “they cried out; for all saw it and were terrified” (καὶ ἀνέκραξαν· πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν [Mark 6:49–50]). Although there were a variety of ghosts with various intentions, those that appeared at night were typically the haunting sort, the kind that would inspire fear—a common motif in ancient ghost stories. This should come as no surprise since such a response remains typical of ghost stories today. Plutarch, who is usually skeptical of such things as ghosts, admits to their reality based on the testimonies of Dion and Brutus, “men of solid understanding and philosophic training” (Dion 2.5).35 He then notes concerning these particular ghosts that they are “mean and malignant spirits” who “try to confound and terrify 30 Felton,

Haunted Greece and Rome, 14–16, 55–56. North Fowler, Plato, I: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977), 282–85 (translation modified; emphasis added). 32 Traditionally at cockcrow (Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 7). 33 Ibid., 14. 34 Greek text from Horace White, Appian’s Roman History (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1961), 366. 35 Trans. Bernadotte Perrin, Plutarch’s Lives (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), 5. 31 Harold


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[people]” (2.5–6).36 This theme has appeared already in previous citations, such as Wis 17:15: “for sudden and unexpected fear overwhelmed them” (NRSV). J. R. Porter, contrasting the ghost tales of the ancient Near East to those of the GrecoRoman world, concludes that, in the Near East, ghosts were always considered “inimical to the living” and their “attitude was almost invariably one of fear and hostility.”37 Even in instances of prayers to the dead, the hope was that the dead would intercede while maintaining their distance from the land of the living.38 Fear is the reaction that an audience would expect in an account of a ghostly appearance.

III. Walking on Water Mark, then, has set the scene for a classic tale of a haunting specter through his use of the word φάντασμα, the nighttime hours, the faint light of an approaching dawn, and the disciples’ fearful response. Yet Mark diverges drastically from one key component of ancient ghost stories that involve water: ghosts cannot walk on water.39 Several Greek and Latin sources demonstrate this ghostly inability. Pausanias tells of a ghost that haunted the city of Temesa (Elis 2.6.5–11).40 The ghost (δαίμων), referred to only as the “Hero,” was once a member of Odysseus’s crew, who had been stoned by the people of Temesa for raping one of the women of that city. After Odysseus’s departure, the ghost begins killing the people of the city. The Pythia refuses to allow the townspeople to flee and insists that they propitiate the spirit by building it a temple and offering it a beautiful young woman once a year. The scandal is resolved by the arrival of the famous Euthymus, who, upon seeing the virgin offering falls in love with her and defeats the Hero. The ghost’s demise is described in the following terms: “the Hero disappeared, sinking into the sea” (ὁ Ἥρως ἀφανίζεταί τε καταδὺς ἐς θάλασσαν) (Elis II 6.10).41 In this instance, the ghost’s submergence into water signifies its destruction. 36 Cf.

Plutarch, Superstition, 165–66. “Ghosts in the Old Testament,” 219–20. 38 Ibid. 39 There are no accounts of ghosts and water in Hebrew (pace Strack-Billerbeck). Although πνεῦμα can be translated “ghost,” the πνεῦμα that goes upon the water in Gen 1:2 clearly corresponds to the category of “deity” rather than “the dead.” All accounts of ghosts and water that follow are from Greek or Latin sources. 40 See also Strabo, Geogr. 6.1.5. Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 26-27. 41 W. H. S. Jones, Pausanias, Description of Greece (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1966), 40–41 (translation modified). This story about defeating a demon by driving it into the sea finds a parallel in Mark. In ch. 5, Jesus encounters a demon who identifies itself as Legion. Although the author of Mark would seem to distinguish between the characteristics of “demon” and “ghost,” the parallel is significant. After Jesus learns the demon’s name, presumably with the intent of banishing it from its host, the demon pleads with Jesus that he “might not send them out of the land” (μὴ αὐτὰ ἀποστείλῃ ἔξω τῆς χώρας [Mark 5:10]). Just as Pausanias’s Euthymus drove the ghost of the “Hero” ἐκ τῆς γῆς (Pausanias, Elis II 6.10), Jesus apparently 37 Porter,

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In an account by Apuleius (Metamorphoses 1.13–19), water not only serves as the place of destruction for the dead but also functions as a boundary. In this tale, a man named Socrates is killed and then restored to life through magic. Various stories of reanimated corpses survive, and in many of these the revenant is described as a ghost.42 For instance, these reembodied beings “generally vanish suddenly without leaving their bodies behind.”43 Even on those occasions when their corpses must be dealt with again, the revenant can still be considered a ghost. One such case is found in Phlegon of Tralles, Mirabilia 1. The deceased Philinnion has been frequenting her parents’ guest, Machates; but when she is discovered by her parents in Machates’ room, her body immediately becomes lifeless again.44 Nevertheless, the reanimated and embodied Philinnion is specifically called a “ghost” (τὸ φάσμα [1.18]).45 Although Apuleius’s reanimated Socrates is never explicitly called a “ghost,” his tale may still be considered in this survey of ghost stories since he clearly falls into the category of “revenant.”46 The first death of Socrates occurs as he sleeps. Although he is secure behind bolted doors, two witch sisters enter. Meroe slices open his neck, then reaches down into his body to pull out his heart. Panthia next plugs the wound with a sponge and warns him not to cross the river. Arising the next morning with no sign of the wound yet finding himself extremely thirsty, Socrates goes straight to the forbidden river for a drink. No sooner do his lips touch the water than the life begins to drain from his body once again (Apuleius, Metam. 1.19).47 Water not only is given power through a curse to kill the already-dead Socrates—to kill a ghost—but also, because of that power, the water functions as a boundary.

intends the same fate for the ghost of Legion. At this point, however, the “unclean spirits” beg to enter a herd of swine (cf. Plato, Phaedo 81C–D), and, although Jesus concedes, the demons suffer the same fate as Pausanias’s “Hero”: “they drowned in the sea” (ἐπνίγοντο ἐν τῇ θαλάσσῃ [Mark 5:13]). Even though it is the swine that are observed sinking into the lake, it is clear enough that the account is about the destruction of demons, not swine. The swine seem to serve as an observable manifestation of the defeat of the demons, since, as with the ghosts discussed here, in the daylight hours the semi-physical forms of the demons could not be seen. For other examples of physical manifestations of the departure of demons in daylight, see Josephus, A.J. 8.48; Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 4.20. 42 See Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 26 43 Ibid., 28. 44 See Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 159–61. 45 Kai Brodersen, Phlegon von Tralleis das Buch der Wunder: und Zeugnisse seiner Wirkungsgeschichte (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002), 28. 46 For a more detailed discussion of why Apuleius’s reanimated Socrates should be considered a ghost, see Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 28. 47 Necdum satis extremis labiis summum aquae rorem attigerat, et iugulo eius vulnus dehiscit in profundum patorem et illa spongia de eo repente devolvitur eamque parvus admodum comitatur cruor; text from J. Arthur Hanson, Apuleius, Metamorphoses (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 40, 42.


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The notion of a river serving as boundary for the dead is common, especially in accounts that describe the ultimate dwelling place of the spirits, the abode of the dead. In the Iliad, the ghost of Patroclus reprimands Achilles for having forgotten him since his death and notes that until his corpse is properly interred the other spirits will not allow him to join them beyond the river (οὐδε μέ πω μίσγεσθαι ὑπὲρ ποταμοῖο ἐῶσιν [23.73]).48 In the Odyssey, one river that separates the living from the dead is identified as Oceanus. Odysseus crosses Oceanus and proceeds until he arrives at the point where Cocytus, a branch of the river Styx, flows into the river Acheron (10.513).49 Styx, the most famous of the waters that separate the living from the dead, is described in the Aeneid as hedging in the dead, barricading them into their rightful place: “its dreary water enchains them and Styx imprisons with his ninefold circles” (6.438–39).50 Virgil also describes the means by which the dead enter their realm since they are unable to walk on water: Charon must ferry them across the river (Aen. 6.325–29). Of course, it is only the properly buried whom Charon will ferry; the unburied remain on the side of the living to haunt. It seems that there also existed a concern for those who had died and were buried at sea. Since water is not a place for the dead, as has been demonstrated, a certain scholium on the Odyssey expresses the need for the souls of those who have perished at sea to return to land. The scholium responds to the story of Odysseus and his battle with the Cicones at Ismarus, wherein a number of his strongest men were killed before he fled with the rest into their ships. The Odyssey then continues telling of how, as they sailed away grieving the dead, Odysseus “called three times on each of the unfortunate companions who had died on the plain, slain by the Cicones” (9.62–66).51 The scholium reports that this act of calling on the dead three times was common when a person had died in a foreign land, since it allowed that person to return to the homeland.52 Following this remark, the scholium contains a note on those who died at sea: “Similarly the Athenians made cenotaphs for those who died at sea and set them beside the shore. They called their names three times, and this was how they came back.” Death at sea is portrayed in terms similar to death in a foreign land. Even for the sea-faring Athenians, the sea is considered a foreign place for the dead, a place where they cannot remain. That the cenotaph is not set up near other dead family members or even in a graveyard but 48 Text

from A. T. Murray, Homer, The Iliad (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), 498; see also Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 147. 49 See Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 147. 50 Trans. H. Rushton Fairclough, Virgil (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), 537; see also Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 148. 51 Trans. Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 161. 52 Scholia Graeca in Homeri Odysseam 9.62 (Harleian ms no. 5674); trans. Ogden, Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts, 161. Greek text available in Gulielmus Dindorf, ed., Scholia Graeca in Homeri Odysseam (2 vols.; 1855; repr., Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1962), 411–12.

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rather alongside the water suggests that it was necessary only to bring the souls out of the water.53 Belief in the potential threat of water to the unburied spook must have led to the methods of ridding oneself of a particular ghost. Plutarch, in his rant against superstition (δεισιδαιμονία), describes those people who are deluded by their own dreams and entrust themselves to those beggars and imposters who insist on ritual or magic rites as a cure for these dream ghosts (ἔνυπνον φάντασμα) (Superstition 165–66).54 Considering the frequency with which rivers and oceans are said to barricade ghosts, it should come as no surprise that the primary solution these “imposters” provide involves seeking refuge in the sea: “Immerse yourself in the ocean, and sit down on the ground and spend the whole day there” (βάπτισον σεαυτὸν εἰς θάλατταν καὶ καθίσας ἐν τῇ γῇ διημέρευσον [ibid., 166.5–6]).55 Water is, therefore, not the ideal location for a specter’s nightly stroll. Water is a hazard for ghosts. The sea serves as the final resting place for the phantom driven into it and presumably destroyed. Water is a boundary for spirits. Rivers function to impede the unburied dead from entering their rest and the buried dead from escaping their realm. Water is foreign to ghosts, and one who dies there must remain forever lost unless called to a cenotaph on the shore. Finally, since water is dangerous for the ghost, it can even be used as a defense to ward off unwanted spooks. It is clear that no one familiar with any of these accounts would believe that a ghost could walk on water.

IV. Understanding Mark’s Absurdity and Interpreting Mark 6:49–50 Mark includes several features common to classical ghost stories before diverging sharply in his insistence that the perceived ghost could walk on water. The reason for Mark including this absurdity can be understood best by comparison with one famous instance of a ghost story that also deviates from expectations: the Roman comedy of Plautus commonly called Haunted House (Mostellaria). The ghost story told within this play is understood to be a hoax by both the audience and all the characters involved except Theopropides, who is the object of the deception. Theopropides, the credulus senex, had returned home early from his business trip, but Tranio, his slave, wishes to keep him from entering the house. As expected 53 Logically

this practice should imply the temporary survival of the spirit of the dead in water and the movement of that spirit through water to land. Yet the author of this scholium shows no concern for this contradictory notion. The sole interest is the hasty removal of the spirit from water. 54 Text from Frank Cole Babbitt, ed., Plutarch’s Moralia, II (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 458, 460. 55 Trans. Babbitt, LCL, modified.


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from a servus callidus, Tranio had encouraged and abetted the son, Philolaches, in riotous living while his father was abroad. Now, with Theopropides unexpectedly approaching the house, and Philolaches’ drunken friends still scattered about the floor, Tranio scrambles for a way to convince his master not to enter the home. Owing to Theopropides’ superstitious nature, Tranio decides on the perfect deception: he would convince Theopropides that the house was haunted. The tale that Tranio tells his master adopts many of the themes common to ghost stories. The ghost who is said to haunt the house is a guest who was murdered there long ago. This ghost appeared at night while a torch was still lit, and it appeared in the dreams of Philolaches (Mostellaria 479–95). Yet, as Felton demonstrates, Plautus’s Tranio also diverges from audience expectation in several significant ways.56 The first is obvious from the themes just listed: it would seem that Tranio has conflated two types of ghost story. In the typical haunted-house story the ghost is seen at night because the room is faintly lit by a torch. Tranio emphasizes that a torch was still lit, but he then proceeds to insist that Philolaches experienced the phantom in a dream. If in a dream, however, then there was no need to mention the torch. Furthermore, dreaming of ghosts is not a motif typical of hauntedhouse stories. Even in the play, Theopropides reacts with surprise and confusion that the ghost had appeared to his son while he was asleep instead of when he was awake (ibid., 490–91). Tranio also claims to know that the corpse of the ghost is located in the house; yet, despite this claim, he gives no indication that he has attempted or intends to give it a proper burial—the typical solution to ghost problems. Felton suggests that these divergences not only betray Tranio’s improvisation but, more importantly, demonstrate just how credulous the credulus senex is. In Roman comedy it is typical for the servus callidus cleverly to control his master; however, in this case “the success of Tranio’s story,” as Felton correctly observes, “depends not so much on [the slave’s] own cleverness as on Theopropides’ gullibility and superstitious nature.”57 The divergences from what one expects in the story of a haunted house cause the tale to appear incredible and would certainly have stimulated laughter as the audience observed the bumbling Tranio attempting to hold his story together. Still more humor is engendered by Theopropides and his “willingness to believe such an inconsistent and unsupportable story.”58 Felton suggests that Theopropides becomes the “most striking example” of the credulus senex within the Plautine corpus.59 Theopropides earns this honor because of his insistence on believing a ghost story that diverges from audience expectation to such an extent that it appears absurd. 56 Felton,

Haunted Greece and Rome, 55–60. 61. 58 Ibid. “[W]e have to admit that Theopropides’ stupidity and superstitious nature are largely responsible for the comedy” (ibid). 59 Ibid. 57 Ibid.,

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As Plautus does in Mostellaria, Mark presents several themes typical of classical ghost stories before diverging in a significant way. It is night, the time when there is at least the threat of phantoms looming. Jesus sees the disciples struggling to cross the lake against the wind and begins to walk toward them as light from the dawning sun has barely begun to illuminate their surroundings: the perfect time to sight a phantom. Yet it is not the nighttime hour nor the dimly lit sky to which Mark attributes the disciples’ misconstrual of Jesus. Instead, he implies that their misunderstanding comes from “seeing him walking on the sea” (οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα [Mark 6:49]). Mark suggests that the disciples thought that Jesus was a ghost when they witnessed him doing one thing that ghosts absolutely cannot do: walk on water. The Jewish and Greco-Roman audience, familiar with the sort of ghost stories recounted above, would have been particularly dumbfounded by the disciples’ misunderstanding. If, in addition to this, one considers the research of Yarbro Collins, then the disciples’ misunderstanding becomes even more shocking.60 Yarbro Collins, as noted previously, reviews a wealth of Greco-Roman sources that describe divine men and gods walking on water. With so many prominent accounts, Mark’s audience would certainly have understood Jesus’ water-walk in terms of divine manifestation, yet the disciples in Mark do not. While Theopropides’ insistence on believing the absurd heightens the audience’s awareness of his gullibility in Plautus’s Mostellaria, in Mark the disciples’ insistence on believing the absurd seems to emphasize, to the extreme, their failure to believe in Jesus. This is exactly what Mark records. After Jesus identifies himself, Mark describes the astonishment of the disciples, their lack of understanding, and the reason for that lack: their hearts were hardened (6:51–52). The disciples’ lack of understanding has long been recognized as a Markan theme that appears throughout the Gospel.61 Here it forms a striking narrative portrayal of cognitive dissonance: the disciples clearly want Jesus to be something that he is not, to the point that they are willing to believe the absurd when Jesus approaches them as something much grander than they had imagined. Gods and divine men walk on water; ghosts do not. But when the disciples see Jesus walking on water, they believe the impossible rather than the obvious. Mark’s insertion of this absurdity, “because they saw him walking on the sea they thought he was a ghost” (6:49), emphasizes in dramatic fashion the disciples’ misconstrual of Jesus’ messiahship. 60 Yarbro

Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men,” 207–27. Wrede argued that the disciples’ unbelief formed part of a “messianic secret” motif in Mark (The Messianic Secret [trans. J. C. G. Greig: Greenwood, SC: Attic, 1971], 101–14; trans. of Das Messiasgeheimnis in dem Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangeliums [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901]). 61 William

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Moral Vision and Eschatology in Mark’s Gospel: Coherence or Conflict? david j. neville [email protected] St. Mark’s National Theological Centre, Charles Sturt University Barton, ACT 2600, Australia

Within the so-called Abrahamic tradition of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the scriptural sanction of violence poses a perplexing array of interrelated hermeneutical, theological, moral, and practical questions. John J. Collins focused on some of these in his presidential address at the SBL annual meeting in Toronto in 2002, “The Zeal of Phinehas: The Bible and the Legitimation of Violence.”1 Illuminating and sagacious as his discussion is, his illustrations of biblical legitimation of human violence all derive from Jewish Scripture and tradition, even in the case of examples taken from Christian history to demonstrate how biblical texts have been appropriated to authorize violence. Only in his penultimate section, “Eschatological Vengeance,” in which he shifts the searchlight to scriptural expectations of divine retributive violence, does he refer to a small sampling of NT texts, most notably the book of Revelation. More could have been said about violence in the NT,2 yet for Collins to have done so would not have made more stark the question provoked by his discussion of eschatological vengeance: Is the God of biblical tradition violent? That the God of biblical tradition is depicted as commanding, condoning, or committing violence is reason enough for some to answer this question in the affirmative. For others, different biblical depictions of God that are incongruent with the notion of a violent God call for a more nuanced response. One of the hermeneu1 JBL

122 (2003): 3–21. This essay was subsequently edited and reprinted as a Facets Series booklet, Does the Bible Justify Violence? (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004). 2 See, e.g., Michel Desjardins, Peace, Violence and the New Testament (Biblical Seminar 46; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997); Shelly Matthews and E. Leigh Gibson, eds., Violence in the New Testament (New York/London: T&T Clark International, 2005).

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tical strategies Collins recommends in dealing with biblical texts that sanction violence is to draw attention to the diversity of perspectives in the Bible, thereby relativizing those texts that legitimate violence.3 In this connection, NT traditions concerning Jesus of Nazareth comprise a corpus of texts that to some extent counterbalances the cluster of traditions that display God as one who both authorizes violence and ultimately resorts to violence. Nevertheless, even within the fabric of traditions emanating from Jesus, texts of violence stain the whole. Of these, the most disturbing are instances of vehement anti-Judaic invective on the part of Jesus, especially in the Gospels according to Matthew and John, and seemingly eager anticipations of eschatological vengeance. In short, with respect to the issue of biblical legitimation of violence, NT interpreters must confront the same complex of hermeneutical, theological, moral, and practical questions faced by biblical scholars generally. Various NT writers interpreted the mission and message of Jesus along peacemaking lines—both theologically and morally.4 One expression of this perception of Jesus’ mission is Mark’s (re)interpretation of the nature, quality, or “dynamic” of messiahship by identifying Jesus’ service and suffering as God’s way of reigning and dealing with evil in the world. This (re)interpretation of God’s reign and power is presented dramatically in Mark 8:22–10:52, within which Jesus’ “model of messiahship” serves as both pattern and norm for authentic discipleship, and also in Mark’s crucifixion narrative.5 According to many Markan scholars, a significant part of Mark’s purpose was to bolster hope among distressed readers/hearers by assuring them that the one who was crucified will soon return as “Son of humanity” (ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου) to overpower the forces of evil. Yet if the hope Mark articulated was that when the Son of humanity returns, he will overpower evil forces in the same way—only definitively—as those forces had overpowered him, this conflicts with Mark’s conviction that it is precisely in and through Jesus’ nonviolent mission, voluntary suffering, and ignominious death that God defeats or undoes evil. On this interpretation, Mark’s nonviolent christology and ethic of discipleship are undermined by his eschatology. 3 Collins,

“Zeal of Phinehas,” 19. Yet for Collins, the most important interpretive task with respect to biblically sanctioned violence is to relativize the Bible’s “presumed divine authority,” which tends to inculcate an attitude of certitude with respect to the will of God (p. 20). 4 For an attempt to (re)place peace at the heart of NT theology and ethics, see Willard M. Swartley, Covenant of Peace: The Missing Peace in New Testament Theology and Ethics (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006). 5 Cf. Richard A. Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story: The Politics of Plot in Mark’s Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), who contests a theological reading of Mark’s Gospel, especially with reference to the theme of discipleship. Yet it is difficult to hear Mark’s story of Jesus as unconcerned with God, especially given that Mark’s principal theme is the reign of God (ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ), a point Horsley concedes. For Horsley to separate theological reflection from ordinary life in the way he does is akin to interpreting Israelite religion in isolation from politics and economics in first-century Galilee or Judea, a practice he disparages.

Neville: Moral Vision and Eschatology in Mark

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Since the rediscovery by Johannes Weiss of the significance of eschatology for comprehending the worldview(s) of Jesus and early Christians,6 primitive Christian ethics has been conceived as conditioned by expectation of an imminent end-event. For example, in The Origins of Christian Morality, Wayne Meeks observed: What is perhaps most evident from our sampling of the eschatological language of the writings that have come down to us from the first two centuries of the Christian movement is its variety, both in formulation and in application. Through all the variable images, nevertheless, we discern a controlling conviction that the defining point for the responsible and flourishing life lies in the divinely appointed future moment.7

With respect to Mark’s narrative, I would not deny that the encroaching reign of God provides the rationale for Jesus’ moral vision. But the specific contour and content of the moral vision attributed to Jesus by Mark warrant that it be given critical status vis-à-vis the interpretation of yet-to-be-realized aspects of the alreadyinaugurated reign of God. In other words, in the exegesis and interpretation of Mark’s Gospel, Markan ethics should impinge on eschatological anticipation no less than Markan eschatology impinges on ethics. Otherwise, the reign of God, as Mark depicts it, is subject to the dictum articulated by Jesus in 3:24 about any reign at odds with itself. In recent critical discussion of what might be called the mechanics of atonement, as understood in the Christian tradition, concerns have been raised about the conception of God inherent in theories of atonement that emphasize propitiation, penal substitution, or satisfaction of divine honor.8 No less troubling is the image

6 Johannes Weiss, Jesus’ Proclamation of the Kingdom of God (trans. and ed. [with introduction] Richard H. Hiers and D. Larrimore Holland; Lives of Jesus; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971; repr., Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985); trans. of Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892; rev. ed., 1900). Ever since Weiss, the relation between eschatology and ethics, both in historically descriptive and theologically constructive senses, has been a burning question in NT interpretation. Nothing in this study should be taken to imply that I am arguing for a noneschatological Jesus or for a diminution of the eschatological dimension in Mark’s Gospel. 7 Wayne A. Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993), 188 (emphasis mine). 8 See, e.g., J. Denny Weaver, The Nonviolent Atonement (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001). In addition to arguing for a “narrative Christus Victor” theory of atonement, Weaver also discusses objections to classical atonement theories from black, feminist, and womanist perspectives. Cf. Anthony Bartlett, Cross Purposes: The Violent Grammar of Christian Atonement (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001). For a nonviolent interpretation of the passion and death of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel, from the perspective of René Girard’s theory of sacred violence, see Robert G. Hamerton-Kelly, The Gospel and the Sacred: Poetics of Violence in Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). See also the various essays relating to the atonement in Violence Renounced: René Girard, Biblical Studies, and Peacemaking (ed. Willard M. Swartley; Studies in Peace and Scripture 4; Telford, PA: Pandora; Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2000).

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of God inherent in eschatological expectations that feature vindictive retribution on the part of God and/or God’s agent(s). The expectation that ultimately God will inflict violent retribution on evildoers is equally, if not more, likely to authorize violent behavior in the here and now as atonement theories predicated on the necessity of divine violence, especially when coupled with the conviction that one (or one’s group) is on God’s side and knows God’s will.9 An eschatology characterized by violent retribution seems to have been part of the convictional framework of some early Christians. Within the NT, one thinks of 2 Thess 1:5–10, perhaps Rom 12:19–20, and the Gospel according to Matthew.10 There is also the violent imagery associated with the eschatology of the Apocalypse, of which Collins asserts: “The expectation of vengeance is . . . pivotal in the book of Revelation.”11 But did all early Christians entertain a violent eschatology? My question is whether Mark’s Gospel is an early Christian witness to an alternative eschatological expectation more in keeping with the message and mission of its protagonist, whose instruction and conduct Mark held to be normative and exemplary. If so, the Gospel according to Mark serves as a hermeneutical resource for advocating a teleology of peace. Mark’s protagonist, Jesus the crucified Nazarene (Mark 16:6), is presented as the herald-inaugurator of God’s encroaching reign, as an authoritative teacher whose words effect liberation, healing, discernment, and judgment, and as one who arrogates to himself the image of “one like a person” (Dan 7:13–14) as the most apposite (or perhaps least misleading) public designation of his identity.12 In Mark’s

9 Cf. Collins, “Zeal of Phinehas,” 20–21, on the danger of religious certitude based on biblical authority. 10 On Matthean eschatology, see, e.g., David C. Sim, Apocalyptic Eschatology in the Gospel of Matthew (SNTSMS 88; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). I address the moral problem of eschatological violence in Matthew’s Gospel in “Toward a Teleology of Peace: Contesting Matthew’s Violent Eschatology,” JSNT 30 (2007): 131–61. 11 Collins, “Zeal of Phinehas,” 16, citing in support Adela Yarbro Collins, “Persecution and Vengeance in the Book of Revelation,” in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East: Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Apocalypticism, Uppsala, August 12–17, 1979 (ed. David Hellholm; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1983), 729–49. I am not convinced that the Apocalypse of John envisages literal eschatological vengeance, even if John’s use of violent imagery is responsible for interpreting it along such lines. 12 I am not concerned with whether and, if so, how the historical Jesus made use of the Danielic image of “one like a son of man.” For a survey of research on this contested issue, see Delbert Burkett, The Son of Man Debate: A History and Evaluation (SNTSMS 107; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Cf. Walter Wink, The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), who explicitly seeks to construct a “Christology from below” based on the various “Son of humanity” sayings. I share Wink’s concern with the disjunction between the nonviolent mission of Jesus and traditional beliefs about the “return” or “second coming” of Jesus as “Son of humanity.” In support of the view that Daniel 7 is the interpretive backdrop for Mark’s usage of the linguistically awkward phrase, “the son of the person”


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narrative, these depictions coalesce to form a portrait of one who elicits faith, instills hope, and unveils the moral vision for a life of discipleship lived in the hinterland created by God’s encroaching reign—and this even though the whole of Mark’s narrative moves steadily toward its denouement in the ignominious execution of Jesus on a Roman cross and virtually ends there.13 For Mark, crucifixion signified not only Roman hegemony but also divine judgment and abandonment (15:34; cf. Gal 3:13), yet he interpreted the shameful death of Jesus as integral to divine action in, and on behalf of, the world; paradoxically, God was present in Jesus’ experience of divine forsakenness and potently active in and through Jesus’ voluntary powerlessness.14 This brings us to Mark’s moral vision, which is both tradition-dependent, in the sense that it is reliant on and inexplicable apart from Jewish Scripture, and revisionary, insofar as traditional moral norms are critically revisioned—not simply revised—in light of Jesus’ mission. No doubt Mark’s reconfigured moral vision was molded by his scripturally resourced reinterpretation of the crucifixion of Jesus. No less than for Paul, and conceivably influenced by Paul,15 the fulcrum of Mark’s theology and ethics is Jesus, the crucified Messiah. Certainly what he gathered together and recorded of Jesus’ teaching on self-renunciation and social reversal in 8:31–10:45 coheres with his interpretation of Jesus’ suffering and death in chs. 14– 15.16 But can one say the same of his understanding of the eschatological role of that personlike One alluded to in Mark’s three future-oriented references to the Son of humanity (8:38; 13:26; 14:62)?17 In other words, did Mark envisage the Son of

(ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου), see, e.g., Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 528–32; Simon Gathercole, “The Son of Man in Mark’s Gospel,” ExpTim 115, no. 11 (August 2004): 366–72. 13 In literary terms, the brief conclusion in Mark 15:40–16:8 may be regarded as but an appendix to the passion narrative in Mark 14:1–15:39. 14 I explore this paradox in “God’s Presence and Power: Christology, Eschatology and ‘Theodicy’ in Mark’s Crucifixion Narrative,” in Theodicy and Eschatology (ed. Bruce Barber and David Neville; Task of Theology Today 4; Adelaide: ATF, 2005), 19–41. 15 See Joel Marcus, “Mark—Interpreter of Paul,” NTS 46 (2000): 473–87, especially with respect to Paul’s and Mark’s theologia crucis. The view that Mark’s theological perspective was influenced by Paul stands in tension with, but does not necessarily contradict, patristic traditions about Mark’s association with Peter. See C. Clifton Black, Mark: Images of an Apostolic Interpreter (Studies on Personalities of the New Testament; Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1994). Evidence in Mark’s Gospel indicates that Peter was unreceptive to a theologia crucis; whether Peter’s perspective changed after his postresurrection encounter with Jesus (Mark 16:7; 1 Cor 15:5) is an open question. 16 See esp. David Rhoads, Reading Mark: Engaging the Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), ch. 3: “Losing Life for Others in the Face of Death: Mark’s Standards of Judgment.” 17 Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62 are the most obvious allusions within Mark’s narrative to the image of “one like a son of man” in Dan 7:13–14. If the unidiomatic ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου (literally, “the son of the person”) was a pointed allusion to that manlike figure in Daniel 7, under-

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humanity’s future realization of the reign of God to conform to the moral vision displayed in that self-same Son of humanity’s service-oriented mission, teaching on self-renunciation/social reversal, and voluntary relinquishment of power in his passion? Or did Mark imagine that once God had vindicated the Son of humanity in his role as “Suffering Servant,”18 it was acceptable that he execute the same vengeance that had destroyed him?

I. Mark’s Moral Vision According to Dan Via, “It is proper to say that Mark has an ethic, because central ethical categories come to manifest expression in the Gospel, although they are obviously not formally announced as such.”19 Ethical categories that Via detects in Mark’s Gospel are moral norms (articulated as both principles and rules), moral intentions and motives (forward- and backward-looking reasons for acting or behaving in particular ways), moral agency, which Via terms “enablement” (by God, since Mark’s ethic is non-autonomous), and sensitivity both to historically conditioned circumstances (within which moral agents act) and consequences of actions and behaviors. If the presence of such ethical categories constitutes an ethic, one may agree that Mark has an ethic. Yet Via’s qualifying observation that Mark’s ethical categories are not “formally announced” suggests that “ethic” is perhaps too formal a term for the moral content and implications of Mark’s Gospel. In moral discourse, ethics generally comprises both a systematic presentation of what constitutes the good life and critical reflection on reasons for judging any person, disposition, or behavior to be good or otherwise.20 For this reason and also because stood in a generic sense to mean (one like) a human being/person, then the phrase, the (or that) personlike One, is not only gender-inclusive but also more transparently indicative of the allusive function of the Greek phrase and faithful to the generic meaning of the original Semitic idiom. To facilitate ease of reading, however, I refer to “the Son of humanity.” For a discussion of the linguistic evidence and context-sensitive translation options, see Adela Yarbro Collins, Cosmology and Eschatology in Jewish and Christian Apocalypticism (JSJSup 50; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 139–58. 18 Mark 9:12 suggests familiarity with a scriptural tradition associating the Son of humanity with suffering and shame, language reminiscent of the Servant figure in Deutero-Isaiah. A coalescing of the “Son of humanity” and “Servant” figures would help to make sense of “Son of humanity” texts that feature suffering (Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34, 45). See the Similitudes of Enoch for a parallel, but not identical, coalescing of these two scriptural figures, notwithstanding problems associated with dating the Similitudes. But perhaps no coalescing of separate figures is necessary to explain Mark 9:12, if Eugene Lemcio is correct that the phrase “Son of Man” in the Old Greek of Daniel signifies human vulnerability (see Lemcio, “‘Son of Man,’ ‘Pitiable Man,’ ‘Rejected Man’: Equivalent Expressions in the Old Greek of Daniel,” TynBul 56 [2005]: 43–60). 19 Dan O. Via, Jr., The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel—In the Middle of Time (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 81. 20 Cf. Meeks, Origins of Christian Morality, 4: “I take ‘ethics’ in the sense of a reflective,


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Mark’s Gospel is a narrative rather than a formal ethical treatise, it seems more appropriate to speak of Mark’s moral vision. In Ethics and the New Testament, J. L. Houlden drew attention to the relative paucity of ethical material in Mark’s Gospel.21 In so speaking, Houlden evaluated Mark’s Gospel relative to the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, each of which devotes considerably more space to the specific moral teaching of Jesus. Yet, as more recent treatments of Markan “ethics” have shown,22 it is not simply the ethical teaching of Jesus presented by Mark that has moral significance. Equally if not more important is the story-world into which Mark invites hearers and readers so as to shape or reshape, challenge or reinforce their attitudes and priorities, depending on their existing orientation. Moreover, as Allen Verhey points out, Mark’s focus on the theme of discipleship, especially discipleship patterned on the mission of Jesus, “makes the whole narrative a form of moral exhortation.”23 As a result, Mark’s narrative as a whole, but also any particular part within it, bristles with the potential to alter one’s perspective, transform understanding, provoke character evaluation, and reorient assumptions about the nature of reality and standard patterns of human relationships, all of which are either profoundly moral in and of themselves or have moral implications. In this respect, the programmatic summary in Mark 1:14–15 is instructive.24 Mark’s summary of Jesus’ proclamation of the good news concerning God (τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ θεοῦ), rather than from or about Caesar,25 second-order activity: it is morality rendered self-conscious; it asks about the logic of moral discourse and action, about the grounds for judgment, about the anatomy of duty or the roots and structure of virtue.” See also Leander E. Keck, “Rethinking ‘New Testament Ethics,’” JBL 115 (1996): 7: “if morality describes and prescribes proper behavior as well as proscribes what is unacceptable, ethics is critical reflection on the prescribed and proscribed, the allowed and the forbidden, the urged and the discouraged.” 21 J. L. Houlden, Ethics and the New Testament (London/Oxford: Mowbray, 1975), 41–42. The first edition was published by Penguin Books in 1973, and the book was reissued in 2004 by T&T Clark International in the series Understanding the Bible and Its World. 22 Richard Hays and Frank Matera, each of whom published a major work on NT ethics in 1996, begin their respective chapters on Markan ethics by discussing the relevance of narrative for ethics. See Richard B. Hays, The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996), 73–75; Frank J. Matera, New Testament Ethics: The Legacies of Jesus and Paul (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 13–14. The relation between ethics and narrative is decisive for Via’s treatment of the ethics of Mark’s Gospel. 23 Allen Verhey, The Great Reversal: Ethics and the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), 78. Cf. Wolfgang Schrage, The Ethics of the New Testament (trans. David E. Green; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), who avers that “discipleship and conformity to Jesus’ way are the central features of Markan ethics” (p. 139). 24 For an illuminating analysis of this Markan summary, see Christopher D. Marshall, Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative (SNTSMS 64; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 34–54. 25 The anti- or counter-imperial dimension of much of the NT is now a scholarly commonplace. The crucial point is not that a Gospel, or Revelation, or one of Paul’s letters is anti-

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centered on the fulfillment of time as a result of the pressing (and pressuring) encroachment of God’s reign, calls for radical attitudinal and behavioral reorientation (“repentance,” which is not feeling remorseful) leading to the possibility of a life of faith—and a faithful life. While the whole of Mark’s Gospel is morally meaningful, it is nevertheless the case that certain sections more obviously display Mark’s moral vision. One such section is the clearly demarcated narrative unit 8:22–10:52, which is bracketed by two stories of Jesus restoring sight to blind men.26 It is widely acknowledged that this central section is concerned with Jesus’ efforts to alter his disciples’ perception of and perspective on discipleship.27 As Richard Hays points out, this section is carefully structured around three three-part sequences in which (1) Jesus predicts his—that is, the Son of humanity’s—inevitable fate; (2) the disciples or representative disciples act in ways that reveal misunderstanding of his identity and mission; and (3) Jesus provides corrective instruction that reinforces the attitudes and behaviors that constitute authentic discipleship in the reign of God.28 Without subscribing to any particular hypothesis about Mark’s polemical purpose(s), one may reasonably suppose that Mark composed this section of his narrative with an eye to developments in the Jesus movement(s) of which he was aware. Along the way, Jesus instructs his disciples (both actual and would-be) that to be followers of this recently perceived and confessed Messiah (Mark 8:27–29), they

imperial, since what is anti-imperial can so easily become imperialistic if the tables are turned. Mark’s Gospel is not only anti-imperial but anti-imperial on its own terms, that is, counterimperialistic, because in the mission of Jesus the reign of God is displayed as qualitatively different from usual patterns of ruling. On Mark’s counter-imperial thrust, see, e.g., Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), lxxx–xciii; Gerd Theissen, Gospel Writing and Church Politics: A Socio-rhetorical Approach (Hong Kong: Theology Division, Chung Chi College, 2001), 16–28; and Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story, esp. chs. 2 and 6. 26 It might be more accurate to describe Mark 10:46–52 as an echo of 8:22–26, which in turn echoes 7:31–37 in some respects. In any case, Mark 8:22–26 and 10:46–52 enclose the intervening material. See Kevin W. Larsen, “The Structure of Mark: Current Proposals,” Currents in Biblical Research 3 (2004): 140–60, who notes that there is “near unanimous consent” for a distinct middle section in Mark’s Gospel. Larsen favors regarding 8:22–26 and 10:46–52 as “hinges.” 27 See, e.g., Marie Noël Keller, “Opening Blind Eyes: A Revisioning of Mark 8:22–10:52,” BTB 31 (2001): 151–57. 28 Hays, Moral Vision, 80–81. This structural observation is such a commonplace in Markan scholarship that Hays sees no need to identify its source. William Telford credits Norman Perrin for this insight. See W. R. Telford, The Theology of the Gospel of Mark (New Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 51–52, 104–5, 129. Yet as early as 1964, Eduard Schweizer had drawn attention to this structural feature in his study “Mark’s Theological Achievement” (see The Interpretation of Mark [ed. William R. Telford; IRT 7; 2nd ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995], 76). The thrice-repeated pattern of passion prediction–disciples’ failure–Jesus’ teaching forms the basis of the study by Alberto de Mingo Kaminouchi, “But It Is Not So Among You”: Echoes of Power in Mark 10:32–45 (JSNTSup 249; London/New York: T&T Clark, 2003).


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must “renounce self ” (8:34) and exercise “social reversal” (9:35; 10:43–44).29 In all likelihood, the language of voluntary social reversal in 9:35 and 10:43–44 means much the same as self-renunciation in 8:34. In an honor/shame culture, selfrenunciation signified the voluntary relinquishment of status or rank, not the erasure of one’s identity.30 It had to do with how one perceived oneself in relation to others and therefore with how one interacted with others. So, each time that Jesus corrects his disciples’ misunderstanding, he addresses the basic issue of how interpersonal power is exercised within a network of social relationships. With everincreasing clarity, Mark shows that an integral dimension of discipleship in the reign of God is the culture-subverting renunciation of honor, status, and rank rather than the culturally conditioned—as well as instinctive—impulse to arrogate to oneself the highest possible level of honor, status, and rank. And on what grounds? Mark might legitimately have had Jesus say that voluntary renunciation of status and deliberate social reversal result in more just and peaceful social relations. But the rationale he records Jesus providing follows a different, nonconsequentialist logic: “For even the Son of humanity came not to be served [as one with high honor 29 Sharyn

Dowd points out that Mark 8:34 is a “second calling of disciples” (Reading Mark: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Second Gospel [Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000], 88). “The stakes are higher now because the disciples and the audience must decide whether to continue to follow, not only a preacher and healer, but also a life-giver whose way leads to a shameful death.” 30 Cf. Joanna Dewey, “‘Let Them Renounce Themselves and Take up Their Cross’: A Feminist Reading of Mark 8:34 in Mark’s Social and Narrative World,” BTB 34 (2004): 98–104. Dewey correctly notes that “Mark 8:34 is not an exhortation to suffering and victimage in general” (p. 103), but I think that self-renunciation in this saying means something more precise than renouncing one’s kinship group, as she contends. This is not to say that group or family loyalty may not be at stake. If Mark’s depiction of Jesus is anything to go by, his own self-renunciation consists not so much in renouncing family as in repudiating opportunities to avoid the shame of crucifixion. In addition, in Mark 8:22–10:52, it is reasonable to interpret the corrective instruction of Jesus in 8:34; 9:35; and 10:42–44 as mutually illuminating. Mark 1:18, 20 and 10:28–29 use the language of “leaving behind” or “abandonment” (ἀφίημι) rather than “renunciation” (ἀπαρνέομαι) for describing disruption of kinship ties as a result of loyalty to Jesus. Mark 10:31 is a reminder that social reversal is the fundamental feature of the life of discipleship. The study to which Dewey appeals in support of interpreting self-renunciation as renouncing kin is Bruce J. Malina, “‘Let Him Deny Himself ’ (Mark 8:34 & Par): A Social Psychological Model of Self-Denial,” BTB 24 (1994): 106–19. On the basis of a Q/Thomas tradition about cross bearing that makes no reference to self-denial but stresses family friction (Matt 10:34–38; Luke 14:25–27; Gos. Thom. 55), Malina contends that both self-denial and kin-denial are parallel to taking up the cross. Even if this is granted, despite the connection between self-denial and cross bearing being much closer than that between kin-denial and cross bearing, this does not imply that self-denial and kin-denial are identical in meaning. So, although Malina makes a case for equating self-denial with kindenial, in the context of a first-century collectivist culture, his textual point of departure allows one to affirm only that self-denial and kin-denial are parallel “cross-bearing” costs of discipleship.

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status would be entitled] but to serve [status-renunciation], and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).31 Yet whatever the rationale, the focus of Jesus’ teaching here has to do with reconceiving and reorganizing social interrelations within the reign of God. As Richard Horsley avers, Jesus gets to specific instructions about political relations in the movement in [Mark] 10:42–44. That the point of this passage is the internal politics of the movement is often missed because the sanction on the teaching stated in [Mark] 10:45 has been so important to Christian faith in Christ’s death as a “ransom for many.” In Mark’s story, however, the saying about “the son of man” giving his life as a ransom is not the point of the episode but functions as a motive clause for the preceding teaching.32

In view of later developments within the Christian movement, it is significant that Jesus’ instruction on self-renunciation and social reversal was directed toward persons intent on enhancing their honor and status; it was not directed toward persons without hope of gaining honor and status. In this connection, Gerd Theissen’s observation in his lecture entitled “The Two Basic Values of the Primitive Christian Ethic: Love of Neighbour and Renunciation of Status” is noteworthy: Thus in the Synoptic tradition humility is clearly “renunciation of status,” and this renunciation of status is bound up with a critical impetus against those who have a lofty status. In the framework of this tradition humility is not a virtue of the lowly who fit into their lowly status by subordinating themselves to rule. On the contrary, humility is an imitation of the ruler of the world who voluntarily renounces his status. Humility is the virtue of the powerful.33

So, although Markan language about self-denial and servanthood has been used to maintain—rather than unsettle—status distinctions, this was not Mark’s intent. Indeed, as Alberto de Mingo Kaminouchi argues in his exploration of Mark 10:32– 45, Mark not only records Jesus’ subversion of powerful status by redefining greatness as service but also reveals, through his depiction of two representatives of Roman imperial power (Herod and Pilate), that “apparent rulers” (οἱ δοκοῦντες ἄρχειν) and “great ones” not only misuse their power but are also impotent in certain respects precisely because of their powerful status: 31 The logic of this saying is analogical rather than teleological; it appeals to an interpersonal code of loyalty rather than to perceived social or eschatological benefits. 32 Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story, 194. What Horsley neglects to say is that the motivational power of the “motive clause” derives from the manumission effected by the Son of humanity’s submission of his life. 33 Gerd Theissen, A Theory of Primitive Christian Religion (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1999), 75–76 (emphasis mine). Here one detects traces of Theissen’s view that in early Christianity certain aristocratic values were adopted but also adapted; thus the Jesus movement contributed to a “charismatische Wertrevolution.” See Gerd Theissen, “Jesusbewegung als charismatische Wertrevolution,” NTS 35 (1989): 343–60. The crucial point is that self-renunciation (renunciation of status) was not intended to maintain hierarchical distinctions.


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Mark wants to show the reader how power works. Power can be imagined as the property of the powerful. It is normally accepted that some people, like the rulers, have power. The vision presented by Mark in these two pericopes [about Herod and Pilate in Mark 6:14–29 and 15:1–15] is quite different. Power is represented as a network of relationships and expected behaviors in which a complex set of actors are engaged. The powerful do not do their will. . . . Reading both passages, the message that comes through is that power is a web in which everybody is trapped, even those who supposedly rule.34

As indicated above, Theissen identifies love of neighbor and renunciation of status as the two basic values of the early Christian ethic. But were these the two values basic for Mark? Hays thinks not. In his view, love is not a prominent theme in Mark’s Gospel and does not feature as a “distinctive mark of discipleship.”35 True, love does not feature explicitly in Jesus’ instructions to his disciples in 8:22–10:52. Yet in view of Jesus’ remark to the scribe in 12:34, “You are not far from the reign of God,” it would not be far-fetched to interpret Jesus’ teaching on self-renunciation and voluntary social reversal as manifestations of loving one’s neighbor as oneself. The dialogue between the scribe and Jesus in 12:28–34 reveals that, for Mark, (1) love of the one God together with love of neighbor as oneself constitutes the heart of the “word of God” (Torah; cf. Mark 7:1–13);36 (2) love of God and neighbor is of greater value than sacrifices ordained by God; and (3) understanding these interrelated insights puts one near the reign of God, which suggests that to progress beyond understanding to living in accordance with these two indivisible commandments is to enter God’s reign (cf. 9:47; 10:15, 23–27). That Mark records Jesus interpreting love of the one God with all one’s being and love of neighbor as oneself as both the pinnacle of Torah and of greater value than the sacrificial system suggests that love is central to Mark’s moral vision. It is surely significant that Mark concludes this pericope by noting that no one dared to question Jesus further. What needs to be said—above all else—has been said. The next time Jesus is interrogated, it is by the high priest (14:60–61). Also significant is that almost immediately after this pericope featuring an insightful scribe, Mark records Jesus denouncing scribes who crave honor and honoring a destitute widow (12:38–44). Thus, were one in a position to ask Mark whether self-renunciation and voluntary social reversal expressed or enacted love of neighbor as oneself, it is difficult to imagine him responding in the negative. In any case, whether or not

34 De

Mingo Kaminouchi, “But It Is Not So Among You,” 196–97.

35 Hays, Moral Vision, 84. Hays thinks it important that the only Markan pericope to address

the theme of love explicitly occurs in a controversy discourse rather than in instruction to disciples. 36 Cf. Dale C. Allison, Jr., who interprets this double commandment as a summary of the Decalogue (“Mark 12:28–31 and the Decalogue,” in The Gospels and the Scriptures of Israel [ed. Craig A. Evans and W. Richard Stegner; JSNTSup 104; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994], 270–78).

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love is the motivation for self-renunciation, both love of neighbor and voluntary social reversal fit neatly within a coherent moral vision. If Mark’s Jesus-inspired moral vision may be said to be characterized by renunciation of status and “re-cognizing” service as greatness—which in turn may be regarded as expressions of love for one’s neighbor, the indispensable moral corollary of wholehearted love for the one God—this is not far from an ethic of peace. Although the immediate context of the mysterious combination of sayings in Mark 9:49–50 seems to indicate that Mark placed these sayings where he did solely on the basis of a series of verbal associations (fire, salt), the broader context is more revealing. The exhortation, “Have salt among yourselves and practice peace among yourselves” (ἔχετε ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἅλα καὶ εἰρηνεύετε ἐν ἀλλήλοις), is antithetical to the disciples’ dispute over who among them was greatest, which provokes this segment of Jesus’ corrective instruction (9:33–34). In place of self-aggrandizement, Jesus exhorts being peaceable or practicing peace. As Willard Swartley observes, “Drawing on the imagery of well-prepared salted sacrifices (Lev 2:13), Jesus calls for the self to be purified of evil and ambitious desires, and for his followers to desire to live peaceably with one another (vv. 49–50). This contrasts to the segment’s opening portrait of the disciples’ disputing with one another over who is the greatest.”37 If enough has been said in favor of crediting Mark’s Gospel with displaying a peace-oriented or nonviolent moral vision,38 what is one to make of the motif of the “divine warrior” discerned by many within Mark’s narrative? A prominent theme in Jewish Scripture, the divine warrior motif reappears in the Synoptic Gospels as one means of explicating the identity and significance of Jesus. Yet it is not the presence of this motif so much as how it is used that counts. It may seem surprising that in Covenant of Peace: The Missing Peace in New Testament Theology and Ethics, Willard Swartley should give such prominence to the divine warrior motif in his treatment of Mark’s Gospel.39 Yet much is clarified if one reads his discussion there in light of his earlier book, Israel’s Scripture Traditions and the Synoptic Gospels: Story Shaping Story, which is a narrative and tradition-historical analysis of the common core of the Synoptic tradition. In the earlier work, Swartley shows how all three Synoptic Gospels were shaped to varying degrees by an interwoven complex of four scriptural traditions relating to God’s redeeming activity: (1) exodus, (2) conquest, (3) temple, and (4) kingship. The motif of the divine warrior inheres in each of these four traditions yet is most prominent in the first two. Swartley argues that the second tradition, which he designates “way-conquest,” is responsible for both the shape of Mark 8:27–10:52 and many of its key themes, including

37 Willard M. Swartley, Israel’s Scripture Traditions and the Synoptic Gospels: Story Shaping Story (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994), 113. 38 Cf. Robert R. Beck, Nonviolent Story: Narrative Conflict Resolution in the Gospel of Mark (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995). 39 Swartley, Covenant of Peace, 92–120.


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the identity of Jesus as “Son of humanity.”40 Yet his argument is persuasive only because he demonstrates that, in addition to drawing on crucial scriptural traditions, Mark also transformed those traditions. Thus, although Swartley detects numerous echoes of the divine warrior, he shows how this motif is consistently reinterpreted nonviolently. “Mark’s Gospel,” he summarizes in Covenant of Peace, “utilizes divine warfare traditions, and transforms them by Jesus’ surprising victory through his acts of deliverance, confrontation of evil, and nonretaliation.”41 Consonant with other aspects of his narrative, even Mark’s interpretive activity bespeaks a peace-oriented moral vision. But can one say the same about his eschatology?

II. Perspectives on Mark’s Eschatology At the turn of the new millennium, John Carroll and three collaborators published a collection of studies entitled The Return of Jesus in Early Christianity.42 Introducing the first study, “The Parousia of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts,” Carroll observed: For all the signs of God’s activity in Jesus’ own life and words, in the end, one was still left waiting and hoping. Even the triumph of Easter left the agenda unfinished: Jesus may be installed in power by God’s own side in heaven, but life on earth continues much as before. So he will come again to complete his mission, calling evil to account and gathering the faithful into God’s eternal realm. This second coming, then, would differ dramatically from the first: he would come in power, in glory, and in triumph. None will escape his coming. The whole world—indeed, the whole universe—will take note.43

Carroll takes it as given, first, that all three Synoptic Gospels and Acts envisage a return of Jesus and, second, that this return must differ dramatically from the first, leading Carroll to define his task as that of describing “the patterns of parou40 Swartley,

Israel’s Scripture Traditions, 95–115.

41 Swartley, Covenant of Peace, 119. Swartley’s attention to ways in which Mark reworked tra-

ditions selected to interpret the mission of Jesus is perhaps the most significant difference between his treatment of the influence of the divine warrior tradition on Mark’s Gospel and that offered by Tremper Longman III and Daniel G. Reid, God Is a Warrior (Studies in Old Testament Biblical Theology; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1995), chs. 7–8. For a view similar to Swartley’s, at least with respect to Mark’s reworking, and even occasional reversal, of scriptural traditions, see Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992). 42 John T. Carroll et al., The Return of Jesus in Early Christianity (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2000). 43 John T. Carroll, “The Parousia of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts,” in Return of Jesus, ed. Carroll et al., 6.

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sia expectation in each of the synoptics. . . .”44 But in the case of Mark’s Gospel, there are grounds for disputing each of Carroll’s assumptions. First, nowhere does Mark refer explicitly to the parousia, and texts that refer to the future “coming” of that Son of humanity (of whom Daniel spoke) do not self-evidently refer to a return to the realm of history and nature, but may instead refer to a coming to God. Second, even if such texts are construed as referring to a so-called second coming to earth, how dramatically different from Mark’s depiction of Jesus’ (past) mission must this “second coming” be before subverting the “first coming” and thereby demonstrating that the way of Jesus is not, ultimately, God’s way of working in the world? Too much of what is commonly asserted about Markan eschatology is incompatible with the relatively clear, if counterintuitive, description of how God’s reign is exercised in the mission of Jesus, who, although authoritative, was not autocratic and, although potent to effect transformation, was voluntarily vulnerable in the face of coercive violence. If, in fact, Mark did envisage a return of Jesus in the guise of the Son of humanity, must he have envisaged a second arrival as radically different from the first? And if so, would that not signify the failure of his first coming to deal with evil in the world? Discussions of Markan eschatology often focus on the three future-oriented “Son-of-humanity” sayings in Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62.45 Yet there are other future-oriented eschatological texts in Mark,46 as well as numerous other texts that are eschatological in the sense that they characterize Jesus’ mission in terms of fulfillment. For Mark, the mission of Jesus signified the dawn of eschatological fulfillment. Nevertheless, the prominence of Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings by virtue of their placement in especially significant contexts suggests that, by focusing on these sayings, one is attending to an eschatological dimension of Mark’s narrative that he intended to emphasize.47 Despite the absence of ἡ παρουσία in Mark’s Gospel, the most common interpretation of Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62 is that these texts refer to the parousia, return, or second coming of Jesus. For example, according to Carroll: 44 Ibid. 45 How best to categorize the various Son-of-humanity sayings within the Synoptic traditions is disputed. See Yarbro Collins, Cosmology and Eschatology, 144–45. Although she favors classifying the various Son-of-humanity sayings by form and function, she acknowledges that the threefold classification associated with Bultmann is illuminating with respect to Mark’s Gospel. See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Influence of Daniel on the New Testament,” in John J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1993), 97–98. I refer to “future-oriented” rather than “apocalyptic” Son-of-humanity sayings so as not to cloud their meaning by evoking prejudicial associations. 46 See Mark 9:42–49 (on entering “life” or the reign of God vs. Gehenna); 10:17–30, esp. 10:30 (“and in the coming age eternal life”); 12:18–27 (on resurrection); and 14:25. 47 See George R. Beasley-Murray, “The Parousia in Mark,” RevExp 75 (1977): 565–81, who begins his study by noting that Mark set each of his three future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings “in contexts of outstanding importance.”


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Three times in Mark, Jesus taps Daniel’s vision of the Son of humanity (Dan 7:13– 14) to portray his own future coming in glory (8:38), or with clouds and great power and glory (13:26; 14:62). As in Daniel 7, Mark assigns the parousia both negative and positive functions. Negatively, the majestic presentation of the Son of humanity renders judgment against evil; positively, it vindicates the Son of humanity (and with him, the chosen people), and it is the occasion for the gathering or constitution in power of the elect community of God’s faithful.48

Since the parousia of Jesus was believed by at least some early Christians to be imminent, it is conceivable that Mark shared this belief. But all too often Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings are interpreted in light of what is more unambiguously expressed in texts written by other early Christians, without careful attention to what Mark himself wrote or, perhaps more importantly, did not write.49 Yet it is not whether Mark anticipated an imminent parousia that is most significant; what is more significant, if Mark did anticipate an imminent parousia, is the nature or character of the returning Son of humanity. For it is not simply that interpreters have generally understood Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62 as references to the parousia, but also that many have understood that returning Son of humanity to act in ways contrary to the moral vision already articulated, enacted, and embodied by that same Son of humanity. For example, commenting on Mark 8:38, Craig Evans writes: God’s reign on earth will be brought to completion in the drama of the coming of the “son of man,” that heavenly humanlike figure described in Dan 7:13–14, accompanied by “holy angels.” . . . As the suffering “son of man,” Jesus will be dragged before Caiaphas and the Jewish council, and then before Pilate and his brutal soldiers; later, as the returning heavenly “son of man,” Jesus will enter Jerusalem as a conquering warrior.50

A similar perspective pervades Tat-Siong Benny Liew’s Politics of Parousia: Reading Mark Inter(con)textually.51 For Liew, Mark’s Gospel is an apocalyptic text, by which he means that Mark anticipated an imminent divine intervention to end the reign of evil and usher in the reign of God. Moreover, Mark’s apocalyptic emphasis is revealed in texts that anticipate a future kingdom (9:1; 10:29–30; 14:62), 48 Carroll, “Parousia of Jesus,” 11. Cf. Arland J. Hultgren, “Eschatology in the New Testament: The Current Debate,” in The Last Things: Biblical and Theological Perspectives on Eschatology (ed. Carl E. Braaten and Robert W. Jenson; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2002), 69. Hultgren takes for granted that Mark 8:38 and 13:26 refer to the parousia. 49 Cf. Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story, 123: “In striking contrast to Paul’s letters and Matthew’s Gospel . . . Mark contains nothing that could be called the parousia of the Son of Man (i.e., identified as Jesus returning in judgment).” Yet Horsley considers that by using “Son of Man” of both Jesus and some other eschatological figure, Mark took “a decisive step” toward the idea of a “second coming” of Jesus (p. 128). 50 Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 27. 51 (BIS 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999).

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in the so-called Markan apocalypse (ch. 13), and in the parable of the tenants (Mark 12:1–12).52 Liew nowhere provides a detailed analysis of Mark’s apocalyptic texts, but by tracing his various references to “parousia-texts” one gains a sense of why he regards Mark’s anticipated parousia as a violent and vindictive intervention.53 His main reason for describing the parousia in violent and vindictive terms is the prominence given to 12:9 within Mark’s eschatological framework. Liew seems to have adopted the view of his doctoral co-director, Mary Ann Tolbert, who argued that 12:1–12 serves as a “plot synopsis” of 11:1–16:8.54 As a result, 12:9 is considered (by Tolbert and Liew) to be the key to Mark’s eschatology, in light of which his future-oriented eschatological texts are understood. Tolbert contends that Mark connected the prophetic discourse of ch. 13 with the parable of the tenants by structuring the beginning of the apocalyptic discourse in such a way as to recall the ending of the parable, where the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone. The remainder of ch. 13 explains how that reversal will come to pass.55 For Tolbert, the parabolic description of the lord of the vineyard’s response to the killing of his son in 12:9 is the key to Mark’s eschatological discourse; yet at the point where she discusses the parousia itself, it is described in wholly positive terms: . . . [Q]uite unlike Matt. 25:31–46, the Gospel of Mark does not portray the coming as a judgment on the nations. Rather, the Son of man sends out the angels to bring together the elect “from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven” (Mark 13:27) in order to save them from the slaughter of the great tribulation (13:20). The coming is one of protection for those who have endured faithfully to the end (13:13). The meting out of divine punishment on the murderous authorities of this generation is unnecessary, for by plunging the world into that ultimate bloodbath of violence they bring down judgment on their own heads, securing their own demise. Rampant evil finally destroys even itself. The coming, then, is a saving, protective, and totally positive event; for Mark, it carries with it no threat of divine anger on the Christian community.56

A question arises: How much interpretive weight is one able to place on one verb (ἀπολέσει) in a parable, especially since Mark 12:10 might be read epexegetically to indicate that the manner of “destruction” is the reversal of rejection? Moreover, even if one accepts Tolbert’s thesis that the parable of the tenants is a “plot synopsis” of 11:1–16:8, should what is said in parabolic form dictate how later prophetic utterances are understood or vice versa? There is also the question 52 Ibid.,

46–47. ibid., 47, 87, 93, 103–4, 107, 120, 123, 125, 149. 54 See Mary Ann Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), ch. 10. 55 Ibid., 237, 259. 56 Ibid., 265–66. 53 See


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whether the coming of the Lord of the vineyard (not that of his killed son) equates to the coming Son of humanity in Mark 13:26 and 14:62. Returning to Liew, there is good reason to question his presumption that Mark’s “parousia-texts” anticipate divine (or divinely authorized) violence and vindictive power. One may also question his concluding judgment that “Mark’s politics of parousia, by promising the utter destruction of both Jewish and Roman authorities upon Jesus’ resurrected return, is one that mimics or duplicates the authoritarian, exclusionary, and coercive politics of his colonizers.”57 Yet in making this judgment, Liew exposes a serious hermeneutical problem for any interpretation that envisages the parousia of the Son of humanity as bringing violence and vindictive retribution in its wake. For on this interpretation, either the inauguration of the reign of God by the suffering Son of humanity was ineffectual, so that the returning Son of humanity must revert to an old modus operandi of brute force and violent retribution, or Mark’s christology suffers from something akin to dissociative identity disorder.58 Perhaps an alternative interpretation of Mark’s future-oriented Son-ofhumanity sayings resolves this problem. Some scholars deny that any of these sayings refer to the parousia of Jesus and interpret 13:26 in particular as an allusive reference to the impending destruction of Jerusalem and the temple. Recent advocates of this interpretation include R. T. France, N. T. Wright, Thomas Hatina, and Keith Dyer.59 These scholars interpret the cosmic portents of 13:24–27 as tradi57 Liew,

Politics of Parousia, 149. identity disorder is a more recent label for what was once described as multiple personality disorder. Cf. Wink, Human Being, 170: “The first coming [of the Human Being] was in obscurity. The second will be ‘seen’ by everyone. The church identifies this figure as Jesus, but it is not the Jesus we know from the gospel story. This Jesus comes in Roman ‘triumph,’ gathering the elect, judging the wrongdoers, avenging God’s honor, vindicating his execution.” 59 France has argued for this interpretation since 1971, although he holds that Mark 13:32– 37 does refer to the parousia, but not anything in ch. 13 preceding this. See R. T. France, Jesus and the Old Testament: His Application of Old Testament Passages to Himself and His Mission (London: Tyndale, 1971); idem, Divine Government: God’s Kingship in the Gospel of Mark (London: SPCK, repr., Vancouver, BC: Regent College Publishing, 2003); and idem, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002); N. T. Wright, Christian Origins and the Question of God, vol. 2, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 339–68, 510–19; Thomas R. Hatina, “The Focus of Mark 13:24–27: The Parousia, or the Destruction of the Temple?” BBR 6 (1996): 43–66; idem, In Search of a Context: The Function of Scripture in Mark’s Narrative (JSNTSup 232; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), ch. 8; Keith D. Dyer, The Prophecy on the Mount: Mark 13 and the Gathering of the New Community (International Theological Studies 2; Bern: Peter Lang, 1998). Dyer, who avoids parousia language, allows that “transcendent eschatology” is present in Mark 13, but only beginning with 13:31; moreover, in view of parallels to 13:31–37 in Mark’s passion narrative, Dyer disallows that 13:31–37 is concerned solely with what is generally associated with the parousia. In broad terms, while Dyer acknowledges that the Son of humanity will be perceived by opposing powers to have been in the right, his reading of Mark 13:24–30 emphasizes affirmation of the Son of humanity, 58 Dissociative

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tional scriptural imagery of divine judgment against rebellious nations, except that, as a prophecy of judgment spoken by Jesus, it is directed against Jerusalem or at least its leadership. So, rather than referring to divine judgment at the end of history, Jesus was referring to divine judgment both within history and within a short time frame (Mark 13:30; cf. 9:1).60 Is there anything to commend this interpretation, at least with respect to Mark 13:26?61 First, it does not import the concept of parousia into a text from which the term is absent. Second, it takes seriously Mark’s use of scriptural imagery in a first-century Jewish context. Third, it respects the broader literary context of Mark 13, which is focused on Jerusalem and the fate of the temple. And fourth, it makes sense of the solemn utterance in Mark 13:30 that “all these things” (ταῦτα πάντα) will have occurred within a generation. On the other hand, this interpretation does not necessarily resolve the tension between what is anticipated in the (near) future and Mark’s moral vision. When reading some of these scholars’ interpretive comments on Mark’s futureoriented Son-of-humanity sayings, one encounters liberal intonation of two terms, “judgment” and “vindication,” indeed, “vindication through judgment.”62 In and of themselves, neither divine judgment nor vindication is problematic. In a firstcentury Jewish worldview, God would not be God if not the judge of the world,63 and divine vindication of one who suffered unjustly was a scriptural hope. What is problematic, given the moral vision of the Son of humanity (as displayed in Mark’s Gospel), is to view the carnage associated with the destruction of Jerusalem as the historical locus of his vindication through judgment.64 especially in connection with the gathering of a new multiethnic community. Vindication of the Son of humanity via the destruction of Jerusalem plays no role in his interpretation. In addition to Dyer’s major study of Mark 13, see also idem, “‘But concerning that day . . .’ (Mark 13:32): ‘Prophetic’ and ‘Apocalyptic’ Eschatology in Mark 13,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1999 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), 104–22; and idem, “When Is the End Not The End? The Fate of Earth in Biblical Eschatology (Mark 13),” in The Earth Story in the New Testament (ed. Norman C. Habel and Vicky Balabanski; Earth Bible 5; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 44–56. 60 Randall Otto goes so far as to equate the parousia with the destruction of Jerusalem (“Dealing with Delay: A Critique of Christian Coping,” BTB 34 [2004]: 150–60). 61 Crispin Fletcher-Louis traces this interpretive tradition to John Lightfoot (1658) and includes George B. Caird as a more recent exponent. See Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis, “Jesus, the Temple and the Dissolution of Heaven and Earth,” in Apocalyptic in History and Tradition (ed. Christopher Rowland and John Barton; JSPSup 43; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 118–19. 62 See Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 365; Hatina, “Focus of Mark 13:24–27,” 62. 63See, e.g., Marius Reiser, Jesus and Judgment: The Eschatological Proclamation in Its Jewish Context (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1997). Reiser’s study is concerned with the historical Jesus, not Mark, but one important point he makes is that Jesus’ proclamation of judgment was not motivated by the desire for vengeance. 64 For a description by an eyewitness, see Josephus, J.W. book 7. Cf. Philip F. Esler, “God’s


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One can accept that the destruction of Jerusalem vindicated or showed to be right the prophet who prophesied its demise. But on this alternative interpretation, one is required by some representative proponents to accept that an early Christian writer—in this case, Mark—envisaged the violence visited upon Jerusalem to be the work of the same God who authorized the nonviolent mission of Jesus. France, Wright, and Hatina contend that the future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings are concerned not with the literal end of the world but with the end of the old order. Yet judgment by indiscriminate destruction belongs squarely to the old order, not the new order inaugurated via the mission of Jesus.65 The decisive part of Wright’s discussion of Mark 13 (and parallels), insofar as it is devoted to 13:24–31, is entitled “The Vindication of the Son of Man,”66 but occasionally one wonders whether “The Vindictiveness of the Son of Man” might not have been an equally apt heading. There are times when Wright can be understood as saying that Jesus was warning Jewish leaders of the inevitable natural consequence of rebelling against Rome, but he also speaks of divine judgment being exercised through Rome’s destruction of Jerusalem.67 So, too, Rome’s destruction of Jerusalem constitutes God’s vindication of Jesus and his followers. There is something incongruous about this interpretation. Wright insists that Jesus’ own prophetic agenda was a challenge to Israel not to take the road of military rebellion, but he also insists that it is precisely through military violence

Honour and Rome’s Triumph: Responses to the Fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE in Three Jewish Apocalypses,” in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-scientific Studies of the New Testament in Its Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; London/New York: Routledge: 1995), 239–58. Esler emphasizes the extent to which the Romans went to dishonor defeated enemies. He also shows that Jewish reaction to the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple ranged from seeing it as divine punishment for Jewish idolatry to acknowledging that God’s name had been dishonored. 65 Here the “old order” is not the OT. In fairness to France, it should be noted that the association between vindication of the Son of humanity and divine judgment through Rome’s destruction of Jerusalem is not a prominent feature of his interpretation. 66 Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 360–65. For a critique of Wright’s interpretation of apocalyptic eschatology, primarily as it relates to Jesus, see Dale C. Allison, Jr., “Jesus & the Victory of Apocalypse,” in Jesus & the Restoration of Israel: A Critical Assessment of N. T. Wright’s Jesus and the Victory of God (ed. Carey C. Newman; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1999), 126–41, 310–13. One of many points Allison makes is that eschatological language can be associated with the transformation—rather than abolition—of the created order. On the interpretation of Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings as referring to the parousia, Allison’s emphasis on restoration or transformation is more in keeping with Mark’s moral vision. 67 Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 336, 342–43, 362. It is difficult to escape the impression that Wright privileges Luke’s Gospel as providing the key to interpreting the Synoptic tradition(s) and, indeed, Jesus himself. The association between vindication of Jesus and Rome’s destruction of Jerusalem as the means of divine judgment does not feature in Wright’s response to critical assessments of his Jesus and the Victory of God. See N. T. Wright, “In Grateful Dialogue: A Response,” in Jesus & the Restoration of Israel, ed. Newman, 261–72. But cf. Tom Wright, Mark for Everyone (London: SPCK, 2001), 184.

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(against a population largely innocent of rebellion against Rome) that Jesus’ vindication would be demonstrated. In other words, the historic mission of Jesus was nonviolent, but the vindication of his mission was via divinely authorized violence.68 Incongruity does not necessarily imply interpretive error, yet in this case it does pose a hermeneutical conundrum, which is not resolved simply by pointing to the frequency with which Yhwh’s judgments of Israel in the past were understood to feature destruction by foreign forces. Another potential resolution of the tension between moral vision and eschatology in Mark’s Gospel might be found in William Telford’s contention that, while Mark took over from tradition the future-oriented “Son of Man” sayings, he nevertheless transformed or “eclipsed” them by means of his emphasis on the suffering Son of Man.69 According to Telford, Mark was heir to a primitive JewishChristian tradition that anticipated the imminent return of Jesus as “the victorious apocalyptic Son of Man.” This tradition equated soteriology with eschatology; in other words, salvation was anticipated at the parousia. However, the delay of the parousia forced Mark to reinterpret this perspective along Pauline lines by associating salvation with Jesus’ suffering and death, thereby diminishing (or perhaps obliterating) the traditional association of salvation with the parousia. In Telford’s view, What we discern in Mark . . . is the claim that Jesus as Son of Man had not only already begun to exercise his eschatological role on earth, by virtue of the authority demonstrated in his teaching and activity (2.10, 28) but had done so supremely by means of his pre-ordained suffering, death and resurrection (Mk 8.31; 10.45). It is no accident then that Mark 10.45 . . . comes at the climax of the central section of the Gospel (Mk 8.27–10.45), and immediately prior to the start of the passion narrative. . . . The fact of Jesus’ death has acted back on the Messianic theology of the primitive tradition, and as a result the apocalyptic Son of Man has been transformed into the suffering Son of Man.70

While Telford accurately identifies the Markan focus on the suffering and death of Jesus, he makes Mark out to be a less than competent revisionist. After all, the pericope that begins with the first suffering Son-of-humanity saying (Mark 8:31) ends with the first future-oriented Son-of-humanity saying (8:38), leading to Wolfgang Schrage’s judgment that “Mark consciously associates the Son of man

68 Cf. Richard B. Hays, “Victory over Violence: The Significance of N. T. Wright’s Jesus for New Testament Ethics,” in Jesus & the Restoration of Israel, ed. Newman, 142–58. Hays credits Wright with highlighting Jesus’ critique of violence, albeit by exaggerating the extent to which Jesus’ contemporaries advocated violent revolt against Rome. Yet despite his concern with the hermeneutical implications of Wright’s work, Hays does not refer to the moral problem posed by envisaging vindication by means of divinely authorized violence. 69 Telford, Theology of the Gospel of Mark, 103–16, 151–63. 70 Ibid., 114.


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who suffered and rose with the Son of man who is to come (8:31, 38).”71 Moreover, the final future-oriented Son-of-humanity saying occurs at a prominent juncture within the passion narrative itself (14:62), sealing as it does Jesus’ demise. Neither in Mark 8:38 nor in Mark 14:62 is there any indication that “the apocalyptic Son of Man has been transformed into the suffering Son of Man,” as Telford claims. Telford also presumes that Mark incorporated from tradition aspects with which he sought to take issue. While this is not, in principle, implausible, one would expect that if Mark aimed to revise aspects of his tradition along the lines suggested by Telford, it would be more obvious. Telford sees Mark’s soteriology as similar to, and probably influenced by, Pauline thought,72 yet Paul retained the notion of future salvation despite his emphasis on the already accomplished liberation brought about by Jesus’ death and resurrection (see Phil 3:20–21; Rom 5:1–11; 13:11). So even if Mark had been influenced by Pauline thought to give prominence to the soteriological significance of Jesus’ suffering and death, this would not necessarily lead him to elide or suppress hope associated with the future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings. Despite my reservations about aspects of Telford’s argument, it is probably correct to say that the accent in Mark’s Gospel falls on what has already been accomplished in the mission of Jesus rather than on anticipated consummation in the future. As Horsley puts it, “Mark’s story displays a greater urgency and intensity about deliverance that is already happening. In Mark the long-awaited renewal of Israel is already beginning. Mark’s story is thus more focused on fulfillment and kingdom already underway, already present, and far less on the future, however imminent.”73 In this connection, there is much to be said for the view, advocated by such scholars as R. H. Lightfoot, Timothy Radcliffe, and Ched Myers, that Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings find their resolution in Mark’s passion narrative.74 Yet as illuminating as the parallels between prophetic utterances and narrative resolution are, especially in Mark 13/14–15, the note of eschatological expectation lingers beyond the close of Mark’s Gospel; eschatological anticipation is not entirely resolved intratextually. As Joel Marcus notes, “The Markan corre71 Schrage,

Ethics of the NT, 138. Cf. Gathercole, “Son of Man in Mark’s Gospel,” 371: “the narrative of Mark’s Gospel, not a tradition-historical background, is what holds the different aspects of the Son of Man together.” 72 Telford, Theology of the Gospel of Mark, 164–69. 73 Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story, 126–27. Horsley contests an “apocalyptic” reading of Mark and is here contrasting Mark’s Gospel, which he associates with “ordinary people,” with Judean apocalyptic literature, which he associates with scribal circles affiliated with ruling elites. 74 R. H. Lightfoot, The Gospel Message of St Mark (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1950); Timothy Radcliffe, “‘The Coming of the Son of Man’: Mark’s Gospel and the Subversion of ‘the Apocalyptic Imagination,’” in Language, Meaning and God: Essays in Honour of Herbert McCabe OP (ed. Brian Davies; London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1987), 176–89; Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988).

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spondences between prophecies and narrative fulfillments . . . do not eliminate the note of future expectation. In fact, for Mark the belief that the eschatological fulfillment began in Jesus’ ministry probably feeds the sense of imminent expectation. . . .”75 Moreover, Schrage is probably correct that “Mark was well aware . . . that neither a theology of the cross (theologia crucis) nor a Christian life following in the footsteps of the crucified Jesus can be maintained without hope for an ultimate consummation.”76 Yet such hope need not have been more specific than the following: first, that the same God present and active in the mission of Jesus had revealed Jesus’ way to be God’s way (vindication via resurrection); second, that God’s vindication of Jesus had demonstrated an ongoing commitment to work in the world in ways analogous to the way of Jesus—hence the need for disciples faithful to Jesus’ moral vision; third, that God is responsible for bringing to completion that which was inaugurated in the mission of Jesus; and fourth, that that resolution on God’s part will be coherent with, rather than discordant from, the way of Jesus. The vindication-through-resurrection of the crucified One, perceived in faith, summons fragile disciples to continue along the path of vulnerable discipleship in the expectation that the God who both authorized and vindicated the crucified One will effect similar transformation through them. In turn, this life journey of discipleship, though costly at various levels, authenticates this particular faith perception. Perhaps the mythical character of Mark’s narrative, as described by John Riches, serves notice that one should not expect to resolve certain tensions within this Gospel.77 In his finely nuanced analysis, Riches identifies an inherent “tensiveness in Mark’s cosmology,” 78 which is the result of two incompatible yet intertwined mythical explanations for the presence of evil in the world and, corresponding to these conflicting cosmologies, two forms of eschatological expectation wrestling for supremacy, so to speak, within Mark’s narrative. As mythical narrative—that is, narrative in which a divine–human encounter is recounted with a view to reinforcing or challenging the worldview and conduct of its audience(s)— Mark’s Gospel exhibits two competing cosmologies or views of reality, especially with respect to the origins of evil and its (eventual) vanquishment. According to Riches, one of these cosmologies, the “cosmic dualist” worldview, explains the presence of evil in the world by recourse to malevolent and hostile cosmic forces, whereas the alternative, “forensic” worldview understands evil to be the natural consequence of human disobedience.79 The “cosmic dualist” cosmology envisages 75 Marcus,

Mark 1–8, 72. Ethics of the NT, 139. 77 John K. Riches, Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew (Studies of the New Testament and Its World; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000). Cf. his “Conflicting Mythologies: Mythical Narrative in the Gospel of Mark,” JSNT 84 (2001): 29–50. 78 Riches, “Conflicting Mythologies,” 30, 49. 79 Here Riches acknowledges his dependence on Martinus C. de Boer, “Paul and Jewish 76 Schrage,


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the vanquishing of evil via cosmic battle, whereas the “forensic” cosmology anticipates final judgment of human beings on the basis of their conduct. Each of these conflicting cosmologies is detectable in Mark’s narrative; indeed, as Riches demonstrates, it is possible to offer plausible interpretations of the Gospel by focusing solely on one view of reality or the other. Riches considers that the second, “forensic” mythology gains the upper hand toward the latter stages of Mark’s narrative, but he does not claim that in doing so it annuls the first, which is clearly evident in the earlier sections of the Gospel. For Riches, both mythologies are required to interpret different aspects of Mark’s narrative as a whole. If Riches is right, perhaps one should simply accept that the tension between moral vision and eschatology in Mark is the necessary by-product of “conflicting mythologies.” The eschatological scenario associated with Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings belongs to one mythology, whereas his moral vision is associated with what Riches understands to be “Mark’s primary focus . . . the struggle for the human will”80—in short, an expression of another mythology. It is tempting to view Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings as part and parcel of the cosmic-dualist mythology that makes sense of Jesus’ confrontation with demonic forces in the earlier parts of Mark’s Gospel. On this view, Mark envisages that the Son of humanity referred to in Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62 will ultimately vanquish the suprapersonal forces that oppress the world. It is also tempting to connect Mark’s nonviolent moral vision with the second, “forensic” mythology, especially in view of Riches’s contention that this second view of reality gradually becomes dominant in Mark’s narrative. Without dismissing outright the possibility that Riches’s proposal enables one to resolve the tension between Mark’s moral vision and his eschatology, two points deserve consideration. First, Riches is more confident (and, indeed, more convincing) that both “conflicting mythologies” operate within, and thereby “interanimate,” the dynamic of Mark’s narrative than that one eventually emerges dominant. One suspects that to resolve this dialectical tension in Mark’s narrative would rob it of its inherent dynamism. Related to this, one wonders whether Riches’s contention that the second, “forensic” mythology becomes the dominant worldview in the latter part of Mark’s narrative will find support among Markan scholars.81 Apocalyptic Eschatology,” in Apocalyptic and the New Testament: Essays in Honor of J. Louis Martyn (ed. Joel Marcus and Marion L. Soards; JSNTSup 24; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 169–90. De Boer refers to two forms or “tracks” of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology, “cosmological apocalyptic eschatology” and “forensic apocalyptic eschatology.” Cf. Martinus C. de Boer, The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5 (JSNTSup 22; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), esp. ch. 3. 80 Riches, “Conflicting Mythologies,” 47. 81 Marcus (Mark 1–8, 72) considers that “cosmic apocalyptic eschatology,” as described by de Boer, “fits Mark’s narrative perfectly,” so it will be interesting to see how he responds to Riches’s thesis in the second volume of his commentary.

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A second consideration that gives one pause is that Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings downplay “cosmic-dualist” motifs and in certain respects seem more aligned with Riches’s “forensic” mythology. As Yarbro Collins points out: It is striking . . . that the portrayals of the coming of the Son of Man do not emphasize the motif of battle with foreign powers and eschatological adversaries or the motif of cosmic transformation. . . . In Jesus’ response to the high priest, the remark “You will see the Son of Man . . .” suggests that the arrival of the Son of Man will vindicate Jesus in some way, but the punishment of those who have rejected him is not thematized in this context. Rather, the arrival of the Son of Man is linked with the judgment of the individual followers of Jesus in Mark 8:38 and with the gathering of the elect in Mark 13:27.82

Riches himself concedes that Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings omit motifs commonly associated with “cosmic dualist” eschatology, and at one point he associates Mark 14:62 with “forensic” or “restorationist” eschatology. As a result, it seems prudent not to attribute Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings to one mythology and Mark’s moral vision to another. Yet even if one decides that Mark’s moral vision and eschatology do not coexist without tension, it does seem fair to say that these elements in Mark’s narrative “interanimate” one another to the extent that Mark’s eschatology is (re)animated by his moral vision.

Conclusion This preliminary probing of the relation between moral vision and eschatology in Mark’s Gospel disallows definitive conclusions. The traditional parousia interpretation of Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings has not (yet) been overturned.83 On the other hand, the main alternative interpretation of these sayings has not relieved the tension between Mark’s moral vision and his eschatology, except perhaps in Dyer’s work. Both interpretations incline toward envisaging God resorting to violent retribution to achieve the divine purpose, despite Mark’s vastly different conception of God’s way of working in the world via the mission of Jesus. Telford’s view that Mark “eclipsed” future-oriented Son-of-humanity (i.e., parousia) sayings by means of suffering Son-of-humanity sayings does not do justice to the narrative pattern of Mark’s various Son-of-humanity sayings, nor is his rationale for Mark’s doing this compelling. Riches’s notion of “conflicting mytholo82 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” HTR 92 (1999): 407. Later on the same page, she notes that even the theme of judgment is muted. 83 In defense of the traditional parousia interpretation of Mark’s future-oriented Son-ofhumanity sayings, see Edward Adams, “The Coming of the Son of Man in Mark’s Gospel,” TynBul 56 (2005): 39–61.


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gies” is suggestive, but in this context it serves mainly as a reminder that one must acknowledge that in a narrative such as Mark’s Gospel, not all tensions may be resolvable. Nevertheless, even in the absence of definitive conclusions, the following points seem defensible. First, the Gospel according to Mark deserves to be read on its own terms, not simply as a representative of what was believed by early Christians generally. In particular, Markan eschatology should not be interpreted from a Matthean perspective. Whatever the nature of the relation between the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, Mark’s eschatological outlook is markedly more peaceful. If Mark was familiar with Pauline traditions, as seems likely, the same might be said of Mark with respect to Paul’s eschatology, especially if one includes 2 Thessalonians among Paul’s authentic letters.84 In view of Mark’s willingness to rework scriptural traditions, there is no reason to think that he was unwilling to rework early Christian traditions. So, with respect to eschatology, Mark should be permitted to make his own mark.85 Second, given Mark’s christologically focused moral vision, it is reasonable to appeal to his portrayal of Jesus’ nonviolent mission and message as a criterion for evaluating his eschatology. This seems unobjectionable at a hermeneutical level,86 but I suggest that even at the level of exegesis Mark’s moral vision ought to function as a check on what one asserts about his eschatology. While it is conceivable that Mark held inconsistent, even incompatible, convictions,87 one should not presume this to be so. Only if what Mark discloses about his eschatological expectations is clearly incongruous with his narrative account of the mission of Jesus should one concede that his eschatology conflicts with his moral vision. Whichever interpretation of Mark’s future-oriented Son-of-humanity sayings one finds compelling, what stands out in Mark 8:38; 13:26; and 14:62 is the absence of vindictive retribution. This is not to say that judgment is not intimated in Mark 8:38 and 13:24–27. But in view of the paradoxical way in which God is shown to work through Jesus’ mission and the counterintuitive nature of significant aspects of

84 In favor of the authenticity of 2 Thessalonians, see Abraham J. Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 32B; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 349–75. 85 Here I echo Dyer, Prophecy on the Mount, 260. 86 Cf. Wink, Human Being, 13–16, where he announces that he privileges Jesus’ critique of “domination” as his principal hermeneutical criterion for discerning what was revelatory about Jesus. On Jesus’ nonviolent confrontation against the “Domination System,” see Walter Wink, Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992). 87 Horsley (Hearing the Whole Story, 11–21) highlights Mark’s ambiguities, inconsistencies, and incongruities—not all of which are unintentional. An illuminating history of post-Enlightenment Markan criticism could probably be written by focusing on the various explanations offered for perceived tensions and inconsistencies in Mark’s Gospel.

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Jesus’ moral teaching, one should be open to the possibility that Mark’s understanding of divine judgment envisaged something more creative and restorative than the standard retributive forms of judgment with which he was undoubtedly familiar. To my mind, tension between moral vision and eschatology inheres not so much in Mark’s narrative itself as in interpretations that fail to attend carefully to Mark on his own terms. Third, present-day squeamishness about violent retribution does not validate interpretive violation; in other words, concerns about eschatological vengeance do not legitimize the coercion of nonretributive meaning from texts that foresee divinely authorized retribution. Things are complicated, however, by the fact that it is Mark’s own narrative—perhaps more than any other early Christian text apart from the Sermon on the Mount—that has inculcated suspicion about the moral value and validity of violence. Finally, no less than Jesus’ original disciples within Mark’s narrative, we find it difficult to imagine that violence and coercive power can ultimately be vanquished by anything other than greater violence and coercive power. Yet that is precisely the logic falsified by the paradoxically transforming power revealed in and by Mark’s story of the crucified One.

JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 385–396

“Will the Wise Person Get Drunk?” The Background of the Human Wisdom in Luke 7:35 and Matthew 11:19 thomas e. phillips [email protected] Point Loma Nazarene University, San Diego, CA 92106

Matthew 11:19 and Luke 7:35 contain a proverb that insists that “wisdom [σοφία] is justified by her deeds” (Matt 11:19) or “by all her children” (Luke 7:35). This proverb closes out the pericope in which Jesus is accused of being a drunkard and a glutton. Interpreters have almost universally assumed that this proverb refers to personified divine Wisdom. As examples, Joseph A. Fitzmyer insists that “Wisdom is here personified. She sends out messengers like prophets.”1 I. Howard Marshall suggests that “behind the saying lies rather the Jewish tradition concerning wisdom as a quasi-personal hypostasis in heaven, a divine agent expressing the mind of God.”2 Joel B. Green makes an even stronger identification between personified Wisdom and the divine by insisting, “Wisdom . . . is simply a way of speaking of God and, by extension, of the purpose of God.”3 Sharon Ringe also assumes that “in this passage ‘Wisdom’ refers to the divine principle or active agent by which God has crafted the creation and according to which God sustains the world.”4 For

1 Joseph

A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (2 vols.; AB 28, 28A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1986), 1:343, 681. 2 I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), 303. Similarly, David Hill asserts that this wisdom “is the wisdom of God, God’s wise design or purpose for man” (The Gospel of Matthew [NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972], 202). 3 Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 304. 4 Sharon H. Ringe, Luke (Westminster Bible Commentary; Philadelphia: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 106. Similarly, see Eduard Schweizer, The Good News According to Matthew (Atlanta: John Knox, 1975), 265.

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W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, “Matthew has gone beyond Q and identified Jesus with Wisdom.”5 The contemporary consensus of NT scholarship extends back at least five decades.6 In 1952, Ragnar Leivestad observed this agreement, noting, “All interpreters take it for granted that ἡ σοφία is the divine wisdom.”7 Leivestad sought to overturn this consensus by arguing that within these verses “Jesus is quoting a Jewish proverb, which in Matt is retained in its original form, ‘wisdom is justified by her 5 W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 2:264. 6 Additionally, on Luke, see Adolf Schlatter, Das Evangelium des Lukas aus seinen Quellen erklärt (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1960), 496; Michael D. Goulder, Luke: A New Paradigm (JSNTSup; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), 390; Luke T. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (SP 3; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991), 124; John Nolland, Luke 1–9:20 (WBC 35A; Waco: Word, 1989), 341, 346; François Bovon, Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1–9:50 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 287; Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to St. Luke (ICC; 5th ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1906), 208–9; Christopher F. Evans, Saint Luke (TPI New Testament Commentaries; Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), 358–59; Thomas Brodie, “Again Not Q: Luke 7:18–35 as an Acts-oriented Transformation of the Vindication of the Prophet Micaiah (1 Kings 22:1–38),” IBS 16 (1994): 2– 30; and Alois Stöger, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (Geistliche Schriftlesung 3; Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1964), 208. I. J. du Plessis even argues that σοφία in Luke 7:35 should be translated “God” (“Contextual Aid for an Identity Crisis: An Attempt to Interpret Luke 7:35,” A South African Perspective on the New Testament: Essays by South African New Testament Scholars Presented to Professor Bruce Manning Metzger during His Visit to South Aftica in 1985 [ed. J. H. Petzer and P. J. Hartin; Leiden: Brill, 1986], 112–27). On Matthew, where the personification of divine Wisdom is often believed to be more consciously developed than in Luke, see Fred W. Burnett, The Testament of JesusSophia: A Redaction-Critical Study of the Eschatological Discourse in Matthew (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1981), 81–92; Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel of Matthew (trans. Robert R. Barr; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 107; James D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquity into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1980), 197–98; R. T. France, Matthew: Evangelist & Teacher (New Testament Profiles; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1989), 302–6; Floyd V. Filson, A Commentary on the Gospel According to St. Matthew (BNTC; London: A. & C. Black, 1960), 139; Robert H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 213; Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Bible and Liberation; Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2001), 255; and R. A. Edwards, “Matthew’s Use of Q in Chapter Eleven,” in Logia: Les paroles de Jésus—The Sayings of Jesus; Mémorial Joseph Coppens (ed. Joël Delobel; BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1982), 266–67. On the personification of divine Wisdom in Q, see Charles E. Carlston, “Wisdom and Eschatology in Q,” in Logia: Les paroles de Jésus, 101–19; Howard Clark Kee, “Jesus: A Glutton and a Drunkard,” NTS 42 (1996): 374–93; and D. A. Carson, “Matthew 11:19b/Luke 7:35: A Test Case for the Bearing of Q Christology on the Synoptic Problem,” in Jesus of Nazareth, Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (ed. Joel B. Green and Max Turner; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 128–46. 7 Ragnar Leivestad, “An Interpretation of Matt 11:19,” JBL 71 (1952): 179.

Phillips: Wisdom in Luke 7:35 and Matthew 11:19

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deeds.’ . . . The meaning of the saying is quite plain and simple; it is identical with that of another well-known proverb, “the tree is known by its fruit.’ ”8 Although Leivestad’s alternative interpretation of wisdom has gained no significant support in subsequent scholarship, he did highlight the need to rethink the cultural background for the use of σοφία in this pericope.9 I will offer a similar rethinking of the cultural background for the use of σοφία in this pericope. Specifically, I will argue for the separation of the wisdom in this pericope from the OT tradition of divine wisdom. However, whereas Leivestad suggested reading this wisdom saying against the background of a Jewish proverb, I wish to offer a different cultural referent for the saying. I propose to read this saying against the background of Greco-Roman philosophical discourse, particularly the discussions of drunkenness and wine drinking in Philo and Seneca.

I. Will the Wise Person Get Drunk? In his discussion of Noah, Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish near-contemporary of Matthew and Luke, notes that “many philosophers have given no slight attention to the question; which is propounded in the form ‘Will the wise man [σοφός] get drunk?’” (Philo, Plant. 142 [Colson and Whitaker, LCL]). Similarly, Seneca, a Gentile near-contemporary of Matthew and Luke, devotes significant attention to the issue of “why the wise man ought not to get drunk” (Seneca, Ep. 83.27 [Gummere, LCL]). In spite of obvious thematic parallels between this common philosophical topos and the accusations against Jesus and John the Baptist in Luke 7:31–35//Matt 11:16–19, NT scholars have failed to consider this philosophical topos as a possible background for the dispute between Jesus and his accusers in these passages. This article will address that oversight in NT scholarship.

Philo of Alexandria The discussion of wisdom and drunkenness in Philo’s works is both extended and relevant (given his cultural proximity to the Synoptic Gospels). In his commentary on the drunkenness of Noah, Philo reveals that the questions of wine drinking and drunkenness were widely discussed among his contemporaries. He states: Many philosophers have given no slight attention to the question; which is propounded in the form “Will the wise man get drunk?” Among those who have 8 Ibid.,

180 (emphasis Leivestad’s).

9 E.g., Daniel J. Harrington (The Gospel according to Matthew [SP 1; Collegeville, MN: Litur-

gical Press, 1991], 158) follows Leivestad.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) tackled the problem some have maintained that the wise man will neither take strong drink in excess nor become silly and maudlin. . . . Others, while regarding a condition of silliness as foreign to a man of moral excellence, have pronounced heavy drinking to befit him, seeing that the good sense which resides in him is capable of holding its own against everything that attempts to injure him, and of baffling their efforts to change the constitution of his soul. (Plant. 142–44; emphasis added)

For our initial purposes, it is important to note both that questions of wine consumption and drunkenness were specifically framed in terms of the wise person’s conduct and that these questions were apparently commonly discussed in Philo’s context. After introducing the topic, Philo provides a few comments from those who oppose wine consumption. He offers a brief set of arguments against drunkenness and the consumption of wine. Voicing the views of those opposed to drunkenness, Philo acknowledges that “a wise man [would not] take a deadly poison. . . . And strong drink is a poison bringing not death indeed but madness [μανία]” (Plant. 147) and that “wine is the cause of madness [μανία] and loss of sound sense in those who imbibe it over freely” (Plant. 148). Again, for our purposes, it is significant to note that apparently some of Philo’s contemporaries associated drunkenness with “madness.”10 For Philo, discourse about drunkenness includes language of both wisdom and madness just as in the Q pericope. After these initial remarks, Philo states the two competing opinions among his discussion partners. He juxtaposes “two contentions, one establishing the thesis that the wise man will get drunk, the other maintaining the contrary, that he will not get drunk” (Plant. 149). Philo’s opening remarks in defense of the potential drunkenness of the wise person provide a rationale that would seem very appropriate for the conduct that Jesus attributes to himself (Luke 7:34//Matt 11:19). Philo asks: What other occupation is seemly for a wise man rather than bright sportiveness and making merry in the company of one who waits patiently for all that is beautiful? Hence it is evident that he will get drunk also, seeing drunkenness benefits the character, saving it from overstrain and undue intensity. For strong drink is likely to intensify natural tendencies, whether good or the reverse. (Plant. 170– 71)

Philo then infers, “Accordingly the man of moral worth will get drunk as well as other people without losing any of his virtue” (Plant. 172). Having given the opening arguments against and then for drunkenness, Philo proposes to engage in a more detailed debate. He intends to

10 Admittedly, Philo uses μανία rather than Q’s δαιμόνιον (Luke 7:33; Matt 11:18). The parallel does, however, remain noteworthy.


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call as witnesses many distinguished physicians and philosophers, who ratify their evidence by writings as well as by words. For they have left behind them innumerable treatises bearing the title “Concerning drunkenness,” in which they deal with nothing but the subject of drinking wine at all, without adding a word of inquiry regarding those who are in the habit of losing their heads. . . . Thus we find in these men too the most explicit acknowledgement that drunkenness was suffering from the effects of wine. But there would be nothing amiss in a wise man quaffing wine freely on occasion: we shall not be wrong, then, in saying that he will get drunk. (Plant. 173–74; emphasis added)

For Philo, the consensus of his peers was that wise persons could drink wine (even to the point of drunkenness) without getting in the habit of “losing their heads,” that is, without succumbing to madness (μανία). Against this consensus, however, Philo pits the opinion of one unnamed philosopher (Zeno11) who claims, “If one would not act reasonably in entrusting a secret to a drunken man, and does entrust secrets to a good man, it follows that a good man does not get drunk” (Plant. 176). Philo gives little credence to this argument, likening it to the argument that “the wise man will never be melancholy, never fall asleep, in a word, never die” (Plant. 177). Philo’s brief rebuttal, as stated, is clearly underdeveloped and hardly convincing. However, such rebuttals were apparently accepted as common knowledge in Philo’s time (as we shall later demonstrate from Seneca) and Philo felt no need to elaborate. Just before his rapid rejection of Zeno’s advice, Philo had promised to examine the opinions of “many distinguished physicians and philosophers.” Surprisingly, however, the treatise ends abruptly after Philo’s rejection of Zeno’s extreme position of complete abstinence from drunkenness. Philo’s next treatise, De ebrietate (On Drunkenness), takes up where his earlier work ended. He begins this treatise by referring back to his previous treatise as an investigation of the “views expressed by the other philosophers on drunkenness” (Ebr. 1 [Colson and Whitaker, LCL]). Ironically, Philo had given a significant examination of the views of only one philosopher, the unnamed Zeno, in the previous volume—and he rejected the views of that lone philosopher. Apparently, Zeno’s advocacy of total abstinence from drunkenness was offered only as a foil to Philo’s own less extreme opinion. As he proceeds with his investigation, Philo inquires into what Moses taught about the issue in his wise practice (Ebr. 1). Philo notes the inconsistency of opinion within the books presumably written by Moses. He half-laments: In many places of his [Moses’] legislation he mentions wine and the plant whose fruit it is—the vine. Some persons he permits, others he forbids, to drink of it, and sometimes he gives opposite orders, at one time enjoining and at another prohibiting its use to the same persons. These last are those who have made the great 11 Seneca

(Ep. 83.9) attributes this same statement to Zeno.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) vow (Num. vi.2), while those who are forbidden the use of strong drink are the ministering priests (Lev. x.9); while of persons who take wine there are numberless instances among those whom he too holds in the highest admiration for their virtue. (Ebr. 1–2)

Again, significantly for our purposes, Philo recognizes that Moses and the Law provide no clear answer to the question under consideration. Philo, whose Jewish faith was unquestionably intact, finds a diversity of views within the cultural heritage of both Judaism and Gentile philosophy. After a long digression in which Philo—in good Stoic fashion—treats drunkenness as a metaphor for uncontrolled passions, he returns to the topic that interests this investigation.12 Philo’s primary concern in consulting the Mosaic tradition was to explain why the priests were seemingly prohibited from consuming alcohol in the vicinity of the tabernacle and altar. He argues that such instructions were given as future indicatives instead of imperatives because by them Moses was not speaking “so much by way of prohibition as stating what he thinks will happen” (Ebr. 138).13 Having dispensed with the major barriers to wine consumption (Zeno’s syllogism and Moses’ priestly prohibition), Philo is able to close with words of moral exhortation: Let us, then, never drink so deep of strong liquor as to reduce our senses to inactivity, nor become so estranged from knowledge as to spread the vast and profound darkness of ignorance over our soul. (Ebr. 161)

From this examination of Philo, it has become clear (1) that the debate over the issues of wine consumption and drunkenness were very active in Philo’s context, (2) that discourse over these issues was commonly framed in terms of madness and the wise person’s conduct (“will the wise man get drunk?”), and (3) that Philo’s position was essentially a rejection of both abstinence and excessive drunkenness. Even in light of these conclusions, however, one could argue that Philo’s discussion is primarily concerned with the behavior of the wise person (σοφός) and not with personified Wisdom (σοφία), either divine or human. Although Philo is primarily concerned with the wise person’s conduct, he is clear throughout his discussion that the wise person (σοφός) is one who possesses and practices wisdom (σοφία). Philo relates stories of how a certain man of old was renowned for his wisdom (Plant. 80) and how people desired the human virtues of wisdom and knowledge (Plant. 23). Philo even treats the acquisition of wisdom as a process that is parallel to the process of gaining control over the passions. Thus, while discussing Moses’ song in Exodus, Philo explains that “his theme is not only the rout of the 12 Philo transitions back by saying, “In a literal sense too, this command deserves our admiration” (Ebr. 130). 13 “If a prohibition were intended, it would have been natural to say ‘do not drink wine when you perform the rites’; the phrase ‘you shall not’ or ‘will not’ drink is naturally used, when the speaker is stating what he thinks” (Ebr. 138).


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passions, but the strength invincible which can win that most beautiful of possessions, wisdom, which he likens to a well” (Ebr. 112). Repeatedly in these documents, Philo regards this σοφία as a human achievement like controlling the passions or gaining knowledge. Philo even praises rulers who are able to “accomplish wisdom” (Ebr. 113; κατεργάσασθαι σοφίαν) and sea captains who pilot their ships by “a wisdom of manifold variety” (Ebr. 86). For Philo, this human σοφία, which enables the wise person to drink wine without engaging in drunkenness, is the “craft of crafts” (Ebr. 88; τέχνην τεχνῶν).14 Philo frequently personifies the human σοφία that emerges as a result of a person’s effort to learn. According to Philo, Wisdom, like the equally personified philosophy, should be romanced like a bride. He explained that to this day the lovers of true nobility do not attend at the door of the elder sister, philosophy, till they have taken knowledge of the younger sisters, grammar and geometry and the whole range of the school culture. For these ever secure the favours of wisdom [σοφία] to those who woo her in guilelessness and sincerity. (Ebr. 49)15

In the context of his discussion of drunkenness and wine drinking, Philo uses a variety of literary devices (including both metaphors and personification) to emphasize wisdom’s role as a lifestyle to be pursued (e.g., Plant. 52, 97, 167–69; Ebr. 48, 61, 72).16 Perhaps most interesting for our purposes, Philo even draws an extended analogy between wisdom and human reproduction in his discussion of drunkenness. After indicting Joseph’s fellow prisoners, the former servants of Pharaoh, for gluttony and drunkenness (Genesis 39), Philo asks: “Why is it that not a single one of these offices [baker, wine steward, chief butler] is entrusted to a real man or woman?” (Ebr. 211). Because these servants were eunuchs, Philo argues, they were able “neither to drop the truly masculine seeds of virtue nor yet to receive and foster what is so dropped” (Ebr. 211). For Philo, these gluttonous persons lacked the fertility of wisdom, because every craftsman whose work is to produce pleasure can produce no fruit of wisdom. He is neither male nor female, for he is incapable of either giving or receiving the seeds whence spring the growth that perishes not. (Ebr. 212) 14 The association between wisdom and the control of one’s consumption of wine was appar-

ently so widespread in the Greco-Roman world that even Plutarch, a Greek writer for whom the essential ethical categories are the practice of justice (δικαιοπραγία) and prudence (φρόνησις), often brings σοφία and σοφός into his discussion when speaking of restraint in wine consumption. For example, see Suav. viv. 4, 16; Adv. Col. 8; Quaest. conv. 1. introduction, 1; 7.4; and Tu. san. 4. On Plutarch’s commitment to justice and prudence, see Plutarch, An virt. doc. 15 A similar theme of romancing a personified Wisdom is found in Plant. 65. 16 Philo makes only one clear reference to personified divine Wisdom in these discussions of drunkenness. Even in this case, Philo is praising human wisdom by demonstrating that even God acts through personified Wisdom (Ebr. 31; cf. Plant. 69).

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Philo extends the analogy of fertility even further, arguing that such a person “can beget no offspring of wisdom” (Ebr. 214; τῷ σοφίας ἀγόνῳ). Although the language and development of the analogy differ significantly from the Gospel saying, this analogy to fertility demonstrates that Philo could conceive of human wisdom, the sort of wisdom that Pharaoh’s servants lacked, in a metaphorical parent–child relationship. From this examination of Philo’s writings, it should be clear that Philo assumed that the wise person (σοφός), the person who possessed human wisdom (σοφία), would avoid both drunkenness and abstinence from alcohol. An examination of Philo’s Gentile contemporary, Seneca, will demonstrate the presence of the same tendencies within his context.

Seneca Seneca’s Moral Essays convey many of the same discussions and sentiments that were found in Philo. Seneca, like Philo, rejects Zeno’s recommendation of abstinence from wine. Seneca begins his discussion of drunkenness by noting that Zeno, that greatest of men, the revered founder of our brave and holy school of philosophy, wishes to discourage us from drunkenness. Listen, then, to his arguments proving that the good man will not get drunk: “No one entrusts a secret to a drunken man; but one will entrust a secret to a good man; therefore, the good man will not get drunk.” Mark how ridiculous Zeno is made when we set up a similar syllogism in contrast with his. There are many, but one will be enough: “No one entrusts a secret to a man when he is asleep; but one entrusts a secret to a good man; therefore, the good man does not go to sleep.” (Ep. 83.9)17

Although Seneca, rejected total abstinence, he, again like Philo, was no advocate of drunkenness. Seneca wishes to arraign drunkenness frankly and to expose its vices! . . . if you wish to prove that a good man ought not to get drunk, why work it out by logic? Show how base it is to pour down more liquor than one can carry, and not to know the capacity of one’s own stomach; show how often the drunkard does things which make him blush when he is sober; state that drunkenness is nothing but a con-

17 Additionally, Seneca explains, “So let us abolish all harangues as this: ‘No man in the bonds of drunkenness has power over his soul. . . . As a man overcome by liquor cannot keep down his food when he has over-indulged in wine, so he cannot keep back a secret either. He pours forth impartially both his own secrets and those of other persons.’ This, of course, is what commonly happens, but so does this,—that we take counsel on serious subjects with those whom we know to be in the habit of drinking freely. Therefore this proposition, which is laid down in the guise of a defence of Zeno’s syllogism, is false,—that secrets are not entrusted to the habitual drunkard” (Ep. 83.16–17).


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dition of insanity purposely assumed. Prolong the drunkard’s condition to several days; will you have any doubt about his madness? Even as it is, the madness is no less; it merely lasts shorter time. (Ep. 83.18–19)

Seneca, like Philo, warns against drinking more than one can handle, fearing that excessive drunkenness can bring on temporary madness. In elaborating on the maddening effects of drunkenness, Seneca even warns that “continued bouts of drunkenness bestialize the soul. For when people are often beside themselves, the habit of madness lasts on, and the vices which liquor generated retain their power even when liquor is gone” (Ep. 83.26). Seneca is convinced of the dangers that drunkenness poses to virtue. He insists that no amount of logical argument can justify the practice of drunkenness, admonishing his readers that you should state why the wise man ought not to get drunk. . . . For if you try to prove that the wise man can souse himself with much wine and yet keep his course straight, even though he be in his cups, you may go on to infer by syllogisms that he will not die if he swallows poison, that he will not sleep if he takes a sleeping-potion, that he will not vomit and reject the matter which clogs his stomach when you give him hellebore [an herb which induces vomiting]. (Ep. 83.27)18

Again highlighting the existing concern for the wise person’s conduct in regard to drunkenness, Seneca quotes Panaetius approvingly: As to the wise man, we shall see later; but you and I, who are as yet far removed from wisdom, should not trust ourselves to fall into a state that is disordered, uncontrolled, enslaved to another, contemptible to itself. . . . Let us not expose his unstable spirit to the temptations of drink. (Ep. 117.5)19

Seneca’s remarks, therefore, reinforce the impression gained through examination of Philo. The problem of drunkenness was commonly discussed in the context of wisdom and madness.20 The wise were expected to adopt a position between 18 Complaints and laments over drunkenness were common in the Greco-Roman world. For example, Isocrates laments that “the most promising of our young men are wasting their youth in drinking-bouts, in parties, in soft living and childish folly, to the neglect of all efforts to improve themselves; while those of grosser nature are engaged from morning until night in extremes of dissipation which in former days an honest slave would have despised. You see some of them chilling their wine at the ‘Nine-fountains’; others, drinking in taverns . . .” (Antidosis 286– 87 [Norlin, LCL]). 19 Similar advice was earlier offered by Isocrates: “If possible avoid drinking-parties altogether, but if ever occasion arises when you must be present, rise and take your leave before you become intoxicated; for when the mind is impaired by wine it is like chariots which have lost their drivers” (Demon. 32 [Norlin, LCL]). 20 Again, Athenaeus’s comments reflect concerns like those of the earlier Philo and Seneca as he discusses drunkenness in the context of wisdom and madness. “Mnesitheus said that the

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the extremes of abstinence (i.e., Zeno’s position) and excessive drunkenness (a habit leading to “madness”).21 If moderation in wine consumption was the presumed choice of the wise—and this certainly seems to be the case,22 then this philosophical discourse has direct and significant relevance for understanding the accusation against the nondrinking John and the excessively drinking Jesus. We will seek to explain that relevance.

II. Rethinking the Personification of Wisdom in Matthew 11:19 and Luke 7:35 In light of their contemporaries’ thought about wine drinking, neither Jesus nor John was “wise.”23 John abstains from wine and is accused of having a demon (Matt 11:18; Luke 7:33). John behaves like the ridiculous Zeno. Jesus drinks too much wine and is accused of being a drunkard and glutton (Matt 11:19; Luke 7:34). Jesus behaves like an uncontrolled fool. By the standards of the day, neither John gods had revealed wine to mortals, to be the greatest blessing for those who use it aright, but for those who use it without measure, the reverse. . . . In daily intercourse, to those who mix and drink it moderately, it gives good cheer; but if you overstep the bounds, it brings violence. Mix it half and half, and you get madness; unmixed, bodily collapse. . . . Eubulus makes Dionysus say: ‘Three bowls only do I mix for the temperate—one to health, which they empty first, the second to love and pleasure, the third to sleep. When this is drunk up wise guests go home’” (Deipn. 2.36 [Gulick, LCL], emphasis added). 21 According to Arrian, Epictetus warned would-be philosophers that their desire to be philosophers would place demands on them that exceeded the demands placed on the average person. He asked the would-be philosopher, “Do you suppose that you can do the same things you do now, and yet be a philosopher? Do you suppose that you can eat in the same fashion, drink in the same fashion, give way to impulse and to irritation, just as you do now?” (Arrian, Epict. diss. 3.15.8–11 [Oldfather, LCL], emphasis added). 22 Philo’s and Seneca’s advice, “neither abstinence nor excessive drunkenness,” is hardly novel. It reflects the generally accepted wisdom of antiquity. The ancient debate was over drunkenness, not alcohol consumption. See Athenaeus’s comments on Panyasis, Euripides, Alexis, Timeaus of Tauromenium, Philochorus, Aeschylus, Semus of Delos, Ephippus, Antiphanes, Plato, Alcaeus, Ariston of Ceos, Anaxandrides, Alcman, Sappho, Cratinus, Polemon, Aristarchus, Bacchylides, Sophocles, Odysseus, Simonides, Homer, Hesiod, Pindar, Praxagoras of Cos, all of whom assume wine consumption, but warn against drinking too much wine. See Athenaeus, Deipn. 2.36–41. “To drink like a Scythian,” that is, to drink wine without adding water to dilute its strength, was a vice even during the classical period. See François Lissarague, The Aesthetics of the Greek Banquet: Images of Wine and Ritual (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 7–9, 90– 92, 110. 23 Some have suggested that the charge of drunkenness and gluttony was derived from Deut 21:20 (e.g., Kee, “Jesus: A Glutton and a Drunkard,” 390; and Gundry, Matthew, 213), but against this suggestion we should note that Luke’s language “scarcely reflects the LXX” (Fitzmyer, Gospel according to Luke, 1:681).


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nor Jesus can be trusted; neither is wise. Ironically, in spite of their very different lifestyles, neither John nor Jesus behaved wisely by the standards of the day. The wise person would occupy the more moderate position between the extremes of Jesus and John. The wise person would be given neither to John’s abstinence nor to Jesus’ drunkenness.24 Against the background of philosophical discourse about human wisdom and drunkenness, it makes perfect sense to read the proverb about wisdom (Luke 7:35; Matt 11:19b) as the conclusion reached by Jesus’ detractors. In light of the conduct that they had seen from the overly indulgent Jesus and the nonindulgent John, they assumed that neither Jesus nor John could be wise, because neither had demonstrated wisdom—and wisdom is plain for all to see. It is justified by all its children (and their deeds). In addition to being culturally appropriate to the Greco-Roman world, reading this wisdom proverb as a statement about human wisdom has the added benefit of offering a more natural reading of the conjunction (καί) that introduces the proverb. Because the proverb is immediately preceded by Jesus’ summary of his detractors’ accusations against him (that he is a drunkard, a glutton, and a friend of sinners), many interpreters and translators agree with Eduard Schweizer that “the last clause, in which the wisdom of God suddenly appears, is difficult.”25 In order to help alleviate the awkwardness of introducing the theme of divine wisdom, many interpreters and translators assume that the καί must be adversative and that the proverb must be Jesus’ rebuttal of the accusation against him (i.e., Jesus is accused of vice, but he responds by claiming that he is wise). Thus, English versions often translate the conjunction as “but” (NIV, KJV, NKJV), “yet” (RSV, NASB, JB, NRSV [Matt 11:19]), “and yet” (NEB), or even “nevertheless” (Luke 7:35 NRSV).26 Of course, Greek has many more clear and effective ways to introduce a rebuttal than καί. However, Greek offers no better way to continue the accusations against Jesus than the use of καί (i.e., Jesus is a drunk, a glutton, and a friend of sinners and he lacks wisdom). When the proverb is understood in this fashion, as the conclusion to Jesus’ summary of his detractors’ opinions, the καί can be interpreted as having its typical connective function. The proverb can be understood as the final portion of Jesus’ summation of his detractors’ words: “. . . you say, ‘Behold, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of toll collectors and sinners and [human] wisdom is justified by all her children’” (Luke 7:35). Jesus’ detractors presumed that if John and Jesus were wise, their conduct would reflect conventional wisdom. After all, everyone knows that wisdom is justified by her children (or its deeds).

24 On John’s asceticism, see B. Otto, “Aß Johannes der Täufer kein Brot (Luk. VII.33)?” NTS 18, no. 1 (1971): 90–92. 25 Schweizer, Matthew, 264. 26 For the most recent scholarly defense of this practice, see Simon Gathercole, “The Justification of Wisdom (Matt 11.19/Luke 7.35),” NTS 49, no. 4 (2003): 476–88.

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III. Conclusion The closing words of Matt 11:19//Luke 7:35, therefore, should be read not against the background of the OT tradition of personified divine Wisdom, but rather against the Greco-Roman background of philosophical discourse regarding the wise person’s conduct and drunkenness. The “wisdom” in the concluding proverb is not divine wisdom, but rather human wisdom. According to the standards of the day, neither Jesus nor John was wise; that is, neither practiced the deeds that demonstrated wisdom.

JBL 127, no. 2 (2008): 397–408

ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ (Romans 16:7) and the Hebrew Name YĕhI unnī al wolters [email protected] Redeemer University College, Ancaster, ON L9K 1J4, Canada

ἀσπάσασθε Ἀνδρόνικον καὶ ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ τοὺς συγγενεῖς μου καὶ συναιχμαλώτους μου, οἵτινές εἰσιν ἐπίσημοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις. Greet Andronicus and Junia/s, my relatives who were in prison with me; they are prominent among the apostles. (Rom 16:7)

There has been considerable exegetical discussion over the last thirty years about whether ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ in this verse (to be preferred over the ΙΟΥΛΙΑΝ of some manuscripts) should be interpreted as a male or a female name. A broad consensus in favor of the latter interpretation seems to have emerged.1 The scholarly disI would like to thank all those who have commented on earlier drafts of this article. Special thanks to Tal Ilan (Jerusalem/Berlin), Alan Millard (Liverpool), Bruce Waltke (Oviedo, Florida), and Ran Zadok (Tel Aviv). 1 See, e.g., Bernadette Brooten, “Junia . . . Outstanding among the Apostles (Romans 16:7),” in Women Priests: A Catholic Commentary on the Vatican Declaration (ed. Leonard Swidler and Arlene Swidler; New York: Paulist, 1977), 141–44; Valentin Fàbraga, “War Junia(s), der hervorragende Apostel (Rom. 16,7), eine Frau?” JAC 27/28 (1984/85): 47–64; Peter Lampe, “Iunia/Iunias: Sklavenherkunft im Kreise der vorpaulinischen Apostel (Röm 167),” ZNW 76 (1985): 132–34; Ray R. Schulz, “Romans 16:7: Junia or Junias?” ExpTim 98 (1986–87): 108–10; Richard S. Cervin, “A Note Regarding the Name ‘Junia(s)’ in Romans 16:7,” NTS 40 (1994): 464–70; John Thorley, “Junia, A Woman Apostle,” NovT 38 (1996): 18–29; U.-K. Plisch, “Die Apostolin Junia: Das exegetische Problem in Röm 16.7 im Licht von Nestle-Aland27 und der sahidischen Überlieferung,” NTS 42 (1996): 477–78; Richard Bauckham, Gospel Women: Studies of the Named Women in the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 166–86; Linda Belleville, “ Ἰουνίαν . . . ἐπίσημοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις: A Re-examination of Romans 16.7 in Light of Primary Source Materials,” NTS 51 (2005): 231–49; Eldon Jay Epp, Junia: The First Woman Apostle (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005). A dissenting view is represented by John Piper and Wayne Grudem, “An Overview of Central Concerns,” in Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood: A Response to Evangeli-

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cussion and its widely shared outcome have recently even inspired an American journalist to write a full-length popular book on the “lost apostle” Junia.2 When we compare the evidence adduced in favor of Ἰουνιᾶν as a masculine name with that brought forward in support of Ἰουνίαν as a feminine name, there is really no contest. The latter clearly wins the day. However, before we conclude that the Latin name Junia is the only serious candidate for a reasonable interpretation of ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ in Rom 16:7, we need to consider another possibility, namely, that it reflects a Semitic, specifically a Hebrew, personal name. After all, it would not be surprising if a person whom Paul numbers among his kinfolk (συγγενεῖς) should turn out to have a specifically Jewish name, comparable to the Μαρία of the previous verse.3 This is an option that is usually not considered by commentators.4 An exception is John Thorley, but he raises the possibility of a Semitic original only to dismiss it. He writes, “The noun (whether ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ or ΙΟΥΛΙΑΝ) is definitely not of Semitic or Greek origin. This initial vowel combination is very uncommon in Greek, Hebrew, or Aramaic/Syriac and no obvious roots for the name exist in these languages.”5 This statement overlooks the fact that a frequent name in the NT is spelled Ἰούδας, representing the Hebrew name yĕhûdâ, and that the LXX includes more than a score of other proper names beginning with Ἰου-.6 In the Greek transliteration of Hebrew names, the guttural letters of the Hebrew alphabet (), h, x, and () are generally not represented. The Greek alphabet did not have equivalents for these letters, and in any case the Hebrew spoken in late Second Temple times often dropped the phonemes they represented.7 It is therefore not at all unusual for the initial letters Ἰου- to represent the beginning of a Hebrew name in which the second consonant is a guttural. Furthermore, there are many Hebrew names that are hellenized as first declencal Feminism (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 1991), 60–92. However, Grudem now agrees that a feminine name is more likely. See his Evangelical Feminism and Biblical Truth: An Analysis of More Than One Hundred Disputed Questions (Sisters, OR: Multnomah, 2004), 226. 2 Rena Pederson, The Lost Apostle: Searching for the Truth about Junia (San Francisco: JosseyBass, 2006). 3 On Μαρία as the hellenized form of MyFr:m,î see BDF §53 (3). 4 I leave aside Bauckham’s rather different suggestion that Junia is the Latin name adopted by Joanna (Luke 8:3 and 24:10) as the “sound-equivalent” of her Hebrew name, while Andronicus is the Greek name adopted by her husband Chuza (Gospel Women, 181–86). 5 Thorley, “Junia,” 20. 6 See Hatch-Redpath, “Appendix I: Greek Proper Names,” 85–87; see also Tal Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity, part 1, Palestine 330 BCE—200 CE (TSAJ 91; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 112–18, 241. 7 BDF §39(3). Cf. Eduard Y. Kutscher, The Language and Linguistic Background of the Isaiah Scroll (1QIsaa) (STDJ 6A; Leiden: Brill, 1974), 505–11; Elisha Qimron, The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls (HSS 29; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), §200.11; Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 28 (§2.5.1).

Wolters: ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ (Romans 16:7)

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sion masculine nouns following the paradigm of Νικίας or Λυσίας, which have a genitive in -ίου, and an accusative in -ίαν.8 In the NT, some fifteen personal names belong to this inflectional type, occurring a total of ninety-six times.9 By analogy with these names, ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ could well be the accusative of a masculine name, as illustrated by Matt 1:8–11, where four such masculine names occur in the accusative in quick succession: Ὀζίαν, Ἑζεκίαν, Ἰωσίαν, and Ἰεχονίαν. In fact, prior to the twentieth-century vogue of printing ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ as Ἰουνιᾶν, this was the common way of interpreting it.10 It is likely that this widespread interpretation of the name at least partially accounts for the fact that all accented manuscripts of Rom 16:7 have the reading Ἰουνίαν (with acute accent).11 It would be a mistake to conclude from this that the scribes of these manuscripts all interpreted ΙΟΥΝΙΑΝ as a feminine name.12 It is with good reason that the most recent printings of UBS4 have omitted the misleading annotation “Ἰουνιᾶν (masculine) . . . Ἰουνίαν (feminine) . . . ,” as though the latter form could not be masculine.13 The high incidence in the NT of first declension masculine names, especially those ending in -ίας, is rooted in a linguistic precedent set by the LXX translators. As H. St. J. Thackeray explains in his discussion of proper names in the LXX: A large number of Hebrew masculine proper names end with the Divine name Yahweh in a more or less abbreviated form, usually hyF_ (also w%hyF_, y_I). These are in the majority of cases Hellenized by the adoption of the old termination -ίας 8

Although in the NT personal names of this declensional type generally have a genitive in -α, those with a nominative in -ίας regularly have a genitive in -ίου (BDF §55.1a). 9 The fifteen are Ἀνανίας, Βαραχίας, Ἑζεκίας, Ζαχαρίας, Ἠλίας, Ἠσαΐας, Ἰερεμίας, Ἰεχονίας, Ἰωσίας, Λυσανίας, Λυσίας, Μαθθίας, Ματταθίας, Ὀζίας, and Οὐρίας. 10 See, e.g., Edward Robinson, A Greek and English Lexicon of the New Testament: A New Edition . . . by S. T. Bloomfield (London: Longman, Orme, Brown, Green & Longmans, 1839), 395; The Analytical Greek Lexicon (London: Samuel Bagster and Sons, 1870), 202; Carl L. W. Grimm, Lexicon Graeco-Latinum in Libros Novi Testamenti (2nd ed.; Leipzig: Arnold, 1879), 213; Joseph Henry Thayer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1889), 306; George Abbott-Smith, A Manual Greek Dictionary of the New Testament (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1922), 218. According to Epp (Junia, 25–27), additional nineteenth-century scholars who took this view included Joseph B. Lightfoot and Benjamin Wilson. Epp himself takes strong exception to the view that Ἰουνίαν could be interpreted as a first declension masculine noun (Junia, 30–31, 39). 11 See Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994), 475; Belleville, “Re-examination,” 238–39. 12 Pace Belleville, who repeatedly refers to “the feminine acute accent” (“Re-examination,” 238–39). 13 See The Greek New Testament (4th ed.; 3rd printing; ed. Barbara Aland et al.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1998), ad loc. The misleading annotation is still found in the second printing of 1994. (Note that UBS4 in its latest printings [including the tenth, 2005] unfortunately continues to refer to “Ἰουνίαν fem.” in the annotation on Ἰουλίαν in Rom 16:15.)

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Journal of Biblical Literature 127, no. 2 (2008) (as in Νικίας), and forms in -(ε)ίας, -αίας declined according to the first declension abound.14

The accuracy of this statement can be easily confirmed by a glance at Hatch and Redpath’s compilation of proper names in the LXX, which contains some 170 different examples of names declined like Νικίας.15 The frequency of these names can be illustrated by LXX Zeph 1:1: Λόγος κυρίου, ὃς ἐγενήθη πρὸς Σοφονίαν τὸν τοῦ Χουσι υἱὸν Γοδολίου τοῦ Αμαρίου τοῦ Εζεκίου ἐν ἡμέραις Ιωσίου υἱοῦ Αμων βασιλέως Ιουδα.16 Of the eight proper nouns in this verse, five belong to the declensional type of Νικίας, namely, Σοφονίας, Γοδολίας, Ἀμαρίας, Ἑζεκίας, and Ἰωσίας, and the eighth illustrates the point about Greek proper nouns in the LXX beginning with Ἰου-. As Thackeray points out, names in the LXX declined like Νικίας regularly reflect Hebrew names that end in -yāh, -yāhû, or -î. In fact, some reflect all three. Thus Ἀνανίας is used to represent not only hiănanyāhû but also its shorter variants hiănanyāh and hiănānî.17 Similarly, Ζαχαρίας and Οὐρίας in the LXX each render Hebrew names with all three endings.18 Besides names like these (all three of which occur in the NT as well), we also have an example such as Νεμεσσίας, where the Hebrew name in question, ‫ִנְמִשׁי‬, also ends in -î, but where there is no record of a fuller theophoric name corresponding to it.19 It is not unreasonable, therefore, to suggest that IOΥNIAN in Rom 16:7 represents the first declension masculine name Ἰουνίας, and that this in turn is the hellenized form of a Hebrew name. The Hebrew name required would have to end in -yāh(û) or -î and have a guttural as second consonant. I propose that a plausible candidate for such a name is ynwxy (to be vocalized yĕhiunnî), probably a shortened form of (‫( * ְיֻחִנּ ָיּה)וּ‬yĕhiunnīyāh[û]), “may Yahweh be gracious.”20 To assess the merits of this proposal, we need to take a look at the way Hebrew theophoric names are normally constructed. 14 H. St. J. Thackeray, A Grammar of the Old Testament in Greek (1909; repr., Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1987), 161. 15 Hatch-Redpath, “Greek Proper Names,” passim. There are twenty-nine examples under the letter alpha alone. (Following Hatch and Redpath, I have treated names like Ἀβδείας and Ἀβδίας as orthographic variants of the same name.) 16 The text cited (including the omission of breathings on the personal names) is that of Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Societatis Litterarum Gottingensis editum, vol. 13, Duodecim prophetae (ed. Joseph Ziegler; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1943), 275. 17 Hatch-Redpath, “Greek Proper Names,” 17. 18 Ibid., 66, 125–26. 19 See MT 2 Kgs 9:20 and LXX 4 Kgdms 9:20. Compare also Μαλαχίας as the title of Malachi in Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion (Hatch-Redpath, “Greek Proper Names,” 106). 20 For names ending in (‫ ָיּה)וּ‬-ִ I have used the transliteration -īyāh(û) (with single y), following the usage of Jeaneane D. Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names in Ancient Hebrew (JSOTSup 49; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), 51, and passim.


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It is well known that such names, following a pattern that was widespread in the ancient Near East, usually consisted of a divine name and a verbal form.21 The divine name (e.g., ba val or 'ēl) sometimes came first, as in 'elnātān, but could also come second, as in nĕtan 'ēl, both forms meaning “El has given.” In Israel the most common theophoric element was a shortened form of the tetragrammaton: yĕhôor yô- in initial position, and -yāhû or -yāh in final position.22 The verbal form was usually in the perfect, as in the two examples given, but the imperfect (or jussive) was also used, especially in initial position (e.g., yĕhiezqē 'l, “Ezekiel,” meaning “May El strengthen”).23 As these examples illustrate, the regular rules of Hebrew phonology come into play when names are formed. When the two-word sentence nātan 'ēl becomes a one-word proper noun, the vocalization of the verbal element changes, because the stress moves to the theophoric element, which now constitutes (or includes) the final syllable of the new phonetic unit. Thus, the first vowel of nātan is reduced to a shewa: nĕtan 'ēl. Another phonetic feature of such sentence names is that an /ī/ (which Noth calls a Bindevokal) is frequently inserted between the nominal and verbal elements of the name, as in siidq-ī-yāhû and yahiăz-ī-'el.24 A verb that was especially common in Hebrew names was hiānan, “to be gracious.” We find it in a whole series of biblical and extrabiblical Hebrew names: not only hiănanyāh(û), and its short form hiănānî, but also hiănam 'ēl (with dissimilation), yĕhôhiānān, yôhiānān, 'elhiānān, and even bvlhinn.25 The same verbal root also occurs frequently in the names attested in other Northwest Semitic languages.26 For example, a Moabite name consists of the simple verbal form yhin,27 and a common Phoenician one is yhinbvl, “may Baal be gracious.”28 Given the many permutations of Hebrew names incorporating forms of this verb, one might expect that a 21 See Martin Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung (1928; repr., Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1966), 20; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 84, 89. 22 Noth, Personennamen, 101–8; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 32–38. 23 Noth, Personennamen, 27–28; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 89, 98–100. “May strengthen” (etc.) is only one of a number of possible translations of the prefix conjugation in names. As Fowler points out (p. 89), it does not necessarily express a wish (pace Noth, Personennamen, 195, who designates virtually all such names as Wunschnamen). 24 Noth, Personennamen, 33–36; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 134–35. 25 Noth, Personennamen, 187; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 82, 345. 26 Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 182, 191, 214, 266, 290. 27 See Nahman Avigad and Benjamin Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1997), 378 (no. 1024). Avigad vocalizes the name i n. On names consisting of a simple verb in the imper(the last letter of which is uncertain) as yahu fect, see Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 168. 28 Frank L. Benz, Personal Names in the Phoenician and Punic Inscriptions: A Catalog, Grammatical Study and Glossary of Elements (Studia Pohl 8; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1972), 128, 209. The name yhinbvl is attested six times.

402


Hebrew name corresponding to the Phoenician yhinbvl, specifically yhinyh(w) or its short form yhiny, would also be part of the Jewish onomasticon. It comes as no surprise, therefore, that the abbreviated Hebrew name ynwxy, meaning “May he be gracious,” has come to light in the epigraphic discoveries of the twentieth century.29 Two undisputed examples have been found. (1) In 1904 Robert Macalister found the name yhiwny inscribed on an ossuary near Gezer. Although he dated it broadly to Hellenistic times,30 subsequent scholars have lowered this date to the Herodian era,31 or even between 70 and 135 C.E.32 When it was first published, the philologist Stanley A. Cook explained the newly attested name as follows: “ynwxy, probably from hynwxy, ‘may Yah be gracious.’”33 (2) A second occurrence of the name ynwxy was found in 1953 inscribed on another ossuary in the “Dominus Flevit” necropolis on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem.34 Both the excavator (Bellarmino Bagatti) and the epigrapher (Józef T. Milik) dated it to the period after 70 c.e., perhaps as late as 135.35 It is of interest to note that Bagatti argued that the chamber in which this ossuary was found might well be the burial place of a number of early Jewish Christians,36 and that the inscription of the ossuary next to it in this chamber could be read “Simon bar Yonah” (cf. Matt 16:17).37 Although both these claims proved to be controversial,38 they do highlight the fact that this 29 On abbreviated Hebrew names beginning with an imperfect verbal form, see Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 160, 166, 168. 30 Robert A. S. Macalister, “Ninth Quarterly Report on the Excavation of Gezer,” PEFQS 36 (1904): 337–43; idem, The Excavation of Gezer (3 vols.; London: Murray, 1911–12), 1:395–400. See also Samuel Klein, Jüdisch-palästinisches Corpus Inscriptionum (Ossuar-, Grab-, und Synagogeninschriften) (1920; repr., Hildesheim: Dr. H. A. Gerstenberg, 1971), 53 (= CIJ 2:223, no. 1177). 31 William G. Dever, “Gezer,” ABD 2:1003; similarly Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 377 (no. 9). Note that Ilan dates all ossuaries to before the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 c.e. (p. 52, §7.6.1). 32 Levi Y. Rahmani, A Catalogue of Jewish Ossuaries in the Collections of the State of Israel (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 1994), 23, followed by Rachel Hachlili, Jewish Funerary Customs, Practices and Rites in the Second Temple Period (JSJSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 520. 33 See the note by the editor on p. 342 of Macalister, “Ninth Report.” Stanley A. Cook (later Regius Professor of Hebrew at Cambridge) was the editor of the Quarterly Statement of the Palestine Exploration Fund from 1902 to 1932. 34 See Józef T. Milik, “Le iscrizioni degli ossuari,” in Bellarmino Bagatti and Józef T. Milik, Gli Scavi del “Dominus Flevit” (Monte Oliveto—Gerusalemme), parte 1, La Necropoli del Periodo Romano (Jerusalem: Tipografia dei PP. Francescani, 1958), 83. 35 Bagatti, Gli Scavi, 44, 179; Milik, “Le iscrizioni,” 105. The post-70 date applies to the complex of burial chambers (vani) numbered 65–80. The ossuary bearing the name yhiwny was one of fourteen found in no. 79. Ilan disagrees with this dating, opting instead for “Pre-70 CE” (Lexicon of Jewish Names, 377, no. 10); see n. 31 above. 36 Bagatti, Gli Scavi, ch. 6. 37 Bellarmino Bagatti, “Scoperta di un cimitero giudeo-cristiano al ‘Dominus Flevit,’ ” SBFLA 3 (1953): 149–84, here 162. Milik also considers this reading possible but is uncertain about some of the letters of “Yonah” (“Le iscrizioni,” 83). 38 See Markus Bockmuehl, “Simon Peter’s Names in Jewish Sources,” JJS 55 (2004): 58–80, here 67–69.


403

ossuary inscription, like the one found near Gezer, brings us very close to the time and milieu of the apostle Paul. In the epigraphical literature of the twentieth century there is also a third attestation of the name, but this has recently been cast into doubt. According to epigrapher David Diringer, a jar handle that was excavated at Lachish in the 1930s, which could be dated to around 700 b.c.e., was stamped with a seal impression containing the name yhiny (with some uncertainty about the second letter).39 However, according to Nahman Avigad, the inscription in question is one of a series of seven extant impressions of the same seal, and the name in question should actually be read as ywbnh.40 Whether the Lachish jar handle is included or not, these finds establish quite securely that the name yhiwny was an actual Hebrew name that is attested in ancient Israel in the first century c.e., if not earlier. Although the ending -y in a name does not guarantee that the theophoric element of the fuller form is -yāh(û),41 the latter is much more likely than any other divine name.42 It is therefore probably safe to assume, with Cook, Gustaf Dalman, Otto Eissfeldt, and Ran Zadok, that ynwxy is a short form of hynwxy*.43 But how should the short form yhiwny be vocalized? With respect to the final yod, it most likely represents -ī (so Macalister, Jean-Baptiste Frey, Milik, and Rachel Hachlili44), since this is by far the most common ending of shortened names in Hebrew.45 As for the phonetic value of the waw, this will depend on the vocaliza39

David Diringir, “On Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions Discovered at Tell Ed-Duweir (Lachish)—I,” PEQ 73 (1941): 38–56, here 51, and Plate IV, no. 6. See also idem, “Chapter 10: Early Hebrew Inscriptions,” in Olga Tufnell, Lachish III (Tell ed-Duweir): The Iron Age; Text (London: Oxford University Press, 1953), 331–59, here 340–41, and Plate 47, no. B,6 in the accompanying volume Plates. The stamp is no. 100.392 in Graham Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions: Corpus and Concordance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 40 Avigad and Sass, West Semitic Stamp Seals, 249 (no. 678D). I am grateful to Alan Millard for alerting me to this revised reading. 41 Noth, Personennamen, 41; Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 153–54. 42 It occurs more than twice as often as its nearest competitor ('ēl); see Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 32. 43 Cook in Macalister, “Ninth Report,” 342 (editorial note); Gustaf Dalman as cited in Klein, Corpus Inscriptionum, 53; Otto Eissfeldt, “Onias,” RE 18:1, 474–75; Ran Zadok, “Das nachbiblische jüdische Onomastikon,” in Trumah 1: Hochschule für Jüdische Studien Heidelberg (ed. Moshe Elat et al.; Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert, 1987), 247, 309. Fowler adopts a more cautious formulation: “The name yhiny [of the disputed Lachish jar handle] may also be a sf. [short form] from the root hinn ‘to show favour, be gracious’ and a theophoric element” (Theophoric Personal i nyh is the most likely longer form of yhw i ny, the argument of this essay Names, 167). Although yhw works equally well if its longer form is assumed to be yĕhiunnī 'ēl (for example) rather than yĕhiunnī yāh. 44 Macalister, “Ninth Quarterly Report,” 342; Frey in CIJ 2:223 (no. 1177); Milik, “Le iscrizioni,” 83; Hachlili, Jewish Funerary Customs, 217. 45 Noth, Personennamen, 38; and Ran Zadok, The Pre-Hellenistic Anthroponymy and Prosopography (OLA 28; Leuven: Peeters, 1988), 156–57. In the MT the final yod of short forms of

404


tion of the longer theophoric form from which yhiwny is presumably derived. Eissfeldt vocalizes this longer form as ‫ ְנ ָיה‬w$xy; or yĕhiônyāh, but this is clearly a mistake.46 As Zadok has pointed out, the verbal element of *yhiwnyh fits the pattern of an imperfect of the yaqull type.47 This means that it follows the paradigm of a geminate verb with /u/ as its original stem vowel.48 In this paradigm the /u/ of the stem is retained in forms of the imperfect that have a stress-bearing afformative. In those forms the general rule is that the closed and unstressed stem syllable *qull, characterized by both the doubling of the second root consonant and the short vowel /u/, is preserved unchanged in Hebrew.49 Although this rule allows of some exceptions in the Tiberian tradition of Masoretic vocalization, where this /u/ sometimes becomes /ŏ/, it is quite strictly observed in the Babylonian tradition.50 Forms of geminate verbs in the imperfect qal that illustrate this rule include ‫( ְי ֻמֵ֫שּׁהוּ‬Gen 27:22), ‫( ְיֻסֻ֫כּהוּ‬Job 40:22), and ‫( ְתֻּסֶ֫בּיָנה‬Gen 37:7). In the case of the verb ‫ָח ַנן‬, the rule accounts for such forms as ‫( ִויֻחֶ֫נָּךּ‬Num 6:25), ‫( ְיֻחֶ֫נּנּוּ‬Isa 27:11), and ‫( ַו ְיֻחֶ֫נּנּוּ‬Job 33:24). Eissfeldt’s mistaken vocalization yĕhiônyāh also fails to take into account another phonetic rule that applies to the imperfect forms of verbs like ‫ָח ַנן‬: when the stressbearing afformative after the stem syllable *qull begins with a consonant, the characteristic “separating vowel” of geminate verbs is inserted between the stem syllable and the afformative in question.51 This is illustrated in the last four of the biblical texts just cited. All of this means that, according to the regular phonetic patterns of Hebrew,

theophoric names beginning with an imperfect verb is usually vocalized as -ay (see Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 160, 166), but in about half of the cases the ending -î is reflected in the LXX or Vulgate. In any case, yĕhiunnay could also be a short form of *yĕhiunnīyāh (Theophoric Personal Names, 162–64). 46 Eissfeldt, “Onias,” 474. 47 Zadok, Anthroponymy, 134. 48 That the verb hiānan follows this paradigm is not in dispute. See Hans Bauer and Pontus Leander, Historische Grammatik der hebräischen Sprache des Alten Testaments, Erster Band (Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1922), 427 (§58c). Note that the original stem vowel /u/ is still clearly in evidence in the Amorite name ya-hiu-un-AN-(?)—a name that appears to be an early analogue of the posi nnīyāh. See H. B. Huffmon, Amorite Personal Names in the Mari Texts tulated Hebrew name *yĕhu (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1965), 40, 80, 200. See also Ignace J. Gelb, ComputerAided Analysis of Amorite (AS 21; Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1980), 250. 49 See GKC §67k, n; Rudolf Meyer, Hebräische Grammatik (3rd ed.; 4 vols.; Sammlung Göschen; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972–82; repr. as one volume, 1992 [pp. 263–64]), §79.1.c and 2.a; Joshua Blau, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (2nd ed.; Porta Linguarum Orientalium n.s. 12; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993), 37 (§9.3.5); Joüon-Muraoka, 1:228 (§82g). 50 G. Bergsträsser, Hebräische Grammatik (1918 and 1929; repr. as one volume, Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1962), 1:150 (§26n); Blau, Biblical Hebrew, 10 (§3.4); and Joüon-Muraoka, 44 (§6j, n. 3). 51 GKC §67d; see also Joüon-Muraoka, 228 (§82f).


405

the name *yhiwnyh would be pronounced yĕhiunnīyāh, in which the theophoric element -yāh is the stress-bearing afformative, and the /ī/ is the Bindevokal of theophoric names, which here functions simultaneously as the separating vowel of geminate verbs.52 It follows from this that yhiwny, as the shortened form of the full theophoric name (but still with a stress-bearing afformative) would have been pronounced yĕhiunnī.53 This conclusion is supported also by the use of the vowel letter waw in yhiwny. The short vowel /u/ is frequently represented by waw, even in the MT.54 In fact, biblical examples of this spelling include cases where the /u/ represented by waw is precisely what we are discussing—the preserved original stem vowel in the imperfect of a geminate verb (see ‫ ְיסוּ ֶבּ ִני‬in Ps 49:6, and ‫ ְידוּ ֶקּ ִני‬in Isa 28:2855). On the other hand, the short vowel /ŏ/—the qāmesi hiātiûf to which the /u/ in this position is sometimes changed in the Tiberian vocalization—is very rarely represented by waw.56 In short, the conventions of ancient Hebrew orthography also favor the conclusion that the waw in yhiwny represents /u/, not /ŏ/. There is a further point that supports the pronunciation of *yhiwnyh as yĕhiunnīyāh. The verbs of the Aaronic blessing of Num 6:24–26, which the priest pronounced over the people twice daily in the temple, and weekly in synagogues, were often used in the construction of Hebrew names.57 The ancient blessing contained as the second of its three components the sentence “may Yahweh make his face to shine over you, and be gracious to you,” in which the last clause renders the Hebrew ‫( ִויֻחֶנּ ָךּ‬wîhiunnekkā). This familiar benediction finds echoes in other parts of the Hebrew Bible, and in the sectarian literature of Qumran it becomes a kind of stock phrase, always spelled plene as yhiwnkh, and presumably pronounced yĕhiunnekkāh.58 The postulated name *yĕhiunnīyāh, by replacing the pronominal 52 Since to my knowledge there are no other attested examples in the MT (or elsewhere) of theophoric names beginning with the imperfect of a geminate verb, the coincidence of Bindevokal and separating vowel in this case is an inference based on analogy. 53 Pace Sandra L. Gogel, who vocalizes the disputed yhiny of the Lachish jar handle as “Yahai ni,” apparently unaware of the later attestations of the name spelled plene (A Grammar of Epigraphic Hebrew [SBLRBS 23; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998], 489). 54 Muraoka states that this spelling occurs “rather frequently” in the MT when followed by gemination (Joüon-Muraoka, 47 [§7b]). He refers to Francis I. Andersen and A. Dean Forbes, Spelling in the Hebrew Bible: Dahood Memorial Lecture (BibOr 41; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1986), 95-98, which lists fifty-one examples in the MT. 55 On the latter spelling, see HALOT, s.v. qqd. 56 Joüon-Muraoka, 48 (§7b, n. 4). Since the name ynwxy (spelled plene) is found only in ossuary inscriptions, it is significant that these inscriptions elsewhere appear never to have a waw representing qāmesi hiātûi f. For example, the name tylg, “Goliath,” is spelled without waw in the inscriptions of the ossuaries numbered 783, 799, and 801 in Rahmani, Jewish Ossuaries. 57 Klaus Seybold, Der aaronitische Segen: Studien zu Numeri 6, 22–27 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 12, 34. 58 See Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry (STDJ 12; Leiden: Brill, 1994),

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suffix -kā of this blessing formula with the divine name -yāh, in effect supplies the understood divine subject: “May Yahweh be gracious.” Such a name would constitute an overt allusion to the priestly blessing, and would hardly have adopted a vocalization of the stem syllable different from that of the sacred liturgical formula. In this connection it is also important to point out that yĕhiunnī is not to be confused with the Hebrew original of the common Jewish Greek name Ὀνίας. The latter is first found in Sir 50:1, where the corresponding name in the Hebrew text is yôhiānān.59 This correlation of Greek Ὀνίας and Hebrew yôhiānān is found also in Josephus, 2 Maccabees, and Strabo, while in other contexts Ὀνίας regularly reflects one or another of the numerous variations of yôhiānān that were current among the Jews (e.g., hiwnyw, nhiwnywn, hi(w)nyh, hi(w)ny, hiny ').60 The attempt to derive one of these variations, namely, hiwny (= Ὀνίας), from the similar-looking yhiwny (so Dalman, Eissfeldt, and Zadok61) fails to recognize that yhiwny is a shortened form of a theophoric name like *yhiwnyh (imperfect verb plus divine name), not of ywhinn (divine name plus perfect verb), and that its stem vowel (given the usual inflection of geminate verbs like hiānan and the plene spelling of yhiwny) is /u/, not /ŏ/. But quite apart from this, the postulated elision of the verbal prefix y- in names, such that yhiwny could become hiwny, is virtually without precedent.62 I suspect that it is this assumed connection of yhiwny with Ὀνίας that has led scholars ever since Macalister to vocalize yhiwny as yĕhionī rather than yĕhiunnī.63 The longer form *yhiwnyh is not found in the MT or rabbinic sources, nor has it been found in inscriptions. However, whether we take our point of departure in the attested short form yhiwny (yĕhiunnī) or the hypothetical full form *yhiwnyh (yĕhiunnīyāh) from which it is probably derived, both names are plausible candidates for a Hebrew name that would have been represented in Greek as Ἰουνίας, 148–50; cf. Heinz-Josef Fabry in TDOT 5:36. The expression is vocalized yĕhiunnĕkāh in Eduard Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran, Hebräisch und deutsch, mit masoretischer Punktation: Übersetzung, Einführung und Anmerkungen (Munich: Kösel, 1964), 6 bis. 59 See Solomon Schechter and Charles Taylor, The Wisdom of Ben Sira: Portions of the Book of Ecclesiasticus from Hebrew Manuscripts in the Cairo Geniza Collection (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1899), XLVI, 63. 60 Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 377–79. 61 Dalman in Klein, Corpus Inscriptionum, 53; Eissfeldt, “Onias,” 484; Zadok, “Das nachbiblische jüdische Onomastikon,” 247, 309. 62 See Noth, Personennamen, 27 n. 1; and Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names, 153. Zadok speaks of this proposed derivation as a “special case” (Sonderfall) (“Das nachbiblische jüdische Onomastikon,” 309). He now agrees that Ὀνίας does not reflect yhiwny (personal communicai ny is “the name ynwx with a theophoric prefix” (Lexicon of Jewish Names, tion). Ilan’s view, that yhw 378 n. 25), is equally unpersuasive. She offers no parallel for such an expansion of an abbreviated name by a theophoric prefix. 63 Macalister, “Ninth Quarterly Report,” 342; Jean-Baptiste Frey in CIJ 2:223; Milik, “Le iscrizioni,” 83; Hachlili, Jewish Funerary Customs, 217.


407

-ου. As we have seen, the first declension masculine paradigm represents a common way of adapting Hebrew names in -yāh(û) or -ī to the Greek language, and the representation of yĕhiu- by Ἰου- also has many parallels. As with Ἰούδας and its cognates, the guttural letter (with its preceding shewa) simply disappears from the Greek spelling, just as -ĕhi- disappears in Ἰεζεκιελ, the standard Greek transliteration of yĕhiezqē 'l, “Ezekiel.” As for the representation of the doubled consonant in yĕhiunnī by the single consonant in Ἰουνίας, this too follows a familiar pattern.64 The foregoing has argued that it is not unreasonable, from a philological point of view, to interpret IOΥNIAN in Rom 16:7 as the Greek form of a Hebrew name. The argument is simple and can be summarized in three steps. (1) A Hebrew name yhiwny, meaning “may he be gracious,” is attested in Paul’s own day. (2) This name would most likely have been pronounced yĕhiunnī. (3) In biblical Greek, the name yĕhiunnī would have been hellenized as the first declension masculine noun Ἰουνίας. It might be objected against this interpretation that the Greek name Ἰουνίας is not found elsewhere. However, further reflection shows that this objection carries little weight. Since the original Hebrew name yĕhiunnī is attested in only two or three places—all of them outside the Hebrew Bible—it is to be expected that its Greek form Ἰουνίας will be found rarely, if at all. In fact, a survey of Hebrew and Aramaic names in the Greek Bible reveals that many of these are hapax legomena. This is true not only of indeclinable forms like Ῥησά (Luke 3:27) and Ἐλμαδάμ (Luke 3:28) but also of names that have been adapted to regular Greek declensions, like Χουζᾶς (Luke 8:3) and Κλωπᾶς (John 19:25). More specifically, the same pattern is observed in names declined like Νικίας. An examination of the approximately 170 examples of such names in the LXX (see n. 15 above) reveals that dozens of them are absolute hapax legomena in ancient Greek. A few representative examples, drawn from names beginning with the first six letters of the Greek alphabet, are the following: Ἀβαδίας (1 Esdr 8:35), Βορολίας (1 Esdr 5:8), Γαμαρίας (Jer 36 [29]:3), Δαλίας (Jer 43 [36]:12), Ἐσελίας (4 Kgdms 22:3), and Ζαμαρίας (1 Chr 7:8).65 These names occur only once in the LXX and, to my knowledge, are not attested elsewhere in antiquity.66 It appears that it is very com64

See BDF §40; Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 22 (§2.3.4). The LXX names are here given as they are found in Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes (ed. Alfred Rahlfs; Editio minor; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1979). 66 They are not listed, for example, in Gustav E. Benseler, Dr. W. Pape’s Wörterbuch der griechischen Eigennamen (2 vols.; Braunschweig: Viehweg, 1863–70, 1875), or in Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names, 257–312 (“Greek Names—Male”), or in Ran Zadok, “On the Post-Biblical Jewish Onomasticon and Its Background,” in Dor Le-Dor: From the End of Biblical Times up to the Redaction of the Talmud; Studies in Honor of Joshua Efron (ed. Aryeh Kasher and Aharon Oppenheimer; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1995), V–XXVIII, here XXIV–XXVI. 65

408


mon in biblical Greek to find hellenized forms of Hebrew names—especially those belonging to the same declension as Ἰουνίας—that are attested nowhere apart from their single biblical occurrence.67 Consequently, the fact that there are no attestations of the name Ἰουνίας apart from Rom 16:7 is hardly surprising. Finally, although the Hebrew name yĕhiunnī is attested only for men, both it and the assumed longer form *yĕhiunnīyāh(û) could in principle be women’s names as well, since Hebrew sentence names are used indiscriminately for both genders.68 However, the case is different for Greek names like Νικίας. To the best of my knowledge, they are used exclusively of men, in both secular and biblical Greek.69 If the IOΥNIAN of Rom 16:7 belongs to this declensional type, then it is almost certainly a man’s name.70 67

Except, of course, in religious literature referring to these scriptural passages. See Noth, Personennamen, 62. 69 Ilan lists a Greek woman’s name Λυσίας (Lexicon of Jewish Names, 322), but this appears to be based on a confusion between the masculine name Λυσίας (genitive Λυσίου) and the feminine name Λυσίας (genitive Λυσιάδος). See Benseler, Dr. W. Pape’s Wörterbuch, 2:829. In any case, the name in question is found only in a Coptic text, where it is actually spelled “Lysia.” See also Richard Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 8, 42. 70 This conclusion still leaves open the question whether it is more likely that the IOΥNIAN of Rom 16:7 reflects a Hebrew masculine name or a Latin feminine one. The answer to that question depends largely on how one assesses the likelihood that Paul would have considered a woman to be “prominent among the apostles” (see Metzger, Textual Commentary, 475). To some, probability will still favor the quasi consensus of recent scholarship that IOΥNIAN in Rom 16:7 refers to a woman. To others, the epigraphic and philological evidence for the existence of a Hebrew name Yĕhiunnī/Ἰουνίας will tip the scales in favor of a male apostle. In my own opinion, a plausible (but not a decisive) case can be made for either position. 68

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Opening the Biblical BiblicalText Text The Word Militant Preaching a Decentering Word WALTER BRUEGGEMANN Walter Brueggemann refocuses the preaching task around the decentering, destabilizing, always risky word that confronts us in Scripture. 978-0-8006-6277-6 224 pp hc $35.00

Social-Science Commentary on the Book of Acts BRUCE J. MALINA and JOHN J. PILCH Situates Acts squarely in the cultural matrix of the firstcentury Mediterranean world, including an understanding of the Spirit of God as well as deities and demons. 978-0-8006-3845-0 350 pp paper $29.00

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Knowing Truth, Doing Good Engaging New Testament Ethics RUSSELL PREGEANT Pregeant models a careful and sensitive approach to ethics in the New Testament writings, and he calls us to own our responsibility for the ways we interpret the Bible. 978-0-8006-3846-7 320 pp paper $29.00

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JEWISH LITERATURES AND CULTURES Context and Intertext Edited by Anita Norich and Yaron Z. Eliav

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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE

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EDITORIAL BOARD Term Expiring 2008: ELLEN B. AITKEN, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec H3A 2T5 Canada MICHAEL JOSEPH BROWN, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 TERENCE L. DONALDSON, Wycliffe College, Toronto, ON M5S 1H7 Canada STEVEN FRIESEN, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712 JENNIFER GLANCY, Le Moyne College, Syracuse, New York 13214 A. KATHERINE GRIEB, Virginia Theological Seminary, Alexandria, VA 22304 ARCHIE C. C. LEE, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Shatin New Territories, Hong Kong SAR DANIEL MARGUERAT, Université de Lausanne, CH-1015 Lausanne, Switzerland RICHARD D. NELSON, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist Univ., Dallas, TX 75275 DAVID L. PETERSEN, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, University of Durham, Durham, England, DH1 3RS, United Kingdom PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 2009: DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland EUNG CHUN PARK, San Francisco Theological Seminary, San Anselmo, CA 94960 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL 60645 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 2010: BRIAN BRITT, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 MICHAEL FOX, University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI 53706 STEVEN FRAADE, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520-8287 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 CATHERINE MURPHY, Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, CA 95053 EMERSON POWERY, Lee University, Cleveland, TN 37312 ADELE REINHARTZ, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON K1N 6N5 Canada RICHARD STEINER, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 SIDNIE WHITE CRAWFORD, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE 68588-0337

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN THEMES IN BIBLICAL THEOLOGY Jeffery J. Neihaus

Ancient Near Eastern Themes in Biblical Theology traces the many parallels between the Old Testament (and Bible as a whole) and the ancient Near East, including creation and flood narratives, common literary and legal forms, the supposed acts of deities and the God of the Bible, and more. Jeffrey Niehaus explains that these parallels cannot be identified as cases of biblical dependence on ancient Near Eastern theology, nor are they mere coincidences. Rather, he proposes that they represent a “a shared theological structure of ideas in the ancient Near East, a structure that finds its most complete and true form in the Old and New Testaments.” These truths, then, provided a matrix of thought so God’s revelation would come to a people theologically prepared to receive it. $18.99 | paperback | 208 pp. ISBN 978-0-8254-3360-3

Editorial Assistant: Monica Brady, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 President of the Society: Jonathan Z. Smith, University of Chicago, Chicago, IL 60637; Vice President: David Clines, University of Sheffield, Sheffield S10 2TN England; 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. 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

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“Jeffrey Niehaus’s book is wonderfully helpful in explaining the connections between the thought patterns and religious practices of the ancient biblical world and the way these patterns and practices were used by God to prepare the way for his special revelation to Israel.” —DOUGLAS STUART Professor of Old Testament Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary

Avaiable from your favorite online or local bookstore or from Kregel directlly at 800-733-2607. Professors can request examination copies by e-mailing us at [email protected].

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Writing as Oracle and as Law: New Contexts for the Book-Find of King Josiah Jonathan Ben-Dov

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Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case Jeffery M. Leonard

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Metaphor and Dissonance: A Reinterpretation of Hosea 4:13–14 Karin Adams

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