Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. 125, No. 1 (Spring 2006)

125 1 2006

The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls

JOURNAL OF

BIBLICAL LITERATURE SPRING 2006

Volume I: Scripture and the Scrolls

VOLUME 125, NO. 1

Volume II: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community

James H. Charlesworth George L. Collord Professor of New Testament Language and Literature, Princeton Theological Seminary ISBN 1-932792-34-1 (set) ISBN 1-932792-19-8 (volume I) ISBN 1-932792-20-1 (volume II) ISBN 1-932792-21-X (volume III) $19.95 | 5 x 8, 150 pages | Paper ISBN 1-932792-48-1

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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE

Volume III: The Scrolls and Christian Origins

Catholic or catholic? Biblical Scholarship at the Center Carolyn Osiek 5–22 Why Does Deuteronomy Legislate Cities of Refuge? Asylum in the Covenant Collection (Exodus 21:12–14) and Deuteronomy (19:1–13) Jeffrey Stackert 23–49 Jeroboam the Ephratite Mark Leuchter

51–72

Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation Joel Marcus 73–87 Point of View in a Gospel Story: What Difference Does It Make? Luke 19:1–10 as a Test Case Gary Yamasaki 89–105 Is There an “Anti-Priscan” Tendency in the Manuscripts? Some Textual Problems with Prisca and Aquila Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz 107–128 On David's “Taking” and “Leaving” Concubines: (2 Samuel 5:13; 15:16) Andrew E. Hill 129–139 The Centurion in Matthew 8:5–13: Considerations of the Proposal of Theodore W. Jennings, Jr., and Tat-Siong Benny Liew D. B. Saddington 140–142 A Note on 2 Peter 1:19–20 Terrance Callan

143–150

JBL th Anniversary Commemorative Essays Gail O'Day, Patrick Gray, Christine Roy Yoder, and Todd C. Penner 151–212 US ISSN 0021-9231

1 2 5 t h a n n i v e rs a ry vo lu m e

JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE

SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITORS OF THE JOURNAL General Editor: GAIL R. O’DAY, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 Book Review Editor: CHRISTINE ROY YODER, Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 Associate Book Review Editor: TODD C. PENNER, Austin College, Sherman, TX 75090

EDITORIAL BOARD

Term Expiring 2006: THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 PAUL B. DUFF, George Washington University, Washington, DC 20052 CAROLE R. FONTAINE, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 JUDITH LIEU, King’s College London, London WC2R 2LS United Kingdom MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland KATHLEEN M. O’CONNOR, Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 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 VINCENT L. WIMBUSH, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA 91711 2007: MOSHE BERNSTEIN, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 JO ANN HACKETT, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA 02138 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 ROBERT KUGLER, Lewis & Clark College, Portland, OR 97219 TIMOTHY LIM, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH1 2LX Scotland STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 STEPHEN PATTERSON, Eden Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO 63119 EMERSON POWERY, Lee University, Cleveland, TN 37312 ADELE REINHARTZ, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, ON N2L 3C5 Canada RICHARD STEINER, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 SZE-KAR WAN, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 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 Missouri, Columbia, MO 65211 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 Editorial Assistant: Christopher B. Hays, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 President of the Society: Robert A. Kraft, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA 19104-6304; Vice President: Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ 08542; 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 Greek and transliteration fonts used in this work are available from www.linguistsoftware.com, 425-775-1130. 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

NEW BOOKS FROM EERDMANS THE ORIGINAL STORY God, Israel, and the World JOHN BARTON and JULIA BOWDEN A complete introduction to Old Testament history, archaeology, geography, and textual interpretation. Sidebars, fact boxes, maps, and illustrations compliment the accessibly written text. ISBN 0-8028-2900-7 • 334 pages • paperback • $20.00

2 SAMUEL The Forms of the Old Testament Literature Volume VIII ANTONY F. CAMPBELL, S.J. “Campbell is a master of this narrative material and is able to exhibit the deep artistic character of the text, making for a most welcome and fresh read. His commentary is informed on critical data but lingers with that data only in order to see the artistic force of the text itself.” — Walter Brueggemann ISBN 0-8028-2813-2 • 256 pages • paperback • $50.00

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THE BOOK OF PROVERBS Chapters 15–31 The New International Commentary on the Old Testament BRUCE K. WALTKE “Waltke brings to bear a lifetime of learning and expertise as a world authority on Hebrew grammar. His theological approach is conservative evangelical and intended to serve the Christian pulpit and laity.” — Raymond C. Van Leeuwen ISBN 0-8028-2776-4 • 623 pages • hardcover • $50.00

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Journal of Biblical Literature Volume 125 2006

GENERAL EDITOR

GAIL R. O’DAY Candler School of Theology Emory University Atlanta, GA 30322 BOOK REVIEW EDITOR

CHRISTINE ROY YODER Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 ASSOCIATE BOOK REVIEW EDITOR

TODD C. PENNER Austin College, Sherman, TX 75090

A Quarterly Published by THE SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE

EDITORIAL BOARD Term Expiring 2006: THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 PAUL B. DUFF, George Washington University, Washington, DC 20052 CAROLE R. FONTAINE, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 JUDITH LIEU, King’s College London, London WC2R 2LS United Kingdom MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland KATHLEEN M. O’CONNOR, Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 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 VINCENT L. WIMBUSH, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA 91711 2007: MOSHE BERNSTEIN, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 ROBERT KUGLER, Lewis & Clark College, Portland, OR 97219 TIMOTHY LIM, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH1 2LX Scotland STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 STEPHEN PATTERSON, Eden Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO 63119 EMERSON POWERY, Lee University, Cleveland, TN 37312 ADELE REINHARTZ, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, ON N2L 3C5 Canada RICHARD STEINER, Yeshiva University, Flushing, NY 11367 SZE-KAR WAN, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 2008: ELLEN B. AITKEN, McGill University, Montreal, PQ 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 Missouri, Columbia, MO 65211 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 Editorial Assistant: Christopher B. Hays, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 Articles are indexed in Religion Index One: Periodicals; book reviews in Index to Book Reviews in Religion, American Theological Library Association, Evanston, Illinois. Both indexes are also found in the ATLA Religion Database.

EDITORIAL MATTERS OF THE JBL 1. Contributors should consult the Journal’s Instructions for Contributors (http://www.sbl-site.org/Publications/ PublishingWithSBL/JBL_Instructions.pdf). 2. If a ms of an article, critical note, or book review is submitted in a form that departs in major ways from these instructions, it may be returned to the author for retyping, even before it is considered for publication. 3. Submit one hard copy of the ms of an article or critical note. Manuscripts will not be returned. 4. Manuscripts and communications regarding the content of the Journal should be addressed to Gail R. O’Day at the address given on the preceding page (or correspondence only at the following e-mail address: goday@emory. edu). 5. Communications concerning book reviews should be addressed to Christine Roy Yoder at the address given on the preceding page. The editors do not guarantee to review or to return unsolicited books. 6. Permission to quote more than 500 words may be requested from the Rights and Permissions Department, Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329, USA (E-mail: sblexec@sbl-site. org). Please specify volume, year, and inclusive page numbers.

BUSINESS MATTERS OF THE SBL (not handled by the editors of the Journal) 1. All correspondence regarding membership in the Society, subscriptions to the Journal, change of address, renewals, missing or defective issues of the Journal, and inquiries about other publications of the Society should be addressed to 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]. 2. All correspondence concerning the research and publications programs, the annual meeting of the Society, and other business should be addressed to the Executive Director, Society of Biblical Literature, The Luce Center, 825 Houston Mill Road, Atlanta, GA 30329. (E-mail: [email protected]). 3. Second Class postage paid at Atlanta, Georgia, and at additional mailing offices. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Presidential Address by Carolyn Osiek President of the Society of Biblical Literature 2005 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature November 19, 2005 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Introduction given by Robert A. Kraft, Vice President, Society of Biblical Literature

It would perhaps be enough simply to read or summarize for you what is printed on p. 11 of the program book—that Lyn Osiek is Charles Fischer Catholic Professor of New Testament at Brite Divinity School of Texas Christian University, having relocated in 2003 from the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, where she had served for a quarter of a century as Professor of New Testament. She has already been president of the Catholic Biblical Association (ten years ago, 1994–95) and is currently on the executive council of the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas, while also performing editorial and other scholarly functions for both of those organizations and for the North American Patristics Society. And she has published a lot, including NT commentaries, thematic studies on families and women in early Christianity, and even a commentary on the second-century Shepherd of Hermas in the Hermeneia series (1999), following up on her 1978 Th.D. dissertation at Harvard Divinity School(directed by Helmut Koester), Rich and Poor in the Shepherd of Hermas (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph 15; 1983).* But we are surrounded here with scholars, many of whom also can boast of long bibliographies and impressive academic accomplishments. I’d like to put a more human face on Lyn, by telling you some things about her that few here would know—perhaps some that even she herself doesn’t know. Calling up her name in its various permutations (including the middle initial A., which I imagined might perhaps be for her paternal grandmother Achepohl, but she has just informed me that it stands for Ann—a disappointment for us genealogists) on a Web searcher such as Google produces more than fifteen hundred hits of various sorts. Lyn’s family name, Osiek (Ohsiek), seems to be Eastern European (Polish or Czech)—I’m sure she is asked about it more than a little—but the family *For a more complete bibliography (and her picture), the interested reader should visit the Brite Divinity School Web site: http://www.brite.tcu.edu/directory/osiek/index .htm. For more details on her professional accomplishments, see also http://studentorg .cua.edu/cbib/cnop.cfm.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) genealogists who are represented on the Internet trace her immediate family back to late-eighteenth-century Germany, and her great-great-grandfather Caspar Heinrich Osiek in the northwest part of that country. The Osiek ancestors came to America in the mid-1800s and settled in Missouri (appropriately St. Charles county), where Lyn was born and bred—and where she happily mastered the skills of horseback riding. She’s an only child with a strong Lutheran as well as Catholic family heritage. She has even done some family history writing herself, in the St. Charles County Heritage magazine 21, no. 4 (2003), “Recollections of Omar Henry Osiek (1906–1986)” [her father]. Lyn has traveled widely, and as recently as spring 2001 taught at a seminary in West Africa. Interestingly, the only detail about her that is mentioned in the online genealogy, beyond her birthdate (which I’ll let you find for yourselves), is that she is a “member of Catholic Theological Union,” information that certainly needs to be updated. She is also designated elsewhere on Google as “Sr” (Sister) and more cryptically as “RSCJ” (Religieuse du Sacre Coeur de Jesus— http:// www.rscj.org, which translates as “Religious of the Sacred Heart”)—not “RSJC” as in some Web entries. Those Internet ascriptions perhaps can serve well here as appropriate transitions to her presidential address. She is the fourth woman and the eighth Catholic to preside over the SBL. She speaks to us now on the subject “Catholic or catholic? Biblical Scholarship at the Center.” Carolyn A. Osiek.

JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 5–22

Catholic or catholic? Biblical Scholarship at the Center carolyn osiek [email protected] Brite Divinity School, Texas Christian University, Fort Worth, TX 76129

Sometime in the first decade of the second century, Ignatius, bishop of Antioch in Syria, was condemned to death ad bestias, that is, by wild animals in the amphitheater. He was sent under guard with other prisoners to Rome for the games there, probably in the Flavian Amphitheater, what today we call the Colosseum. As his party made its way up the western coast of Asia Minor, he wrote to a string of Christian communities there after he had received visits from their envoys. When writing to the Christians of Smyrna, he remarks that the Eucharist should be celebrated only by the bishop or someone he delegates, for “wherever the bishop appears, let the whole community be gathered, just as wherever Jesus Christ is, there is hJ kaqolikhv ejkklhsiva (Smyrn. 8.2). A generation later, in the same city, old bishop Polycarp was about to be martyred in the amphitheater. But the narrator of his martyrdom reports that when the police came to arrest him in a country house where he had taken refuge, since it was dinnertime, he ordered food and drink to be set out for them, while he went aside and prayed aloud for two hours. In his prayer, he remembered everyone he had ever encountered and hJ kaqolikhv ejkklhsiva throughout the world. The narrator finished the report of Polycarp’s martyrdom by concluding that now Polycarp is enjoying the glory of God and Jesus Christ, shepherd of hJ kaqolikhv ejkklhsiva throughout the world (Mart. Pol. 8.1; 19.2). The word kaqolikov" was in general use in Hellenistic Greek, meaning “general” or “universal.” Thus Iamblichus (Life of Pythagoras 15.65) speaks of “universal harmony” and Epictetus speaks of oiJ kaqolikoiv as general principles or standards (4.4.29; 2.12.7). Indeed, today we are accustomed to calling the NT Letters Presidential Address delivered on November 19, 2005, at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

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of James, Jude, 1–2 Peter and John the “catholic epistles,” mostly because we really do not have a clue whence they came or whither they were destined. Similarly, the fourth-century Christian historian Eusebius, quoting the anti-Montanist Apollonius, recalls a Montanist writer Themisto, who wrote an ejpistolhv kaqolikhv “in imitation of the apostle” (Hist. eccl. 5.18.5). By the fourth century, the word was taking on a more specific meaning of orthodox Christianity, as when Constantine, quoted in Eusebius, refers to the church represented by Eusebius as the kaqolikhv qreskeiva, perhaps best translated as the catholic religion (Hist. eccl. 10.6.1). The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church gives five definitions of the word “catholic”: (1) universal, not local; (2) orthodox, not heretical; (3) the undivided church before 1054; (4) from 1054 to the sixteenth century, not Orthodox; (5) Western, not Protestant. This is a handy resume of the mutations in meaning acquired by this simple little word over the centuries, and it is ironic to note that this word, meant to be all-inclusive, in every case but one (the undivided church before 1054) is defined over against something else. While Ignatius and Polycarp back in the second century sound as if they mean the whole church, in effect they probably really mean that network of many local churches that profess roughly the same faith and are in communion with each other. Ignatius had some harsh things to say about those who disagreed with him about how to live the Christian life. They would probably not be included when he thinks about his universal church. So the irony is that a word and an idea meant to include everyone have historically been used most often to delineate some against others. Most of us when reciting the Apostles’ Creed say that we believe in the “holy catholic church,” with small c or capital C, depending on our situation, but in this context it is intended to be restored to its original meaning of “universal.” Yet the Catholic Church with capital C, more commonly known as the Roman Catholic Church, is in many respects universal and in some aspects quite particular. It is found in nearly every country in the world. With the changes of Vatican Council II, many Catholics lamented the loss of the Latin liturgy, which had become a universally recognized ritual, at least in the West. It was said that a Catholic could walk into a Catholic Church anywhere in the West and understand the progression of the ritual. Today the Roman Catholic Church is creeping slowly toward the particularity of truly indigenous liturgical traditions and practices, with the attendant losses and gains that this change implies. It is the play on catholic with capital C and small c that forms the foundation for what I wish to explore this evening: biblical scholarship that arises from the traditions of the capital C but is at the service of the small c. Today, Roman Catholic biblical scholars are in a number of key posts in major university programs in biblical studies, in a position to influence significantly the next generations of biblical scholars. How will that influence play out? What contributions have been

Osiek: Catholic or catholic?

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made and are being made by Roman Catholic biblical scholars to the wider field of biblical scholarship? How does this work and how might it work in the future? First of all, what makes biblical interpretation Catholic (with capital C)? That it is done by someone who professes adherence to the Roman Catholic Church? And its teachings? By someone who has grown up with a Catholic cultural heritage? By someone who expressly and consciously holds in mind the major church documents of the last two centuries on biblical interpretation? By someone who simply interprets out of one’s own academic and religious identity, the unarticulated “pre-understanding”? Several attempts have been made recently to describe or characterize Catholic biblical interpretation, and we will consider them in due time. First, some background. The quality of Roman Catholic biblical scholarship in the past and present generation needs no special pleading to those acquainted with names of past SBL presidents such as John L. McKenzie (1967), Raymond E. Brown (1977), Joseph A. Fitzmyer (1979), Roland E. Murphy (1984), Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (1987), Harry Attridge (2001), and John J. Collins (2002). Roman Catholic biblical scholarship is founded on the rich tradition of patristic and medieval exegesis, yet also embraces historical criticism. One sometimes sees histories of biblical interpretation that give minimal attention, if any, to patristic and medieval traditions in a meager introduction, then go on to develop the “real stuff ” in the sixteenth, seventeenth, or even eighteenth centuries, as if nothing happened between the writing of the biblical texts and the rise of modern biblical criticism, or at least between Augustine and Luther. It is certainly true that institutional Roman Catholicism was not the first to embrace “higher criticism,” and in fact condemned it in the otherwise progressive encyclical of Leo XIII in 1893, Providentissimus Deus, on biblical interpretation. The Catholic Church, however, was soon dragged into it kicking and screaming by the persuasive arguments of German Protestant scholarship in the nineteenth century on such questions as the authorship of the Pentateuch and the interrelationships of the Synoptic Gospels. But once the church accepted the new criticism, it grabbed on with a bulldog grip, so much so that the 1993 document of the Pontifical Biblical Commission, The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, declared historical criticism to be “the indispensable method for the scientific study of the meaning of ancient texts,” to the chagrin both of those who think the whole enterprise of historical criticism was a terrible mistake in the first place and would return to patristic exegesis as the norm, and of the postmodernists, who would declare historical criticism passé. The document goes on to say that Scripture, being the Word of God in human language, “has been composed by human authors in all its various parts and in all the sources that lie behind them. Because of this, its proper understanding not only admits the use of this method but actually requires it” (I.A, p. 35).

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How did we get from there to here? The interest of Catholic theologians in modern biblical study began earlier than one might have thought. Already the Council of Trent in 1546 stated that its purpose was “that in the Church errors be removed and the purity of the gospel be preserved.” It underlined the importance of proper training of Scripture teachers and specified Jerome’s Latin Vulgate as the standard text, but never required that all translations be made from it.1 Contrary to some popular images, the Roman Catholic Church from the time of the Reformation was never against biblical research or the reading of the Bible by the faithful. What it opposed was private interpretation contrary to the common understanding of the church. Both Catholics and Protestants often interpreted the prohibition of private interpretation as a prohibition of Bible reading, but such was not the case. For instance, some of the first American Catholic bishops were eager to get an approved translation into the hands of their people. The standard Catholic translation at that time was the Douay Bible, which had been done by a group of Oxford-trained exiled English Catholics at the English College in Flanders, then at Rheims, France, from 1568 to 1582. It was finally published as a whole in 1609–10, just before the first publication of the King James Bible in 1611. The Douay Rheims translation had undergone five revisions by 1728. The most extensive revision was done by Bishop Challoner of London in 1749–52, so that it came to be called the Douay-Rheims-Challoner Bible. In 1757, Rome decreed that all Bible translations should include “notes drawn from the holy fathers of the Church, or from learned Catholics,” in other words, an annotated Bible.2 In 1789, Bishop John Carroll of Baltimore urged a Catholic publisher in Philadelphia, Matthew Carey, to publish the DouayRheims-Challoner Bible, so that it could be placed “in the hands of our people, instead of those translations, which they purchase in stores & from Booksellers in the Country.” The competition, of course, was the King James Version, generally recognized as an excellent translation by all who studied it. Carey published editions of this Douay-Rheims-Challoner Bible in 1790 and again in 1805.3 Meanwhile, in Brussels and Paris, the Catholic physician Jean Astruc (1684– 1766) wrote a number of medical treatises, especially on midwifery, but is remembered for none of them. Rather, he is remembered for one anonymous publication of 1753, “Conjectures on the original Memoirs which it appears that Moses used to write the book of Genesis.”4 Because of it, he is considered by many 1 Dean P. Béchard, ed. and trans., The Scripture Documents: An Anthology of Official Catholic Teachings (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 3, 6–10. 2 Gerald P. Fogarty, S.J., American Catholic Biblical Scholarship: A History from the Early Republic to Vatican II (New York: Harper & Row, 1989), 6. 3 Ibid., 3. 4 Conjectures sur les Mémoires originaux dont il paroit que Moyse s’est servi pour composer le

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to be the father of modern biblical criticism. His method was simple: he divided those texts in Genesis that call God Elohim from those that call God Yahweh and reasoned to two sources upon which Moses had drawn. A predecessor, the Oratorian priest Richard Simon (1638–1712), had published in several editions in the 1680s critical histories of Old and New Testaments, arguing that Moses could not be the author of the Pentateuch. Astruc, on the other hand, was conservative in both his medical and his religious views and did not mean to suggest that Moses was not the author of Genesis, but his work would later be picked up in German Protestant scholarship as the documentary hypothesis. Francis P. Kenrick, priest and theologian, later to become successively archbishop of Philadelphia (1842–51) and Baltimore (1851–63), published the first edition of his Theologia Dogmatica in 1839. It is clear that he had been reading the biblical scholarship of the day, for he wrote that the Scriptures “cannot be referred to the age of Christ, nor to the beginning of the apostolic preaching: for it is evident that many years elapsed before anything was consigned to writing. The apostolic writings are not known to have been collected together until the second century; and some were not recognized by some churches for another four centuries.”5 Between 1849 and 1860, Kenrick did a complete revision of the DouayRheims-Challoner Bible, comparing the translation to the King James, and comparing the Latin Vulgate to the Greek and Hebrew. He acknowledged the many advances made by Protestant scholarship and cited Protestant as well as Catholic authors in the notes, considering that more unity of thinking could only serve the common cause of Christianity. He took conservative positions on questions of authorship while noting the reasons behind contrary arguments; for example, since Moses did not know science, he can be excused for speaking of creation in six days, which not all the patristic authors understood literally, and thus a diversity of views was legitimate.6 How timely for today! Kenrick’s version enjoyed wide popularity, but was not without its critics. For instance, Martin Spalding, bishop of Louisville, objected in 1858 to the critical note explaining the Greek word baptivzw as immersion, complaining that “the Baptists out there have been exulting over it too much.” Orestes Brownson, philosopher and Catholic convert, championed Kenrick’s cause, noting that St. Jerome studied Hebrew with Jewish scholars and Cicero was a master of Latin. So

livre de la Génèse (Brussels: Fricx, 1753); critical edition with introduction and notes, Pierre Gibert, Conjectures sur la Génèse (Paris: Noesis, 1999). For context, see Ana M. Acosta, “Conjectures and Speculations: Jean Astruc, Obstetrics, and Biblical Criticism in Eighteenth-Century France,” Eighteenth Century Studies 35, no. 2 (2002): 256–66. 5 Theologia Dogmatica, 292-83; quoted in Fogarty, Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 8. 6 Fogarty, Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 8, 15, 23–25.

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too, Protestants could be just as good as Catholics at grammar, philology, geography, history, or “the natural productions of the Holy Land.”7 The Second Plenary Council of American Catholic bishops in 1866, three years after Kenrick’s death, came close to endorsing his translation as the official one of the American Catholic Church. A committee appointed to study the question made this recommendation, but Kenrick’s own brother Peter, bishop of St. Louis, strenuously objected. Ultimately, they fell back on the Douay-RheimsChalloner version without making any new recommendation. Meanwhile, in Palestine Marie-Joseph Lagrange (1855–1938) had been sent from France by his Dominican superiors to found the École Practique d’Études Bibliques in Jerusalem, which would emphasize study of the Bible in the physical and cultural context in which it had been written. In 1920, it became the national archaeological school of France, changing its name to École Biblique et Archéologique Française. The faculty that Lagrange assembled there included such names as the Arabic ethnographer Antonin Janssen (1871–1962), the preeminent Palestinian archaeologist Louis-Hugues Vincent (1872–1960), and Semitic epigrapher Antoine Raphael Savignac (1874–1951). Later eminent faculty included Felix-Marie Abel (1878–1953), Bernard Couroyer (1900–1992), Roland de Vaux (1903–1971), Pierre Benoît (1906–1987), Marie-Émile Boismard (1916–2004), and Jerome Murphy-O’Connor. In the first fifty years of its existence, the École Biblique produced forty-two major books, 682 scientific articles, and over 6,200 book reviews. Its flagship journal, Revue biblique, founded in 1892, continues to be a leader in scientific biblical research. The school’s major translation project was the Jerusalem Bible, first published in French in 1956, and subsequently in most major languages.8 In 1892, the progressive Archbishop John Ireland of St. Paul, Minnesota, wrote to the first rector of the newly founded Catholic University of America that he should educate his professors and hang onto them, “making bishops only of those who are not worth keeping as professors.”9 In 1893, the encyclical Providentissimus Deus of Pope Leo XIII on the study of Sacred Scripture reaffirmed that professors of Scripture must use the Latin Vulgate, sanctioned by the Council of Trent, but it also encouraged the learning and use of the original languages and the use of methods of scientific criticism. It declared, on the authority of Augustine (De Genesi ad litteram 1.21), a foundational principle that is still affirmed today, and importantly so in light of recent issues of Creationism and Intelligent Design: that there cannot be any real discrepancy between theology and the natural sciences, as long as each remains true to its own language and discipline (39). If an apparent contradiction arises, every effort 7

Ibid., 28, 26. Http://www.op.org/ebaf/index-eng.htm. 9 Fogarty, Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 38–39. 8

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must be put to its solution. “Even if the difficulty is after all not cleared up and the discrepancy seems to remain, the contest must not be abandoned. Truth cannot contradict truth, and we may be sure that some mistake has been made either in the interpretation of the sacred words or in the polemical discussion itself. If no such mistake can be detected, we must then suspend judgment for the time being” (45).10 What is most interesting in the previous statement is that mistakes may be attributed to biblical interpretation and discussion but not to science. At the same time, the encyclical condemned the so-called higher criticism as tainted with “false philosophy and rationalism” for its attempt to alter traditional understandings of the authorship and origins of biblical books. The pope’s letter was sufficiently ambiguous for both sides of the controversy, progressives and conservatives, to find something that would bolster their cause. Father Lagrange and his companions in Jerusalem took it as confirmation for what they were doing. Others took a different view. The openness and optimism of the mid-nineteenth century were giving way to an oppressive reaction. The opponents of change were gathering force. In 1890, Alfred Loisy at the Institut Catholique in Paris was recognized by Denis J. O’Connell, rector of American College in Rome as the best biblical scholar in the church.11 Three years later, he had been forced out of his academic position and was to become embroiled in the controversy over modernism. The enemies of Father Lagrange succeeded in having him removed from Jerusalem for one year, 1912, but he was never formally condemned.12 The uncertainties of the times and the condemnation in 1899 of “Americanism,” a vague heresy never quite defined, led to the establishment of the Pontifical Biblical Commission in 1902 to ride herd on error in biblical study. Some of the responses of the Pontifical Biblical Commission in its early years seriously impeded progress in scholarship. In the words of Roland Murphy, the commission “has had a topsy-turvy career in the century of its existence, but it can safely be said that it is now constituted by a broad band of international scholars . . . [who] have displayed a reasonable openness to various approaches to the biblical text that have emerged in modern times.”13 10 Béchard, Scripture Documents, 57. All translations of church documents are taken from this book. In general, see also Gerald P. Fogarty, “Scriptural Authority (Roman Catholicism),” ABD 5:1023–26. 11 Fogarty, Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 39. 12 Restored to Jerusalem, he continued there until ill health forced his return to France, where he died in 1938, at the age of eighty-three. In 1967 his body was brought back to Jerusalem to be interred in the center of the choir of the Basilica of St. Stephen, where it rests today (www.op.org/ op/ ebaf/index-eng.htm). 13 Roland E. Murphy, “What Is Catholic about Catholic Biblical Scholarship—Revisited,” BTB 28 (1998): 112–19, here 117. On July 3, 1907, came a list of condemned modernist propositions in a decree aptly titled Lamentabili, published by the Holy Office (known today as the Congregation for

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The Pontifical Biblical Institute was established by Pope Pius X in 1909 as a Roman center for higher studies in Scripture and entrusted to the Jesuits. Originally it was an organ of the Pontifical Biblical Commission; its purpose was to exercise control over biblical studies and prepare students for its examinations. But by 1916, the Pontifical Biblical Institute granted the licentiate degree, and by 1930 it was independent of the PBC and was granting doctoral degrees. Today, with its added house of study in Jerusalem, it is a respected center for biblical studies and educates students from some sixty countries.14 By 1936, there was full realization of the limits of the standard Catholic English translation, the Douay-Rheims-Challoner, and of the use of the Vulgate as the foundational text. Bishop Edwin O’Hara of Great Falls, Montana, episcopal chair of the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine,15 called a meeting in Washington of prominent Catholic biblical scholars. This meeting would give rise not only to a new translation of the NT but also to the founding of the Catholic Biblical Association of America in 1937 and the Catholic Biblical Quarterly in 1939. The CBQ was to be “both technical and practical” to appeal to scholar, priest, and educated laity, a stretch that was eventually to prove impossible, so that in 1962 The Bible Today was founded to fulfill the pastoral function, allowing the CBQ to become the respected scholarly journal that it is today. The Catholic Biblical Association was in the early years totally composed of priests, and before the outbreak of World War II, all Catholic professors of Scripture were supposed to have degrees from the pontifical faculties in Rome. The war made this impossible and was the occasion for the first Catholic priests to begin their studies at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore with the renowned William Foxwell Albright. At the 1944 meeting of the Catholic Biblical Association, Albright was invited to deliver a paper, accompanied by his Catholic wife, who, it was rumored, would make up for his reticence with her vivacity. At that meeting, Albright (without his wife) was elected to honorary lifetime membership, the first non-Catholic member.16 In 1947, Sister Kathryn Sullivan, R.S.C.J., professor of history at Manhattanville College, tutored and self-taught in Scripture because no Catholic faculty at the Doctrine of the Faith), and on September 8 of the same year, the encyclical Pascendi Dominici Gregis, condemning modernism as heresy. Neither so-called Americanism nor modernism directly concerned biblical study but, more generally, the philosophical preunderstanding with which one approaches the texts. They were more directly involved with political questions of separation of church and state. The waves of rationalism and empiricism had washed over the Bible as well as the rest of theology and Christian life. 14 www.pib.urbe.it. 15 An organization founded in Rome in 1562 for the purpose of coordinating religious instruction. 16 Fogarty, Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 241.

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the time would have admitted a woman, became the first woman elected to membership. She was elected vice-president in 1958, an office from which she would normally have succeeded to the presidency, had they dared at the time to elect a woman as president. The first woman president of the CBA was not to come until 1986, Pheme Perkins, predating by a year the first woman president of SBL. Today the CBA counts more than fifteen hundred members, including a number of Protestants and Jews. The watershed moment came with the publication of the encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritu by Pius XII in 1943. It seemed to reverse all the hesitancies that had plagued Catholic biblical scholarship in the years since the modernist crisis. It called for use of the original biblical languages, saying that the special “authenticity” granted the Vulgate was not for its critical quality but because of its venerable history of use through the centuries. It called for the use of historical methods and every scientific means at the disposal of exegetes. It declared that apparent contradictions and historical inaccuracies were due to ancient ways of speaking, written by authors who could not have known anything about science. The key to interpretation, it said, was to go back to the extent possible to the original context, using history, archaeology, ethnology, and whatever other tools were available. The fear of modernism was over and historical criticism was in. The encyclical was dated September 30, 1943; however, because of the war, it did not reach the United States until February 1944. It was at the next meeting of the CBA that Albright gave his aforementioned address and was elected an honorary lifetime member. Just when Catholic biblical scholars thought it was safe to go back in the water, however, came another encyclical by the same Pope Pius XII in 1950, Humani Generis, aimed not at biblical studies but at the so-called New Theology coming out of France that tended to gloss over ecumenical differences and blur the distinction between nature and grace. But it also warned against polygenism, the evolutionary theory of multiple human origins, as being incompatible with revelation as given in Genesis. Once again, an authoritative document was open to the kind of ambiguity in which ideological opponents can take potshots at each other. This situation was to last until the promulgation of the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation (Dei Verbum) at the fourth session of Vatican Council II in September 1965. Dei Verbum confirmed the progressive movement of Divino Afflante Spiritu in 1943, setting the theological context and the tone for further development. At issue here especially was the role of Tradition with regard to the Bible. In Catholic theology, Tradition has always been considered a privileged source of theological reflection alongside Scripture. But how are the two related? Rejecting the idea of two sources of revelation, the Vatican document declared: “Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture make up a single sacred deposit of the Word of God, which is entrusted to the Church” (10) to be authentically interpreted by the Magisterium.

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“Yet this Magisterium is not superior to the Word of God, but is its servant.” Thus according to the plan of God, “sacred Tradition, sacred Scripture and the Magisterium of the Church are so connected and associated that one of them cannot stand without the others” (10). Scripture teaches authoritatively only those things necessary for salvation. “Since, therefore, all that the inspired authors . . . affirm should be regarded as affirmed by the Holy Spirit, we must acknowledge that the books of Scripture, firmly, faithfully and without error, teach that truth which God, for the sake of our salvation, wished to see confided to the sacred Scriptures” (11). Since God speaks through human means in the Bible, all helpful methods must be used for ascertaining the meaning intended by God (12).17 These statements, taken together, constitute something of a recognition of the scope and limits of biblical research. It is fully recognized that the Word of God is delivered in human language, and thus all helpful human methods of interpretation must be brought into play, both scientific and literary. At the same time, interpretation is grounded in Tradition and thus is rooted in the ongoing history of interpretation and stands on its shoulders. It affirms the application to biblical interpretation of the profound theological reality already begun in 1943 with Divino Afflante Spiritu and present throughout many documents of Vatican II: the incarnational principle, that because the Word became flesh in a particular and specific time and place, in a specific human person, faith is inevitably incarnated in historical process; and therefore all possible human tools are to be used to attempt to understand its full meaning. That position was reiterated in 1993 in The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church. As stated earlier, that document reaffirmed in the face of biblical fundamentalism that the historical sciences and ascertaining of historical levels of meaning remain basic and necessary to the enterprise of biblical interpretation, while other literary, linguistic, and analytical methods are also valuable and to be encouraged. This document has become widely recognized as a modern manifesto of the significant contributions of the historical-critical method and the ways in which other newer methods can be seen as complements to it rather than threats. All of this positive thinking is not to say that there have not been victims along the way, victims of authoritarianism, of fear of change, of enemies in high places, of in-house politics, of reactionism, and of the historical process itself. Names like Alfred Loisy, George Tyrell, Henry A. Poels, and Edward Siegman come to mind, scholars whose reputations and teaching positions were sacrificed to institutional fear of new ways of thinking. Many others are known, and many remain nameless. The function of religious teaching authority is to say what has been, not what 17 Béchard, Scripture Documents, 23–25. On the understanding of tradition in biblical interpretation, see Sandra Schneiders, The Revelatory Text: Interpreting the New Testament as Sacred Scripture (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999), 64–90, passim.

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will be. It has been said that being Catholic means learning to think in centuries.18 It also means thinking universally as well as in the local particular. The burning issues of one part of the world are not those of another. Each generation in each specific cultural context must resist the temptation to make of itself the center of the universe or of the historical process. That is why appropriation of apocalyptic symbolism with reference to ourselves—that the end times are happening now— has always struck me as not so much naïve as arrogant. History moves slowly, and the principle that truth will prevail offers no promises that there will not be victims along the way. Every generation builds on the breakthroughs, the mistakes, and the tragedies of those who went before. A case in point is the welcoming of newer players and newer forms of biblical interpretation. Continuing fear of liberation and feminist hermeneutics remains in many academic and ecclesiastical minds. In the 1993 document of the Pontifical Biblical Commission, Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, besides fundamentalism, only these two approaches receive warnings about possible dangers involved, and only feminist interpretation receives a slap on the wrist about confusing power with service, a paragraph that received a very divided vote in the commission (par. I E.2).19 Postcolonial interpretation is not yet mentioned. At the annual meeting of the Catholic Biblical Association of America in 1997, Luke Timothy Johnson caused a stir with his paper, “What’s Catholic about Catholic Biblical Scholarship?” presented in revised form in 2002 as the lead chapter in his book co-authored with William S. Kurz, The Future of Catholic Biblical Scholarship: A Constructive Conversation. Johnson argues that “what is distinctively ‘catholic’ about Catholic biblical interpretation (scholarship) is to be found in its instinct for the both/and, and in its conviction that critical scholarship is not merely a matter of separating and opposing, but also of testing and reconnecting.”20 I think Johnson has said here in other words what was said in 1993 in Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, in its chapter entitled “The Characteristics of Catholic Interpretation,” largely based on Dei Verbum and on the earlier papal encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritu.21 One passage from that document is worth quoting at length: 18 Otto Maduro, in discussion after the Borderlands lecture, Brite Divinity School, October 11, 2005. 19 This is the only paragraph in the entire document in which the vote was recorded in the notes: eleven in favor, four opposed, and four abstentions. Those opposed asked that the result be noted in the text (Béchard, Scripture Documents, 273). 20 Luke Timothy Johnson and William S. Kurz, S.J., The Future of Catholic Biblical Scholarship: A Constructive Conversation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 19. 21 Helpful background on the document is provided by Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Biblical Commission’s Document: “The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church” Text and Commentary (Subsidia Biblica 18; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1995), and by Peter S. Williamson, “Catholic Principles for Interpreting Scripture,” CBQ 65 (2003): 327–49. Implications of biblical research

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) Catholic exegesis actively contributes to the development of new methods and to the progress of research. What characterizes Catholic exegesis is that it deliberately places itself within the living tradition of the Church, whose first concern is fidelity to the revelation attested by the Bible. Modern hermeneutics has made clear . . . the impossibility of interpreting a text without starting from a “pre-understanding” of one type or another. Catholic exegetes approach the biblical text with a pre-understanding which holds closely together modern scientific culture and the religious tradition emanating from Israel and from the early Christian community. Their interpretation stands thereby in continuity with a dynamic pattern of interpretation that is found within the Bible itself and continues in the life of the Church. This dynamic pattern corresponds to the requirement that there be a lived affinity between the interpreter and the object, an affinity which constitutes, in fact, one of the conditions that makes the entire exegetical enterprise possible. (Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, introduction)22

Johnson makes some valid points about the spirit of Protestantism as characterized by “either/or” and embedded as preunderstanding in some historicalcritical exegesis, forcing an either/or interpretation (e.g., interpretation of the parables either historically or allegorically, with one judged to be superior to the other).23 Another way of answering the question, “What’s Catholic about Catholic biblical interpretation?” was taken up by Roland E. Murphy in 1998, the year following Johnson’s first presentation. He tackled the assumption on the part of many opponents of historical criticism that it cannot yield results of theological value or have anything important to say to present life. Murphy claims that it is unfair to blame the method for not delivering what it has never promised. . . . Many subjective and hypothetical studies often overshadow the reasonable insights of historical criticism, but the method itself is not to be identified with abuses. A very important role of the method is to recognize what cannot be answered, to admit to what is insoluble, at

for interreligious dialogue as presented in the document are discussed in Jean l’Hour, “Pour une lecture ‘Catholique’ de la Bible,” BibInt 5 (1997): 113–32. 22 Béchard, Scripture Documents, 284. A good introduction for the general reader is Daniel J. Harrington, How Do Catholics Read the Bible? (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2005). 23 Johnson and Kurz, Future of Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 3–19. I am not persuaded, however, that the alternatives are quite as pronounced as Johnson puts them. I am even less persuaded by his assessment of his (and my) third generation of Catholic biblical scholars who find ourselves graduates of the best schools, teaching in them, and now wondering if it was all worth it (p. 13). It would seem that Johnson has set up his own “either/or” alternatives in such a way as to force a wedge between what is characteristically Catholic and characteristically Protestant, a problem that he himself acknowledges (p. 5).

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least for the present. Whatever happened to that expressive Latin phrase, non liquet (no clear answer?)?24

Murphy goes on to show that sometimes the literal meaning of a text is directly theological, as in the case of some of the prayers of the Psalms, for example, or recitation of the Shema (Deut 6:4).25 Recent critics of historical criticism and of historical critics have not been kind. Murphy quotes Christopher Seitz, who claims that “historical criticism plays no positive theological role whatsoever. Its only proper role is negative. It establishes the genre, form, possible setting, and historical and intellectual background of the individual text.”26 Another notes: “Instead of being based on God’s Word, it (historical-critical theology) had its foundations in philosophies which made bold to define truth so that God’s Word was excluded as the source of truth.”27 For another: “The sheer amount of scholarship is part of the crisis. . . . There is much product, indeed much admirable product, but is there any point to the production? The present generation approaches the state of idiot savants, people who know everything about some small aspect of the Bible, but nothing about the Bible as a whole, or its good and destructive uses.”28 Yet another: . . . there is no innocent reading of the Bible, no reading that is not already ideological. But to read the Bible in the traditional scholarly manner has all too often meant reading it, whether deliberately or not, in ways that reify and ratify the status quo—providing warrant for the subjugation of women (whether in the church, the academy, or society at large), justifying colonialism and enslavement, rationalizing homophobia, or otherwise legitimizing the power of hegemonic classes of people.29

Much of the rejection of historical criticism as voiced today, in what I will call the ahistorical paradigm, parallels the phenomenon of Creationism and Intelligent Design, two related theories that have become surprisingly accepted today. It is astounding that a recent poll conducted by a respected research center indicates that 42 percent of Americans believe that “[l]ife has existed in its present form since the beginning of time.”30 Both Creationism/Intelligent Design and 24

Murphy, “What Is Catholic,” 113. Also recognized in Interpretation of the Bible in the Church II.B.2 (Béchard, Scripture Documents, 282). 26 Christopher Seitz, Word without End: The Old Testament as Abiding Theological Witness (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 97, as quoted in Murphy, “What Is Catholic,” 112. 27 Eta Linnemann, Historical Criticism of the Bible: Methodology or Ideology? (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1990), 17–18. 28 Johnson and Kurz, Future of Catholic Biblical Scholarship, 37–38. 29 George Aichele et al., The Postmodern Bible (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 4. 30 Pew Research Center, Forum on Religion and Public Life. Poll conducted on two thousand participants July 7–17, 2005. Forty-eight percent said that life evolved over time; of that 48 percent, 18 percent chose the further option, “guided by a supreme being,” 26 percent through natural 25

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rejection of historical criticism are reactions, in the first order, against the mindset of scientism, which makes inappropriate totalitarian claims, as replacement for theology and philosophy, and the failure to retain an appropriate distinction between science and theology. The parallel in the case of historical criticism is the inappropriate claim to have a method that will yield convincing results that can be verified by independent researchers, and that these results are the only ones that matter. In both cases, inappropriate use of a scientific tool leads to claims to be able to answer all questions, scientific, historical, philosophical, or theological, and imposes its paradigm as the only viable way of thinking. Scientism limits the questions worth asking to those that can be answered by scientific methods, and overemphasis on historical criticism limits the questions worth asking to those that can be answered with the methods of historical criticism. In the physical sciences, an empirical and materialist worldview is imposed, while philosophical and spiritual interpretations of physical reality are excluded. When this happens, science does not respect its own proper limits. In biblical interpretation, historical criticism was incorrectly presented as the foolproof method (which we now know not to be fool-proof) for reaching the literal level of the text. Sometimes historical-critical interpreters have been too naïve about the implications of their methods. As noted by Wayne Meeks in his presidential address to the Society for New Testament Studies in 2004, “the science of history was a weapon of liberation . . . from lazy credulity, from dogmatic abstractions, from venomous prejudices, from authoritarian structures . . . (but) our practice of writing history was never innocent. It was a means of power. . . . Those failings demonstrated that interest does not have to be conscious in order to serve privilege.”31 I have already called attention to the description of Catholic biblical scholarship given by the 1993 document of the Pontifical Biblical Commission, with which I am in agreement: What characterizes Catholic exegesis is that it deliberately places itself within the living tradition of the Church, whose first concern is fidelity to the revelation attested by the Bible. . . . Catholic exegetes approach the biblical text with a pre-understanding which holds closely together modern scientific culture and the religious tradition emanating from Israel and from the early Christian community. Their interpretation stands thereby in continuity with a dynamic pattern of interpretation that is found within the Bible itself and continues in the life of the Church. This dynamic pattern corresponds to the requirement that there be a lived affinity between the interpreter and the object, an affinity which constitutes, in fact, one of

selection, and 4 percent did not know how. The remaining 10 percent of the poll indicated “Don’t know.” See http://pewforum.org/docs/index.php?DocID=115 (accessed October 20, 2005). 31 Wayne A. Meeks, “Why Study the New Testament?” NTS 51 (2005): 155-70, here 157, 160.

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the conditions that makes the entire exegetical enterprise possible. (Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, introduction)32

Now I wish to focus from the above statement on the “pre-understanding which holds closely together modern scientific culture and the religious tradition” of Israel and the early church. This is the “both/and” rather than the “either/or.” This is the center point from which Catholic biblical scholarship can especially contribute to our common enterprise of interpretation, to the catholic endeavor, with small c. This is the principle that enables biblical scholarship to be open to a variety of levels of meaning, beginning always from the historical level but ongoing from there. Many will be familiar with the thirteenth-century formula of Augustine of Denmark: Littera gesta docet, quid credas allegoria, moralis quid agas, quid speras anagogia. For those whose Latin is a little rusty, I give Roland Murphy’s translation: “The letter (or literal sense) teaches facts; the allegorical, what we are to believe; the moral, what we are to do; the anagogical, what we are to hope for.”33 As Murphy goes on to note, it does not always work this way. Sometimes the literal sense teaches what we are to believe or even hope for, and spiritual meaning cannot be limited to allegory. While Jewish and Christian interpreters might agree on the literal sense of a text, the Jewish interpreter might have a different understanding from that of the Christian on other levels. It is doubtful that an adequate moral or spiritual sense could be retrieved today, for example, from prescriptions that slaves obey their masters, as found in the household codes of the NT. Allegory was the patristic and medieval way of avoiding literalism and fundamentalism. Today, historical criticism plays that role in part. If today we are uncomfortable with some of the ways in which previous generations used allegory, perhaps we need to come to a new understanding of how metaphor, imagery, and even allegory continue to inform the very heart of biblical interpretation in its arena of greatest use, the worshiping community. The mistake of some misuses of historical criticism was an assumption that a text can have only one meaning, but contemporary language theory recalls us to the reality that in fact all human communication is open to many possible levels of meaning. Biblical texts, too, have the potential for multiple levels of meaning, however complex the interplay among them and however complex the process of sorting them out and evaluating what is to be retained and what discarded. 32

Béchard, Scripture Documents, 284. Murphy, “What Is Catholic,” 116; see also Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, II.B (Béchard, Scripture Documents, 279; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Sense of Scripture Today,” ITQ 62 (1996–97): 101-16. 33

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There are simpler ways than that of Augustine of Denmark to characterize levels of meaning as used by Christians. One traditional and helpful one is suggested in Interpretation of the Bible in the Church. It is threefold: literal, spiritual, and the so-called fuller sense. For Christians, the “spiritual sense” according to this understanding, is “the meaning expressed by the biblical texts when read, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, in the context of the paschal mystery of Christ, and of the new life that flows from it.”34 “And of the new life that flows from it”; this new life did not cease at the end of the biblical period, but continues to flow through the patristic, medieval, and modern eras, into our own age. Institutional documents are rarely prophetic; for the most part, they summarize what has been up to the time of writing, but rarely point beyond. In light of this, I would expand on the understanding of the “spiritual sense” to include many newer methods and perspectives that are informed by the desire to have us live more authentically the new life that flows from the paschal mystery. I am speaking of those methods born out of the hermeneutic of suspicion, for example, liberation, feminist/womanist/mujerista, and postcolonial interpretation, which probe the implications of the paschal mystery in ways not envisioned in previous centuries. Even if they challenge established power bases—or precisely because they do—they are new manifestations of the same inspiration that led earlier interpreters to ask of the biblical text the question: But what does this have to do with life today? Earlier answers included various forms of metaphor and allegory arising from contemporary preunderstanding. Today’s preunderstanding requires analysis of how power is used. If the paschal mystery is about deliverance from death to life, then without the hermeneutic of suspicion, we risk being diminished, not by the text but by earlier preunderstandings that are not yet open to a wider and more inclusive way of living and loving. Just as historical criticism asked the hard analytical questions a century ago and was suspect by many for that reason, so too does the hermeneutic of suspicion today ask the critical questions of our time, and is suspect on the part of many for the same reasons. The 1993 Interpretation of the Bible in the Church stresses that spiritual interpretation is not to be confused with subjective imagination. “Spiritual interpretation, whether in community or in private, will discover the authentic spiritual sense only to the extent that it is kept within these perspectives. One then holds together three levels of reality: the biblical text, the paschal mystery, and the present circumstances of life in the Spirit.”35 I believe that this is where these newer methods fit into the common endeavor, as part of the expanded spiritual sense in which we bring our own new understandings to the task, out of our own new questions, and discover new levels of meaning as participants in the ongoing flow of interpretive tradition. 34 35

Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, II.B.2 (Béchard, Scripture Documents, 281-82). Ibid.

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The Bible belongs to the church. It does not belong to theologians, denominational committees, bishops, or biblical scholars. Therefore, biblical scholarship and interpretation must be in some way oriented to the nourishment and growth of the community. This is not in any way to impede the necessary freedom, integrity, and autonomy that scholars must have to engage in research for its own sake. Scholars have the responsibility to seek truth even if it seems to contradict consensus, popular ideas, or ecclesiastical politics. But one eye of the Roman Catholic biblical scholar must be kept on the good of the community. Sometimes upholding that good upholds and underpins consensus; sometimes it must dissent from the consensus in the interest of that new life that flows from the paschal mystery. There is a third, rather obscure and debated level of meaning discussed in Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, the “fuller sense,” or sensus plenior.36 The term was first used in 1925 and was extensively discussed until about 1970. Interpretation of the Bible in the Church revives it but without a great deal of enthusiasm. It defines the “fuller sense” as “a deeper meaning of the text, intended by God but not clearly expressed by the human author. Its existence in the biblical text comes to be known when one studies the text in the light of other biblical texts which utilize it or in its relationship with the internal development of revelation.”37 This “fuller sense” “brings out fresh possibilities of meaning that had lain hidden in the original context.”38 Hidden indeed. It is not clear, even in Interpretation of the Bible in the Church or commentaries on it, how this differs from the spiritual sense.39 Indeed, it may be another form of the spiritual sense. The definition, remember, is a meaning “intended by God, but not clearly expressed by the human author.” What is intended by God, I cannot say. If there is a difference between the spiritual and the “fuller” sense, I propose that it lies in this: not only that the meaning is “not clearly expressed by the human author” but that it is not at all in the mind of the human author, both “distinct from the internal thought of the writer and capable of an increment in meaning which transcends his conscious intent.”40 It is a meaning that is theologically comprehensible at a later point in the unfolding of tradition.

36

For a history of understanding of the term, see Raymond E. Brown, “The History and Development of the Theory of a Sensus Plenior,” CBQ 15 (1953): 141-62; idem, The Sensus Plenior of Sacred Scripture (Baltimore: St. Mary’s University, 1955); idem, “The Sensus Plenior in the Last Ten Years,” CBQ 25 (1963): 262–85; idem, JBC 71:56–70; NJBC 71:49–51. Brown noted in 1963: “Fortunately, the misconception that the theory of a SP is an attempt to circumvent scientific exegesis or to let piety run riot is gradually disappearing” (“Sensus Plenior in the Last Ten Years,” 262). 37 The first part of the definition appears as well in NJBC (71:49) and probably originates with Raymond Brown. 38 Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, II.B.3 (Béchard, Scripture Documents, 283). 39 See, e.g., Fitzmyer, Biblical Commission’s Document, 130–31. 40 Brown, “Sensus Plenior in the Last Ten Years,” 269; Brown preferred to say that the consciousness of this meaning on the part of the human author is not necessary (pp. 267–69).

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I suggest further that two very different hermeneutical methods might be illustrative of this: canonical and psychological interpretation. While some biblical authors were certainly aware of the biblical tradition in which they were writing (e.g., the author of Daniel or the author of Revelation), it is unlikely that any of them intended to write in the context of the whole biblical canon, be it Hebrew or Greek, as we have it today. Yet when their writings are read today in light of the canonical process and context, new theological insights emerge and new and richer meanings are acquired by the text. Likewise, biblical writers were psychological beings, but psychology is intensely influenced by social factors. They wrote with conscious intent to portray not psychological dynamics and relationships but rather social and theological ones. Yet in light of modern understandings of the dynamics of unconscious forces, the symbols and relationships in the biblical text can be reread to give expanded meanings to profound human experiences. Our understandings of the spiritual senses of Scripture should lead us not only backwards to a new appreciation of what has enriched our tradition but also forward to a fuller and richer appreciation of how the Bible speaks to our own world with its proper questions and exigencies. In the Society of Biblical Literature, no one particular confessional stance or methodological stance can be imposed, and some would prefer none at all. I am suggesting ways in which the heritage of Roman Catholic biblical scholarship can continue to contribute to and enrich our common effort. I suggest that it is precisely the challenge of holding together ancient text, ongoing history of interpretation, modern science, and postmodern insights, within a conscious participation in a living tradition, that has enabled and can continue to enable Roman Catholic biblical scholarship to make its contribution, so that it can take an important part in the common catholic (small c) tradition of biblical interpretation. In this way, catholic can truly mean universal, open to all. Recently I read something in the area of religious conflicts that argued that religious tolerance is not the goal, but a bare minimum of “live and let live”; rather, the goal is inter-understanding, a lively appreciation of the other for what the other is, all the while affirming one’s adherence to one’s own religious tradition. Analogously, can we not at this point in the biblical guild produce not a cacophony but a symphony of our various methods and not only tolerate a diversity of methods, but begin to see how they complement each other, can be integrated with each other, and can together form a rich network of interpretations? In the words of someone familiar to all of us: “I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal” (Phil 3:13–14 NRSV).

JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 23–49

Why Does Deuteronomy Legislate Cities of Refuge? Asylum in the Covenant Collection (Exodus 21:12–14) and Deuteronomy (19:1–13) jeffrey stackert [email protected] Brandeis University, Waltham, MA 02454

Although recent scholarship has renewed attention to the relationship of the pentateuchal legal corpora, the fruits of such studies have not led to appreciable consensus. In the case of biblical laws of asylum, a survey of current scholarship on the development of these texts reveals the persistence of widely differing opinions concerning the relationship among the pentateuchal asylum laws themselves (Exod 21:12–14; Deut 19:1–13; and Num 35:9–34) as well as continued disagreement on the relationship of this legislation to the narrative of its implementation in Josh 20:1–9. This disagreement extends from the broad conceptualization of asylum to the interpretation of peculiarities in the various laws and includes debate concerning the existence and nature of any potential literary relationships between these texts. In forming their conclusions, scholars have asked several important questions, such as, What is the nature of the refuge prescribed in the different laws? Is asylum an actual historical institution once practiced in ancient Israel, or is it an unpracticed, literary creation? If asylum was actually practiced in ancient Israel, do the pentateuchal laws accurately reflect historical custom? And, whether asylum was a historical institution or not, what motivates the biblical legislators’ diverse models of asylum? What is the chronology of the different asylum laws? Is there evidence of internal development within the individual texts that offers clues for their interpretation and/or historical import? Are the similarities between the asylum laws close enough to posit a literary relationship between these texts? If so, which texts serve as sources for subsequent compositions, and how do the authors of the latter texts use and revise their sources? In the present study, I will limit my inquiry to asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13, leaving aside for the present the Priestly law in Num 35:9–34 and 23

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the fulfillment narrative in Josh 20:1–9. I will focus specifically on the question of the literary relationship between the texts under examination, arguing that Exod 21:12–14 serves as the main source for Deut 19:1–13. This dependence is evidenced by several significant conceptual, lexical, and sequential ties between these texts as well as by correspondences in their legal formulation. Such borrowing serves the larger inner-biblical exegetical goal of the Deuteronomic author, who creatively exploits the lexical ambiguity in the use of Mwqm (“place”) in Exod 21:13 in order to legitimize his innovation of city asylum. Such an interpretation of Deut 19:1–13 establishes the literary origin of biblical city asylum and simultaneously rules out the possibility of Deuteronomic asylum in the central sanctuary city.

I. Exodus 21:12–14 and the Question of Altar Asylum Exodus 21:12 contains a succinct legal prescription instituting capital punishment for homicide, which is then immediately followed in vv. 13–14 by conditions regarding the intentionality of the killer. Deuteronomy 19:1–13 likewise addresses the issue of asylum for manslaughter, but its law omits an initial prohibition against homicide, even as its treatment of intent and the accompanying requirements for accommodating the manslayer are more extensive than those of the Covenant Collection. Considered by many scholars to be the clearest example of literary dependence among the biblical asylum laws, the genetic relationship posited between Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13 has recently been called into question. In her book Homicide in the Biblical World, Pamela Barmash investigates the development of what she calls “the places of refuge” (in order accurately to include both altar and city asylum under a single moniker) in the Hebrew Bible.1 Barmash examines the key pentateuchal texts concerning unintentional homicide (Exod 21:12–14; Num 35:9–34; Deut 4:41–43; 19:1–13) as well as several other biblical texts that address similar issues (1 Kgs 1:50–53; 2:28–34; Josh 20:1–9; Neh 6:10–13; Pss 15:1; 17:8; 27:5; 57:2; 59:17–18; 61:5; 144:2), argu1 Pamela Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 71–93. In the following discussion, I cite Barmash’s analysis regularly for two reasons: first, it is the most recent contribution to the discussion of biblical asylum laws. Second, it was in the context of evaluating her work that my views on Deuteronomic asylum developed. Thus, although I disagree significantly with Barmash’s analysis, I am indebted to her presentation of the evidence and to her discussion of the issues. I warmly thank David P. Wright and Marc Z. Brettler for reading and responding to an earlier draft of this paper. Their comments were especially helpful in sharpening my arguments. Nevertheless, I alone am responsible for the conclusions here.

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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ing against the widely held view first espoused by Julius Wellhausen that the institution of asylum in ancient Israel developed from altar refuge to city refuge.2 Barmash first seeks to make a clear distinction between two fundamentally different types of asylum: (1) the political sanctuary sought by Adonijah, Joab (1 Kgs 1:50–53; 2:28–34), and Nehemiah (Neh 6:10–13); and (2) asylum for homicide, which is the subject of the pentateuchal refuge legislation as well as Josh 20:1–9.3 She also argues that refuge for homicide in Exod 21:13–14 is not clearly altar asylum. Specifically, she notes that the word Mwqm in Exod 21:13 has an ambiguous meaning, for Mwqm (“place”) can carry the technical sense of “sacred site,” as is the case in Exod 20:24 and in many instances, for example, in Deuteronomy. Mwqm can also have the specific sense of ry(, “city, town” (Deut 21:19; Ruth 4:10).4 However, Mwqm can also retain its general sense of “place,” as evidenced 2 Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (trans. Allan Menzies and J. Sutherland Black; New York: Meridian, 1957), 33, 162. In addition to the commentaries, see the several studies devoted specifically to the pentateuchal/hexateuchal asylum laws, including N. M. Nicolsky, “Das Asylrecht in Israel,” ZAW 48 (1930): 146–75; M. David, “Die Bestimmungen über die Asylstädte in Josua XX,” OTS 9 (1951): 30–48; Moshe Greenberg, “The Biblical Conception of Asylum,” JBL 78 (1959): 125–32; Henry McKeating, “The Development of the Law on Homicide in Ancient Israel,” VT 35 (1975): 46–68; A. Graeme Auld, “Cities of Refuge in Israelite Tradition,” JSOT 10 (1978): 26–40; Michael Fishbane, “Biblical Colophons, Textual Criticism, and Legal Analogies,” CBQ 42 (1980): 438–49; Jacob Milgrom, “Sancta Contagion and Altar/City Asylum,” in Congress Volume: Vienna 1980 (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 32; Leiden: Brill, 1981), 278–310; Alexander Rofé, “Joshua 20: Historico-Literary Criticism Illustrated,” in Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (ed. Jeffrey H. Tigay; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), 131–47; idem, “The History of the Cities of Refuge in Biblical Law,” in Deuteronomy: Issues and Interpretation (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2002), 121–47; repr. from Studies in Bible, 1986 (ed. Sara Japhet; ScrHier 31; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1986); Cornelius Houtman, “Der Altar als Asylstätte im alten Testament: Rechtsbestimmung (Ex. 21, 12–14) und Praxis (I Reg. 1–2),” RB 103 (1996): 343–66; Timothy M. Willis, The Elders of the City: A Study of the Elders-Laws in Deuteronomy (SBLMS 55; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001), 89–144; Ludwig Schmidt, “Leviten- und Asylstädte in Num. XXXV und Jos. XX; XXI 1-42,” VT 52 (2002): 103–21. 3 Such a distinction between asylum for political intrigue and asylum for homicide seems hypercritical, especially in narrative texts (the stories of Joab and Adonijah), for which no particular extant legislative corpus is normative or even consistently operative. The underlying motivation is the same in cases of both political intrigue and homicide: the perpetrator seeks refuge from a socially legitimated form of revenge. It is certainly no accident that Adonijah and Joab each seek asylum at the sanctuary/altar (and that Nehemiah is encouraged to do so) and not in some other context. 4 Baruch A. Levine similarly notes that the noun Mwqm can mean both “cult site” and “city” (ry(), citing the same two verses that Barmash cites (Deut 21:19; Ruth 4:10). Contra Barmash, however, Levine views ancient Israelite asylum as developing from altar to city refuge in response to Deuteronomic centralization of cult. Levine also argues that these cities of asylum were chosen precisely because, prior to centralization of worship, they had housed cultic shrines. This seems to be the import of the parallel he draws between Mwqm and ry( (Numbers 21–36: A New Transla-

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throughout the Bible generally as well as in the Covenant Collection (Exod 23:20,5 referring to the land). Barmash claims that the sense of Mwqm in Exod 21:13 remains unclear but that it certainly does not refer to the xbzm (“altar”) in Exod 21:14, for if Exod 21:13 meant “altar,” it could simply have employed the term xbzm.6 She similarly rejects the possibility that xbzm in v. 14 is a synecdochic reference to Mwqm in the previous verse. Instead, the use of different terminology in vv. 13 and 14 suggests to Barmash that the two locations should be distinguished from each other. Barmash concludes that Exod 21:14 confirms only that an intentional killer can be arrested anywhere, even at an altar, a ritual area normally restricted to all but authorized cultic personnel, and cannot be equated with the Mwqm in v. 13. She goes on to suggest later that Exod 21:13–14 could even envision either sanctuary tion with Introduction and Commentary [AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 2000], 566–68). But cf. his (potentially contradictory) statement concerning the cities of asylum in Deut 4:41–43: “It is somewhat ironic that the towns selected under the Deuteronomic policy, echoed by the Deuteronomist, may have had a history as legitimate cult sites at an earlier time. In fact, they may have continued to operate, but cultic references are consistently avoided in Deuteronomy precisely in order to deny them legitimacy. In summary, it can be stated that the right of asylum is cultic in origin, and that changes in the allocation of sacred space created the need to adapt the asylum system, affording new venues of access” (p. 568). Thus, for Levine, it appears that Deuteronomic cities of refuge are paradoxically both sacred and secular: the Deuteronomic author was constrained to choose cities of refuge based on their previous sacred character, even as he asserted their secular character. For my own views on these issues, see below. 5 The parameters of the Covenant Collection are debated, and some scholars view Exod 23:20 as outside the strict boundaries of the Covenant Collection proper. For a discussion of the boundaries of the Covenant Collection and especially the place of Exod 23:20–33, see, e.g., Frank Crüsemann, The Torah: Theology and Social History of Old Testament Law (trans. Allan W. Mahnke; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 112–15, 178–81, 195–200. 6 On this point, Barmash follows Greenberg, “Biblical Conception of Asylum,” 125. See also Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into the Character of Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1977; repr., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 121–22 n. 15. Haran’s conclusions are similar to those of Barmash: he suggests that city asylum and altar asylum coexisted in ancient Israel and that Exod 21:13 refers to city asylum. He states, “The characteristic, quasi-technical expressions loµ< s\aµdaµh,
Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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asylum or city asylum, for other biblical legislation concerning homicide refuge does not present its city asylum as fundamentally innovative.7 These issues all relate to the interpretation of asylum in the Covenant Collection alone and should be addressed on their own terms before turning to the Deuteronomic asylum law. Barmash’s discussion of the word Mwqm in Exod 21:13 does not adequately consider all of the available evidence, and thus her conclusion for its meaning is at one point overly conservative and at another harmonistic. Her complete separation of Exod 21:13 from Exod 21:14 is equally unwarranted. With regard to Mwqm in v. 13, it is important to note that the homicide law in Exod 21:12–14 is integrally related to the altar law in Exod 20:24–26. Though she does not address it at length, Barmash considers and rejects such a connection, for she critiques Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger’s contention that, in light of Exod 20:24–26, the Mwqm in v. 13 and the xbzm in v. 14 refer to the same place. For Schwienhorst-Schönberger, the distinction is that the Mwqm is chosen by the deity while the xbzm is constructed by humans.8 Several scholars, however, including David P. Wright, have demonstrated that the homicide law in the Covenant Collection is related to and borrows from the altar law that precedes it. Such a connection is evidenced by the strong lexical correspondences between these laws, the partial second person formulation of the laws, and the first person speech of the deity in both the altar law and the homicide law. Such second person formulation and first person speech are otherwise unattested in the central casuistic section of this legal collection but find their natural analogue in the apodictic formulation of Exod 20:24–26.9 The following display highlights the correspondence between Exod 20:24 and Exod 21:13–14: 7

Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 76–80. Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Das Bundesbuch (Ex 20,22–23,33): Studie zu seiner Entstehung und Theologie (BZAW 188; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1990), 40–41. Moshe Weinfeld similarly argues that Exod 21:13–14 refers to the same cultic location: “Mwqm in this context, like the Arabic maqâm, refers to a holy place and a temple, and thus the reference is to a temple that affords refuge” (Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East [2nd ed.; Jerusalem: Magnes; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000], 123). 9 David P. Wright, “The Laws of Hammurabi as a Source for the Covenant Collection (Exodus 20:23–23:19),” Maarav 10 (2003): 11–87. Several scholars have argued that the participial laws in Exod 21:12, 15–17 (and for some, 22:17–19) were originally independent of the casuistic laws that characterize Exod 21:2–22:16 (see, e.g. Crüsemann, Torah, 144–51) and that Exod 21:13–14, which introduces the issues of inadvertent killing and asylum, is a later, even post-Deuteronomic/postPriestly, addition to the Covenant Collection (see, e.g. Moshé Anbar, “L’influence deutéronomique sur le Code de l’Alliance: le cas d’Exode 21:12-17,” ZABR 5 [1999]: 165–66). Admitting the relation between Exod 21:13–14 and Exod 20:24–26, one can then argue that the altar law is also a later addition to the Covenant Collection. If this is the case, then the direction of dependence argued in this study—Deuteronomy depends on Exodus—would have to be reversed. However, Wright’s study of the Covenant Collection in relation to the Laws of Hammurabi (cited previously in this note) effectively quells this issue: Wright argues that the Covenant Collection employs the Laws of 8

28 Exod 20:2410

Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) t) Kyml# t)w Kytl( t) wyl( txbzw yl h#(t hmd) xbzm Kyl) )wb) ym# t) rykz) r#) Mwqmh lkb ^Krqb t)w K)nc Kytkrbw You shall make an earthen altar for me, and you shall sacrifice upon it your burnt offerings and your well-being offerings, your sheep and your cattle. In every place in which I declare my name I will come to you and bless you.11

Exod 21:13–14

swny r#) Mwqm Kl ytm#w wdyl hn) Myhl)hw hdc )l r#)w wnxqt yxbzm M(m hmr(b wgrhl wh(r l( #y) dzy ykw hm# twml But he who did not lie in wait, but rather it was an act of God, I will establish for you a place to which he may flee. But if a man plots against his neighbor to kill him treacherously, you shall take him from my altar to die.

For her part, Barmash recognizes that Mwqm in Exod 20:24 is obviously cultic in nature,12 but she does not consider this verse important for understanding Mwqm in 21:13. In view of the connection between the altar and homicide laws, however, Hammurabi (LH) as a source and controlling template for its composition, following the sequence of laws in LH in its arrangement of both material it culls from LH and material it derives from other sources. Thus, the fact that LH 206–7 concern inadvertent homicide suggests that Exod 21:13–14, while likely modifying a participial law that the Covenant Collection author derives from another, perhaps native source, does not arise from a different compositional event from the one in which LH serves as the template for the author of the Covenant Collection (Wright, “Laws of Hammurabi as a Source,” 17–18). Likewise, because of the clear correspondence between Exod 21:13–14 and Exod 20:24–26, it is unnecessary to presume that the altar law is a late addition (cf. David P. Wright, “The Compositional Logic of the Goring Ox and Negligence Laws in the Covenant Collection [Ex 21:28–36],” ZABR 10 [2004]: 93–142, esp. 111 n. 42; 49 n. 141; Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation [Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1997], 11–52; idem, “Is the Covenant Code an Exilic Composition? A Response to John Van Seters,” in In Search of Pre-exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar [ed. John Day; JSOTSup 406; London: T&T Clark, 2004], 272–325, esp. 297–315]). For discussion of the relation of the altar law to the LH, see Wright, “Laws of Hammurabi,” 43–44; idem, “Compositional Logic,” 2–3 n. 3. I thank Professor Wright for generously sharing with me an advance copy of this manuscript. 10 All translations of biblical texts are my own. Second person forms are underscored with a single line. First person forms are underscored with a double line. Lexical correspondences are marked with underdots and wavy lines. 11 For a grammatical discussion of the phrase Mwqmh lkb and a justification for its rendering as “in every place,” see Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 32 n. 18. 12 The cultic nature of the Mwqm in Exod 20:24 is indicated both by the presence of an altar and the sacrifices performed and by the deity’s coming (*)wb) there and blessing (*Krb) the people, all activities integrally connected to a sanctuary and not to a city.

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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considerable light is shed on the meaning of Mwqm here: the most natural reading of Mwqm in Exod 21:13 is as a cultic site at which there would be an altar.13 The suggestion that the background for the legislation in Exod 21:13–14 could be either sanctuary asylum or city asylum can likewise be refuted. While she rightly recognizes that Mwqm can carry the precise meaning of ry(, “city, town,” the only examples of Mwqm as “city, town” that Barmash adduces are very far removed from the verse under examination.14 In fact, it is likely that one would never even consider rendering Mwqm in Exod 21:13 as “city, town” if not for the influence of the asylum legislation in Num 35:9–34 and Deut 4:41–43; 19:1–13. Indeed, the connotation of Mwqm as “city, town” is otherwise unattested in the Covenant Collection and even in the rest of the Sinai narrative in which it is embedded. The possibility that Exod 21:13–14 could envision city asylum originates from just such a conflationary interpretation of Mwqm and should therefore be rejected.15

II. Exodus 21:12–14, Deuteronomy 19:1–13, and the Origin of City Asylum Notwithstanding the foregoing arguments, one should not completely disregard such a harmonistic interpretation of Mwqm in Exod 21:13, for it points to problems in the prevailing view that altar asylum preceded and gave way to city asylum in ancient Israel. Like the scholars with whom she disagrees, Barmash is concerned with the historical development of the places of refuge in ancient Israel, and she addresses this development from altar asylum in Exod 21:12–14 to city asylum in Deut 19:1–13 by rejecting the argument that Exod 21:12–14 refers to altar asylum at all. Curiously, though she claims that these texts share the conception of the city as a place of refuge and admits to extensive Deuteronomic borrowing from elsewhere in the Covenant Collection (e.g., slave laws in Exod 21:2–11 and Deut 15:12–18), Barmash contends that there is no genetic relationship at all between Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13.16 As will be demonstrated below, this view is untenable. Nevertheless, the underlying issue remains. Even if Barmash’s 13 So also, e.g., Eckart Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Judah und Assyrien (BZAW 284; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1999), 254. 14 As noted above, Barmash cites Deut 21:19 and Ruth 4:10. Additionally, Mwqm unambiguously carries the specific meaning of ry( in Gen 18:24, 26; 19:12, 14; 28:19; Jer 19:12; and Amos 4:6. 15 M. David approaches this issue differently, arguing that extended altar asylum itself is unrealistic and that a larger geographical space is necessary for the one who flees to find refuge. Thus, the Covenant Collection and Deuteronomic asylum laws can be viewed as complementary (“Die Bestimmungen über die Asylstädte,” 38). Greenberg takes a similar view: to his mind, Num 35:9–34 predates Deut 19:1–13, and thus the Priestly law complements Exod 21:13–14. The altar provides temporary asylum, while the city provides more permanent protection (“Biblical Conception of Asylum,” 130). See below for a critique of these views. 16 Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 79–80.

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argument is rejected in favor of the view that Exod 21:12–14 establishes the altar as a place of refuge, the question of how one moves from altar asylum to city asylum persists. In other words, why does Deuteronomy innovate with regard to the place of refuge for the unintentional killer? Several mutually exclusive responses have been offered to this question. Some scholars, such as John Van Seters, offer the radical and implausible solution that Deuteronomic city asylum predates and serves as a source for asylum in the Covenant Collection.17 Others, such as Moshe Greenberg, assert that Deuteronomy borrows its cities of refuge from Num 35:9–34.18 The majority of biblical critics, as noted above, see Deuteronomy’s city asylum as a development from altar asylum in the Covenant Collection in light of the former’s larger program of cultic centralization. They argue that because a multiplicity of altars is explicitly outlawed in Deuteronomy 12, legislation that has significant and far-reaching influence in the Deuteronomic legal corpus,19 altar asylum is no longer a viable option for refuge from Mdh l)g (“the blood avenger”), for the central sanctuary could potentially be too far for the manslayer to reach, leaving him too vulnerable to the revenge of Mdh l)g. Deuteronomy 19:6 is particularly concerned about this latter possibility:

17 See John Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 106–8. Van Seters understands Exod 21:12–14 to rely on the altar law in Exod 20:24–26; however, he views each text as referring to a single sanctuary in its use of the term Mwqm. Moreover, for Van Seters, the Covenant Collection’s conception of cultic centralization is directly borrowed from and thus subsequent to Deuteronomy. For critique of Van Seters, see Levinson, “Is the Covenant Code an Exilic Composition?” passim; Eckart Otto, review of A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code, RBL 7 (2004) (www.bookreviews.org/pdf/39293801.pdf); and David P. Wright, review of A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code, JAOS 124 (2004): 129–31. 18 Greenberg, “Biblical Conception of Asylum,” 131–32. For a critique of this view, see Rofé, “History of the Cities of Refuge.” Briefly, the assumption that Num 35:9–34 serves as a source for (all of) Deut 19:1–13 does not adequately explain why the Priestly law is more developed conceptually than the Deuteronomic law. Nor does it explain why Num 35:9–34 answers questions that logically arise from Deut 19:1–13: for example, How long must the manslayer remain in the city of refuge? And what are these cities called? Without further explanation, it is implausible that the Deuteronomic legislator would have left out these details from his own composition if he were relying on one that included such elements. Moreover, as demonstrated below, Deut 19:1–13 invents the concept of asylum cities based on its interpretation of Exod 21:12–14. No such invention can be demonstrated for Num 35:9–34. 19 Centralization is an important factor in Deuteronomy’s (re)formulation of several laws, including its legislation on tithes, slaves, festivals, the judiciary, and Levites. Among the many treatments of such issues, see Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972; repr.,Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), 191–243; Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 23–143.

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13 Deut 19:6

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Krdh hbry yk wgy#hw wbbl Mxy yk xcrh yrx) Mdh l)g Pdry Np Mw#l# lwmtm wl )wh )n# )l yk twm +p#m Ny) wlw #pn whkhw Lest the blood avenger pursue the manslayer in his rage and overtake him and kill him—because the way is great—even though it was not a capital case, for the manslayer had not hated him previously.

Therefore, Deuteronomy establishes multiple cities of asylum so that unintentional killers may be afforded protection similar to that established by Exod 21:12–14. Barmash critiques this explanation of Deut 19:1–13 on the grounds that the Deuteronomic text does not exhibit enough marked verbal correspondences to Exod 21:12–14 to demonstrate that it depends on this text and because the formula that the Deuteronomic legislator regularly employs to refer to cultic centralization20 is unattested in Deuteronomy 19, as is any other polemic to indicate that Deut 19:1–13 is a legal innovation.21 Before turning to these issues directly, it is worth adding one further objection to this standard explanation of the development of refuge from altar asylum to city asylum as a response to cultic centralization. Even if it is determined that cultic centralization did motivate the shift from altar to city asylum, the question remains: Why city asylum at all? In other words, Deuteronomic centralization precludes the possibility of altar asylum, but it hardly requires that its replacement be city asylum. What motivates the innovation of city asylum? Weinfeld demonstrates that city asylum is widely attested in the ancient Near East and Mediterranean world generally, citing examples from Mesopotamia, Anatolia, Egypt, Syro-Palestine, and Greece. He thus sees a natural legal tradition in the ancient Near East concerning asylum that is incorporated into the pentateuchal asylum laws.22 But certainly there are other viable methods of providing asylum than the two biblical options, altar refuge and city refuge. For example, there is evidence that several nations in the eastern Mediterranean employed the island of Alashia/Cyprus as a place of asylum/exile during the second millennium 20 With some variation, this formula is M# wm# Mw#l/Nk#l hwhy rxby r#) Mwqmh, “the place in which the Lord shall choose to place his name.” See Deut 12:5, 11, 14, 18, 21, 26; 14:23, 24, 25; 15:20; 16:2, 6, 7, 11, 15, 16; 17:8, 10; 18:6; 26:2; 31:11. 21 Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 79. 22 Weinfeld, Social Justice, 97–132, esp. 120–32. As will become apparent in the following discussion, it is important to note that all the extrabiblical examples of asylum that Weinfeld cites transparently associate city asylum with a temple located within the refuge city. Moreover, because cultic asylum extended to different boundaries—from altar to temple to temple city—Weinfeld argues that one need not recognize a development in the Bible from altar asylum to city asylum. Instead, as noted above, Weinfeld argues that the “altar” in Exod 21:14 is housed within the “place” in Exod 21:13 (Social Justice, 123–24). See below for my response to this view.

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b.c.e.23 Thus “island asylum” and/or “foreign nation asylum” could be added to the list of possible places of refuge.24 Limiting considerations to the ideological world of Deuteronomy, the author could have retained the asylum function of the former sanctuary sites throughout the land while abolishing their cultic function.25 Such modification would be comparable to the redefinition of animal slaughter in one’s local town from sacred to secular in nature (Deut 12:15, 21).26 The Deuteronomic legislator, however, does not offer such a redefinition in the case of asylum. The question thus remains: Why did Deuteronomy choose city asylum? Barmash’s observations concerning Deut 19:1–13 are often quite astute; however, the data can be interpreted differently, the result of which is a more plausible solution to the problems associated with biblical asylum in the Covenant Collection and Deuteronomy. I shall begin by reexamining the lexical correspondences between Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13, which prove both more subtle and more complex and integral to the Deuteronomic revision overall than in some other examples of legal innovation. Even so, there are several simple, exact verbal correspondences. First, Exod 21:13 employs the clause hm# swny r#), “to which he may flee,” which is paralleled exactly in Deut 19:4. Additionally, variations of this phrase appear several times in Deut 19:1–13: Deut 19:3

xcr lk hm# swnl hyhw It shall be for any killer to flee there

Deut 19:5

hl)h Myr(h tx) l) swny )wh He shall flee to one of these cities

Deut 19:11

l)h Myr(h tx) l) snw He shall flee to one of these cities

Moreover, the root *ykn (C stem) appears in Exod 21:12, Deut 19:4, Deut 19:6, and Deut 19:11:27 23

Michael Heltzer, “Asylum on Alashia (Cyprus),” ZABR 7 (2001): 368–73. In his discussion of Num 35:9–34, Greenberg rejects the possibility of foreign nation asylum for ancient Israel because of the religious separation that it would cause the manslayer (“Biblical Conception of Asylum,” 128). 25 This is essentially the argument of Weinfeld, except that the number of asylum cities is limited by Deuteronomy: asylum cities predate Deut 19:1–13 in ancient Israel and originate as temple cities (Social Justice, 125, 131). See below for a critique of this view. 26 Note the secular redefinition of the verb *xbz (“to sacrifice”) in these verses. See Jacob Milgrom, “Profane Slaughter and a Formulaic Key to the Composition of Deuteronomy,” HUCA 47 (1976): 1–17; for critique of Milgrom, see Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 38, 41–43. 27 While *ykn is certainly a common verbal root, it is noteworthy that it is not necessary in this context. A root such as *grh could be substituted for *ykn in several of these examples without changing the meaning of the text. 24

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13 Exod 21:12

tmwy twm tmw #y) hk'%ma One who strikes a man, who then dies, shall surely be put to death

Deut 19:4

t(d ylbb wh(r t) hke%,yA r#) who strikes his neighbor unintentionally

Deut 19:6

twm +p#m Ny) wlw #pn w%hkf%hiw: and he strikes him fatally, but he had not committed a capital crime

Deut 19:11

tmw #pn w%hk%fhiw: and he strikes him fatally, and he thus dies

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Verbal forms from the roots *twm and *xql as well as the noun (Ar0" plus the third masculine singular possessive pronominal suffix also appear in equivalent contexts in both pericopae: *twm Exod 21:12

tmwy twm tmw #y) hkm One who strikes a man, who then dies, shall surely be put to death twml wnxqt

Exod 21:14 You shall take him to die Deut 19:5

tmw wh(r t) )cmw C(h Nm lzrbh l#nw and the iron slips from the wood and finds his neighbor, who then dies

Deut 19:6

twm +p#m Ny) wlw #pn whkhw and he strikes him fatally, but it was not a capital crime

Deut 19:11

tmw #pn whkhw and he strikes him fatally, and he thus dies

Deut 19:12

tmw Mdh l)g dyb wt) wntnw they shall give him into the hand of the avenger, and he shall die

*xql Exod 21:14

twml wnxqt You shall take him to die M#m wt) wxqlw

Deut 19:12 They shall take him from there

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) wh(r28 Exod 21:14

wgrhl wh(r l( #y) dzy ykw But if a man plots against his neighbor to kill him

Deut 19:4

t(d ylbb wh(r t) hky r#) who strikes his neighbor unintentionally

Deut 19:5

tmw wh(r t) )cmw C(h Nm lzrbh l#nw and the iron slips from the wood and finds his neighbor, who then dies

Deut 19:11

wh(rl )n# #y) hyhy ykw But if a man hates his neighbor

The Covenant Collection and Deuteronomy also express intentionality in a similar manner. In the case of inadvertency, each text focuses on both a lack of premeditation and the involuntary nature of the blow inflicted. For intentional cases, premeditation is the major indicator for judging culpable murder: Unintentional homicide: Exod 21:13 wdyl hn) Myhl)hw hdc )l r#)w But he who did not lie in wait, but rather God moved his hand Deut 19:4

M#l# lmtm wl )n# )l )whw t(d ylbb wh(r t) hky r#) (the one) who strikes his neighbor without knowledge, for he did not hate him previously

Deut 19:6

Mw#l# lwmtm wl )wh )n# )l yk for he did not hate him previously

Intentional homicide: Exod 21:14 hmr(b wgrhl wh(r l( #y) dzy ykw But if a man plots against his neighbor to kill him craftily Deut 19:11

#pn whkhw wyl( Mqw wl br)w wh(rl )n# #y) hyhy ykw But if a man hates his neighbor and lies in wait for him and rises up against him and strikes him fatally

28 As David Wright has suggested to me, the appearance of the noun (r (“friend, neighbor”) in the Covenant Collection homicide/asylum law likely originates in its author’s translation of the clause šumma awÈlµ um awÈlµ am/ana awÈlµ im + verb in the laws of Hammurabi, which is rendered (with variation) in the Covenant Collection as yk(w) + imperfect verb + #y) (+ preposition) + wh(r (see Wright, “Laws of Hammurabi,” 17–35). The appearance of this construction in Deuteronomic laws certainly reflects the Covenant Collection author’s translation of LH.

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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Finally, the casuistic formulation of primary and secondary laws in Deut 19:1–13 corresponds closely with that in Exod 21:13-14. On this point, Eckart Otto observes, The unusual order of ykw with the following r#$) in 19.4b, 5, 11 hints at a direct literary dependence of Deut. 19.2–13* upon Exod. 21.12–14. In the BC [Book of the Covenant] the general rule of the case of killing in Exod. 21.12 was followed by Exod. 21.13–14, which differentiated between fatal bodily injury and murder. Deut. 19.2–13* reversed the order and placed the asylum regulations at the fore because they were relevant with regard to the hermeneutical key of cult-centralization.29

Otto’s description of the casuistic formulation in Deut 19:1–13 is imprecise: there is no ykw in Deut 19:4b (v. 4b begins with r#$)), and v. 5 begins with r#$)w. Verse 11 begins with ykw but is not followed by r#$). Moreover, his description of a Deuteronomic reversal of the Covenant Collection’s legal sequence is erroneous: it is true that Exod 21:12–14 begins with a general murder law and then moves to unintentional and intentional cases. However, Deut 19:1–13 does not reverse the order of murder—manslaughter that Otto observes in the Covenant Collection; rather, the Deuteronomic legislator assumes the normative status of blood revenge and with it the murder law of Exod 21:12, even though he does not rehearse this law in his own asylum legislation. Consideration of intentionality, by contrast, is found in both Exod 21:13–14 and Deut 19:1–13, and each text follows the same sequence: unintentional (Exod 21:13; Deut 19:4–6, 10)–intentional (Exod 21:14; Deut 19:11–13).30 Notwithstanding these issues, Otto’s observations are helpful, for they highlight further similarities between these laws. Note the correspondences between the casuistic formulation of Exod 21:13–14 and Deut 19:1–13: Exod 21:13

Deut 19:5

r#) Mwqm Kl ytm#w wdyl hn) Myhl)hw hdc )l r#)w hm# swny But he who did not lie in wait, but rather God moved his hand, I will establish for you a place to which he may flee. trkl Nzrgb wdy hxdnw Myc( b+xl r(yb wh(r t) )by r#)w tx) l) swny )wh tmw wh(r t) )cmw C(h Nm lzrbh l#nw C(h yxw hl)h Myr(h

29 Eckart Otto, “Aspects of Legal Reforms and Reformulations,” in Theory and Method in Biblical and Cuneiform Law: Revision, Interpolation and Development (ed. B. M. Levinson; JSOTSup 181; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 160–96, here 195). Otto views 19:1, 2b, 7–9 as Deuteronomistic additions to an original, preexilic asylum text in Deut 19:2a, 3–6, 10–13. 30 Something is amiss in Otto’s statement, for, as demonstrated here, the situation is actually the reverse of what the paragraph cited says. Such basic errors suggest that there may have been a mistake in the translation of Otto’s work. Nevertheless, once corrected, the thrust of Otto’s observations remains and is helpful.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) And the one who goes with his neighbor into the forest to chop wood and his hand swings the ax head to cut the wood, but the ax head slips from the wood and finds his neighbor, who then dies, he may flee to one of these cities and live.

The sequence of elements in these two verses is analogous: (1) The law is introduced with pronominal r#$) (preceded by waµw).31 (2) An example of uninten-

31 The corresponding usage of pronominal r#$) in Exod 21:13 and Deut 19:4–5 underscores the literary relationship between these verses, for, as several scholars have noted, the formulation of Exod 21:13–14 is anomalous in the Covenant Collection but is nevertheless influential in Deut 19:4–5. Incidentally, the origin of this unconventional formulation, as David Wright has pointed out to me, is the introduction of participial law in Exod 21:12. Because the participle cannot be negated, the author employs pronominal r#$) + )l + finite verb in v. 13. Deuteronomy 27:24 vis-àvis 27:26 is a parallel example: Deut 27:24 Nm) M(h lk rm)w rtsb wh(r hkm rwr) “Cursed is the one who strikes his neighbor in secret,” and all the people said, “Amen!” Deut 27:26 rm)w Mtw) tw#(l t)zh hrwth yrbd t) Myqy )l r#) rwr) Nm) M(h lk “Cursed is he who does not uphold the words of this teaching to do them,” and all the people said, “Amen!” In this list of curses, the participle is employed in the positive construction. In the negative construction, the author employs the pronoun r#$) + )l + finite verb. Exodus 9:20–21 provides an analogous case in a narrative context. This explanation of r#$)w in Exod 21:13 mitigates somewhat the problem of the introduction of a subordinate case in v. 14 with the preposition yk. yk otherwise introduces only primary cases in the Covenant Collection, while M) is normally employed to introduce subordinate cases. Only yk is used in Exod 21:12–14, however, and then for a secondary case rather than a primary case. The solution to this problem is that the author, by employing the participial construction in v. 12 and the corresponding negative construction with r#$) in v. 13, creates a unique compositional circumstance: v. 14 is a subordinate law and thus, if it is to be introduced by a preposition, that preposition should be M). However, yk has not yet been employed in this subset of laws. He thus follows the rule that yk comes first in a casuistic law (i.e., before M)), even though v. 14 is a subordinate law. Related is the use of the participle xcr in Deut 19:4–5: as in Exod 21:13, where the antecedent for r#$) is the participle hkm in Exod 21:12, the antecendent for r#$) in both Deut 19:4b and 5a is the participle xcr in v. 4a (thus v. 5 is a direct continuation of v. 4). This scenario suggests that the author of Deut 19:1–13 may have chosen the participle xcr to describe the killer in his asylum law not only because the root *xcr could apply to either an intentional or unintentional killer but also because, even as he desired to give greater specificity to hkm in Exod 21:12, he also sought to preserve the participial form of his source text’s moniker. Gershon Brin offers a different explanation for the legal formulation in Exod 21:12–14: he suggests that the combination of two sources—one participial (Exod 21:12) and the other casuistic (Exod 21:13-14)—necessitated the reversal of vv. 13-14. To his mind, v. 14 should precede v. 13, but the author of the Covenant Collection reversed this sequence because when placed immediately after v. 12, v. 14 appears redundant (Studies in Biblical Law: From the Hebrew Bible to the Dead Sea Scrolls [JSOTSup 176; trans. Jonathan Chipman; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994], 33).

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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tional killing is offered. (3) Permission is granted to the killer to flee for asylum. In Exod 21:13, the actual establishment of the place of asylum appears (anacoluthically: ^Kl ytm#ow) between elements 2 and 3. In Deut 19:1–13, by contrast, the asylum cities and their purpose are introduced (topicalized, as it were) prior to v. 5 (19:2–4). Similar correspondences can be observed in the case of intentional killing: Exod 21:14

yxbzm M(m hmr(b wgrhl wh(r l( #y) dzy ykw twml wnxqt But if a man plots against his neighbor to kill him craftily, you shall take him from my altar to die.

Deut 19:11–12

#pn whkhw wyl( Mqw wl br)w wh(rl )n# #y) hyhy ykw wxqlw wry( ynqz wxl#w 12 l)h Myr(h tx) l) snw tmw tmw Mdh l)g dyb wt) wntnw M#m wt) But if a man hates his neighbor and lies in wait for him and rises up against him and strikes him mortally, and he dies, and he then flees to one of these cities, the elders of his city shall send and take him from there and give him into the hand of the blood avenger, and he shall die.

As in the previous example, these verses share a common sequence: (1) The law is introduced by ykw. (2) An example of intentional killing is offered. (3) The killer flees to the asylum place (assumed in Exod 21:14; stated overtly in Deut 19:11). (4) The killer is denied refuge and is sentenced to death. While the examples from Deut 19:1–13 cited above certainly differ at points from those found in Exod 21:12–14, the similarities are quite extensive and do indeed point to direct, genetic dependence of Deut 19:1–13 on Exod 21:12–14. Moreover, it is possible at points to reconstruct the compositional logic of the Deuteronomic author and his method of reusing texts. First, Deuteronomy updates the language of its source, replacing the verbs *ydc and *yn), which are very rare in the Hebrew Bible generally and do not appear at all elsewhere in the book of Deuteronomy.32 Second, in comparison with Exod 21:13, the author While such an explanation is potentially attractive, there are no other examples of laws beginning with yk followed by subordinate laws introduced by r#$)w in biblical casuistic legislation. Thus, Brin’s solution is as exceptional as the present form of Exod 21:12-14. 32 The verb *ydc appears only twice in the Hebrew Bible: Exod 21:13; 1 Sam 24:12. The verb *yn) appears four times in the Hebrew Bible: Exod 21:13; 2 Kgs 5:7; Ps 91:10; Prov 12:22. Michael Fishbane describes the scribal practice of lexical substitution, best evidenced in texts that borrow extensively from other biblical texts (e.g., between Chronicles and Samuel/Kings) (Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel [Oxford: Clarendon, 1985], 55–57). In the book of Deuteronomy, one can observe this phenomenon both in legal texts, as noted here, and in narrative texts. For examples of

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of Deut 19:6 reverses the sequence of criteria for judging a homicide unintentional:33 Exod 21:13 Deut 19:4

wdyl hn) Myhl)hw hdc )l r#)w M#l# lmtm wl )n# )l )whw t(d ylbb wh(r t) hky r#)

-l; )n"#o becomes Deuteronomy’s preferred description of intention throughout the rest of its pericope. This explains the recurrence of this phrase in Deuteronomy’s description of intentional homicide (Deut 19:11), where it replaces the verb *dyz (Exod 21:14). Even in this revision, however, Deut 19:11 borrows the term wh(r from Exod 21:14 and integrates it into its description of intentional homicide with -l; )n"#o: #pn whkhw wyl( Mqw wl br)w wh(rl )n#o #y) hyhy ykw Moreover, Deut 19:11 complements its -l; )n"#o clause with the verb *br), a more frequently attested synonym to the verb *ydc,34 which the author already replaced in Deut 19:6 with the -l; )n"#o clause. Finally, Deut 19:11 omits the adverbial phrase hmfr:(fb; in Exod 21:14 presumably for two reasons: (1) hmfr:(f is an unusual biblical word35 and is unattested elsewhere in Deuteronomy; and (2) the author deemed hmfr:(fb; unnecessary, for its function in Exod 21:14 parallels the -l; )n"#o clause in Deut 19:11. Analysis of the compositional logic of Deut 19:1–13 can be extended further by comparing the portions of the law that correspond directly to Exod 21:12–14 with the portions of the law that find no direct literary parallel in the Covenant Collection law. Deuteronomy 19:3b–6, 11–12 exhibit lexical correspondence to Exod 21:12–14, as demonstrated already. By contrast, Deut 19:1–3a, 7–10, 13 contain no direct lexical parallels with Exod 21:12–14. Interestingly, the formulation of Deuteronomy’s asylum legislation can be divided according to grammatical the latter, see the chapter entitled “Deuteronomy as Interpretation” in Marc Z. Brettler, The Creation of History in Ancient Israel (London: Routledge, 1995), 62–78. 33 This may be an interpretive variation of the inverted quotation technique commonly called Zeidel’s law, after its discoverer. See Moshe Zeidel, “Parallels between Isaiah and Psalms” (in Hebrew), Sinai 38 (1955–56): 149–72, 229–40, 272–80, 335–55; Pancratius C. Beentjes, “Inverted Quotations in the Bible: A Neglected Stylistic Pattern,” Bib 63 (1982): 506–23; idem, “Discovering a New Path of Intertextuality: Inverted Quotations and Their Dynamics,” in Literary Structure and Rhetorical Strategies in the Hebrew Bible (ed. L. J. de Regt et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 31–50. 34 See Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 23 n. 6. 35 hmfr:(f appears five times in the Hebrew Bible, twice with a negative connotation: “craftiness” (Exod 21:14; Josh 9:4), “prudence” (Prov 1:4; 8:5, 12).

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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person in the same way: Deut 19:3b–6, 11–12 exhibit third person, casuistic formulation, while Deut 19:1–3a, 7–10, 13 exhibit second person formulation that is a combination of casuistic and apodictic style. In other words, the content that the Deuteronomic legislator takes over without significant alteration is expressed in the language of his textual patrimony and in third person casuistic formulation. When Deuteronomy innovates, however, the author regularly reverts to his preferred second person, apodictic style. Analogous is the Deuteronomic revision of the kidnapping law of Exod 21:16: Deut 24:7 converts the Covenant Collection’s participial law into third person casuistic form and strictly follows this legal style until introducing its own characteristically second person apodictic rationale clause (Kbrqm (rh tr(bw, “and you shall purge the evil from your midst”). The changes in grammatical person and legal style mark the shift from dependence on source material to original composition.36 With respect to legal formulation, however, there is a middle road for the Deuteronomic legislator. Specifically, Deuteronomy need not follow its source text slavishly even when it borrows lemmas directly from it. With regard to asylum laws, the verb *xql in Exod 21:14 is in the second person form (w%n%xeq%ft%i). By contrast, Deut 19:12 attests a third person form of the same verb (w%xq;lfw:), undoubtedly due to the added context in the Deuteronomic law (i.e., the introduction of the elders). This change in context allows the author of Deut 19:12 to simultaneously borrow and innovate, preferring the diction of his source even as he smoothes its legal formulation to conform to his larger composition. The result is consistent use of third person casuistic formulation in instances in which the author of Deut 19:1–13 borrows from the Covenant Collection asylum law, even though the latter is not characterized by such consistency. On this point, too, Deut 24:7 provides an analogy. The legal patrimony for this text—the participial law in Exod 21:16—is converted into a third person casuistic law. This revision is particularly striking because the asylum law in Exod 21:13–14 is introduced by and depends on the participial homicide law in Exod 21:12, which suggests that Deuteronomy may employ a similar methodology for revising various participial laws and those subordinate to them. The shift from second person wnxqt in Exod 21:14 to third person wxqlw in Deut 19:12 may also indicate a substantive shift in the Deuteronomic law. In light of the connection between the Covenant Collection altar and asylum laws, it is likely that the imagined referents of the second person form in Exod 21:14 are the same as those to whom the altar laws are directed in Exod 20:24–26.37 In the latter case, the recipient of the law is explicitly the nation of Israel as a whole (cf. 36 To my knowledge, scholars have not previously recognized that the Deuteronomic asylum law’s dependence on Exod 21:12–14 is recognizable in the variation between the third person casuistic and second person apodictic legal formulation of this unit. 37 I thank David Wright for calling my attention to this point.

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Exod 20:22). Thus, in the Covenant Collection law, the adjudication of the asylum seeker’s case (implied in Exod 21:13–14) and the execution of the penalty in v. 14 are the responsibility of the national administrative body. By contrast, Deut 19:12 clearly assigns to the city elders jurisdiction over both the trial and punishment phases of the asylum seeker’s case. By employing the form wxql, then, the Deuteronomic author modifies the second person verbal form of his source text and in this way marks his own composition as a revision. But by making this revision, he also subverts the legal process his source text prescribes, introducing instead a new adjudication procedure for the case of the asylum seeker. Such nuanced revision—integrating and even subsuming significant content alterations within a grammatical pattern that marks textual reuse—exemplifies the Deuteronomic author’s keen understanding of his legal patrimony as well as his skillful method of literary revision. The introduction of the city elders also betrays the Deuteronomic author’s strong orientation toward application of this legislation in the land of Israel (cf. Deut 19:1).38 The preceding discussion demonstrates the intricacy of the Deuteronomic author’s creative utilization and modification of his source text and highlights three different compositional techniques employed in Deut 19:1–13 for such revision: 1. Direct borrowing without revision of legal formulation 2. Direct borrowing of content with revised legal formulation 3. Creative revision of content and interpolations in the preferred style of the author Distinguishing clearly between portions of the Deuteronomic asylum law that have been influenced by the Covenant Collection and those parts that have not been so influenced may at first suggest the combination of two originally independent sources, one of which contained third-person casuistic law while the other contained second-person apodictic and/or casuistic law. Further investigation, however, demonstrates that positing multiple, originally independent legal sources in the case of Deuteronomic asylum is not warranted, for those sections of Deut 19:1–13 without parallel in the Covenant Collection (i.e., Deut 19:1–3a, 7–10, 13) are infused with characteristically Deuteronomic language.39

38 One is tempted to conclude that the Deuteronomic author may find further substantiation for introducing the city elders here in light of their role at Sinai in Exodus 19 and 24 (19:7; 24:1, 9, 14). That is, Exod 20:22 clearly states that Moses is to speak to the children of Israel, but the elders play an especially prominent and representational role in Exodus 19 and 24, which suggests that they should represent the people in the fulfillment of Moses’ command in Exod 21:14. 39 See Weinfeld’s helpful compilation of Deuteronomic phraseology (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 320–65).

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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III. The Reconceptualization of Mwqm in Deuteronomy 19:1–13 The foregoing reconstruction of the compositional logic of the Deuteronomic asylum law adds further weight to the lexical and sequential ties adduced between Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13. The most compelling piece of evidence recommending a direct, literary relationship between these asylum laws, however, concerns the issue of the Mwqm in Exod 21:13 and its reflex in Deut 19:1–13. The suggestion that Mwqm in Exod 21:13 may refer to a city and not to a cultic site presents a possibility for understanding the relationship between asylum laws in the Covenant Collection and Deuteronomy. Although a modern, historical-critical reading of Mwqm in Exod 21:13 precludes the meaning of “city, town” (ry(), as shown above, Barmash likely (unknowingly) stumbled upon the logic of the Deuteronomic legislator in his revision of the homicide and asylum laws in the Covenant Collection. The question is, Is it possible that the author of Deut 19:1-13 exploited the biblical semantic parallel between Mwqm and ry( in order to reorient the Covenant Collection law? Did he recognize that a claim for city asylum rather than altar asylum can indeed be found in the ambiguous use of Mwqm in Exod 21:13? Barmash certainly does: as noted already, she goes even further, suggesting that Mwqm in Exod 21:13 actually does mean ry(. Her conclusion, however, recognizes no literary relationship between these two laws: No evidence exists for the dependence of Deut 19:1–13 on Exod 21:12–14. It appears, then, that Deut 19:1–13 assumes that the cities of refuge were an institution of long standing, not an innovation. . . . There are no texts that depict cities of refuge as a radical discontinuity. The cities of refuge are presented as having continuity with past practice.40

A different conclusion is more plausible: with regard to city asylum, the Deuteronomic legislator need not innovate, for he finds just such a long-standing institution in (his interpretation of) his source text. In other words, Deut 19:1–13 does not assume that asylum cities were a well-established institution; it asserts this claim from documented fact. Moreover, Deuteronomy’s asylum law need not polemicize strongly against its source in order to present its innovation, for it can simply declare that Mwqm in Exod 21:13 always meant ry(.41 This is the reason that 40 Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 80. Milgrom similarly argues that Deuteronomic asylum is unrelated to centralization and does not innovate but rather presumes a long-standing tradition of city asylum (“Sancta Contagion and Altar/City Asylum,” 302–3; see also Jacob Milgrom, Numbers rbdmb [JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia/New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1990], 506). 41 In some ways, although he views the chronology of the relationship between the pentateuchal asylum laws differently, Greenberg comes closest to this interpretation in his conclusions

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there is no explicit link between asylum and centralization in Deuteronomy: in the case of the centralization law itself, the Deuteronomic legislator understands that he is presenting boldly reformative ideas, and thus although he certainly borrows from the altar law in Exod 20:24, he also polemicizes against his source text in order to discredit it.42 By contrast, in our text the author need only highlight the continuity between his asylum legislation and that found in the Covenant Collection. For Deuteronomy, centralization and city asylum need not be linked, for while the latter may (and does—see below) in actuality arise in response to the former, the Deuteronomic author can simply read city asylum into Exod 21:12–14 through his creative interpretation of Mwqm.43 Further supporting this understanding of Deuteronomy’s cities of refuge as a response to Mwqm in Exod 21:13 is the correspondence between Deut 19:1–13 and the domestic law concerning a rebellious son that follows soon after it (21:18–21; esp. v. 19). These two texts are easily compared for two reasons: first, they both participate in a larger group of laws in which cases are adjudicated by the elders of the city rather than by a centralized judiciary.44 Thus, Deut 21:18–21 highlights concerning the relationship of Exod 21:12–14 and Num 35:9–34. He states, “The law of Numbers is to be understood as amplifying the vague ‘place’ to which Exodus promises that the manslayer will be able to flee” (“The Biblical Conception of Asylum,” 132). 42 See Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 46-48. Perhaps the best example of such polemic against Exod 20:24 is Deut 12:13: h)rt r#) Mwqm lkb Kytl( hl(t Np Kl rm#h, “Be careful lest you offer up your burnt offerings in any place that you see.” As Levinson rightly observes, Exod 20:24–25 does not allow such casual sacrifice, yet the author of Deut 12:13 cleverly uses the precise language of Exod 20:24 to produce a straw-man interpretation of his source text that he can then discredit. 43 Otto similarly argues that Deuteronomy’s asylum law reformulates the Covenant Collection’s asylum law (Das Deuteronomium, 253–56). Recognizing the parallel between the altar law in Exod 20:24–26 and the asylum law in Exod 21:12–14, he contends that Deuteronomy understood Mwqm in Exod 21:13 as its single sanctuary and thus legislated cities to serve the function of the local sanctuary refuge places envisioned by the Covenant Collection. Otto even claims to identify a Deuteronomic terminological distinction between the asylum city, which is labeled ry(, and the non-asylum city in the land, which is referred to synecdochically as r(#$ (“gate”) (ibid., 255 n. 248). However, even a cursory examination of the attestations of ry( in Deuteronomy reveals that such a distinction cannot be maintained. Nevertheless, his conclusion accords with my own view: “Das dtn Asylgesetz bedient sich der Autorität des entsprechenden Gesetzes des Bundesbuches und gibt sich als dessen Reformulierung und Reformierung zu erkennen” (ibid., 253; italics his). Otto does not recognize, however, that the origin of the idea itself for cities of asylum originates in the Deuteronomic interpretive process, as argued here. Therefore, the question of why Deuteronomy legislates cities of asylum, as opposed to another form of refuge, is also left unanswered by Otto. 44 Levinson argues that, in the case of homicide, Deut 17:8–13 seeks to replace the local courts adjudicated by the elders with the central judiciary (Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 128–29). Several scholars have critiqued this view; for example, see Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 36; Carolyn Pressler, “A Response to Bernard Levinson’s Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation,” ZABR 6 (2000): 314–19. It is unlikely that the Deuteronomic authors would include

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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the role of the city elders in its law (vv. 19-20) in a manner analogous to that in the asylum law (Deut 19:12).45 Second, as noted already, Deut 21:19 explicitly places Mwqm and ry( in parallel: Deut 21:19

wmqm r(# l)w wry( ynqz l) wt) w)ycwhw wm)w wyb) wb w#ptw His mother and father shall seize him and take him out to the elders of his city and to the gate of his place.

This verse is especially important for understanding the development of city asylum in Deut 19:1-13 because it demonstrates that the Deuteronomic author recognizes the parallel between Mwqm and ry( and does so in a judicial context comparable to that of the refuge law. In light of such evidence, it is likely that the Deuteronomic legislator intentionally omits the word Mwqm from his discussion of cities of refuge in order to contrast his vision of city asylum with the altar asylum found in his source text. This also explains why explicit reference to cult centralization, including the centralization formula found in several Deuteronomic laws, is absent from Deut 19:1–13: because the author is reinterpreting the term Mwqm to mean ry(, he avoids making any reference to Mwqm as cultic site—its precise meaning in the centralization formula. Moreover, it is important to recognize that, with respect to its specifically cultic character,46 Mwqm is fundamentally singular for the Deuteronomic legislation such as Deut 19:1-13 in their work if their aim were to supplant completely the local judiciary in the precise cases that the asylum law addresses. 45 There are several Deuteronomic laws that elucidate the judicial function of the city elders. Particularly comparable to Deut 19:1–13 is the hpwr( hlg( (broken-neck heifer) rite in Deut 21:1–9, the concerns, procedures, and players of which are analogous to the Deuteronomic asylum law (many scholars assign these two texts to the same layer within the compositional history of Deuteronomy; see Rofé, “History of the Cities of Refuge,” 126–27). As in the asylum text (esp. 19:10, 13), the interest of Deut 21:1–9 is the shedding of innocent blood (yqn Md Kp#$) and its potential effects (Deut 21:7–9, 13). Moreover, the city elders play a fundamental role both in assessing the guilt or innocence of the killer in Deut 19:12 and in determining which town must participate in the elimination rite in Deut 21:1–9 and in facilitating that rite (Deut 21:2–3). Each text commands the measurement of the land between cities (Deut 19:3; 21:2). Additionally, both the asylum text and the hpwr( hlg( rite employ the same verb to describe the killing, *xcr (Deut 19:4, 6, 11; Deut 21:1). For further discussion of the judicial function of the elders, see Jacob Milgrom, “The Ideological and Historical Importance of the Office of Judge in Deuteronomy,” in Isac Leo Seeligmann Volume: Essays on the Bible and the Ancient World (ed. A. Rofé and Y. Zakovitch; 3 vols.; Jerusalem: E. Rubenstein, 1983), 3:129–39. 46 Deuteronomy 23:17 employs the term Mwqm in the singular in the context of a slave choosing a place to live and the Israelites’ obligation to not return him to his master. In this verse, Mwqm does not have a cultic connotation. It is interesting to note, however, that the slave’s choice of a “place” to dwell among the Israelites is described in terms that parallel the centralization formula almost exactly. See Hamilton, Social Justice, 117–21. Further, Deuteronomy rarely uses Mwqm in reference to the land of Israel as a whole (e.g., Deut 26:9). Thomas C. Römer suggests that such texts are exilic

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legislator. In fact, the only attestation of twmwqm (“places”) in the book of Deuteronomy is the proverbial exception that proves this rule. Deut 12:2 states: Deut 12:2

Mywgh M# wdb( r#) twmqmh lk t) Nwdb)t db) Mymrh Myrhh l( Mhyhl) t) Mt) My#ry Mt) r#) Nn(r C( lk txtw tw(bgh l(w You shall destroy all of the places in which the nations that you are possessing worshipped their gods—those upon the high mountains and upon the hills and under every leafy tree.

This single example of Mwqm in the plural, found at the beginning of Deuteronomy’s centralization law, appears in the context of prohibited worship. For the Deuteronomic legislator, the proper locale for worship is essentially singular, and he underscores such cultic ideology by contrasting the singular “place that the Lord your God shall choose” with the plural “places” in which the Canaanites worshiped their gods. Thus, twmwqm in Deut 12:2 serve as a foil for the ensuing details of cult centralization. In light of this fundamental tie between cultic connotation and singularity, the word Mwqm is effectively eliminated from eligibility in the Deuteronomic author’s discussion of asylum: to speak of multiple, noncultic “places” undercuts too severely the driving ideological principle that stands behind the Deuteronomic legal corpus.47 The author of the Deuteronomic asylum law is thus forced to reinterpret his source text’s use of what has become to him a vital and technical term—Mwqm.48 in origin and therefore link temple and land together, for the restoration of the former requires the restoration of the latter (“Cult Centralization in Deuteronomy 12: Between Deuteronomistic History and Pentateuch,” in Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk [ed. E. Otto and R. Achenbach; FRLANT 206; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004], 168–80, here 172–73). Römer’s suggestion that Mwqm in Deut 12:11 may mean “land,” however, is dubious and may even cast doubt on his larger historical reconstruction. 47 An analogous example of “reserving” a particular word/verbal root for a specific, technical usage (and refusing to use it otherwise) is the attestation of the verb *#$dq in P/H. In contrast to other biblical authors, pentateuchal Priestly writers never employ this verb for simple cleaning/ washing. Instead, P/H reserves *#$dq for specialized use within its ideological framework of cult and morality (see Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 967). 48 The import and flexibility of the term Mwqm in asylum legislation are further exemplified by its attestation in Josh 20:4. This verse states, “He shall flee to one of these cities and stand at the opening of the gate and speak his words into the ears of the elders of that city. They shall gather him to themselves into the city and they shall provide a place (Mwqm) for him, and he shall dwell with them/under their protection.” Meir Malul argues that in this verse Mwqm is not simply a physical place but rather takes on a spacially nuanced sense of social status (“>Aµqeµb ‘Heel’ and >Aµqab ‘To Supplant’ and the Concept of Succession in the Jacob-Esau Narratives,” VT 46 [1996]: 190–212, here 210).

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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The foregoing arguments make it possible to contrast Deuteronomy’s centralization law with its asylum law as follows: the author of Deuteronomy 12 takes over the basic meaning of Mwqm in his legal patrimony of Exod 20:24 without change. In both cases, it is a cultic site. The only difference is plurality versus singularity.49 In Deut 19:1–13, by contrast, the author must revise his source, secularizing50 what is explicitly cultic in Exod 21:12–14. Rather than meaning “cult place,” as it does in Exod 21:13 (in the context of v. 14 and the association of these verses with Exod 20:24–26), the author of Deut 19:1–13 reinterprets Mwqm so that it might mean ry(. Such secularization, however, allows the Deuteronomic author to retain the potential plurality of Mwqm in Exod 21:13, for as “city” instead of “cult place,” there is no longer any fundamental ideological restriction with regard to multiple “places.” Through such creative inner-biblical exegesis, Deuteronomy borrows the prestige and authority of its source text, presenting its legal innovation as continuous and harmonious with Exod 21:12–14.51 Just as modern scholars have struggled with the difficult phrase Mwqmh lkb in Exod 20:24 and have treated it as a crux interpretum, it is possible that the author(s) of the Deuteronomic centralization law exploited this “pregnant construction” to his own ends. That is, though this phrase should be rendered “in every place,” as noted above, it is possible that the Deuteronomic author found a textual basis for a singular Mwqm in this phrase, choosing to understand r#) Mwqmh lkb ym# t) rykz) as “in the entirety of the (singular) place in which I will declare my name.” In light of Deuteronomy’s penchant for legitimating its innovations through inner-biblical exegesis, it is likely that the Deuteronomic author does creatively interpret Mwqmh lkb in Exod 20:24 as a singular cultic site. I thank David Wright for this suggestion. 50 Weinfeld also argues that Deuteronomy secularizes in the case of asylum; however, he presumes that Num 35:9–34 is historically antecedent to Deut 19:1–13 and serves as a source for the latter. Thus, Deuteronomy’s secularization, evidenced by its use of the verb lydbh (Deut 19:2, 7) rather than the Priestly hrqh (Num 35:11) and #$dqh (Josh 20:7) (but cf. Rofé’s rebuttal of such argument [“History of the Cities of Refuge,” 133]), is a move away from the cultic consideration of asylum in the Priestly law and not from altar asylum in the Covenant Collection (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 236–37). In addition to viewing the chronology of the sources differently, Weinfeld leaves the question of the origin of the concept of city asylum unexplained. For secularization in Deuteronomy, see also Moshe Weinfeld, “On ‘Demythologization and Secularization’ in Deuteronomy,” IEJ 23 (1973): 230–33; Jacob Milgrom, “The Alleged ‘Demythologization and Secularization’ in Deuteronomy,” IEJ 23 (1973): 156–61. 51 The method of inner-biblical exegesis that I observe here builds on that explained by Fishbane (Biblical Interpretation, 231–77) and by Levinson (Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, passim). In the latter case, Levinson concentrates especially on examples in which the Deuteronomic legislator uses the exact words or phrases (in his and Fishbane’s terminology, lemmas) of the Covenant Collection in order to subvert their meaning in their original context (cf. Deuteronomy 12’s reinterpretation of the altar law in Exod 20:24 [Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics, 23–52]). In the case of Mwqm in Exod 21:13, however, the Deuteronomic author does not actually use the exact term from his source text but rather only interprets it, thereby leaving less evidence of his literary dependence. Nevertheless, as is the case in Levinson’s examples, Deuteronomy here borrows the authority of the Covenant Collection while altering its message. This seems similar to what Fishbane calls the “‘bound’ variety” of “implied lemmatic exegesis” (Biblical Interpretation, 267). In a more recent article (“You Must Not Add Anything to What I Command You: Paradoxes 49

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Finally, the other innovations introduced in the Deuteronomic asylum law flow smoothly from this reconceptualization of Mwqm as ry(. For example, Deuteronomy clarifies the adjudication of the asylum seeker’s case by introducing the city elders, for whom the city (gate) is the natural judicial context.52 Similarly, while Exod 21:13–14 leaves the fate of the unintentional killer undefined, the asylum city in Deut 19:1–13 provides a potentially permanent safehaven for the manslayer.53 Even without the preceding explanation of Deuteronomy’s interpretation of asylum in the Covenant Collection, Barmash’s contention that Deut 19:1–13 contains no polemic vis-à-vis Exod 21:12–14 cannot withstand closer evaluation. As noted already, the Deuteronomic author offers a compelling rationale for his asylum city legislation in v. 6: such cities must be established so that, if the distance be too far, the blood avenger cannot overtake the manslayer on his way to of Canon and Authorship in Ancient Israel,” Numen 50 [2003]: 1–51), Levinson discusses further the nature of biblical legal innovation and offers particularly pertinent insights for the present study. For example, he states, “The biblical authors developed what may best be described as a ‘rhetoric of concealment,’ one that served to camouflage the actual literary history of the laws” (p. 24). Likewise, in the context of his discussion of Ezekiel’s transformation of intergenerational punishment, Levinson notes, “The new teaching is presented as consistent with the very doctrine that it rejects: as an authoritatively taught ‘re-citation’ of the original theologoumenon” (p. 39). Such is the case in Deuteronomy’s transformation of Exod 21:13’s Mwqm. 52 See Willis, Elders of the City, 89–144. 53 In contrast to Num 35:25, 28, Deut 19:1–13 does not explicitly state how long the unintentional killer must remain in the asylum city. For this reason, scholars have offered several different suggestions for understanding the nature and length of the manslayer’s residence in the asylum city. For example, Weinfeld argues that the manslayer would remain in the asylum city until the blood avenger’s anger diminished (Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 237). Rofé suggests, on the evidence of Num 35:32, that the manslayer would pay a ransom to the victim’s family, thereby resolving the issue of blood feud for the blood avenger (“History of the Cities of Refuge,” 144). Raymond Westbrook holds that compensation may be paid to the victim’s family in the case of both intentional and unintentional killing (Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Law [CahRB 26; Paris: Gabalda, 1988], 79). The implication in the text, however, is that the unintentional killer must remain in the asylum city permanently in order safely to avoid reprisal at the hand of the blood avenger (see Willis’s discussion of this issue, in which he argues that requiring the exile of the unintentional killer “equalizes” the loss of the victim’s family [Elders of the City, 135]). One major issue in Deut 19:1–13 that is left unexplained by the Deuteronomic reconceptualization of Mwqm as ry( is the introduction of the blood avenger as agent of revenge. It is possible that the idea of blood revenge, which is common in kinship-based societies (see Barmash, Homicide in Ancient Israel, 20–70; Willis, Elders of the City, 90–111), was assumed by the Deuteronomic author in his understanding of Exod 21:12–14 and simply made explicit in Deut 19:1–13 (so Westbrook, Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Law, 79). Certainly Exod 21:13–14 assumes that the unintentional killer is in potential danger, especially in light of the homicide law in Exod 21:12 and the talion prescriptions in Exod 21:23b–25. However, there is no direct evidence for determining how the blood avenger was introduced into the pentateuchal asylum laws.

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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the place of asylum. The question that must be addressed here is, Why would the distance to the place of asylum be too far? What is the author’s assumption that stands behind his rationale in v. 6? Deuteronomy 19:6 betrays both its assumption of cult centralization and its dependence on a source that advocates altar asylum.54 Specifically, this verse presumes that the immediately preceding command that three cities of asylum be established will combat any potential problem that fewer places of refuge could create. Is this possibility to which the author responds a hypothetical one, or is Deuteronomy here responding to an actual, if only literary, issue? The most plausible answer is that the Deuteronomic legislator is here reacting to the promulgation of altar asylum in Exod 21:12–14, which, if taken over wholesale in Deuteronomy, would mean that asylum would be limited to the single, centralized sanctuary.55 In such a circumstance, the distance to the altar could indeed be so far that the manslayer could be unduly exposed to the blood avenger’s wrath. Thus, Deut 19:6 serves precisely as a polemic against the altar asylum that Exod 21:12–14 advocates and does so in response to Deuteronomy’s larger program of cult centralization. The recognition that Deuteronomy reinterprets Mwqm in Exod 21:13 as ry( and thus avoids the word Mwqm altogether also provides further evidence for evaluating the suggestion of scholars such as Rofé and Otto that, in addition to the asylum cities that it legislates, Deuteronomy imagines the central sanctuary as a place of refuge.56 Such a scenario is unlikely for several reasons. First, Deuteronomy nowhere refers to the central sanctuary (city) as an asylum city.57 Second, the description of the establishment of the asylum cities in Deut 19:2–3, which includes instructions for dividing the land, takes no account of an additional refuge at the central sanctuary. Neither does the rest of the passage take into account an additional place of asylum: Deut 19:5

yxw hl)h Myr(h tx) l) swny )wh He may flee to one of these cities and live.

Deut 19:9

hl)h #l#h l( Myr( #l# dw( Kl tpsyw You shall add for yourself another three cities on top of these three.

Finally, Deuteronomy’s redefinition of the term Mwqm from sanctuary to city, its disciplined avoidance of centralization language in its asylum law, and its specific 54 Rofé similarly recognizes that Deut 19:6 responds to the issue of cult centralization (“History of the Cities of Refuge,” 127–28). 55 Among the many scholars who recognize the shift from altar asylum to city asylum as a response to Deuteronomic centralization, see recently Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 253–56; and Rofé, “History of the Cities of Refuge,” 127–28, 133, 137. 56 Rofé, “History of the Cities of Refuge,” 128–30; Otto, Das Deuteronomium, 264–65. 57 See Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World, 88 n. 61.

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polemic against sanctuary asylum (Deut 19:6) eliminate the central sanctuary from consideration as a place of refuge. Thus, the continuity between Exod 21:12– 14 and Deut 19:1–13 is but a guise, masking the considerable innovation of the Deuteronomic author. By claiming that Deuteronomy preserves Jerusalem as an asylum city, Rofé and Otto fail to recognize that the legislator here completely secularizes asylum and thus rejects the Covenant Collection’s altar asylum.58 Rofé argues based on historical data that Jerusalem remained an asylum city even into the postbiblical period;59 however, such evidence can only demonstrate that the Deuteronomic legislator was either not completely successful in his attempt to replace altar asylum with city asylum or that the city of Jerusalem was indeed considered an asylum city by persons and/or sources unrelated to Deut 19:1–13. If the issue is indeed the incomplete accomplishment of the Deuteronomic reform of asylum, such failure of application is certainly attested with regard to other laws in Deuteronomy. One of the most well-known examples of the historical breakdown of Deuteronomic law is in the case of the release of slaves: Jer 34:8–22 records the prophet’s indictment of the Judeans for failing to enact the release of slaves and does so by citing (a variation of) the law concerning slaves in Deut 15:12–18.60 Similarly, letters from the Jewish colony at Elephantine reveal that diasporic Jews in the postexilic period were custodians of a YHWHistic temple in their Egyptian locale and that their temple was sanctioned by Jewish officials in Jerusalem,61 a flagrant violation of the centralization law in Deuteronomy 12. In the case of asylum, the literary evidence precludes the possibility 58 Rofé argues that the Deuteronomic asylum law was only “intended to modify and complement the customary law,” as expressed in Exod 21:12–14 (“History of the Cities of Refuge,” 128). Otto differentiates between the sanctuary city and the land cities, arguing that Exod 21:13–14 applies to the central sanctuary while Deut 19:2–13 applies to the rest of the land (Das Deuteronomium, 264–65). 59 Rofé cites an ambiguous letter from Arad; Jer 7:4, 9–14; several psalms; Neh 6:10–13; 1 Macc 10:31, 43; and Hellenistic custom in support of understanding Jerusalem as a refuge in the post-Deuteronomic period (“History of the Cities of Refuge,” 128–30). 60 See M. David, “The Manumission of Slaves under Zedekiah (A Contribution to the Laws about Hebrew Slaves),” OTS 5 (1948): 63–79; Nahum Sarna, “Zedekiah’s Emancipation of Slaves and the Sabbatical Year,” in Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday (ed. H. A. Hoffner; AOAT 22; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1973), 143–49. 61 See texts 30–33 in Arthur E. Cowley, Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1923). See also the newer edition of these texts (identified as A4.7–A4.10) in Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt (3 vols.; Jerusalem: Hebrew University Department of the History of the Jewish People, 1986) and their English translation with commentary (texts B19–B22) in Bezalel Porten, The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change (Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui 22; Leiden: Brill, 1996).

Stackert: Asylum in Exod 21:12–14 and Deut 19:1–13

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that the author of Deut 19:1–13 intended the central sanctuary to serve as a place of refuge. A final word: the historical development from altar asylum to city asylum that is posited here exists on the literary level, for my interest in this study is the literary development of a concept within competing ideological frameworks. The “history” that is recovered in this analysis is both the real compositional interaction between actual ancient texts and the story imagined and narrated within them. Deuteronomy 19:1–13 invents the concept of refuge cities on interpretive grounds in its creative engagement with its textual legal patrimony, Exod 21:12–14.62 The actual history of asylum in ancient Israel remains unaddressed in this scenario. This is important to note because the concern of many scholars who have analyzed the pentateuchal asylum laws previously has been the real, historical development of asylum practice in ancient Israel. I challenge such theories only insofar as their substantiation lies primarily in biblical texts. The real history of ancient Israel may actually agree with one reconstruction or another, although further extrabiblical evidence would be necessary to demonstrate this. 62 An interpretive invention of asylum cities accords better with the Deuteronomic method of introducing reform than does any posited reaction to historical circumstance. For example, in Deuteronomy 12, it is not historical circumstances but interpretive interaction with Exod 20:24 that forms the basis for D’s centralization law. So also here: interpretation of Exod 21:12–14 provides the basis for the invention of asylum cities, not the preexistence of such refuge towns in Israel/Judah.

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I N

P A P E R B A C K

Winner of the 2005 Meritorious Publication Award, University of Cape Town

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JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 51–72

Jeroboam the Ephratite mark leuchter [email protected] Hebrew College, 160 Herrick Rd., Newton Center, MA 02459

The enduring legacy of Jeroboam b. Nebat is one of unparalleled apostasy within the universe of the Deuteronomistic History (Dtr). The northern realm he created is irreparably corrupted by his religious policies, and every subsequent northern king is judged by the Deuteronomist to be wholly illegitimate regardless of individual virtues or accomplishments explicitly because of Jeroboam’s example. It is ultimately Jeroboam who is credited with the fall of the north to Assyria, and it is against him that Josiah’s own merits are compared as the latter attempted to repair the schism with the north and reestablish Davidic hegemony.1 The character of the Davidic line is defined in large part through the consistent demonization of Jeroboam and the society he chartered.2 No other king is so strenuously distanced from the principles of the prophetic tradition, the theological standards of Israelite covenantal identity, or the inherent grace of the Davidic house.3 This last point is especially noteworthy in light of the central role of Josiah in orchestrating the penultimate form of Dtr. Josiah’s designs on the north (in the wake of Assurbanipal’s death in 627 b.c.e.) necessitated a simultaneous vilification of Solomon and an affirmation of the royal heritage that he shaped and 1 See Marvin A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 21–169, 170–74; Sweeney does note, however, that an antiJeroboam tradition may have obtained during the Hezekian period in the pre-Josianic stages of the Dtr tradition (p. 92). See also Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973), 274–89; Gary N. Knoppers, Two Nations under God: The Deuteronomistic History of Solomon and the Dual Monarchies, vol. 1, The Reign of Solomon and the Rise of Jeroboam (HSM 52; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 50–56; Jeffrey C. Geoghegan, “‘Until This Day’ and the Preexilic Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History,” JBL 122 (2003): 201–27. 2 Cross, Canaanite Myth, 279–82; Sweeney, King Josiah, 77–92; E. Theodore Mullen, Jr., “The Sins of Jeroboam: A Redactional Assessment,” CBQ 49 (1987): 212–32. 3 The formula “for the sake of [my/his] servant David” or related variants in Dtr are matched in frequency and thematic force only by the converse formula “Jeroboam, who caused Israel to sin”; the two figures are counter-prototypes of each other in the eyes of the Deuteronomist.

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of which he was a part.4 The castigation of Jeroboam distributes the reserves of guilt: Solomon made mistakes, but Jeroboam turned them into catastrophes, and thus the latter is to be credited with incurring the wrath of Yhwh and securing the destruction of an entire kingdom. So monumental is Josiah’s elimination of Jeroboam’s Bethel shrine that it heals the wounds that emerged during the Solomonic era, and covenantal harmony could once again flow through the land as it did in the days of David.5 The Dtr damnation of Jeroboam draws attention away from an important aspect of that king’s commission, and that is the manner in which Jeroboam is characterized before his consecration of Bethel (and Dan). As scholars have long noted, Jeroboam is introduced as a charismatic and industrious leader, one who is apparently well regarded in the public arena, who rises to prominence while working under the Solomonic regime. These traits are clearly reminiscent of the early depiction of David as he distinguished himself while under Saul’s regime. This warrants special attention, as the covenant pronounced by Ahijah (though it currently bears the marks of Dtr redaction) essentially mirrors those pronounced by Nathan in 2 Samuel 7.6 The tension in the text is obvious—Jeroboam, the anti-David in the Deuteronomistic universe, is initially presented in a Davidic mold. The covenant decreed by Ahijah, in its current form, has certainly gone through a Deuteronomistic redaction, and thus a once-pronounced dimension has been muted: that it was geared as a mandate not for a new kingdom standing apart from the Judean realm, but for a regime change in the extant Davidic kingdom.7 An examination 4 For Josiah’s northern agenda, see Mark Leuchter, Josiah's Reform and Jeremiah's Scroll: Historical Calamity and Prophetic Response (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006), 50–69. 5 Knoppers, Two Nations, 1:214–15, 225–28. 6 See John Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), 275; Knoppers, Two Nations, 1:199–203; Robert L. Cohn, “Literary Technique in the Jeroboam Narrative,” ZAW 97 (1985): 26–27 (though Cohn focuses on the Dtr form of the Ahijah decree as part of the later redactional shape of the Jeroboam narrative, indicating where the later editor has anticipated the failure of the northern enterprise). Jon D. Levenson has posited that later unconditional covenants were bestowed upon northern kings in the pre-Dtr form of the texts pertaining to their reigns but were subsequently rendered conditional by redactors (Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible [Minneapolis: Winston, 1985], 204–5). The conditional dimension is a Dtr phenomenon (see below), though a pre-Dtr precedent exists with regard to the shift in priestly authority among the Shilonites of the eleventh century; see Mark Leuchter “Something Old, Something Older: Reconsidering 1 Sam. 2:27-36,” JHS 4 (2003) Article 6 (www.jhsonline.org). 7 This is indeed the sense conveyed in the LXX tradition. See Robert P. Gordon, “The Second Septuagint Account of Jeroboam: History or Midrash?” VT 25 (1975): 373, 382. The second LXX account inserted at 3 Kgdms 12:24 preserves materials that both vilify Rehoboam and allege military action taken by Jeroboam against Jerusalem. The criticism of Rehoboam and the attribution of Solomonic accomplishments to Jeroboam represent an anticipation of Jeroboamic success in wresting the kingdom in its totality from Rehoboam (i.e., LXX 1 Kgs 12:24b, t), subverted by later accretions and emendations that address his failure to do so (v. 24c, u).

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of the various literary strata within the Ahijah episode of 1 Kings 11 will reveal the degree to which the original covenant was subverted through the Dtr redaction. The original form of the text will, in turn, suggest a crucial reason for Ahijah’s selection of Jeroboam and, consequently, provide an explanation for the vicious anti-Jeroboam polemic found throughout the Dtr narrative.

I. The Ahijah Episode (1 Kings 11:29-39) The current text of 1 Kgs 11:30–39 (following the introduction in v. 29) is largely reflective of Dtr terminology and ideology, though a tension exists in relation to various elements that have been incorporated into the redaction.8 The first of these is the symbolic act itself of Ahijah’s tearing of the cloak (v. 30), which is partitioned into twelve pieces. Though currently worked into a metaphor for the Israelite tribes that concurs with other Josianic-era texts characterizing earlier Israelite society emulating an idealized past,9 it is more likely that the twelve partitions correspond to Solomon’s twelve administrative districts, an association that would not have gone unnoticed by Solomon if the Ahijah episode had become a matter of public knowledge.10 Here the terminology is relevant, for the cloak (hmfl;#oa) constitutes a wordplay on Solomon’s own name (hmo$l#$;).11 The metamessage is that the domineering image of Solomon as the ruler of the kingdom will be torn apart. Had the symbolic act been geared to denote a schism that was 8 Knoppers demonstrates that the current shape of these verses is substantially Deuteronomistic in terms of both language and message, though he concedes that older traditions underlie the present Dtr text (Two Nations, 1:184–99). 9 The projection of an idealized past involving a fully developed twelve-tribe system characterizes much of the book of Joshua, though it is evident that the respective passages therein date from a seventh-century (Josianic) context. See Israel Finkelstein and Neil A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of Its Sacred Texts (New York: Free Press, 2001), 92–96; Amihai Mazar, Archaeology of the Lands of the Bible: 10,000-586 BCE (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1990), 328–34; see also Sweeney, King Josiah, 132–36. 10 See Baruch Halpern, “Sectionalism and the Schism,” JBL 93 (1974): 528–31. 11 As many scholars have noted (e.g., Gray, I & II Kings, 274; Serge Frolov, “‘Days of Shiloh’ in the Kingdom of Israel,” Bib 76 [1995]: 216–17), the symbolic tearing of the cloak evokes the similar episode of 1 Sam 15:27–29, where Saul grabs Samuel’s garment, which in turn tears, evincing Samuel’s analogy to the kingdom being torn from Saul. While it is likely that Ahijah’s act deliberately recalls this earlier passage (see below on the influence of the narratives in 1–2 Samuel on the author/s of the Jeroboam material), enough variance exists between the two episodes for us to limit the degree of parallelism between them in terms of meaning. In 1 Samuel 15, it is Saul who rends the garment by accident, and Samuel reacts to it; in 1 Kings 11, Ahijah rends the garment on purpose, and the figure addressed by the prophet in the latter text is granted kingship as opposed to Saul, whose kingship is nullified through Samuel’s interpretation of the act.

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to result in two kingdoms, a tearing of the cloak in half would have been the more meaningful gesture. Rather, the original text focuses attention on the king rather than the kingdom. Here we encounter the beginning of an interweaving between an early tradition and Dtr additions that runs throughout the Ahijah episode. Following the statement in v. 31ba that the kingdom will be torn from Solomon, v. 31bb12 and vv. 32–34 constitute a Dtr commentary on the event to reconcile the decree with the historical events that followed: But he shall have one tribe, because of my servant David, and because of Jerusalem, the city that I have chosen out of all the tribes of Israel: Because they have abandoned me, and have worshiped Ashtoreth the goddess of the Zidonians, Chemosh the god of Moab, and Milcom the god of the children of Ammon; and did not walk in my ways, to do right in my eyes, and my statutes and my ordinances, like David his father: But I will not take the whole kingdom from his hand; for I will make him prince all the days of his life, for the sake of my servant David, whom I chose, who observed my commandments and my statutes. (1 Kgs 11:32–34)13

The passage is saturated with catchwords and stereotyped phrases found throughout the broad Dtr narrative and evidences a concern with foreign religious influence that would emerge only during eras subsequent to the tenth century.14 Verse 32, in specific, closely resembles important parts of the Dtr explanation for the fall of the north (2 Kgs 17:7–23), the speech of the Rabshakeh (2 Kgs 18:33–35), and various invectives from the eighth-century prophetic literature redacted during the reign of Josiah to reflect late-seventh-century theopolitical interest.15 Moreover, the passage goes to great lengths to justify the retention of territorial control among the royal Jerusalem establishment, an idea that seems alien to the commissioning of a new monarchic contender such as Jeroboam. These elements are of considerable importance if they are viewed in isolation from the pre-Dtr layer of the passage, which says little concerning the legitimate nature of the north–south schism. The original force of the passage points to Jeroboam becoming the ruler of an integrated nation, not a politically factionalized portion of it. Immediately following the Dtr commentary in vv. 32–34, we encounter another fragment of the original composition embedded within the redacted text of v. 35, which currently reads: “and I will take the kingdom from the hand of his son and I will give it to you, the ten tribes.” This passage possesses surface similari12 The waµw–conjunctive particle initiating this clause suggests a secondary accretion, especially in light of the similar emendatory reflex and terminology in v. 35, which are most certainly from a later editorial hand; see below. 13 All translations are my own. 14 For a discussion of the rise in religious xenophobia in the eighth–seventh centuries, see Baruch Halpern, “Brisker Pipes Than Poetry: The Development of Israelite Monotheism,” in Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (ed. Jacob Neusner et al.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 77–115. 15 Sweeney, King Josiah, 311–13.

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ties to the terminology of v. 31bb, but a careful analysis of the verse’s syntax—particularly concerning the clause “the ten tribes” (My+b#h tr#( t))—evidences editorial manipulation. Had the t) clause been original to the text, the form of the verb Ntn would lack the indicative construct (hyttn), allowing the t) clause to carry the indication of the verbal object, that is, My+b#h tr#( t) Kl yttnw. Such, however, is not the case: hyttn completes the objective syntax of the sentence and allows only for the presence of the term Kl on grammatical grounds. The clause My+b#h tr#( t) in v. 35 must therefore be regarded as a secondary accretion, conforming to Michael Fishbane’s observation concerning the exegetical function of secondary t) clauses.16 Furthermore, since it is consonant with the vocabulary of the Dtr commentary in v. 31bb, we must regard it as part of that same compositional stratum. Thus, the original text would have been limited to the statement Kl hyttnw wnb dym hkwlmh ytxqlw, again suggesting a retention of the entire nation as a unified realm with the only change limited to the usurpation of the Solomonic regime. The final indication of the political parameters of Ahijah’s original decree may be discerned in v. 38, which also consists of both early and Dtr strata. The verse is divided quite neatly by these compositional layers: 38a (Dtr): And it shall be, if you listen to all that I command you and walk in my ways (ykrdb tklh) and do that which is right (r#yh) in my eyes, to adhere to my statutes and commandments (ytqx y+p#mw) 38b (early): And [or “then”, in its current literary context] I will be with you and build/establish for you a faithful/enduring house as I built for David, and I will give you Israel. We notice immediately that v. 38a incorporates many of the tropes evident in the Dtr commentary in vv. 31bb–34 (ykrdb wklh/r#yh/y+p#mw ytqx). By contrast, the early layer evidences a familiarity with the tropes of the Davidic covenant in 2 Samuel 7 and indeed creates overt associations between Jeroboam and David, with particular regard to Jeroboam’s faithful/enduring house.17 The Davidic 16 Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 48–51. Benjamin D. Sommer notes an identical occurrence of a secondary t) clause in Mic 3:8, which facilitates the scribe’s exegetical transformation of the earlier passage (“Prophecy as Translation: Ancient Israelite Conceptions of the Human Factor in Prophecy,” to appear in a collection of essays, forthcoming from Jewish Theological Seminary in New York and Eisenbrauns in Winona Lake, IN). 17 The terminology of the “faithful/enduring house” is itself apparently Shilonite in origin and draws upon the archaic Mushite tradition in Num 12:6–8, where the terms tyb and Nm)n also

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covenant is apparently the prototype that guides the words here directed to Jeroboam, with the indication that Jeroboam’s house would be just like David’s house—which suggests that Jeroboam and his descendants will be tied to the temple just as the Solomonic authors had suggested that Solomon was bound to it.18 In following the castigation of Solomon and the Solomonic line in vv. 30 and 35, the early fragment in v. 38 manages to affirm the temple as Davidic and closely associate it with Jeroboam rather than Solomon via the tyb double entendre and the use of the phrase dwdl ytynb r#)k. It is a brilliantly crafted literary turn, subtle and economic in its propagandistic aims.19 This same idea extends to the entire united monarchy, a Davidic entity that is associated here with Jeroboam on the pre-Dtr level of the text. In this context, the term l)r#y applies broadly with respect to the entire nation rather than to the concept of a northern Israel in apposition to a southern Judah. This is strongly suggested by the messenger formula in v. 31ab (yhl) hwhy rm) hk yk l)r#y), identifying Yhwh specifically as the God of all Israel. An objection to this may be raised with respect to vv. 36–37, which seem to apply the term l)r#y in a more narrow political sense by suggesting that Jeroboam would rule in some city other than Jerusalem. This anticipates the eventual outcome of the schism with Rehoboam at Shechem.20 We must, however, consider the fact that v. 37 does not prohibit Jeroboam from reigning in Jerusalem when viewed in isolation. Rather, it opens the door to such an ambition, granting him divine license to set his sights wherever he wishes (K#pn hw)t r#) lkb tklmw). Moreover, this verse currently appears within an expanse of text that is characteristically Deuteronomistic in theme and lexemes (vv. 36–38a), and its original meaning may thus have been subverted by the redactional reworking of the earlier tradition. The result is a text that dissociates Jeroboam from Jerusalem (though it legitimizes a different realm appear. Its original application appears in 1 Sam 2:35, part of a text originally related to the rise of Samuel as a replacement for the Elides; see Leuchter, “Something Old,” 2.1–3.1. That the phrase appears in 2 Samuel 7 suggests that it was indeed part of an original Davidic pronouncement underlying the current text (especially considering David’s close ties to Shilonite tradition), as it is unlikely that the anti-Shilonite Solomon would have deployed Shilonite phraseology in the shaping of the covenant in 2 Samuel 7. 18 So much is intimated through the tyb double entendre in 2 Samuel 7 and fully articulated in 1 Kgs 8:16–20. See J. J. M. Roberts, “Zion in the Theology of the Davidic-Solomonic Empire,” in Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays (ed. Tomoo Ishida; Tokyo: YamakawaShuppansha, 1982), 93–108, esp. 105. 19 See Paul S. Ash, “Jeroboam I and the Deuteronomistic Historian’s Ideology of the Founder,” CBQ 60 (1998): 16–24. 20 In the concluding notes to the Shechemite assembly, however, we find an indication that those subject to Rehoboam’s rule were properly understood as subjects of Jeroboam. The text of 1 Kgs 12:17 reports that the “Israelites living in Judah were ruled by Rehoboam,” suggesting that the ethno-cultural makeup of the Judean population, at least to some degree, was to be viewed in distinction from the political administration governing them.

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and, implicitly, a different capital) and that retrojects Deuteronomic theology and conditional ideology back into an earlier period.21 This is a far cry from the purpose of the pre-Dtr material, which appears to advance very different interests, and to which v. 37 appears to have originally belonged. We should note that the early fragment (v. 38b) can stand alone in terms of syntax, both internally and in relation to v. 37 (via the waµw–consecutive at the outset of the fragment). This is not so with the Dtr fragment (v. 38a), which is a conditional clause that requires a subordinate clause in order to function syntactically.22 The current form of the verse is therefore part of a Dtr text that attempts to legitimize a northern community in principle but sets up the theological stumbling blocks that anticipate Jeroboam’s royal initiatives in northern locales, which results in his transgressing the conditions of his covenant.23 The early layer, however, shows no sign of conditional terms or of a rejection of Jerusalem and the temple and indeed advances the case that Jeroboam’s leadership might fall under the rubrics of Davidic ideology. The restored original form of the Ahijah episode would therefore read as follows: And it came to pass at that time, when Jeroboam went out of Jerusalem, that the prophet Ahijah the Shilonite found him in the way; now Ahijah had clad himself with a new garment; and they two were alone in the field. And Ahijah laid hold of the new garment that was on him, and rent it in twelve pieces. And he said to Jeroboam: thus saith Yhwh, the God of Israel: Behold, I will rend the kingdom out of the hand of Solomon. I will take the kingdom out of his son’s hand, and will give it to you.24 And I will take you, and you shall reign over all that your soul desires, and shall be king over Israel. And I will be with you, and will build you a faithful/enduring house as I built for David, and will give Israel to you.25 21

Knoppers, Two Nations, 1:152–59, 199–206. Through the editorial manipulation and redactional insertions, v. 38 in its entirety conforms to the common protasis/apodosis formulae found throughout the Dtn/Dtr literature via the phrase (m#t M) hyhw ,, a variant of the phrase (m# M) hyhw (Deut 11:13) or, more broadly, the idiomatic pairing of hyhw with a variant of (m# (Deut 7:12; 28:1, 15). 23 On this as a recurring Dtr theme throughout the Jeroboam material, see Knoppers, Two Nations, vol. 2, The Reign of Jeroboam, the Fall of Israel, and the Reign of Josiah (HSM 53; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 35–44. 24 The repetitive use of the term “hand” (dy) involves two complementary meanings. The initial reference pertains to Solomon’s familial or social circle in Jerusalem. See Gnana Robinson, “The Meaning of dy in Isaiah 56, 5,” ZAW 88 (1976): 282–83; dy is identified in a number of contexts with communal/social entities bound by lineage. The second occurrence of the term dy, relating as it does to Rehoboam’s rule, is thus subsumed under the rubric of Solomonic heritage. The terminology appears to relate to 1 Kgs 11:26 (see below), where it is applied to Jeroboam, and thus a strong sociological distinction is established between Jeroboam and Solomon. This is particularly important in relation to the strong connections discussed above between Jeroboam and David and contributes to an implied propagandistic motif that will be explored below in detail. 25 I have dislodged v. 39 in its entirety from this proposed reconstruction of the early tradi22

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The aforementioned features of the early compositional layer in the proclamation made to Jeroboam may reflect Ahijah’s own Shilonite sensitivities as much as his political sensibilities and addresses the rift that formed between the Mushite and Aaronide priesthoods of early Israel during Solomon’s reign. As Frank Cross has demonstrated, the Pentateuch preserves extended polemics generated by these priestly lines against each other over time.26 Subsequent examinations have revealed how this rift was effected primarily during the reign of Solomon through that king’s alienation of Ephraimite interests and David’s old guard.27 Among this old guard would have been the bearers of the Shiloh tradition, a well-regarded premonarchic tradition that David had earlier employed to his advantage in securing from Jerusalem his hold over the nation.28 Solomon’s reign carried a cosmetic continuity with that of David, but the elimination of Adonijah, Joab, and other political adversaries, the construction of a fixed temple of Phoenician design over against the traditional tent shrine, and finally the exile of the Shilonites to Anatoth all speak to Solomon’s overhaul of Jerusalem’s royal-cultic infrastructure tantamount to a coup d’état.29 The end result was a Jerusalemite tion. The verse contributes to a thorough separation between Jeroboam and the Davidic line, but this resonates at the polemical frequency of the Josianic authors responsible for the Dtr additions. See the final note below. 26 Cross, Canaanite Myth, 195–215. 27 See Halpern, “Sectionalism and the Schism.” The literature emerging from Josiah’s court constitutes an attempt to mend fences with Ephraimite circles; the Dtr polemic against Solomon impugns his abuses of the north, especially in Deut 17:14–20 (see Sweeney, King Josiah, 93–109, 166). Furthermore, as Geoghegan has demonstrated, the consistent appeal to northern Levitical interests in the Josianic redaction of the pre-Dtr sources points to Josiah’s interest in northern religious tradition (“Until This Day,” 226–27). Finally, the early oracles of Jeremiah, datable to the period of Josiah’s reform, make a direct appeal to the Shilonites themselves and attempt to incorporate them back into the religious circles of Jerusalem. For Jeremiah as a representative of the Josianic court, see Sweeney, King Josiah, 208–33; Norbert Lohfink, “Der jungend Jeremia als Propagandist und Poet: Zum Grundstock von Jer 30–31,” in Le Livre de Jérémie (ed. Pierre-Maurice Bogaert; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997 [reprint of 1981 edition]), 351–68; Ulrich Shroter, “Jeremias Botschaft für das Nordreich, zu N. Lohfinks Überlegungen zum Grundbestand von Jeremia xxx–xxxi,” VT 35 (1985): 312–29. For the Shilonite focus of these early oracles, see Leuchter, Josiah's Reform, 70–86; see also idem, “Jeremiah’s 70 Year Prophecy and the ymq bl/K## Atbash Codes,” Bib 85 (2004): 511–12. 28 David’s association with the Shiloh tradition is well established: he is selected by Samuel (1 Sam 16:1–13); he finds refuge among the [Shilonite] prophets under Samuel’s tutelage at Naioth during Saul’s reign (1 Sam 19:18–19); he places Shiloh’s central icon (the Ark) in Jerusalem (2 Sam 6:1–19); and he establishes Abiathar, a Shilonite, as a co-priestly regent (2 Sam 8:17; 20:25). The early stratum of Psalm 99 employs Shilonite tropes in legitimizing David’s taking of Jerusalem; see Mark Leuchter, “The Literary Strata and Narrative Sources of Psalm xcix,” VT 55 (2005): 20–38. See also Ben C. Ollenburger, Zion: The City of the Great King (JSOTSup 41; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1987), 36–52. 29 For a detailed examination, see Baruch Halpern, David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 391–424, esp. 396.

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cult that placed Solomon in the position of chief sacral adjudicator and priest.30 This may have conformed to the norms of monarchies elsewhere in the ancient Near East—monarchies that Solomon apparently wished to emulate—but it led to the exclusion of the Shilonite priesthood, which had been a central sacral force in the premonarchic period and during David’s reign. Despite Solomon’s influence, the Jerusalem temple was nevertheless rooted in Shilonite theology and iconography. The covenant with Jeroboam seems to allow for the possibility of the Shilonite inclusion back into Jerusalem’s cultic precincts under his royal administration. National leadership was to shift from Solomon’s son to Jeroboam, but the shift in leadership was not to supplant the fundamental features of Israelite national religious identity that had been fixed by David in the formation of his realm. The temple, therefore, could secure the central position of the Mushite Shilonites after a prolonged period of instability and political helplessness. Just as the temple was now a permanent feature of covenantal consciousness, so was the Davidic line, and short of denying the legitimacy of the temple, the covenant decreed by Ahijah could only supplement or qualify the extant Davidic covenant preserved in 2 Samuel 7.31 It is for this reason that Ahijah invoked Davidic tropes in crafting his decree. The advantageous retention of the temple system demanded compliance with the Davidic stipulations foundational to temple theology. Therefore, we must consider the possible motivation for Ahijah’s selection of Jeroboam as the tentative herald of the Shilonites’ return to glory.

II. The Politics behind Ahijah’s Proclamation Though Jeroboam would eventually lose the support of the Shilonites, his initial designation as their candidate for successor to the throne would invariably have involved some claim to Davidic pedigree. While Jeroboam becomes the prototype of northern sin in Dtr, he is also the only northern king compared to David (1 Kgs 14:8), a literary reflex otherwise reserved exclusively for the Judean monarchs. Furthermore, the circumstances of Jeroboam’s designation parallel David’s own rise to power: he is an able young man brought into the fold of an extant royal court, his kingship is designated by a Shilonite while an anti-Shilonite ruler wields power (Saul in the Davidic circumstance; Solomon in the days of

30

This is most clearly conveyed by the material in 1 Kings 3–4 (where Solomon’s wisdom fills in the gap left by the exile of Mosaic tradents from Jerusalem) and the ancient layers of 1 Kings 8, esp. vv. 62–64. See Leuchter, Josiah's Reform, 117–18, 133–34. 31 So also Levenson, Sinai and Zion, 202–6, regarding the persistence of a royalistic ideology in the north.

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Jeroboam);32 he receives a covenantal guarantee; and he engages in dramatic socioreligious reforms that cement his authority in apposition to the normative royal establishment against which he contends.33 The Dtr phenotype of Jeroboam’s reign appears alien from that of the Davidic house, but the echoes of a similar genotype persevere in the text, however muted they may be by the Josianic polemical machine. In this regard, one particular element in the introduction of Jeroboam has gone relatively unexamined by scholars, and that is the MT text of 1 Kgs 11:26: And Jeroboam son of Nebat was an Ephratite (ytrp)) from Zeredah—and his mother’s name was Zeruah, a widow—he was a servant of Solomon, and raised his hand against the king.

The term ytrp) has typically been read as an alternate rendering of ymrp), “Ephraimite,” a view obviously based on Jeroboam’s association with the north. This is the reading adopted by the LXX, which demonstrates the antiquity of this tradition. John Gray comments that the term derives from hrp), a by-form of Myrp);34 the case ending yt- would therefore simply indicate Jeroboam’s socioethnic affiliation with Ephraim. This argument, however, does not give due consideration to the ramifications of the unemended term. This reading neglects the theopolitical significance of the term ytrp) in presenting Jeroboam as a legitimate Davidic type. A de facto emendation to ymrp) is precipitous; the term ytrp) is applied to David in 1 Sam 17:12 and is there and elsewhere associated with Bethlehem (Gen 35:19; Mic 5:1), the hometown of David’s patrilineage and the locus of his own anointing by Samuel. Surely, the term ytrp) in 1 Sam 17:12 is not to be emended, and there are grounds for retaining the term in certain northern contexts. A notable example is that of Samuel’s extended lineage in 1 Sam 1:1, which ends with the term ytrp). The verse tells us that Samuel’s father Elkanah has settled in the hill country of Ephraim; the appearance of ytrp) as a reference to Ephraim in the same verse would be redundant. Furthermore, the tradition in Ps 132:6 makes overt mention of the Judean Ephratah as a locale where the ark was held in high cultic esteem.35 Elkanah’s settling near Shiloh (the home of the ark) would make sense at a time when Israelite extended families took up residence beyond the traditional homestead,36 especially if he was among the Judean devo32 For a discussion of the political considerations involving Saul’s relationship to the Shilonites, see Marsha White, “‘The History of Saul’s Rise’: Saulide State Propaganda in 1 Samuel 1–14,” in A Wise and Discerning Mind: Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long (ed. Saul M. Olyan and Robert C. Culley; BJS 325; Providence: Brown University Press, 2000), 271–92. 33 See Ash, “Ideology of the Founder.” 34 Gray, I & II Kings, 272. 35 Cross, Canaanite Myth, 94–95n. 36 For the shift in population growth and settlement patterns toward the end of the Iron I

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tees of the Ark and its itinerant cult.37 Other traditions point to sacral figures hailing from Bethlehem and later taking up posts in the Ephraimite hinterland (Judg 17:7–8); Elkanah as an Ephratite sojourning in Ephraim is not an anomaly.38 We thus have grounds to retain the term ytrp) in 1 Sam 1:1 without emendation, suggesting a strong connection between the religious circles of EphratahBethlehem in Judah and the Shilonites of the Ephraimite hinterland. We must therefore consider the implications of leaving ytrp) in 1 Kgs 11:26 intact. That Jeroboam is singled out by a Shilonite such as Ahijah is not surprising if the charismatic young man hailed from Ephratah. The precedent set by Samuel’s selection of David at a time of Shilonite tension with the prevailing religious establishment may very well have informed Ahijah’s decision to engage Jeroboam. The push for an authentic Ephratite replacement for a Solomonic king may also be the result of the possibility that Solomon was not David’s actual biological son.39 Certainly, Solomon’s actions against Adonijah subvert the expected heir’s claims to kingship, and the brutal housecleaning that followed, coupled with a Davidic narrative that benefited Solomon’s interests,40 suggests an attempt to silence any voices that would question his right to David’s throne based on lineage. To Ahijah and the other Shilonites marginalized by this state of affairs, the designation of a new and capable Ephratite would not only fall under the rubrics of the extant Davidic covenant (with respect to David’s patrilineal “house”) but would also increase the likelihood of a reversion back to a Shiloh-friendly administration given the longstanding shared predilections of Shiloh and Ephratah. The possibility of reading ytrp) in this manner and the presentation of Jeroboam as a Judean native should not be hindered by his association with the locale Zeredah or the statement that he was set by Solomon as the overseer of the Joseph tribes in the north. Solomon would have easily exploited Zeredah’s location in the center of Ephraimite territory for administrative purposes; while one cannot ignore the likelihood that Jeroboam established residency therein, there is no reason to doubt that this residency may have been connected with his administrative tenure. Indeed, the LXX tradition suggests that Zeredah itself may have period (especially in relation to a population explosion in Judah that could motivate settlement initiatives in Ephraim), see Carol Meyers, “Kinship and Kingship: The Early Monarchy,” in The Oxford History of the Biblical World (ed. Michael Coogan; New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 239–41. 37 See Leuchter, Josiah's Reform, 22–30, for a discussion of the sacral nature of the compound term Pwc Nb in the genealogy of Elkanah in 1 Sam 1:1. 38 Folker Willesen argues for an additional case of ytrp) as a reference to Ephratah in a narrative dealing with Ephraimite events (“The ytrp) of the Shibboleth Incident,” VT 8 [1958]: 97–98). 39 See Halpern, David’s Secret Demons, 401–4; see also Timo Veijola, “Solomon: Bathsheba’s Firstborn,” in Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (ed. G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 340–57. 40 Halpern, David’s Secret Demons, 405–6.

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been part of Solomon’s crown-sponsored building projects.41 That Jeroboam the administrator would have originally come from a Judean location such as Ephratah fits well with such a responsibility in Zeredah, as it was Solomon’s practice to situate capable Judeans in his charge over northern territories as regional governors.42 There is little to suggest that Solomon entrusted the regional affairs of state to local administrators or traditional clan-based systems of governance among the northern hinterland population. Rather, Solomon’s regional administrators were appointed for political purposes, bound to securing the Judean monarch’s power in the northern regions.43 Zeredah’s proximity to Shiloh would have provided Ahijah with ample opportunity to observe and evaluate Jeroboam’s abilities and political impulses, and the old Shiloh/Ephratah connection may have catalyzed Jeroboam’s decision to align himself with Ahijah as much as Ahijah’s decision to rally Jeroboam to his cause. Though the connection between Jeroboam and David may be adduced on typological and sociopolitical grounds, the text of 1 Kgs 11:27 that introduces us to Jeroboam contains a literary ambiguity that is quite suggestive with respect to the latter: )wlmh t) hnb hml# Klmb dy Myrh r#) rbdh hzw wyb) dwd ry( Crp t) rgs Two readings of this passage are possible. The first is the more common and represents both the reading suggested by the passage in its ultimate Dtr context and the one adopted by most scholars dealing with the narrative introduction to Jeroboam: And this is the matter for which [he] raised [his] hand [against the] king; Solomon built the Millo and closed (rgs) the breach (Crp) of the City of David his father. The common view among scholars is that v. 27 is a proleptic reference to Jeroboam’s role in the secession of the north from Davidic hegemony.44 If Jeroboam is understood to be an Ephraimite—the current implications of the Dtr narrative—then the closing phrase of v. 27 (wyb) dwd ry() clearly suggests Solo41 The second LXX account ascribing the building of Zeredah (“Sereirah”) to Jeroboam may reflect a degree of historicity if Zeredah was designated by Solomon to be a center of royal administration. Ascribing this initiative to Jeroboam directly is consistent with similar ascriptions made in the second LXX text (Gordon, “History,” 380–82). 42 Halpern, “Sectionalism,” 528–31. 43 Ibid. 44 See, e.g., Knoppers, Two Nations, 1:174–79; Steven L. McKenzie, The Trouble with Kings: The Composition of the Book of Kings in the Deuteronomistic History (Leiden: Brill, 1991), 32–33.

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monic construction activity in Jerusalem at the expense of the northern economy. The initial and superficial impression of this reading was left intact by the Dtr redactors, as it dovetailed well with the manner in which they sought to present Jeroboam. Nevertheless, this reading of v. 27 is problematic. 1 Kings 11:26–28, if read apart from the broad Dtr presentation, appears to be part of the early stratum of pro-Jeroboam propaganda we detected above in vv. 29–39 which required the repudiation of Solomon without the repudiation of David. To overtly associate Solomon with David (an impression left by the first reading of this verse) would run counter to the very purpose of the early compositional strategy discussed above, which argued for the replacement of Solomon’s line. Furthermore, while Solomon undoubtedly built up the urban infrastructure of key Judean cities at the expense of the north,45 1 Kgs 11:27 resonates at a very different frequency if the ytrp) of v. 26 stands as a reference to Jeroboam’s Ephratite origins. The text that follows in v. 27 bears significantly in this regard, and an alternative reading of 11:27b emerges as viable: [Solomon] . . . besieged/surrounded (rgs) Perez, the city of David, his father. The term rgs may be translated as “closed,” that is, Solomon engaged in repairs around Jerusalem, but it may also be read in a more militaristic context involving capturing or laying siege.46 In this case, the verse would allude to Solomon’s seizing and controlling a Judean city named after David’s patrilineal clan, Perez, to which Jeroboam would have belonged as an Ephratite (cf. 1 Sam 17:12).47 The author of the passage may here be relying on a pseudonym for Ephratah itself, highlighting the political dimensions with respect to the Judean clan associated with the city. Such a literary reflex would advance the notion that Jeroboam the Ephratite was firmly and directly tied to David’s original city and lineage, whereas Solomon’s claim to Davidic heritage was limited to his control of Jerusalem, a once-Jebusite town (cf. 2 Sam 5:6). In this case, the phrase wyb) dwd ry( carries multivalent dimensions, playing on what was likely a well-known euphemism for 45

So Halpern, “Sectionalism,” 525–27. The term appears as “to isolate” (Lev 13:4, 5, 11, 21, 26), “to deliver up” (Deut 32:20; Josh 20:5; 1 Sam 23:11–12; 30:15; Ps 78:50, 62), “to confine” (Num 12:14–15; Ezek 3:24), “to surround” (Judg 3:22), and “to imprison” (Job 12:14). These alternatives support the proposed reading, with the term referring to a military seizure or occupation of an independent city known as or named Perez (see below). McKenzie discounts the military connotation of the term in possible relation to Jeroboam in the LXX tradition (Trouble with Kings, 33), but such an appropriation would be consistent with Solomon’s self-serving initiatives in other cities (1 Kgs 9:11, 15–19). 47 For David’s Perezite ancestry, see Ruth 4:18–21; 1 Chr 2:5–15. Ephratah would therefore have been a Perezite city, given the nature of the Israelite clan system, whereby clans remained fixed in concentrated regions; see Baruch Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages in the 7th Century: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability,” in Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel (ed. B. Halpern and D. W. Hobson; JSOTSup 124; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 49–59. 46

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Jerusalem in the tenth century, but amplifying Jeroboam’s Ephratite/Perezite heritage and his legitimacy in carrying on in David’s footsteps.

III. Political Tension between Solomon and the Perezite Clan The reference in 1 Kgs 11:27 to Solomon acting against the interests of a Perezite city such as Ephratah may very well address political tensions that arose from Solomon’s economic policies in the north.48 Ephratah had been engaged in trade with the Ephraimite clans since premonarchic times;49 as with other onceindependent cities, it was Solomon’s practice to claim them in the name of the crown (1 Kgs 9:15). The seizure of a Judean clan city engaged in northern trade and taken over for exclusively royal interests (apparently related to the building up of the Millo in Jerusalem) would be consistent with Solomon’s flagellation of the northern economy for the benefit of royal security, but it would also be consistent with Solomon’s derisive attitude toward Davidic circles who opposed or at least did not actively support his authority. There can be little doubt that the members of David’s own clan community would harbor enormous resentment toward Solomon for seizing the throne from Adonijah, David’s rightful bloodline heir and thus a member of the Perezite clan. Economic measures taken against a major Perezite city would only have fanned the flames. The sequence of 1 Kgs 11:27–28, however, suggests that Solomon may have made a conciliatory gesture to the Perezites for political purposes by promoting Jeroboam, one of their own, to the position of royal administrator in Zeredah.50 If so, it may be that the phrase Klmb dy Mryw in v. 26 does not proleptically address Jeroboam’s intentions to usurp Solomon’s power after his encounter with Ahijah but rather points to Jeroboam’s central role in the Perezite tensions with Solomon before he and Ahijah crossed paths. This is suggested by the doublemeaning of dy, which may allude to Jeroboam leading the Perezite clan against Solomon’s imperatives.51 Solomon’s promotion of Jeroboam into the service of 48

Halpern, “Sectionalism,” 525–27. Willesen, “Shibboleth,” 98. 50 Such a conciliatory measure is consonant with Solomon’s broader political strategies, influenced as the Solomonic court was by norms of other major ancient Near Eastern royal courts. For a contemporaneous analogue, see John A. Brinkman, A Political History of Post-Kassite Babylonia, 1158-722 BC (AnOr 43; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1968), 169. For a seventh-century parallel, see Barbara N. Porter, Images, Power Politics: Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1993), 64–65. 51 That the term dy appears to take on both meanings in the Ahijah episode (11:31, 34–35) suggests a similar multiplicity of meaning here and creates further parallels with Jeroboam and the Perezites in contradistinction to the Solomonic circles in Jerusalem (Robinson, “Meaning of dy,” 282–83). 49

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the royal administration would have been especially useful in domestic matters if Jeroboam had distinguished himself as politically skilled during the tension with the Perezites of Ephratah. So much is intimated in 1 Kgs 11:28: Jeroboam’s leadership qualities might have been of help to Solomon in dealing with the disgruntled Ephraimite population, weary of the policies of conscripted labor and heavy taxation.52 An important administrative position would both demonstrate goodwill toward the Perezites and possibly move Jeroboam to be more personally amenable to the royal circles in Jerusalem. Thus the narrative of 1 Kgs 11:26–28 should be understood as the background of Ahijah’s oracle in the verses that follow, an oracle geared to challenge whatever deal or agreement was reached between Solomon and Jeroboam. Clan ties seem to have been stronger than royal kickbacks. Ahijah ultimately capitalized on Jeroboam’s extant Perezite enmity toward Solomon, influencing the newly appointed officer to direct his resources against a king who was neither of Perezite background nor a friend to the Shilonites. It is for this reason that the propaganda that eventuated into the pre-Dtr Jeroboam narrative sought to cast Jeroboam as a second David, who would mend the rift that was forming between the royal circles in Jerusalem and the populace of the north.

IV. Jeroboam’s Alignment with the North It would prove to be beyond Jeroboam or Ahijah’s powers of foresight, however, to anticipate the outcome of the events at Shechem both in terms of Rehoboam’s vicious instigation of the northern population and, more significantly, the drastic northern response. We have seen that Ahijah’s decree and the pro-Jeroboam propagandistic literary sources demonstrate an awareness of the Davidic narrative composed in Solomon’s court. This narrative would have been known throughout the realm as Solomonic propaganda, but while insiders like the Shilonite Ahijah or the Ephratite Jeroboam may have known the real story behind Solomon’s ancestry and rise to power, the narrative had apparently served its ultimate purpose in the public domain. The larger part of the Israelite population firmly identified Solomon and his son Rehoboam with the Davidic line, and in rejecting Rehoboam, they rejected the entire Davidic macrostructure: We have no portion in David, no share in Jesse’s son; To your tents, Israel! Now look to your house David! (1 Kgs 12:16)53 52

Halpern, “Sectionalism,” 525–27. That this poetic chant ends with “Israel” as the parallel to “David” suggests not an initial schism between northern Israelite and southern Judean communities (in which case, we might expect “Judah” instead of “David”) but a broad pan-tribal rejection of the Davidic regime headed 53

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The popular revival of Sheba b. Bichri’s initial anti-David rallying cry in 2 Sam 20:1 incorporates a crucial addition not found in the original exhortation—the mention of the Davidic “house” (tyb). This not only constitutes a rejection of the Davidic covenant to which the term tyb is so central, but implies a rejection of the Jerusalem temple. Ahijah’s earlier position that the Davidic line could not be dissociated from the temple is supported and indeed vindicated by the words of the people, though in a manner that ran completely counter to the interests of the Shilonites. With the Zadokites entrenched in the Jerusalem temple and the northern population standing firm against the hegemony of the Jerusalem royal circles, Ahijah and those he must have represented found themselves even further away from obtaining any increased position of power or influence. Jeroboam and Ahijah’s designs on rallying support in Judah could not meet with success.54 Rehoboam clearly retained a significant degree of political control in Judah, enough to quell any insurrection among the populace over which he still reigned and to set his sights on a military campaign in the north. According to the text, it is only at the behest of the prophet Shemaiah that Rehoboam turns aside from this enterprise and limits his sights to Judah, though outside political forces may have factored into his decision.55 Consequently, Jeroboam would have had no difficult decision to make when presented with his options. With Judah firmly under Rehoboam’s control, Jeroboam focused his attention exclusively on the north, which provided him with far greater prospects. His political acumen again served him well: Jeroboam’s consultation with his advisors resulted in a plan that played on the northern anti-David/anti-Jerusalem public sentiment, whereby he declared theopolitical solidarity with his northern constituents: The king took counsel and made two golden calves; he said to them “you have gone up to Jerusalem long enough . . . here are your gods, Israel, who took you out of Egypt.” (1 Kgs 12:28)

by Solomon and now entrusted to Rehoboam, a rejection that may have been fostered by some Judeans partial to Jeroboam (implied in 1 Kgs 12:17; see below). The portrayal of the event as a north–south schism may be credited to the Josianic redactors (Knoppers, Two Nations, 1:218–23). 54 We may assume that whatever pro-Jeroboam elements may have existed in Judah were effectively quashed by Rehoboam’s forces or those of a later Judean monarch. 1 Kings 12:17 is the only passage that alludes to these elements. 55 Halpern points to the threat of Egyptian incursions into Judean territory, which would have no doubt affected Rehoboam’s ability to concentrate on reclaiming the northern territory (“Sectionalism,” 526–28, 532). On the king’s adherence to Shemaiah’s prophetic word as a Dtr rhetorical device, see above on 1 Kgs 12:22–24 and 1 Kgs 14:30.

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This is not a suggestion or a command to the people; rather, it is an acknowledgment and support of public sentiment from a public that had no desire to abide by Davidic norms of any sort.56 Immediately following the declaration in 12:28, Jeroboam set the bull icons in the old shrines of Dan and Bethel, restaffed both sites with priests of his own choice, and developed a ritual infrastructure unique to his realm (vv. 29–33). The emulation of Dan and Bethel (as well as the cult sites at Shechem and Penuel) aligned Jeroboam’s cult with patriarchal/ancestral tradition over against the relatively recent centrality of the Jerusalem temple. Furthermore, the bull icons represented a rejection of the ark,57 and the establishment of a different ritual calendar wrested the northern populace from the regulated strictures of a southern cultic schedule.58 Most significantly, the appointment of a rival priesthood at the official northern shrines constituted the annulment of Zadokite priestly influence beyond Judah’s northern border.59 Through creating a new religious infrastructure, Jeroboam not only cemented the separation of north from south but his own separation from what had become Davidic tradition and those associated with it. It is perhaps for this reason that 1 Kgs 12:28 tells us that the foundation of Jeroboam’s royal cult emerges from the king taking counsel (Klmh C(wyw). Whereas Rehoboam had failed to care for public need after receiving counsel from his advisors, Jeroboam clearly succeeds, positioning himself as a more culturally and politically astute leader than Rehoboam.60 Through his own actions, Jeroboam minimized his ties to David and Jerusalem, the city of Ephratah, the clan of Perez, and the Judean royal administration to which he had once belonged. His actions constitute a declaration of allegiance to exclusively non-Davidic interests, 56 A similar observation is made by Baruch Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 229, in terms of the creation of Jeroboam’s shrines as a response to public sentiment. 57 Cross has pointed out that Jeroboam’s implementation of the bull iconography is an attempt to “out-archaize” the cherub iconography of the Ark in Jerusalem (though the bull iconography is not Aaronide in origin (Cross, Canaanite Myth, 199; see Halpern, “Levitic Participation,” 33–38). 58 See Julian Morgenstern, “The Festival of Jerobeam I,” JBL 83 (1964): 109–18, esp. 117. 59 Nigel Allan argues that Jeroboam’s move from Shechem to Penuel is the result of tensions between the northern monarch and the Levites in that city who retained a degree of loyalty to the Jerusalem administration (“Jeroboam and Shechem,” VT 24 [1974]: 353–57). This is unlikely, however, given the traditional significance of Shechem as an Ephraimite cultic/covenantal site and that the earlier assembly in Shechem facilitated a violent demonstration against Rehoboam and his ministers, including the stoning of Adoram (1 Kgs 12:18). It is more probable that Jeroboam established support for his realm among the Levites at Shechem as part of his archaizing of the state cult, and continued this activity of Penuel. 60 This may also reflect Jeroboam’s ongoing intention to replace Rehoboam as leader of a unified Israel, though he no longer intended to do so by claiming Jerusalem as his own following the public rejection of its institutions; see below.

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which no doubt quelled any lingering doubts about his one-time connections to the Davidic royal ideology so broadly and thoroughly refuted at the Shechemite assembly.

V. Bethel versus Jerusalem as Yhwh’s Single Pan-Israelite Sanctuary Instructive in this regard is the statement placed in the mouth of Aaron in Exod 32:5, part of a Shilonite composition that was conceived to polemicize against Jeroboam’s cult as a perversion of Mosaic tradition.61 After creating the golden calf, a literary surrogate for Jeroboam’s own iconography, Aaron declares that the following day will be a “festival for Yhwh” (rxm hwhyl gx). This passage may be inspired by the significance of the term gx in 1 Kgs 12:32–33 and the depiction of Jeroboam’s ascension of the Bethel altar, and it may have originated with none other than Jeroboam himself.62 Though the Dtr narrative preserves no record of Jeroboam declaring a festival to Yhwh during his various ascensions of the Bethel altar,63 such a statement would be especially fitting in the establishment of an Israelite shrine that attempted to liberate ideas that were bound to Zion and founded upon older Shilonite norms, divesting them of their place in Jerusalemite liturgy.64 An association of the festival with the name “YHWH” would liberate the divine name from the strict setting of the Jerusalem temple and create continuity between the new northern realm and the archaic Israelite traditions bound to that name. Simultaneously, it would sever the connection of those traditions with the Davidic/Solomonic circles that had been forged by the emergent liturgy of the Jerusalem cult, a cult based in a city that had never been Israelite before David’s rise. 61

So also Cross, Canaanite Myth, 198–200; Halpern, “Levitic Participation,” 33–34. The festival in question appears to have persisted well into the eighth century as part of the Bethel liturgical cycle associated with the northern monarchy. Both Amos and Hosea criticize the cultic and royal institutions associated with the festival (Amos 3:14–15; 4:1; Hos 9:5). 63 Knoppers discusses the Deuteronomist’s editorial flourishes in this passage as a way of isolating Jeroboam’s cultic imperatives from legitimate Israelite tradition (Two Nations, 2:28–29). An overt statement ascribing the festival at Bethel to Yhwh would certainly have been excised from this text, given the Deuteronomist’s purpose in making Jeroboam’s cult one of idol worship, taking the polemic of Exodus 32 to a more dramatic degree; see Gary N. Knoppers, “Aaron’s Calf and Jeroboam’s Calves,” in Fortunate the Eyes That See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. Astrid B. Beck et al.; Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1995), 92–104. 64 Judges 21:19 preserves the tradition of a similar festival taking place at Shiloh; David’s infusion of Shilonite liturgy into the Jerusalem cult would certainly have involved the transference of traditional festivals. 62

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Indeed, the declaration that a festival to Yhwh was to be carried out from the Bethel shrine would not just rival the Jerusalem temple but would constitute a repudiation of and replacement of that institution. 1 Kings 13:11–32 testifies that the cultic system rooted at Bethel was indeed well developed, replete with a prophetic guild that apparently persisted well into the eighth century (see Amos 7:10–17). It is clear that Bethel was not on the same level as the other religious centers in the north but was, rather, the central sanctuary of Jeroboam’s realm. Shechem, Penuel, and even Dan fall by the wayside in terms of the Dtr polemics against the northern realm,65 with almost the full force of the respective narratives focusing on the Bethel shrine as an antithetical parallel to Jerusalem. The ascription of the Jeroboamic statement to Aaron stands against this agenda, suggesting that Jeroboam’s innovations were no different than the Aaronide-Zadokite liturgy of Jerusalem because both excluded the proper role of the Shilonites. Nevertheless, it would be only at the hands of Josiah that Jeroboam’s enduring “house”— the Bethel shrine itself—would meet its demise, and it is only after Bethel is demolished that Josiah is able to conduct the Passover covenant ceremony at the Jerusalem temple and fully reinstitute Mosaic orthopraxis (2 Kgs 23:21–24).66 The desperation voiced in the editorial insertion in 1 Kgs 12:26–27 (the only passage in the entire Jeroboam pericope where we are privy to a character’s inner thoughts) seems a desperate attempt to obscure not only the degree to which the northern population had rejected Jerusalem, but also the paramount position the Bethel shrine obtained during Jeroboam’s reign as a locus of Yahwistic tradition. If the statement rxm hwhyl gx may be attributed to Jeroboam during his inauguration of the new ritual system rooted at Bethel, then Jeroboam’s reform cult was presented to his subjects as a covenantal development mandated by Yhwh and essential to the unfurling of the nation’s sacred history.67 All of this suggests that Bethel was intended to replace Jerusalem as a tentative national shrine for a united monarchy at an early point in Jeroboam’s reign when the southern population may have yet fallen under his influence. With a cult system that was geared to obviate Jerusalem (pursuant to the predilections of his political constituents), Jeroboam’s social and cultic position was poised to become a fundamental feature of northern, anti-Jerusalem consciousness that could eclipse Rehoboam’s influ65 The Deuteronomist may have even geared his rhetoric to appeal to the sacral concerns of figures who were at one point associated with these non-Bethel northern cult sites; see Geoghegan, “Until This Day,” 217–20, 226–27. No such sympathetic concerns are expressed for the Bethel tradents. 66 Dtr clarifies that Jeroboam’s “house” is to be seen in terms of Bethel more than in terms of biological lineage by extending the prototype of Jeroboam’s sin throughout the duration of the northern kingdom’s history long after other northern dynasties had taken power. 67 See Simon J. De Vries, “The Time Word mahar as a Key to Tradition Development,” ZAW 87 (1975): 65–79.

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ence in the south as well. Had Rehoboam not successfully exploited the political and military resources left to him by Solomon, such an eclipse might well have taken place.

VI. The Roots of the Anti-Jeroboam Polemic Ahijah and his kin would have certainly expected that, in return for their earlier support, Jeroboam might have restored them to some position of influence. In light of Jeroboam’s rebuilding of Shechem and Penuel, Ahijah and the Shilonites likely anticipated similar dispensations to be allotted to them via the rebuilding of the Shiloh shrine, which had been so central a locale in premonarchic times. It would have indeed been reasonable for them to expect Jeroboam to give the Shiloh tradition an exalted position in the fledgling cult of the northern kingdom analogous to the role played by the Zadokites in the Jerusalem temple in Judah. Why, then, did Jeroboam not rebuild Shiloh or grant the Shilonites a stake in his regime’s religious affairs? The answer is one to which our attention has already been drawn. The repudiation among the people of Ephraim of all things Davidic included a repudiation of the Jerusalem temple, its vessels, its priesthood, its liturgy, and ultimately the Shilonite traditions on which it was based. As much as Solomon had marginalized Abiathar and his retinue from the goings-on in Jerusalem, the northern population would have certainly recognized the Shilonite background of the Jerusalem temple. The public perception of Solomon as a Davidide rendered the Shilonites themselves suspect, as it was David who founded his national cult upon the Shiloh tradition. It is unlikely that the northern population would have welcomed a new monarchic institution that deployed Shilonite sacral norms in a manner so similar to the monarchy that was founded in Jerusalem. This need not imply a complete public rejection of Ahijah and his confreres; rather, it implies the desire to avoid the pitfalls that led to what the northerners clearly viewed as a corrupted regime in Judah. Shilonite religious figures were not to be incorporated into the official cult of the new state, lest history repeat itself. In a sense, Ahijah shot himself in the foot by fashioning the decree in 1 Kgs 11:29–39 so closely after established Davidic tradition: it was a declaration of the Shilonite affinities for David and, in the public mind, all that had issued forth from that king. Jeroboam may have attempted to strike some sort of compromise between Shilonite tradition and his reform cult as a matter of retaining a degree of support from Ahijah and his brood. The establishment of Mushite (but non-Shilonite) priests at his official shrines would represent a middle ground.68 Jeroboam could avoid any comparison with foundational elements of the Zion tradition by leaving 68

See Halpern, “Levitic Participation,” 33–38.

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the Shiloh sanctuary out of his cultic agenda and by not handing the priesthood to the Shilonites, but he could still honor the Mushite line and, consequently, stand against the Solomonic policy of Mushite expulsion from the Jerusalem cult (2 Kgs 2:26). It is clear that later in his reign, Jeroboam still held Shilonite authority in some regard, though it is also evident that Jeroboam had by then fallen from their good graces.69 Whatever gestures Jeroboam may have made with respect to Shilonite interests in the establishment of his cult, they must have seemed pathetic and even blasphemous to Ahijah and his followers. Far from the restored glory to which they aspired, the Shilonites were set adrift in Israel’s cultic sea, unable to reclaim their heritage in either the south or the north. It is from this pit of despair that Ahijah struck out against Jeroboam and proclaimed Yhwh’s rejection of him and his progeny. Despite Jeroboam’s attempt to honor the Mushite line, the Shilonite polemic in Exodus 32 makes clear that his cult was as foundationless as that of Solomonic Jerusalem, associating the creation of the golden calf with the Zadokite Aaronides just as the gx statement uttered by Jeroboam had been ascribed to Aaron in Exodus 32. It is here that the Dtr vilification of Jeroboam and subsequent northern kingship finds its roots.70 By opposing Davidic tradition and marginalizing the Shilonite circles, Jeroboam rendered himself a prime target for the Deuteronomistic writers who sought to unite the Davidic and Shilonite-Mushite ideologies during Josiah’s reign. Dtr polemics against Jeroboam are the culmination of a northern history where prophets who bore the sacral traditions of Shiloh consistently remained on the periphery of northern society in terms of guiding theopolitical policy.71 As much as Jeroboam’s reform cult created a permanent schism between the north and the south he was never able to dominate, so did it create a permanent schism between Shilonite Mosaic tradition and the institution of northern kingship that Jeroboam founded. It would be only at the hands of the Judean Josiah that Ahijah’s dreams of reclaiming the Shilonite position in the state cult would be realized.72 69 Despite the Dtr polemic that Jeroboam rejected the covenantal stipulations decreed by Ahijah in the current form of 1 Kgs 11:29-39, the tale of Jeroboam’s wife seeking an oracle from Ahijah in 1 Kgs 14:1–4 demonstrates that the king still valued the prophet’s insights. 70 Exodus 32 and the related Mushite criticisms of Jeroboam are initiated at this time among the Shilonites; see Halpern, “Levitic Participation,” 33–34, 39–42. The critique persists among Ephraimite prophetic circles down to the eighth century (see Levenson, Sinai and Zion, 190–92, though Levenson points out similar Moses-centered critiques among the Judean prophets) and culminates in the Deuteronomic condemnation of extra-Jerusalem cults in general (Deut 12) and of Jeroboam’s cult in specific (via the condemnatory reference to the golden calf in Deut 9:12–21). 71 For the typological continuity between the prophetic figures associated with Shiloh and the vast majority of Ephraimite prophets, see Leuchter, Josiah's Reform, 30–32. 72 Deuteronomy 16:18–18:22 provides Mosaic dispensation for non-Jerusalemite Levites once again to take part in both the cult and the sacral judiciary. For this pericope as part of the Josianic stratum of Deuteronomy, see Levinson, Deuteronomy, 98–143; Sweeney, King Josiah, 160–63. Though Sweeney views the Deuteronomic law code as debilitating to independent Levitical author-

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From the perspective of the Josianic court, the northern realm had been a complete failure as part of Yhwh’s covenantal plan for national existence, doomed by Jeroboam almost immediately after its inception.73 The only way for Josiah’s reform to reclaim the glory of David was to obliterate the relics of Jeroboam’s reign that had caused that failure. But those relics and the administration under which they were effectively conceived had to be thoroughly distanced from the Davidic house (of which Josiah was the ultimate scion). The past was polemically rewritten; Jeroboam’s ties to Jerusalem and David were recast as alien in the same manner that traditional Israelite folk religion was presented as fundamentally foreign in the Deuteronomic Torah.74 The writers and editors responsible for the present shape of the narratives concerning Jeroboam’s rise (and fall) go to great lengths to complete an endeavor initiated by the northern monarch himself, transforming Jeroboam the Ephratite into Jeroboam the Ephraimite, a figure of prototypically, essentially, and irrevocably northern stock and thus an adversary of the Davidic interests that eventuated into Josiah’s reign.75 Only after the literary heritage of the northern monarchy was completely purged of its Davidic origins could Josiah purge the north of its theological abominations and finally endeavor to reintroduce it into the covenantal community. ity, the corpus—and 16:18–18:22 in particular—provides a vehicle for the reinstitution of Levitical juridical authority beyond Jerusalem as agents of the central court. See Leuchter, “Jeremiah’s 70 Year Prophecy,” 512 n. 31. 73 Knoppers, Two Nations, 2:236–38. 74 See Halpern, “Brisker Pipes Than Poetry,” 97–98, 101–2. 75 The placement of the Hadad and Rezon material in 1 Kings 11 before the text that introduces Jeroboam’s role in the Perezite episode and its repercussions in 1 Kgs 11:26–28 creates a strong rhetorical association between Jeroboam and these foreign figures, contributing to the presentation of Jeroboam as a villain and obscuring the original focus of the episode. Knoppers notes that the result of this literary sequence ties Jeroboam’s revolt to those of Hadad and Rezon (Two Nations, 2:182), but the effect of this editorial strategy is more dramatic insofar as it creates out of the earlier narrative episode the impression of a coup d’état that would not exist if the source text stood outside its current editorial context. We may tentatively view the composition of 1 Kgs 11:39 as dating to this time, establishing as it does a separation between Jeroboam and the Davidic house but asserting the eventual rise of the Davidic house at a later time over Israel; both literary elements fit well with the rhetorical and political concerns of the Josianic-era redactors.

JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 73–87

Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation joel marcus [email protected] Duke Divinity School, Durham, NC 27708

I. Crucifixion and Exaltation The central irony in the passion narratives of the Gospels is that Jesus’ crucifixion turns out to be his elevation to kingship.1 This seems to be the best way to understand, for example, the fact that in Mark’s Gospel Jesus is never called a “king” until he stands before Pilate on the way to the cross; yet from that point forward, within the space of thirty verses, he is called “king” six times: three times by Pilate (15:2, 9, 12), twice by mockers just before and just after his crucifixion (15:18, 32), and once by the inscription over his cross (15:26).2 These instances of basileuv" are heavy with irony, since none of the characters—neither Pilate, nor the soldiers who mockingly dress Jesus in royal garb, nor the anonymous composer of the inscription “The King of the Jews,”3 nor the taunting passersby at Golgotha—really believes that Jesus is a king. Aside from calling Jesus king, dressing him in royal garb, and genuflecting to him, Jesus’ executioners also mock his pretensions to royalty by crucifying him between two other “brigands,” thus paroThe research and writing of this article were completed while I was in residence at the National Humanities Center during the 2004–2005 academic year. Many thanks go to the wonderful staff of the Center, as well as to the Henry Luce Foundation for the award of a Luce Senior Fellowship, which helped to fund the year, and to the Duke Divinity School for a research leave and funding. I also received valuable feedback from colleagues at the Center, especially Lynda Coon, and from Dale Allison and Michael Winger. 1 See Philipp Vielhauer, “Erwägungen zur Christologie des Markusevangeliums,” in Zeit und Geschichte: Dankesgabe an Rudolf Bultmann zum 80. Geburtstag (ed. E. Dinkler; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1964), 167. 2 See Frank J. Matera, The Kingship of Jesus: Composition and Theology in Mark 15 (SBLDS 66; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), 157–59. 3 The Johannine portrayal, in which Pilate himself composes the inscription and affirms its truth (John 19:19–22), is a piece of Christian apologetic; see Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave. A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994), 2.964–67.

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dying a king’s retinue.4 Yet the reader understands that these characters’ actions and words point toward a truth unknown to them: royal garments and crowns rightfully do belong to Jesus, who will show his kingship precisely by not saving himself but by dying on the cross.5 Although the degrading slave’s death of crucifixion seems to the mockers to be a decisive contradiction of the claim that Jesus is a king, the reader knows the opposite to be true. This idea of crucifixion as coronation is not a Markan proprium. Although the other Gospels do not withhold the term basileuv" from Jesus until the final act, as Mark does (see Matt 2:2; 21:5; 25:34, 40; Luke 19:38; John 1:49; 12:13, 15), they do preserve this basic idea,6 and John even develops it by extending the conversation between Jesus and Pilate about basileiva (John 18:33–38a)7 and by having the scourged, mockingly crowned and robed Jesus presented to the people in an unforgettable parody of kingly epiphany (John 19:1–5). Even more important for our purposes, John has Jesus himself trade on the ambiguity of the verb uJyou'n (“to raise, lift”), which in the Fourth Gospel is frequently used for Jesus’ crucifixion (John 3:14; 8:28; 12:32, 34), but which elsewhere is associated with royal enthronement and other forms of conspicuous societal advancement.8 For John, then, Jesus’ exaltation comes precisely through his enthronement on the cross,9 4 See Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1993), 320; cf. Mark 10:35–40, where places at Jesus’ right and left imply participation in his royal glory; and Philo, Flacc. 38, where part of the ridicule of Carabas as king is that “young men carrying rods on their shoulders as spearmen stood on either side of him (eJkatevrwqen eiJsthvkesan) in imitation of a bodyguard” (LCL translation altered). 5 See Donald H. Juel, Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark (SBLDS 31; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977), 48. 6 On Matthew, see 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, 1997), 3:598–606; and Paul W. Meyer, “An Exegetical Reflection on Matthew 21:1–11,” in The Word in This World: Essays on New Testament Exegesis (ed. J. T. Carroll; Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 280–81. For Luke, see Mark L. Strauss, The Davidic Messiah in Luke-Acts: The Promise and Its Fulfillment in Lukan Christology (JSNTSup 110; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 317–36. 7 The point of hJ basileiva hJ ejmh; oujk e[stin ejk tou' kovsmou touvtou in 18:36 is not that Jesus’ kingdom belongs to the other world rather than to this one. Although his royal power (basileiva) derives from the other world, it comes to this one (see 14:18–19, 23; and Joel Marcus, “In the World but Not of It,” Katallagete 11 [1989]: 23). 8 See, e.g., Eph 4:8, quoting Ps 68:19; also Ps 88:20 LXX; Ps109:7 LXX; 1 Kgdms 2:10. As George Brooke pointed out when I presented a version of this paper at the University of Manchester, the association of kingship with exaltation may have something to do with the linkage made in John 1:49–51 between the acclamation of Jesus as king and the image borrowed from Gen 28:12 of angels ascending to and descending from heaven. The pseudepigraphon Ladder of Jacob, which James Kugel dates to the Second Temple period (“The Ladder of Jacob,” HTR 99 [1995]: 209), also connects Jacob’s vision in Genesis 28 with the motif of kingship (see 5:4–5, 12; 7:12–13). 9 See Wilhelm Thüsing, Die Erhöhung und Verherrlichung Jesu im Johannesevangelium (NTAbh 21; Münster: Aschendorff, 1959), 30–33. The hymn in Philippians, similarly, associates

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and commentators often speak of the unusual twist that association with crucifixion gives to the idea of exaltation.10 But is the twist so unusual? As Emanuel Hirsch already pointed out in 1936, John 12:32–34 itself provides a hint that it is not, since here the crowd seems to understand Jesus’ reference to his future elevation (uJywqw') as an allusion to crucifixion.11 Non-Christian sources back up Hirsch’s point; in his commentary on Aeneid 1.277, for example, Servius the Grammarian uses the phrase in crucem levatus est (“he was lifted onto the cross”).12 In two suggestive articles, Justin Meggitt provides additional reasons for doubting that the linkage of crucifixion with exaltation was a Christian invention,13 pointing in particular to a passage from Artemidorus’s book of dream exegesis, the Oneirocritica (2.53), in which dreams about crucifixion betoken, among other things, social elevation: It is also auspicious for a poor person [to dream of crucifixion]. For a crucified person is raised high (uJyhlov"), and nourishes (trevfei) many [sc. birds]. But it [a dream of crucifixion] means exposure of secrets. For a crucified person is readily visible (ejkfanhv"). . . . It means freedom for slaves, since the crucified are no longer subject to any person (ajnupovtaktoi). . . . To dream that one has been crucified in a city signifies that one will exercise rule (ajrchvn) over the place where the cross has been set up.14

Although Artemidorus, like Servius, was a post-Christian author, he gives no sign of being affected by Christianity;15 it is therefore especially significant that in this qanavtou de; staurou' (“even the death of the cross”) with oJ qeo;" aujto;n uJperuvywsen (“God has superexalted him” [Phil 2:8–9]). When I presented this essay at the University of Manchester, Peter Oakes suggested that, in line with my thesis, this might imply that for the hymn Jesus’ crucifixion was already an exaltation, but his resurrection was a superexaltation. 10 See, e.g., D. Moody Smith, The Theology of the Gospel of John (New Testament Theology; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 119. 11 Emanuel Hirsch, Das vierte Evangelium in seiner ursprünglichen Gestalt, verdeutscht und erklärt (Tübingen: Mohr, 1936), 71. Hirsch, who was a supporter of Hitler and the “German Christians,” formulates this insight in a typically anti-Jewish fashion: “Selbst die sonst für Jesu Gleichnisworte völlig tauben Juden verstehen hier Jesu «erhöht werden» ohne weiteres als sein «gekreuzigt werden».” 12 Georg Thilo and Hermann Hagen, eds., Servii Grammatici qui feruntur in Vergilii carmina commentarii (Leipzig: Teubner, 1902), 1:103. 13 Justin Meggitt, “Laughing and Dreaming at the Foot of the Cross: Context and Reception of a Religious Symbol,” in Modern Spiritualities: An Inquiry (ed. Laurence Brown et al.; Westminster College-Oxford: Critical Studies in Religion; Amherst, NY/Oxford: Prometheus Books, 1997), 63– 70; idem, “Artemidorus and the Johannine Crucifixion,” Journal of Higher Criticism 5 (1998): 203–8. 14 Translation adapted from Robert J. White, The Interpretation of Dreams, Oneirocritica by Artemidorus: Translation and Commentary (Noyes Classical Studies; Park Ridge, NJ: Noyes, 1975). The meaning of the last assertion is illustrated by the incident recorded in Oneirocritica 4.49: “In Greece, Menander dreamt that he was crucified in front of a temple of Zeus, Guardian of the City. He was appointed priest of this same god and became more well-known and wealthy as a result.” 15 Servius was a fourth-century c.e. author, while Artemidorus lived in the late second

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passage from the Oneirocritica, as in John, the fact that the crucified person is “raised high” (uJyhlov") is given a positive interpretation. To be sure, as Meggitt notes, “the reason for this is rather different than that found in John: dreams of crucifixion are interpreted as portending future success because of the perceived analogy between physical and social elevation.”16 This analogy does, however, have a biblical parallel, since there is a similar duality about the verb )#n in the story of Joseph:17 Pharaoh will “lift up the head” (K#)r t) . . . )#y) of one former servant by restoring him to his place at the king’s side (Gen 40:13), but he will “lift up the head” of the other by hanging him on a tree, where birds will eat his flesh (Gen 40:19)—a description that seems to evoke crucifixion for some of the translators of the OT.18 Like Artemidorus’s dream book, then, the Joseph story plays on the ambiguity of the motif of exaltation, although the analogy is reversed; whereas in Artemidorus a dream about crucifixion suggests social elevation, in the Joseph story a dream about social elevation suggests crucifixion or something like it.19 In both cases, however, crucifixion and social advancement are strangely intertwined. This same sort of conflation is present in Aramaic texts that refer to crucifixion by means of the root Pqz, which means “to raise” and is used predominantly in a positive sense.20

century c.e.; for a description of Artemidorus’s thought and its influences, see White, Interpretation, 1–11. 16 Meggitt, “Artemidorus,” 204 n. 6. 17 Meggitt mentions the double meaning of )#n in Gen 40:13, 19, 20, and compares it to the Aramaic Pqz (“Artemidorus,” 203), on which see below. 18 The Greek for “he will hang you on a tree” in Gen 40:19 LXX is kremavsei se ejpi; xuvlou, the exact phrasing used for crucifixion in Acts 5:30; 10:39; Gal 3:13. Among the Targums, Neofiti, Onqelos, and Pseudo-Jonathan use blc, the Aramaic verb for “impale, crucify,” in translating hlt in Gen 40:19. It is not always clear whether the versions imply a living impalement or one after the victim has been killed by beheading. Alejandro Díez Macho (Neophyti 1, Targum Palestinense Ms. de la Biblioteca Vaticana: Edición Príncipe, Introducción y Versión Castellana [Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1968–79] ad loc.) acknowledges both options in his translation of hbylc l( Kty blcyw in T. Neof. Gen 40:19: “At the end of three days Pharaoh will lift up your head from above you and hang you on a gibbet [or: crucify you on a cross], and the birds will eat the flesh off your head.” In the same passage the Vulgate speaks of a removal of the head before the baker is affixed to his cross (auferet Pharao caput tuum ac suspendet te in cruce), but 40:22 seems to imply a living impalement for purposes of judicial inquiry (alterum suspendit in patibulo ut coniectoris veritas probaretur). 19 In the baker’s dream in the Joseph story the motif of exaltation is implied by the baker’s return from his pitlike prison to his former position in the king’s palace, as well as by the birds eating out of a basket that appears to sit on top of his head. 20 Gerhard Kittel, “Pq"d@:z:)i= uJywqh'nai = gekreuzigt werden: Zur angeblichen antiochenischen Herkunft des Vierten Evangelisten,” ZNW 36 (1935): 282–85.

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II. Why the Linkage? What is the explanation for this widespread fusion of seemingly contradictory concepts: the torturous, degrading mors turpissima crucis, on the one hand, and social elevation or enthronement on the other? Since this fusion exists outside of Christianity (as in Artemidorus) and seems to predate the first century (as in the Joseph story and some of its translations), it is probably not a Christian invention. Where, then, does it come from? Meggitt thinks in terms of classic wish fulfillment with a Marxist tinge; the conflation of crucifixion with social advancement is rooted in a protest by the masses against the despotism epitomized by crucifixion: In sleep, the symbol of oppression that dominated most people’s waking lives was ironically transformed into one of liberation. The specific details of the barbarous fate of the crucified provided the means for the partial subversion of the symbolic tyranny of crucifixion. . . . The cross, the ultimate symbol of degradation for a slave, became through the medium of dream interpretation a symbol of freedom.21

There is certainly something ironic about interpreting the cross as an instrument of exaltation, but is Meggitt right that it was the poor and oppressed who originated this irony? It seems to me that on this particular point he is mistaken, as is illustrated by the fact that later in Artemidorus’s work we read of a rich man who became still richer after dreaming of crucifixion (4.49; see n. 14 above). The rich too, then, made the connection between crucifixion and advancement, or had that connection made for them by sympathetic dream-interpreters. Indeed, in my opinion, the strange oneiric fusion of crucifixion with social promotion is more likely to have originated with the crucifiers and their allies than with the crucified and their peers, since this conflation, as we shall see, served the interests of the elite of Greco-Roman society. This society was fixated on matters of rank, which were often expressed in a vertical manner; the terminology of “high” for elevated social status and “low” for humble condition was ubiquitous, and was in fact later encoded in Roman law.22 21

Meggitt, “Laughing,” 66. On the terminology of altior/humilior, see G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World from the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1981), 456–57; and Rolf Rilinger, Humiliores—Honestiores: Zu einer sozialen Dichotomie im Strafrecht der römischen Kaiserzeit (Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1988), 25, 39, 47 passim. The more usual contrast is between honestior and humilior, but honestior is a synonym for terms such as altior and superior. Readers of the NT and related literature are familiar with this imagery from passages such as Luke 14:10 (“Friend, come up higher”); Matt 23:12 (“Whoever exalts himself will be humbled”); and Gos. Pet. 10:40, where the greater height of the risen Jesus symbolizes his superiority to the two angels who support him. 22

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It is striking and unexpected that, in such a hierarchical context, the favorite mode of execution outside of the arena would be one that placed the victim on a higher plane than his executioners and the onlookers whom his torture and death were meant to impress. To be sure, the elevation of the victim had a practical advantage, in that the human object lesson thereby gained maximum visibility and hence optimal deterrent power.23 But in the ancient Greco-Roman context, the idea of bringing a person down by raising him up must still have struck people as incongruous, and presumably those responsible for the practice would have been cognizant of this irony. Indeed, I would like to suggest that irony was exactly their intention: this strangely “exalting” mode of execution was designed to mimic, parody, and puncture the pretensions of insubordinate transgressors by displaying a deliberately horrible mirror of their self-elevation.24 For it is revealing that the criminals so punished were often precisely people who had, in the view of their judges, gotten “above” themselves—rebellious slaves, for example, or slaves who had insulted their masters, or people of any class who had not shown proper deference to the emperor, not to mention those who had revolted against him or who had, through brigandage or piracy, demonstrated disdain for imperial rule.25 Crucifixion was intended to unmask, in a deliberately grotesque manner, the pretension and arrogance of those who had exalted themselves beyond their station; the authorities were bent on demonstrating through the graphic tableau of the cross what such 23 See Artemidorus’s remark in the passage quoted above (Oneirocritica 2.53) that the crucified person is ejkfanhv" (“readily visible”) and that crucifixion thus signifies the exposure of secrets. See also Pseudo-Callisthenes (Wilhelm Kroll, ed., Historia Alexandri Magni [Pseudo- Callisthenes], vol. 1, Recensio Vetusta [Berlin: Weidmann, 1926], 2.21.26.2-3): e[sesqe de; perifanei'" kai; diavshmoi pa'sin ajnqrwvpoi" ejpi; to;n stauro;n kremasqevnte" (“You will be visible all around and notable to everyone when you have been hung upon the cross”) and Quintilian, Decl. 274, as cited in Martin Hengel, Crucifixion in the Ancient World and the Folly of the Message of the Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 50 n. 14. 24 A biblical analogy may be the case of Absalom (2 Sam 18:9–17), whose suspension alive in the boughs of a tree “between heaven and earth” would probably have reminded later readers of crucifixion, and whose ignominious death in this suspended state was probably meant to be understood as a talion for his sin of rising up against his father, David (see J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses, vol. 1, King David [II Sam. 9–20 & I Kings 1–2] [SSN; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1982], 242; and Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel [New York/London: Norton, 1999], 304–5). On the gallows humor intrinsic to the Roman punishment of crucifixion, see Laurence L. Wellborn, Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 in the Comic-Philosophic Tradition (Early Christianity in Context/JSNTSup 293; London/New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 129–46, some of the conclusions of which are strikingly similar to those in this article, but which unfortunately appeared too late for me to engage it fully. 25 For a survey of the sorts of transgressions punished by crucifixion, see Hengel, Crucifixion, 33–63.

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self-promotion meant and whither it led. Crucifixion, then, is a prime illustration of Michel Foucault’s thesis that the process of execution is a “penal liturgy” designed to reveal the essence of the crime.26 This mimetic reading of crucifixion is supported by the fact that the height of the cross was often proportional to the insolence that the authorities ascribed to the victim. Suetonius records the case of a guardian whom Galba sentenced to crucifixion for poisoning his ward (Galba 9.1). When the man protested that he was a Roman citizen, “Galba pretended that he was going to lighten the punishment and compensate the man with some distinction, but instead gave orders that the cross should be changed for one that was painted white and which stood much higher than the rest.”27 The height of the cross, like its white color, which was particularly linked with high office, expressed the emperor’s contempt through a parody of the victim’s pretension.28 In the Septuagint version of Esther, similarly, when Mordecai refuses to rise before Haman, the latter’s wife suggests that the Jewish courtier’s arrogance be recompensed by crucifixion on a stake that is, outlandishly, fifty cubits high (= seventy-five feet, or twenty-three meters)—the same stake upon which Haman is eventually crucified for his own towering audacity (Esth 5:9, 14; 7:9–10; 8:7[12r]).29 The greater the insolence, the higher the cross; the proper response to excessive haughtiness was, in the words of the Clint Eastwood film, to “Hang ’Em High!” Elevation on a cross, then, is linked with high social aspirations, and this mode of execution has a gleefully malicious, satiric element, which is epitomized by Lucilius’s gibe about an envious man who fell into a decline when he saw 26 Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (New York: Pantheon, 1977), 35, 43, 47. The chapter in which these references occur is significantly entitled “The Spectacle of the Scaffold.” Foucault’s thesis is anticipated by Franz Kafka’s story “The Penal Colony,” in which the law that a condemned man has broken is inscribed on his body. 27 Translation altered from D. C. A. Shotter, Suetonius: Lives of Galba, Otho & Vitellius (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1993), 51. 28 Kathleen M. Coleman comments that “this publicity must have been designed to mock the offender’s claim to special treatment” (“Fatal Charades: Roman Executions Staged as Mythological Enactments,” JRS 80 [1990]: 47). White was especially associated with the praetorship, because the candidate for that office was clothed in a glittering white toga; indeed, the word candidatus, which means “officeholder,” is derived from candidus, “white” (see, e.g., Livy, Hist. 4.25.13; 39.39.2; also Charlton T. Lewis and Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary Founded on Andrews’ Edition of Freund’s Latin Dictionary [Oxford: Clarendon, 1879]; and Christian Gizewski, “Candidatus,” in DNP 2:961). Apuleius’s phrase (Metam. 1.14) “candidate for the cross” (cruci candidatus), therefore, may reflect a common ironic link between crucifixion and the attainment of high office. 29 For other examples of the height of the cross as an expression of contempt, see PseudoManetho, Apotelesmatica 1.148; 5.219; Justin, Epitome 18.7.15; 22.7.9; Sallust, Hist. frg. 3.9; cited by Hengel, Crucifixion, 40. See also Plautus, Stic. 625: hic quidem pol summam in crucem cena aut prandio perduci potest (“I do believe a dinner or lunch would induce him to take the highest place at a crucifixion!”; LCL translation altered).

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someone crucified on a cross higher than his own (Anthologia Graeca 11.192). A similar note of grisly humor is sounded in the Alexander Romance, where Alexander fulfills his crafty promise to Darius’s killers to make them “visible all around and notable before everyone” (perifanei'" kai; diavshmoi pa'sin ajnqrwvpoi") by having them crucified for all to see. This satiric element may also be present in the customary sentencing formula, Ibis/abi in crucem (“You shall mount the cross”), which may burlesque an honorific expression elsewhere used with respect to the exaltation of heroes to heaven.30 Like the Icarus myth, then, which is frequently represented in Roman art and literature,31 crucifixion warns against the overweening presumption that dares to fly too high, mocking the victim’s effrontery by raising and fixing him in a torturously elevated state until he expires—a form of death that drives the last nail, so to speak, into his lofty pretensions.32

III. Parodic Elements in Other Roman Punishments The hypothesis that crucifixion was often understood as a parody of the self-exaltation of the victim is supported by the observation that other Roman punishments included a similar element of mimicry.33 Richard Bauman indeed entitles one section in his book on Roman penalties “Black Comedy and Punishment” and begins that section by quoting the aim of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado “To let the punishment fit the crime . . . / And make each pris’ner pent / Unwill30 See Avienus’s words in his panegyric to his father, Ibis in optatas sedes (“You shall mount to the desired seats [of the gods]”; Alfred Theophil Holder, ed., Rufi Festi Avieni Carmina [1887; reprint, Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1965], 172); and Lucan, Bell. Civ. 7.815–16: Quocumque tuam fortuna vocabit, / Hae quoque sunt animae: non altius ibis in auras (“Wherever destiny summons your spirit, Caesar, there the spirits of these men are also; you will not mount higher into the heavens than they” [LCL translation altered]). On the sentencing formula, see Petronius, Satyricon 137.2; and Plautus, Mostellaria 850; cf. Hengel, Crucifixion, 10; Brown, Death, 1:853. Christians took over the sentencing formula about mounting the cross and turned it into a desideratum; see, e.g., Gregory Nazianzus, Orat. XLV = Second Oration on Easter 23: ejpi; to;n stauro;n ajnivwmen provqumoi (“Let us gladly mount the cross”). 31 See Karl Kilinski, The Flight of Icarus through Western Art (Studies in Art History 4; Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter: Edwin Mellen, 2002), 44, 61. 32 A recent analogy may be the use of hanging as the commonest method for lynching “uppity” blacks in the United States; see Orlando Patterson, Rituals of Blood: Consequences of Slavery in Two American Centuries (Washington, DC: Civitas Counterpoint, 1998), 191– 92, 205–7; Robert A. Gibson, The Negro Holocaust: Lynching and Race Riots in the United States,1880–1950 (Yale/New Haven Teachers Institute, 2004), http://www.yale.edu/ynhti/curriculum/units/1979/2/79.02.04.x. html. 33 See Florence Dupont, cited in Carlin A. Barton, The Sorrows of the Ancient Romans: The Gladiator and the Monster (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 137: “Imitation—not in the Greek sense of representation (mimesis)—but in the sense of mimic buffoonery, the play of the comic double and of mirroring, was a fundamental component of Roman culture.”

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ingly represent / A source of innocent merriment”—a good encapsulation of our thesis.34 As examples of the talionic nature of Roman punishments, Bauman cites Suetonius’s report that Claudius amputated the hands of a man convicted of forgery (Claudius 15.2) and that Galba, similarly, punished a fraudulent moneychanger by amputating his hands and nailing them to the table where he had conducted his crooked business (Galba 9.1). Kathleen Coleman cites the latter passage to show that “the retributive aim automatically involves the humiliation of the offender in that he receives his come-uppance in public and frequently in a manner that mocks the perpetration of his crime.”35 For our purposes, it is also significant that Suetonius’s description of this macabre act of talio immediately precedes the passage already quoted in which an arrogant nobleman is punished by means of an especially high cross, a text from which we inferred an element of talio in crucifixion. This taste for macabre, talionic punishments was not limited to Claudius and the amputation of hands. A couple of centuries later, for example, in the reign of Macrinus, co-adulterers had their bodies fastened together before being burned alive, and two soldiers were punished for intercourse with their host’s maidservant by being thrust into the still-living bodies of a pair of huge oxen that had been cut open to receive them (Historia Augusta, Macrinus 12.4–5, 10). These penalties, of course, parodied the sexual acts they were meant to punish.36 The cases thus far cited, to be sure, all involved special intervention by the emperor, but mocking execution did not require on-the-spot imperial initiative and was occasionally encoded in law. Bauman, for example, cites a talionic decree of 320 c.e. according to which “the mouths and throats of those who offer incitement to evil shall be closed by pouring in molten lead” (Codex Theodosianus 9.24.1.1) and comments, “Sometimes a law was its own parody.”37 34 Gilbert and Sullivan, The Mikado, Act II, No. 17: “A more humane Mikado”; cited in Richard A. Bauman, Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome (London/New York: Routledge, 1996), 68–69, also 75–76 and 182 n. 37. Coleman likewise comments on the element of talio in Roman punishments, “according to which the means of punishment evokes the misdeed” (“Charades,” 45–46). Martha Himmelfarb notes that, while the lex talionis played only a limited role in Greek jurisprudence, it was important for the Romans from the time of the Twelve Tables on (Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983], 76 ; see also Artur Völkl, “Talion,” in DNP, 11:1231–33). 35 Coleman, “Charades,” 47. 36 It would be wrong to contrast the improvisatory nature of Claudius’s and Macrinus’s interventions with the “due process” of crucifixion, since there was a large element of improvisation in the latter as well; see Hermann Fulda, Das Kreuz und die Kreuzigung: eine antiquarische Untersuchung nebst Nachweis der vielen seit Lipsius verbreiteten Irrthümer; zugleich vier Excurse über verwandte Gegenstände (Breslau: Wilhelm Koebner, 1878), 61–62. Fulda argues that this improvisatory character is part of the reason that the procedure of crucifixion is never spelled out in ancient sources: it was left up to the executioners’ inventiveness, which was part of the fun of the job. 37 Bauman, Crime, 69; see also the “fatal charades” described by Coleman (“Charades”) and alluded to briefly at the end of this section.

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The level of mimesis in Roman punishments could indeed be extraordinary. As with Jesus (Mark 15:16–20a parr.), mockery sometimes began at the trial; Suetonius describes an instance in which the advocates could not agree whether a defendant should appear in a toga (the prerogative of Roman citizens) or only in a Greek mantle, so Claudius displayed his “impartiality” by making him change his garments several times, according as he was accused or defended (Claudius 15.2). Here, then, the man’s external appearance is altered both to ridicule him and to reflect his changing relation to the crime with which he is charged. The atmosphere of hilarity implied by this and other passages concerning punishment, which is closely related to the element of mimesis, sometimes seems to have infected the accused themselves. Tacitus, for example, cites the case of Titius Sabinus being led away to summary execution on January 1, 28 c.e. and shouting, as loudly as the cloak over his mouth and the noose around his neck would allow, “This is a fine way to celebrate New Year!” (Ann. 4.70.2).38 Sabinus’s gallows humor may reflect a more general phenomenon of victims entering into the parodic roles assigned to them. In a description of the “fatal charades” in which condemned prisoners were dressed up as gods or heroes before being killed in the arena, Tertullian speaks of Christian martyrs “assuming the role” (induunt) of Attis or Hercules (Apol. 15.4). This verb suggests more than a superficial resemblance,39 and it may imply that the line between performer and role sometimes became blurred for both criminal and audience. This interpretation is supported, at least as far as the audience is concerned, by the fascinating description in Plutarch, Moralia 554b: But there are some people, no different from children, who see criminals in the arena, dressed often in tunics of golden fabric with purple mantles, wearing crowns and doing the Pyrrhic dance, and, struck with awe and astonishment, the spectators suppose that they are supremely happy, until the moment when, before their eyes, the criminals are stabbed and flogged, and that gaudy and sumptuous garb bursts into flames.40

This passage, which offers intriguing parallels to NT texts,41 seems to imply that the penal parody sometimes became so real that the audience was taken in by it. We will return to this observation at the close of our study.

38

Translation from Bauman, Crime, 69.

39 Coleman, “Charades,” 60. 40

Translation from Coleman, “Charades,” 70. It is similar to the mocking scene in Mark 15:15–20 parr. in its use of purple clothing, crowns, and flogging, but it is also interestingly parallel to, and may reveal something of the background to, Heb 2:9, which speaks of Jesus’ being “crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death.” 41

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IV. Crucifixion and Kingship Our theory of crucifixion as parodic exaltation, therefore, corresponds to the mocking and mimetic character of other Roman punishments.42 Since, moreover, there was an overlap between the imagery of elevation and that of enthronement,43 it should come as no surprise that not only crucifixion and exaltation but also crucifixion and kingship were sometimes conflated by the guardians of punishment. In the Gospel passion narratives themselves, “king of the Jews” is not a self-designation of Jesus or a title that his followers come up with but an epithet hurled at him by mocking outsiders as he makes his way to the cross and suffers on it.44 If, as seems likely, the inscription over the cross is historical,45 it is plausible that it was meant not only to indicate the charge against Jesus but also to continue a mockery that was intrinsic to the process of crucifixion;46 the anonymous 42 This pervasive Roman pattern of talionic punishments may be reflected in early Jewish and Christian conceptions of hell, where the idea of talio is ubiquitous; see, for example, the Apocalypse of Peter (Ethiopic 7–10; Akhmimic 24–34), where women who have used their hair to entice men into fornication are hung up by their hair, the men are hung up by their genitals, and so on. For other Jewish and Christian examples, see Himmelfarb, Tours, index s.v. “Measure-for-measure punishments.” It is interesting, and perhaps significant for our thesis, that hanging plays such a prominent role in these fantasies; see Himmelfarb, Tours, 85–92, especially the summary on 91: “[T]he prominence of punishments of hanging by the sinful limb in certain tours of hell seems to be a result of the suitability of hanging for the ongoing punishment necessary for the eternity of existence in hell and of the ease with which hanging can be used to apply the principle of measurefor-measure punishment.” 43 See above, p. 74 and n. 8, as well as Alexander’s description of Darius in the Alexander Romance (1.38) as “the King of Kings, enthroned with the gods, who rises to heaven with the Sun” (cf. 1.36; trans. from B. P. Reardon, ed., Collected Ancient Greek Novels [Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1989], 681). 44 The epithet, to be sure, does not come out of thin air; in Luke (19:37-38) and John (12:1213) at least, it is anticipated by the acclamation of the crowd at the triumphal entry. E. P. Sanders thinks that the entry narrative has a historical germ and suggests a messianic consciousness on the part of Jesus (Jesus and Judaism [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985], 306–8). The fact remains, however, that in the passion narratives themselves “king” is never a self-designation or an apostolic term for Jesus but an epithet of outsiders. 45 See Nils A. Dahl, “The Crucified Messiah,” in The Crucified Messiah (1960; reprint, Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974), 10–36. 46 Although Brown argues that the scene of royal mockery by the soldiers in 15:16-19 represents pre-Gospel tradition, he adds that “there is no way of knowing whether this happened historically; at most one can discuss the issue of verisimilitude” (Death, 1:873–74). One part of this verisimilitude issue, for Brown, is the question of “what [would have] inspired Roman soldiers to act in this way?” The theory advanced here that crucifixion was commonly understood as exaltation provides a partial answer to that question and thus underlines the verisimilitude of the passage. Although, therefore, this article takes its point of departure from a literary pattern and

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soldier who scrawled “king of the Jews” on the placard must have thought that describing a crucifixion as a royal display was a good joke.47 I am suggesting that this joke was not just an accident or a private inspiration, but reflected a common understanding of crucifixion as enthronement. The fact that, in Matthew (27:22), Mark (15:13-14), and John (19:6), the cries of “Crucify!” are in direct response to an articulation or display of Jesus’ claim to kingship supports this contention.48 The terminology of crucifixion may have both reflected and further assisted the linkage with kingship, since sedile, the word commonly used for the small wooden seat or peg on which the buttocks of the crucified victim rested, could also be used for a royal chair.49 One of the passages in which sedile is used in this regal way, significantly, has to do with an aspiration to imperial rule that resulted in execution: Hadrian compelled Servianus to kill himself, “on the ground that he aspired to empire, merely because he gave a feast to the royal slaves, sat in a royal chair (sedili regio) placed close to his bed, and, though an old man of ninety, used to arise and go forward to meet the guard of soldiers” (Aelius Spartianus, Historia Augusta, Hadrianus 23.8). The torturous sedile of the cross, therefore,50 may sometimes have been viewed as a punishment for the victim’s ambition to take a seat he did not deserve.51 We have direct testimony that crucifixion was indeed viewed as, or at least theological interpretation visible in Mark and John, it is likely that this pattern and exegesis go back to events in the life of the historical Jesus. 47 Brown notes that such tituli were frequent but not necessary and could contain a note of sarcasm (Death, 2:963–64). He denies a parodic purpose, however, in the case of the titulus in the Gospels, although he acknowledges that “once inscribed the wording was used in mocking Jesus.” But the note of sarcasm is unmistakable, since the Roman authorities and soldiers did not think that Jesus was truly a king (see Helen K. Bond, Pontius Pilate in History and Interpretation [SNTSMS 100; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998], 110–11, 115, 181–82). 48 I owe this suggestion, as well as several others and many editorial improvements, to Carol Shoun, the Coordinator of Faculty Writing & Research Support at Duke Divinity School. 49 See, e.g., Virgil, Georg. 4.350, which refers to the gods on their crystal thrones, and Apuleius, Metam. 6.20, which speaks of Psyche’s refusal to take a royal seat. That the sedile was a well-known part of the cross is indicated by Tertullian, Nat. 1.12.4: “But an entire cross is attributed to us, with its transverse beam, of course, and its projecting seat” (cum illo sedilis excessu). It must be admitted, however, that sedile is most commonly used not for royal chairs but for the benches of rowers (e.g., Virgil, Aen. 5.835; Tacitus, Ann. 16.5.2; Silius Italicus, Punica 14.543). It is also frequently employed in rustic contexts for rocks that form natural benches (e.g., Ovid, Metam. 5.305; Horace, Ars 202). As the anonymous JBL reviewer points out, moreover, it is more frequently found in poetry than in prose. The reviewer is therefore right that “it is hardly a terminus technicus for a throne.” But given the other royal associations of crucifixion and the fact that sedile is sometimes used in royal contexts, the possibility that these two facts are linked still seems worth broaching. 50 See Seneca, Ep. 101.11: “Though I sit on the piercing cross” (acuta si sedeam cruce). 51 See the later Oneirocriticon of Achmet, in which a wooden chair signifies a person of great power (259).

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linked with, enthronement in a famous parallel to the Gospels’ scenes of mockery and crucifixion, Dio Chrysostom’s description of the Sacian feast of the Persians (Orat. 4.67–70):52 They take one of their prisoners, . . . who has been condemned to death, set him upon the king’s throne, give him the royal apparel, and permit him to give orders, to drink and carouse, and to make use of the royal concubines during those days, and no one prevents his doing whatever he pleases. But after that they strip and scourge him and then hang him. . . . Is it intended to show that foolish and wicked people frequently acquire this royal power (ejxousiva) and title and then after a season of wanton insolence come to a most shameful and wretched end? . . . Therefore, O perverse man, do not attempt to be king (mh; basileuvein) before you have attained to wisdom. (LCL translation altered)

The remarkable parallels between the Gospel passion narratives and the Sacian feast (clothing with royal apparel, stripping, scourging, and crucifixion) make it all the more relevant for our thesis that in the Persian ritual this mistreatment forms the climax of an act of mock enthronement. Dio, in interpreting this custom, comes close to expressing our thesis when he speculates that the crucifixion of the Persian king pro tem was meant to show “foolish and wicked people” that they would come to “a most shameful and wretched end” if they insolently attempted to acquire royal power. Persia, to be sure, was outside of the Greco-Roman sphere, and Dio’s description has to do with the practice in a much earlier epoch, that of Alexander the Great. But there is indirect evidence that the idea of crucifixion as parodic enthronement had not waned in the interim and was known in the Roman empire as well as in Persia. There are striking similarities, for example, between Oneirocritica 2.53 (quoted above in section I), which interprets dreams about being crucified, and 2.30, which interprets dreams about being king: Dreaming that one has become king (basileuvein) portends death for a sick man. For only a king, like a dead man, is subject to no person (ajnupovtakto"). . . . For a criminal, it signifies that he will be imprisoned and that secret deeds will be brought to light. For the king is readily visible (ejkfanhv") and has many to watch over him. . . . If a slave dreams that he has become a king, it foretells his freedom.53

52 New Testament scholars have frequently noted the parallels between Dio’s description of the Sacian festival and the Gospel passion narratives; see, e.g., Vernon K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (1984; reprint, Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 189–91; Robert L. Brawley, “Resistance to the Carnivalization of Jesus: Scripture in the Lucan Passion Narrative,” Semeia 69–70 (1995): 37–38. One of the earliest scholars to notice the similarities was James G. Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion, part 6, The Scapegoat (London: Macmillan, 1913), 413–14. 53 Translation adapted from White, Interpretation.

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Both the crucified person and the king are readily visible (ejkfanhv");54 neither is subject to anyone (both are ajnupovtakto"); and for a slave to dream of either betokens manumission. Some recipients of crucifixion dreams, moreover, will attain rule (ajrchv), which is self-evidently the prerogative of a leader, and the portrayal of the crucified person nourishing “many” aligns with traditional descriptions of the king as the great nourisher of his people.55 These parallels between the interpretation of dreams of crucifixion and of kingship seem too numerous to be accidental, and they support the theory that crucifixion was widely understood as parodic enthronement in the ancient world.56

V. Mockery Mocked The danger of parody, however, is that it may turn into reality. As we have seen, some ancient victims of execution and some of their viewers seem to have had difficulty separating the mask from the masker. And what happened if the 54 Cf. the mock enthronement described in Philo, Flacc. 37, in which the lunatic Carabas is “set . . . on high to be seen by all” (sthvsante" metevwron, i{na kaqorw'/to pro;" pavntwn); on the parallels between this passage and the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ mockery, see Brown, Death, 1.812–14, 874–75. As the anonymous JBL reviewer of this article notes, this passage is significant for the present thesis, since “while Carabas is only mocked, not crucified, the incident is clear evidence of an association between mocking and royalty.” See Herbert Box, Philonis Alexandrini In Flaccum (London: Oxford University Press, 1939), 91, who calls the Carabas incident “a mime in which kingship is caricatured.” 55 See, e.g., Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae (Georg Kaibel, ed., Athenaei Naucratitae deipnosophistarum libri xv [Leipzig: Teubner, 1887–90]), 4.26.41; Xenophon, Oeconomicus (E. C. Marchant, ed., Xenophontis opera omnia [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1921]), 4.6.3; Diogenianus, Paroemiae (Friedrich Wilhelm Schneidewin and Ernst von Leutsch, eds., Corpus paroemiographorum Graecorum [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1839]), 5.31.1; Heraclides (Karl Müller, Fragmenta historicorum Graecorum [Paris: Didot, 1841–70]), t1-9.40. As George Brooke pointed out when I presented a version of this paper at the University of Manchester, the linkage between kingship and nurture may also be reflected in the course of events in John 6:1–15, where Jesus feeds five thousand people and they then try to make him king. The famous Gemma Augustea, similarly, portrays Augustus enthroned as Jupiter (the king of the gods), being crowned by a personification of the inhabited world, holding a scepter in his left hand, and surrounded by images of prosperity, nurture, victory, and the subjugation of enemies (see Heinz Kähler, Alberti Rubeni Dissertatio de Gemma Augustea [Monumenta Artis Romanae 9; Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1968]; and Paul Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus [Jerome Lectures 16; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1988], 230–38). 56 The linkage becomes even closer in the later (tenth century?) Oneirocriticon of Achmet, in which dreams of a cross are directly related to kingship (126: “From the Indians concerning kings and crosses”). Here, however, Christian influence cannot be excluded; see Steven M. Oberhelman, The Oneirocriticon of Achmet: A Medieval Greek and Arabic Treatise on the Interpretation of Dreams (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 1991), 19–20, on Achmet’s use of Byzantine sources.

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prisoner mocked by crucifixion as a person of high status or a presumptive monarch responded to his torture with unaccountable dignity? The audience for the penal performance might then be tempted to conclude that the crucified victim actually did possess a certain noble or regal quality (see Mark 15:39 parr.). We may speculate, for example, as to how onlookers reacted to the freedom-loving Cantabrians described by Strabo, men who continued to sing songs of victory as they were nailed to the cross (Geog. 3.4.18). Were the witnesses unmoved, or were some of them impressed by this conspicuous example of grace under pressure, as Strabo seems to have been despite his prejudices against the Cantabrians? Did some of them begin to think that the world had gone haywire—that kingly men were being crucified and that slavish men were condemning them to death, as in Silius Italicus’s report on a slave who “rose above his condition” (superat) when he demanded to be crucified alongside his master (Punica 1.179–81)? In such situations, the height of the cross might undergo a transvaluation and be seen to point toward the spiritual eminence rather than the arrogance of the victim, as in the same author’s report on the execution of the noble Regulus: “I was looking on when he hung high upon the tree and saw Italy from his lofty cross” (Punica 2.344–44). At such moments, the “hidden transcript” of resistance bursts into the open with electrifying power, so that mockery is reversed and the derided victim demands to be taken seriously.57 We can identify at least one such paradigmatic moment of reversal in the Gospel passion narratives: the juncture at which Jesus meets the sneering question of the emperor’s representative, “You are the king of the Jews?” with the equally derisive rejoinder, “You say so”—that is, you, Pilate, by your actions and words, are declaring me royal (Mark 15:2 parr.).58 Here the mockery that has transformed kingship into a joke encounters a sharper mockery that unmasks it, so that the derision of kingship is itself derided and true royalty emerges through negation of the negation. For many early Christians, this reversal of a reversal, which turned penal mockery on its head, was probably the inner meaning of Jesus’ crucifixion.59 57 See the final chapter of James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1990), 202–27, which is significantly entitled: “A Saturnalia of Power: The First Public Declaration of the Hidden Transcript.” 58 On the interpretation of the question and answer in Mark 15:2 and parallels, see Thomas Nicklin, “‘Thou Sayest,’” ExpTim 51 (1939–40): 155; David R. Catchpole, “The Answer of Jesus to Caiaphas (Matt. XXVI. 64),” NTS 17 (1971): 213–26; Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium (HTKNT 2; Freiburg: Herder, 1976), 2:457. 59 For the early Christians, then, Jesus’ crucifixion was a revelatory event; see 1 Cor 1:18-25 and n. 23 above, on passages from Artemidorus and Pseudo-Callisthenes about the crucified person being readily visible and manifest to all, and about crucifixion signifying exposure of secrets.

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JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 89–105

Point of View in a Gospel Story: What Difference Does It Make? Luke 19:1–10 as a Test Case gary yamasaki [email protected] Columbia Bible College, Abbotsford, BC V2T 2Z8, Canada

Within NT narrative criticism, the study of point of view has been less fruitful than the study of any other major component of the discipline. This should not be surprising, for while literary concepts such as plot and character are widely recognized and understood, the literary concept of point of view is not. Why this lack of clarity? First, there is the unfortunate circumstance that the name of this literary concept is also a phrase used in common parlance, most often with the meaning “opinion, attitude.” And although one component of the literary concept of point of view does overlap with this common understanding of the phrase, its several other components have nothing at all to do with opinions or attitudes. Further, the literary concept of point of view does not lend itself to simple explanation; some of its components are straightforward, but others are conceptually complex. These factors have hampered the easy import of this concept into the discipline of biblical narrative criticism. In addition, there has been little effort to explore what difference an understanding of point of view makes to the interpretation of a biblical narrative. A typical treatment of point of view consists of a definition of this literary concept along with illustrations of point-of-view dynamics in a biblical passage. This is fine, as far as it goes. However, it must be asked: “Is this far enough?” In other words, does such a treatment of point of view contribute anything to the interpretation of the passage under examination? It is the contention of this article that the workings of point of view in biblical narratives are exegetically significant. So in the same way that a lexical analysis, or a syntactical analysis, or a historical-cultural analysis can yield insights helpful in the interpretation of a narrative passage, so also an analysis of point-of-view moves by the narrator can affect the exegesis of the passage. 89

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To be sure, there have been studies that do address the exegetical significance of point-of-view manipulation. Unfortunately, these studies have been few and far between, and none of them develops a methodology for analyzing point of view with this focus in mind. The present work seeks to provide just such a methodology. This article will first set out the basics of point of view, then discuss the significance of point of view for exegesis, and finally undertake a point-ofview analysis of Luke 19:1–10, the account of Jesus and Zacchaeus.

I. Point of View Defined In the context of literary analysis, the concept of “point of view” relates to the position established by the teller of a story vis-à-vis the elements of the story itself. Adele Berlin provides a helpful explanation of this relation by means of a comparison with cinema: In a [movie] . . . the story is filtered through the perspective of the camera eye. Sometimes the camera gives long-shots, sometimes close-ups. It may focus on the entire scene or on any part of it. And it constantly shifts perspective, showing the action from different angles. The viewer’s perspective is both expanded and controlled by the camera; he can see the action from many directions and perspectives, but can see only what the camera shows him. Biblical narrative, like most modern prose narrative, narrates like film. The narrator is the camera eye; we “see” the story through what he presents. . . . He can survey the scene from a distance, or zoom in for a detailed look at a small part of it. He can follow one character throughout, or hop from the vantage point of one to another.1

With a movie, the audience sees the events of the story from the various camera angles chosen by the director. In contrast, the eyes of the audience of a biblical narrative see only ink markings on a page;2 the elements of the story are mediated to the audience by means of words, an experience very different from the immediacy of viewing directly the elements of the story on a movie screen. Despite being restricted to using only words, however, the biblical storyteller can still provide for the audience the events of the story from various camera angles. This is accomplished through the use of point-of-view techniques. Writers have at their disposal a range of textual elements that can be manipulated in various ways to produce different points of view. So the audience of a biblical narrative, though 1 Adele

Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Bible and Literature Series; Sheffield: Almond, 1983), 44. 2 Or, if we are to consider the original audiences of these narratives, their eyes would have seen only the storyteller before them as they listened to the words of the story; the point, however, is the same with this alternate scenario.

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not able to see a given event directly with their eyes, can be led to “see” the event from a particular angle in their mind’s eye. A full treatment of all the textual elements used in the production of point of view is beyond the scope of this article. However, a typology developed by literary critic Boris Uspensky serves as a helpful framework for sorting through many of them,3 and I will be using this typology for the purposes of organizing the discussion of point of view in this article. Uspensky conceptualizes point of view as functioning on five planes: temporal, spatial, psychological, phraseological, and ideological. On the temporal plane, the narrator establishes the point in time from which the audience experiences the events of the story line. Most narratives position the audience at a point in time subsequent to the final event of the story line, using past-tense verbs to relate the story. On occasion, however, the narrator will switch to present tense, thereby positioning the audience at a point in time synchronous with that of the characters of the story. Further, the narrator may take the audience through the events of the story in chronological order or may begin the narrative somewhere in the middle of the story line. This latter approach establishes a point of view lacking key pieces of information, and the narrator fills in the data along the way through the use of flashback and/or commentary. Also on the temporal plane, the narrator can influence point of view through manipulation of the pacing of the narrative.4 The narrator may present an occurrence at a pace where the time it takes to narrate the event is significantly shorter than the elapsed time of the event itself; this is known as summary material. With this type of material, the narrator positions the audience such that they whiz by the elements of the story line, able to receive only the gist of the action. Alternatively, the narrator may present an occurrence at a pace where the time it takes to narrate the event roughly equals the elapsed time of the event itself; this is known as scene material. Here the audience is positioned such that they receive comprehensive coverage of the elements of the event.5 On the spatial plane, the narrator establishes the point in space from which the audience experiences the elements of the story world, not unlike what a 3 Boris Uspensky, A Poetics of Composition: The Structure of the Artistic Text and Typology of a Compositional Form (trans. Valentina Zavarin and Susan Wittig; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973). What follows uses Uspensky’s typology as a basic framework, but it also presents other pertinent textual elements that Uspensky does not cover. 4 This is a component of temporal point of view not covered by Uspensky; for the standard treatment of this topic, see Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method (trans. Jane E. Lewin; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1980), 93–112. 5 Genette also discusses “pause” and “ellipsis,” while Seymour Chatman adds one more: “stretch” (Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978], 72–73). These additional paces, however, do not play a significant role in the analysis of biblical narratives.

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movie director does through the positioning of cameras. As noted in the earlier quotation from Berlin, the narrator can provide for the audience a point of view at a distance from a given character or one right up close to the character, a point of view alongside a single character for an extended stretch of the narrative or one hopping from character to character in short order. On the psychological plane, the narrator regulates the audience’s vantage point vis-à-vis the inner workings of the minds of the characters. The key here is the absence or presence of “inside views,” that is, looks into a character’s thoughts, intentions, and feelings. The narrator may provide inside views of all the characters or of only one character—always remaining on the outside of all the others—or may provide only external views of all the characters. Point of view on the final two planes—the phraseological and the ideological— are more difficult to conceptualize. Point of view on the phraseological plane has to do with shifts in point of view between that of the narrator and that of a character by means of speech characteristics. Uspensky explains it in this way: Let us assume that an event to be described takes place before a number of witnesses, among whom may be the author, the characters (the immediate participants in the event), and some other, detached spectators. Each of the observers may offer his own description of the events; presumably these versions would be presented in the form of direct discourse (in the first person). We would then expect these monologues to be distinct in their particular speech characteristics. . . . Theoretically, the author, constructing his narrative, may use first one and then another of these various narrations. These narrations, originally assumed to be in direct discourse, may merge and be transposed into authorial speech. Within the authorial speech the shifting from one point of view to another is expressed in different uses of forms of someone else’s speech.6

So a character may be given certain speech traits that become identified with that character and that subsequently can be merged into the narratorial voice, thus effecting a shift on the phraseological plane to that character’s point of view. As a result, the audience then begins to experience the events of the story line from the perspective of that character. One significant category of phraseological traits is naming, that is, different characters having distinctive ways of referring to a given person. Uspensky provides a simple example of this in a passage from Tolstoy’s War and Peace. In this work, Napoleon is referred to with a range of appellations. Uspensky notes that the narrator characteristically uses “Napoleon,” but a number of the characters—including the Kutuzov referred to in this passage—use “Bonaparte.” First, Uspensky quotes the following sentence from War and Peace: “If Kutuzov were to determine to remain at Krems, Napoleon’s army of a hundred and fifty 6 Uspensky,

Poetics, 17–18.

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thousand men would cut him off from all communications.” Uspensky then continues, “We may assume that the appellation ‘Napoleon’ indicates that this sentence is an objective discussion of the strategic possibilities by the author and not by Kutuzov. But if the name ‘Bonaparte’ had been substituted into this sentence, we would read the sentence as a reflexion by Kutuzov from Kutuzov’s point of view.”7 For Uspensky, point of view on the ideological plane has to do with the issue of “whose point of view does the author assume when he evaluates and perceives ideologically the world he describes. This point of view . . . may belong to the author himself; or it may be the normative system of the narrator, as distinct from that of the author . . . or it may belong to one of the characters.”8 Uspensky recognizes that point of view on this plane can shift, but he does not offer an explanation as to how such a shift is effected. An analogy can be drawn, however, between shifts in point of view on the phraseological plane and shifts in point of view on this plane. Just as a character may be given a certain speech trait that becomes identified with that character, so also a character may be given a certain ideological stance that becomes identified with that character. And just as a narrator can insert into the narratorial voice a speech trait of a character, thereby leading the audience to undergo a shift in point of view—from that of the narrator to that of the character—so also a narrator can insert into the narratorial voice an ideological stance of a character. By doing so, the narrator effects on the ideological plane an adoption of the character’s point of view, thus leading the audience to undergo a shift in point of view from that of the narrator to that of the character.

II. Point of View Developed The foregoing provides the exegete with enough of an acquaintance with point of view to undertake analyses of biblical texts and produce some interesting insights—that the narrator shifts from summary material to scene material here, or that the narrator provides an inside view of a character there. The question remains, however, what difference any of this makes to the actual interpretation of these texts. One thing that becomes clear from a closer look at Uspensky’s five planes is that manipulation of textual elements pertinent to point of view can regulate the degree of immediacy experienced by the audience at any given point in a passage. Point of view on the spatial plane is an obvious starting point for a discussion of immediacy. Establishing a vantage point in the midst of the action produces a sense of immediacy for the audience, emphasizing the material as important, 7 Ibid., 8 Ibid.,

31. 8.

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while a vantage point at a distance from the action produces a sense of remoteness, deemphasizing the importance of that material. There are also two features of the temporal plane open to manipulation for the purpose of affecting the degree of immediacy experienced by the audience. The first is pacing. The vast majority of text in biblical narratives is summary material, functioning to provide mere background for the important features of the story line presented in the much less frequent scene material. With the slowing in pace in the switch from summary to scene material, the audience is taken from a position of remoteness to the happenings of the story line, whizzing by without being able to detect anything in detail, to a position of immediacy—slowing right down to see each detail as the events unfold. The second feature affecting the degree of immediacy experienced by the audience is the choice of verb tenses. Because biblical narratives are conventionally told retrospectively from a point beyond the end of the story line, the use of past tenses is the norm. However, we occasionally find present tenses in the narration. Uspensky explains the effect of such a choice as follows: “Each time the present tense is used, the author’s temporal position is synchronic—that is, it coincides with the temporal position of his characters. . . . The purpose of this device is to take the listener directly into the action of the narrative, and to put him into the same position as that occupied by the characters of the story.”9 So the audience is moved from the remoteness of a position past the end of the story line, to a position of immediacy, right in the midst of the action. The same type of dynamic can be accomplished through shifts between different types of past tenses, though to a lesser degree. In the same way a move from past tense to present tense signals an increase in immediacy, so also does a move from the imperfect to the aorist. Contemporary novelist John Gardner asserts that a construction such as “were fighting” is never as sharp in focus as a construction such as “fought” because the former indicates indefinite time whereas the latter suggests a given instant.10 The sense of immediacy produced by point-of-view manipulation is often focused on a particular character of the story line. On the spatial plane, the audience may be kept in a position close by one of the characters for a significant stretch of the narrative. On the psychological plane, the audience may be provided with numerous inside views of that character. On the phraseological plane, the audience may be presented with phraseological traits of that character incorporated into the narrator’s speech. On the ideological plane, the audience may be provided with evaluative comments in the narratorial voice that coincide with an ideological stance identified with that character. 9 Ibid.,

71. Gardner, The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers (New York: Vintage, 1983), cited in Janet Burroway, Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft (4th ed.; New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 63. 10 John

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The end result of such point-of-view manipulation is the establishment of that character as the point-of-view character, that is, the character through whose consciousness the story is mediated to the audience. When a point-of-view character is established, the audience is led to experience the events of the story line from the perspective of that character. Further, on a deeper level, the audience’s experience also involves a sense of identification with that character. Susan Sniader Lanser sheds some light on this type of dynamic in the following comments— made in the context of discussing fiction but relevant to the storytelling in biblical narratives as well: Because the novel is a human-centered form our central psychological identification, as readers, tends to be with the perceiving consciousness. Affinity with a character thus depends to some extent on the degree to which that character is “subjectified”—made into a subject, given an active human consciousness. The more subjective information we have about a character, as a rule, the greater our access to that persona and the more powerful the affinity.11

Janice Capel Anderson picks up on this dynamic of identification in her analysis of the spatial plane in the Gospel of Matthew. She points out that “[t]he spatial positions of the narrator and Jesus are aligned from the time of Jesus’ baptism (3.13-17) until his death (27.50) [noting 12:14; 14:1–12; 14:24, and 26:69– 75 as exceptions]. During this time the narrator and thus the implied reader travel with Jesus even when he is alone.”12 And then, on the effect of this alignment, Anderson asserts: The colloquial expression, “Walk a mile in my shoes” summarizes it best. When combined with sympathetic inside views the spatial alignment of the point of view of an implied author-narrator and a character is powerful. It can even lead the implied reader to adopt the ideological viewpoint of a murderer rather than a victim. If the reader views a murder scene through the eyes of the murderer, he or she is more likely to identify with the murderer than the victim.13

In this context, Anderson makes reference to, but does not develop, Wayne Booth’s analysis of Jane Austen’s Emma. In this story, Austen characterizes the title character as vain, irresponsible, domineering, rude—clearly negative traits, and especially so, given the setting in Victorian England. Still, Austen wants the audience to hope for good fortune for Emma in the end. How can Austen prevent the audience from becoming distanced from Emma, despite all of her misdeeds? Booth suggests that Austen accomplishes this task by showing most of the story through Emma’s eyes—from her point of view—ensuring that the audience travel 11 Susan Sniader Lanser, The Narrative Act: Point of View in Prose Fiction (Princeton: Princeton

University Press, 1981), 206. 12 Janice Capel Anderson, Matthew’s Narrative Web: Over, and Over, and Over Again (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 66. 13 Ibid., 67.

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along with Emma rather than stand against her, feeling sympathy for her rather than disdain.14 Here, then, is a dynamic that goes beyond a mere cognitive sense of identification, a dynamic involving an emotive component, a sense of empathy. As this analysis of Emma demonstrates, point-of-view manipulation is a powerful tool in the hands of a storyteller. If the storyteller can succeed in establishing a given character as the point-of-view character, the storyteller can have the audience empathize with that character, and through empathizing, even have the audience absorb the character’s ideological stance, whatever it might be—at least for the duration of the story. Have a story filtered through the point of view of an assassin, and the audience will be pulling for the kill.15 There, then, are some of the more prominent elements to be considered in an analysis of point of view in a biblical narrative. With this as foundation, we now turn to the account of Jesus and Zacchaeus as reported in Luke 19:1-10.

III. Point of View Analyzed 1And

having entered Jericho, he was passing through it. 2And look, a man named Zacchaeus. And he was a chief tax collector and he was rich. 3And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, and he was not able on account of the crowd, because he was short in stature. 4And having run ahead, he went up into a sycamore tree in order that he might see him, because he was about to pass by that way. 5And as he came to the place, looking up, Jesus said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for today, it is necessary for me to stay in your house.” 6And hurrying, he came down and welcomed him, rejoicing. 7And having seen this, everyone began to grumble, saying, “With a sinner he has entered to lodge!” 8Standing there, Zacchaeus said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back fourfold.” 9Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. 10For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:1-10) Verse 1. “And having entered Jericho, he was passing through it.” The subject of the sentence is Jesus, and it is interesting to note that the Lukan narrator here chooses not to make that fact explicit. It is not that leaving a subject unspecified at the beginning of an episode is a rarity for this narrator; the same happens at 14 Wayne C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (2nd ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), 245–49. 15 The motion picture The Day of the Jackal (1973) provides a striking example of this dynamic.

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the beginning of the episode preceding this one, and the one before that as well. However, the choice to leave the subject unspecified is more significant here at the opening of the present pericope than it is at the openings of the preceding two pericopae. The opening of the first of these two preceding passages reads, “And having taken the twelve, he said to them. . . .” (18:31a). Although the subject is unspecified, the fact that the immediately preceding passage concludes with the image of Jesus making a proclamation on leaving everything for the sake of the kingdom (18:29– 30) leads naturally to taking him as the unspecified subject of 18:31. The opening of the second of the two preceding passages reads, !Egevneto de; ejn tw'/ ejggivzein aujto;n eij" !Iericwv . . . , “And it happened, while he was drawing near to Jericho . . .” (18:35a). Here the “subject” of this articular infinitive construction is designated simply by the personal pronoun aujtovn. A look at the conclusion of the immediately preceding passage in search of the antecedent of this unspecified subject does not reveal the image of one party, as we saw in 18:29-30; rather, it reveals the image of two parties: Jesus predicting his passion (18:31b–33), and the disciples not understanding (18:34). But still, the personal pronoun aujtovn is singular, and so obviously finds its antecedent in Jesus. As we now come to the opening of the present pericope, and the unspecified subject of the participle eijselqwvn (“having entered”) and the verb dihvrceto (“was passing through”), we encounter a more complex situation. Looking back to the conclusion of the immediately preceding passage in search of an antecedent for this unspecified subject, we find (1) Jesus saying to a blind man, “Receive your sight” (18:42); (2) the blind man receiving his sight (18:43a); and (3) the people, who are witnessing all this, praising God (18:43b). So who is the unspecified subject passing through Jericho at the beginning of the present pericope? Is it Jesus? Or is it the blind man? Or is it possibly even the singular oJ laov" (the onlookers)? From what follows, it becomes clear that the unspecified subject is Jesus. But for an audience continuing from the preceding episode into this one, this is not at all clear. If there was ever a situation calling for a specified subject, this would be it. Yet the Lukan narrator refrains from providing one. It would appear that underlying this move by the narrator are point-ofview considerations. In 19:1, there is only one character for the audience to start following. The narrator, however, apparently does not intend for the audience to follow this character. The narrator not only does not specify the character’s identity, but in fact does not provide any detail on this character at all. On the spatial plane, the inclusion of detail creates a sense of proximity, a sense of being in a position close enough to perceive such detail. Here, in 19:1, the total absence of any such detail suggests a position at a distance, a position from which such detail is not perceivable. So, analysis of point of view on the spatial plane suggests an effort on the part of the narrator to distance the audience from this character, thus keeping the audience from identifying this character as the point-of-view

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character of this new episode. Of course, lack of detail on a character in a single verse is not sufficient evidence, by itself, to conclude that this character is not being established as the point-of-view character. After all, the narrator might be executing a “zoom” effect—starting coverage of a character at a distance but progressively zooming in on the character, until he or she is the focal point of the episode. No such zoom effect is being executed here, however, for in the very next verse the camera swings entirely away from the unspecified subject of v. 1 to settle on a different character. To summarize, the narrator begins this new episode with a solitary character in view, although only in view from a distance, as the narrator tries to keep the audience from seeing this character as the point-of-view character of this new episode. And it appears that the narrator’s refraining from specifically identifying this character as Jesus is in furtherance of this effort to hold the audience at a distance. Analysis of point of view on the temporal plane provides corroborating evidence of the narrator’s trying to hold the audience at a distance. Note the use of the imperfect “was passing through” here; as mentioned earlier, the imperfect is a verb tense that produces a sense of distance. Further, the pacing of this verse—broad summary material—constitutes another point-of-view move on the temporal plane designed to produce the sense of distance. In conclusion, analysis of point of view on both the spatial and temporal planes suggests that the audience’s vantage point for the opening of this passage is one at a distance from the action. This, in turn, indicates that the content of this verse is deemphasized material—material constituting mere background for the focal point of the episode yet to come. Verse 2. This verse contains a number of linguistic signals that contribute to a shift to a more immediate point of view. The first is the particle ijdouv (“behold, look”), which introduces the new clause. OT scholars have explored the effect of the equivalent Hebrew expression hnh/hinneh and have concluded that it functions to bring about a shift from viewing a scene from the perspective of the narrator to viewing it through the eyes of one of the characters.16 While there is no question that “behold” can have this effect—as the examples cited by these scholars demonstrate—its range of effects must be wider than just this one. The present usage is a case in point. Here “behold” introducing the new clause cannot be functioning to execute a shift from viewing the scene from the perspective of the narrator to viewing it through the eyes of one of the characters, for we do not 16 Francis I. Andersen and J. P. Fokkelman do not mention point of view as such (Andersen, The Sentence in Biblical Hebrew [Janua linguarum, Series practica; The Hague: Mouton, 1974], 94–95; Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis: Specimens of Stylistic and Structural Analysis [Assen: Van Gorcum, 1975], 50–51), while Adele Berlin places her treatment of hinneh in the context of a discussion of point of view (Poetics, 62–63).

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yet have a character through whose eyes the audience can start viewing. Zacchaeus obviously does not qualify, for he is the object of the viewing. Jesus also does not qualify, for, as we have seen, the narrator has been working to distance the audience from him in the preceding verse. Here the audience continues to view the episode through the eyes of the narrator, with “behold” serving as a focusing device. So faced with a diffuse shot of the city of Jericho with the figure of Jesus passing in the distance, the audience is directed by “behold” to the element of this diffuse shot that deserves attention: the immediately following “a man named Zacchaeus.” Not surprisingly, the noun “man” is in the nominative, but it is worth noting that it is a nominative without a verb, and thus a nominative of exclamation. H. E. Dana and Julius R. Mantey describe the nominative of exclamation as follows: “When it is desired to stress a thought with great distinctness, the nominative is used without a verb. The function of designation, serving ordinarily as a helper to the verb, thus stands alone and thereby receives greater emphasis. . . . The nominative is the pointing case, and its pointer capacity is strengthened when unencumbered by a verb.”17 So in this second way, the audience’s attention is directed toward this “man.” There is one other feature—actually, a pair of features—that affect point of view in v. 2. The narrator inserts two facts related to this new character and, as if to place the spotlight on him even more, uses an emphasizing pronoun in each case, producing the sense of “he was a chief tax collector and he was rich.” This, along with “behold” and the nominative of exclamation, evidence a shift in point of view from one viewing a diffuse shot of the city of Jericho with the figure of Jesus passing in the distance to one focused in on this new character, Zacchaeus. Further, the mention of Zacchaeus’s being a chief tax collector and being rich also serves a function on the spatial plane. Recall that the total absence of any detail in v. 1 suggested a position at a distance, a position from which detail was not perceivable. In contrast, v. 2 does present these two details, thus suggesting a vantage point closer in, a position from which the trappings of Zacchaeus’s being a chief tax collector and his being rich would be visible. Therefore, the narrator’s crafting of v. 2 effects a shift in point of view on the spatial plane from a position at a significant distance in v. 1 to a position considerably closer in v. 2. Verse 3. The dynamic of drawing the audience in, however, is stalled at the beginning of v. 3. In terms of pacing, the statement “he was seeking to see who Jesus was, and he was not able on account of the crowd” constitutes more summary material—five seconds of narrating time to cover an event with an elapsed time of perhaps a few minutes. Note also that the narrator continues to use the imperfect—ejzhvtei . . . oujk hjduvnato (“was seeking . . . was not able”). 17 H. E. Dana and Julius R. Mantey, A Manual Grammar of the Greek New Testament (New York: Macmillan, 1941), 70.

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So while point-of-view moves in v. 2 serve to draw the audience closer in on the action, both of these temporal-plane choices in v. 3 prevent the audience from being drawn right into the midst of the action. Clearly, the focal point of the episode has not yet been reached. Through the first two verses, the narrator has positioned the audience as an objective observer; at first it was observation from a distance, and then it was closer up, but it was all from the perspective of a mere observer. That changes in v. 3 with the comment, “He was seeking to see who Jesus was. . . .” Here the audience is provided with an inside view—a look into Zacchaeus’s intentions— and this incursion into Zacchaeus’s mind shifts point of view on the psychological plane from a position outside Zacchaeus looking at him to a position inside his mind looking out through his eyes. Does the fact that the audience is here positioned to be looking out through Zacchaeus’s eyes mean that Zacchaeus has now been established as the point-ofview character of this episode? A single inside view of a character is not sufficient by itself to establish that character as the point-of-view character; the Gospels are replete with examples of the narrator’s providing an inside view of a character in a situation where it is clearly not the narrator’s intention to establish that character as the point-of-view character.18 It is therefore necessary to consider other textual elements to see if the narrator is indeed establishing Zacchaeus as the point-ofview character. Verse 4. In terms of point of view on the spatial plane, once Zacchaeus appears in the story line, the narrator begins to follow him. First, in v. 3, the narrator is with him as he attempts—and fails—to see who Jesus is. Then, in v. 4, the narrator is still with him as he runs ahead and climbs a sycamore tree. Spatially, the narrator is establishing a position with this character. Further, in addition to the inside view of Zacchaeus already noted in v. 3, the narrator provides another in v. 4 in the form of a i{na clause designed to express purpose: Zacchaeus runs ahead and goes up into a sycamore tree “in order that” he might see Jesus—another look into Zacchaeus’s intentions. This compounding of inside view upon inside view on the psychological plane, together with the establishing of a position with Zacchaeus on the spatial plane, indicates that this character is indeed being marked as the point-of-view character. And because of the Emma-dynamic noted earlier, the fact that the audience experiences the events of the story line through Zacchaeus’s eyes leads the audience into establishing a sense of empathy with Zacchaeus. In verse 4, the narrator also makes a shift in point of view on the temporal plane. With the mention of Zacchaeus’s going up into the sycamore tree, the narrator ceases using the imperfect tense—a distancing device—in favor of the 18 For a sampling of such inside views in Luke, see 7:39 (of a Pharisee); 8:25 (of the disciples); 9:53 (of the residents of a Samaritan village).

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aorist, thus providing more of a sense of immediacy for the audience. Yet this description of Zacchaeus’s running and going up into the tree is still summary material—five seconds of narrating time to report events with an elapsed time of at least one minute, perhaps more. So the pacing in v. 4 is slowing down, but it has not yet reached the pace of scene material. Verse 5. In v. 5, however, the narrator does finally resort to scene material with the description of Jesus’ coming to that spot, looking up, and telling Zacchaeus to come down because it is necessary for him to stay in Zacchaeus’s house; here the fifteen seconds of narrating time report events with an elapsed time of fifteen seconds. So, for the first time in the passage, the narrator uses the aorist tense and scene material. This elimination of both the imperfect tense and summary material—both distancing devices—suggests that the narrator is here drawing the audience right up close, an indication that the focal point of the passage has finally been reached. However, while the next verse—the report of Zacchaeus’s coming down from the tree and welcoming Jesus with joy—continues the use of the aorist tense with katevbh kai; uJpedevxato (“came down and welcomed”), it reverts back to summary material. No matter how fast Zacchaeus hurried, his coming down from the tree and his welcoming of Jesus had to have taken more than the five seconds it takes to report these events. In addition, the description in the following verse of the bystanders’ seeing this and grumbling about Jesus’ associating with a sinner not only continues the use of summary material but also reverts to the use of the imperfect tense. Clearly, the focal point of the passage has not yet been reached. Further, the arrival of Jesus onto the scene puts in jeopardy Zacchaeus’s status as the carrier of point of view established in the immediately preceding verses. After all, in the narrative to this point, Jesus has been the predominant carrier of point of view,19 thus inclining the audience toward seeing Jesus in that role in any episode of which he is a part. So despite the fact that Zacchaeus has been established as the carrier of point of view in this episode, the audience could very well find itself abandoning a point of view aligned with Zacchaeus in favor of a point of view aligned with Jesus, with the result that they experience the remainder of this episode as through the eyes of Jesus. The narrator’s crafting of point of view on the psychological plane here in v. 5, however, demonstrates an effort to maintain Zacchaeus as the point-of-view character. Note the way in which Jesus is described upon coming to the place beneath the tree in which Zacchaeus is perched; the narrator has Jesus “looking 19 Space does not permit a full presentation of data supporting this assertion. Suffice it to note that an analysis of point of view on the spatial plane reveals a telling slant: once Jesus enters the storyline as an adult, the narrator establishes a position in proximity to him in every pericope but one (9:7–9).

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up” and then speaking to Zacchaeus. This represents a departure from a common construction used by the narrator to this point in the narrative for situations of people seeing something and then acting: an aorist participle of oJravw (“I see”) followed by an aorist indicative.20 The narrator could have used this construction here, describing Jesus’ coming to the spot, “seeing” Zacchaeus, and then speaking to him. Instead, the narrator has Jesus “looking up” and then speaking to Zacchaeus. At first glance, this may appear to be a distinction without a significance. This distinction, however, is very significant to the workings of point of view on the psychological plane. Shimon Bar-Efrat notes that “the narrator penetrates into the minds of the characters even when simply telling us what they are seeing or hearing. An outside observer can see that a person is looking, but is unable to tell what the person is seeing; in contrast to the verb ‘look’, the verb ‘see’ relates to internal occurrences. . . .”21 So a statement of Jesus’ “seeing” Zacchaeus would have the effect of drawing the audience into Jesus’ mind to see Zacchaeus through Jesus’ eyes; on the psychological plane, point of view would be reestablished in Jesus. In contrast, the actual statement of Jesus’ “looking up,” without a reference to what he is seeing, maintains a point of view outside of Jesus, that is, a point of view observing Jesus as he is looking up, as opposed to a point of view depicting what it is that Jesus is seeing as he looks up. Thus, by departing from the common construction of using an aorist participle of oJravw, the narrator prevents a shift in point of view here, leaving Zacchaeus as the carrier of it. So the narrator leads the audience to view Jesus’ coming to this spot and looking up, from a position in the tree looking down upon Jesus. Verse 6. The narrator’s crafting of the psychological plane in v. 6 continues to solidify Zacchaeus’s status as the carrier of point of view. The verse describes Zacchaeus’s coming down from the tree and greeting Jesus. Pertinent to point of view on the psychological plane is the adverbial participle speuvsa" (“hurrying”) used to modify Zacchaeus’s coming down from the tree, indicating the hurried manner of his descent. The significance of the use of this participle becomes clear when the wording of v. 6—“hurrying, he came down”—is compared to a slightly different way of expressing the same thing: “he came down quickly.” These two statements describe the same action, but they differ in terms of point of view on the psychological plane. The second, using the adverb “quickly” to modify the descent, provides an objective assessment of the speed of Zacchaeus’s movements. The first, in contrast, provides a subjective assessment of Zacchaeus’s state of mind as he acted: he came down with an attitude of hurry. By using speuvsa" to 20 See 2:17, 48; 5:8, 12, 20; 7:13, 39; 8:28, 34, 47; 9:54; 10:31, 32, 33; 11:38; 13:12; 17:14, 15; 18:24, 43. See also 19:41; 22:49, 56; 23:8 for subsequent uses of this construction. 21 Shimon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (trans. Dorothea Shefer-Vanson; Sheffield: Almond, 1989), 21.

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modify the descent, the narrator makes the audience privy to yet another dynamic occurring inside the mind of Zacchaeus. This inside view represents another device designed to have the audience strengthen its identification of Zacchaeus as the point-of-view character in this passage, and thus its identification with Zacchaeus as well. Verse 7. At the beginning of v. 7, the narrator makes a curious move on the psychological plane. After going to great lengths to establish Zacchaeus as the carrier of point of view, the narrator abruptly swings point of view away from Zacchaeus by inserting a participial form of oJravw with pavnte" (“everyone”) as the subject, thus providing the audience with an inside view of the bystanders. As a result, the audience is led to view what is about to happen from a position in the midst of this character group. A single inside view like this is sufficient to effect a shift in point of view from one character to a new character, but, as mentioned earlier, a single inside view is not sufficient by itself to establish the new character as the point-of-view character with whom the audience is drawn to identify. So despite this inside view of the bystanders, the audience still holds Zacchaeus as the point-of-view character. Therefore, even though the audience is now led to experience what is about to happen from a position in the midst of the bystanders, the audience does so while still identifying with Zacchaeus. From this new position, the audience experiences a considerable amount of consternation as the crowd of which the audience is now a part immediately begins to grumble and to express disdain for Zacchaeus. After all, the audience has been led to identify with Zacchaeus, and so would take the disdain directed toward him as disdain directed toward themselves. Further, the audience is led to experience this disdain from a position in the middle of this hostile crowd. It appears that the narrator has manipulated point of view in v. 7 in order to create in the audience a sense of vulnerability, an apt state of mind for truly appreciating what follows: the vulnerability of Zacchaeus as he faces up to the misdeeds of his life. Verse 8. Having used this move on the psychological plane to create this sense of vulnerability, the narrator must now swing point of view back to Zacchaeus, so as to lead the audience to experience his following words from his perspective. The opening words of v. 8—the aorist participle staqeiv" (“standing”), the nominative Zakcai'o" (“Zacchaeus”), and the aorist indicative ei|pen (“he said”)—do not effect such a shift in point of view. The following prepositional phrase, “to the Lord,” however, does bring about just such a shift on the phraseological plane. In the narrator’s account of Jesus’ ministry, the designation “Lord” is most often found as a phraseological trait of characters who exhibit at least some degree of faith in Jesus, as they either address him or refer to him. In contrast, in the phraseology of the narrator, “Jesus” is the designation of choice in references

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to him, with the prepositional phrase “to the Lord” representing a rather rare occasion when the narrator refers to Jesus as “the Lord.”22 In terms of point of view on the phraseological plane, the narrator is here adopting a phraseological trait of characters in the narrative who exhibit faith in Jesus. As a result of this adoption, point of view shifts to a character for whom “Lord” is a phraseological trait, that is, a character who exhibits faith in Jesus. In the present context, there is only one character who qualifies, and that is Zacchaeus. Therefore, through this move on the phraseological plane, the narrator is able to reestablish Zacchaeus as the carrier of point of view. The body of v. 8 consists of a short speech in which Zacchaeus promises to give half of his possessions to the poor and to right any wrongs he has committed. As mentioned, this speech is introduced with an aorist indicative (ei|pen) in contrast to the imperfect (diegovgguzon, “began to grumble”) in the preceding verse. In terms of pacing, the content of this verse is scene material in contrast to the summary material of the preceding verse. Both of these moves on the temporal plane create a sense of immediacy, thus suggesting that the focal point of the passage has here been reached: the repentance of a rich chief tax collector. Verses 9–10. In view of this analysis, what function do the concluding statements of Jesus reported in vv. 9–10 play in this episode? In terms of point of view on the temporal plane, the narrator continues with an aorist (ei\pen) as opposed to reverting to the imperfect. Regarding pacing, the narrator continues with scene material as opposed to reverting to summary material. So from the perspective of point of view on the temporal plane, Jesus’ declaration that salvation has come upon Zacchaeus’s house because of his status as a son of Abraham and that the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost, constitutes more of the focal point of the episode. This is not surprising, since the words of Jesus often constitute the focal point of episodes in the Lukan narrative. What is surprising is the way in which the audience is led to experience these words of Jesus. Our analysis of v. 8 revealed that through a move on the phraseological plane, the narrator shifts point of view back to Zacchaeus. So as the audience enters v. 9, it does so experiencing this new material from the point of view of Zacchaeus. If the narrator wanted to shift point of view to Jesus at this point—thus having the audience experience these concluding words of Jesus from his point of view—this could be accomplished with a simple move on the psychological plane, such as mentioning that Jesus had compassion for Zacchaeus (as in 7:13), or that Jesus loved him (as in Mark 10:21), or simply that Jesus saw him (as in 13:12)—anything that would have the effect of leading the audience inside Jesus’ mind to experience his words from that 22 The

narrator refers to Jesus as “the Lord” only fourteen times: 7:13, 19; 10:1, 39, 41; 11:39; 12:42; 13:15; 17:5, 6; 18:6; 19:8; 22:61 (twice). In contrast, the narrator refers to him as “Jesus” over seventy-five times.

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vantage point. However, the narrator makes no such effort. In fact, the narrator does nothing in the crafting of the words introducing Jesus’ statements to indicate a shift of point of view from that of Zacchaeus to that of Jesus. As a result, the point of view in play at the end of v. 8—that of Zacchaeus—survives through the statements of Jesus recorded in vv. 9–10.

IV. Conclusion An examination of the way in which point of view is manipulated in this episode reveals something quite rare: an account involving Jesus in which he is never the carrier of point of view. Rather, the account is carefully crafted to maintain Zacchaeus in that role for all but a brief moment in the middle of the passage. What difference does this make to the interpretation of this passage? Having Zacchaeus as the carrier of point of view here means that the audience sees the events of this passage unfold as through his eyes. This is important because this experience leads the audience into identifying with Zacchaeus and, further, empathizing with him. And because Jesus’ concluding words—with their promise of salvation—are directed to Zacchaeus, the audience will experience them as if addressed directly to them. Compare this with the account of Jesus’ healing of a paralyzed man in Luke 5:17–26. As in the present passage, that account begins with a broad summary statement of Jesus’ activities—in that case, teaching (v. 17)—which is followed by a description of people bringing a paralyzed man to Jesus, presented from their point of view (vv. 18–19). At this point, however, moves on the psychological plane swing point of view to Jesus—a reference to Jesus seeing their faith (v. 20) compounded later with a reference to Jesus perceiving questionings by scribes and Pharisees (v. 22)—resulting in Jesus being established as the point-of-view character. This being the case, the focal point of this episode—the following rebuke by Jesus against the scribes and Pharisees (vv. 22b–23)—is experienced by the audience as through the eyes of Jesus. In other words, the audience experiences Jesus’ words of rebuke directed away from them as they look out at the scribes and Pharisees as through the eyes of Jesus. In contrast, in the passage in ch. 19, the audience experiences Jesus’ words of salvation directed toward them as they look out at Jesus as through the eyes of Zacchaeus. A difference in point of view between these two episodes yields totally different experiences for the audience. This analysis of Luke 19:1–10 has demonstrated that the workings of point of view in any narrative are multifaceted, forming a web of perspectives designed to impact an audience’s experience of a story. It serves the exegete well to incorporate a method of point-of-view analysis into the process of interpreting any biblical narrative for the purpose of identifying and understanding this set of dynamics so central to the crafting of the story.

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Is There an “Anti-Priscan” Tendency in the Manuscripts? Some Textual Problems with Prisca and Aquila dominika a. kurek-chomycz [email protected] Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Belgium

“The most prominent couple involved in the first-century expansion of Christianity,” as Jerome Murphy-O’Connor has put it,1 Prisca and Aquila are also the best attested mixed missionary couple of the NT. Contemporary exegetes like to emphasize that the portrayal of Prisca and Aquila in the NT, and in Pauline epistles in particular, is remarkably positive. This refers especially to Prisca, who, according to Murphy-O’Connor, in some way must have been even “more important than her husband.”2 Florence Gillman describes her as “one of the most cosmopolitan and well-traveled women mentioned in the New Testament tradition.”3 Even though Prisca has been praised by a number of Christian authors throughout the centuries, this esteem does not seem to have been universal. It has been suggested that some sort of “anti-Priscan” endeavors can in fact be detected in a part of the NT textual tradition. In order to determine to what extent such

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to all those who have commented on the present article at various stages. In particular I need to thank Professor Reimund Bieringer, who read both the first and final drafts and offered a number of helpful suggestions. An earlier version of this paper was presented to the New Testament Textual Criticism Section at the SBL Annual Meeting in Toronto in 2002. Following that presentation, correspondence with Professor Michael Holmes prompted me to revise the text, and I am very grateful for all his remarks. In addition, I would like to thank the Fund for Scientific Research—Flanders, Belgium, for financing the project under which framework the present article is written. 1 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Prisca and Aquila: Travelling Tentmakers and Church Builders,” BRev 8, no. 6 (1992): 40–51, 62, here 40. 2 Ibid. 3 Florence M. Gillman, Women Who Knew Paul (Zacchaeus Studies: New Testament; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 49.

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claims can be substantiated, I propose to examine some text-critical variants in the NT passages dealing with Prisca and Aquila. The scrutiny of several of these readings may suggest that some scribes tendentiously “corrected” the text of Pauline epistles and Acts of the Apostles so as to diminish the role of Prisca. In most cases, however, one can think of a variety of other reasons that may have induced the scribes to modify a given text. What is more, since we do not have access to the minds of the copyists, which could allow us to establish their intentions and motives for introducing particular changes, we can only speculate, with greater or lesser probability, on why and how certain readings have come about. Speculation of this sort, especially when supported by some extrabiblical data, may turn out instructive for our purposes, and I shall engage in it to some extent. Nonetheless, I deem it even more interesting to interpret the results or, in other words, to describe the effect that specific readings have on the portrayal of Prisca and Aquila in the NT.4 In short, in the present article I intend to examine several textual variants in the NT passages mentioning Prisca and Aquila and attempt to demonstrate how they affect the overall presentation of the couple, and consequently, the interpretation of a potential reader. In my discussion I shall pay special attention to issues of gender. First the passages in Pauline and Pastoral epistles will be treated in a chronological order: 1 Cor 16:19; Rom 16:3–5a; and briefly 2 Tim 4:19, followed by a short discussion of Acts 18.

I. Not Only the Diminutives: Prisca and Aquila in the Pauline and Pastoral Epistles In 1 Cor 16:19 Paul is passing on the greetings that Aquila and Prisca, together with the church in their house, extend to the Corinthian community. The main textual problem in this passage is connected with Prisca’s name. The form Privska is found in a number of important witnesses. However, the majority of manuscripts have Privskilla instead (see table 1).5 4

Pace Michael W. Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text of Acts,” in The Book of Acts as Church History: Text, Textual Traditions, and Ancient Interpretations / Apostelgeschichte als Kirchengeschichte: Text, Texttraditionen und antike Auslegungen (ed. Tobias Nicklas and Michael Tilly; BZNW 120; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003), 183–203. Holmes is very careful in drawing any conclusions concerning scribal intentions. He emphasizes how much more fruitful it is to speak of “effect or result” rather than “motive or intent.” 5 Besides Nestle-Aland27, where most of the textual symbols and abbreviations can be found, in compiling the inventory of readings in the NT texts discussed in this paper, I have relied mainly on Constantinus Tischendorf, ed., Novum Testamentum Graece (Editio octava critica maior; 3 vols.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1869–94), and Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament: A Companion Volume to the United Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament (Fourth Revised Edition) (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994). In addition, whenever possible, I have

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Table 1 Prisca’s Name in 1 Corinthians 16:19

a

Witnesses

Reading

∏46

PREISKAS

) B P 0121a, 0243, 33, 226, 1175*, 1739, 1881*, pc vgst sa bopt

PRISKA

C D F G K L Y 075, 1881c, ˜ it vgc l sy bopt ; Ambst Pel

PRISKILLA

Luke, as we shall see shortly, refers to Aquila’s wife as Priscilla, so the diminutive form in 1 Corinthians may be explained as an attempt to harmonize Pauline epistles with Acts. The addition of par! oi|" (FGc ou{") kai; xenivzomai in D* F G it vgcl at the end of v. 19 might be likewise inspired by the Lukan account, since in the canonical NT only Luke informs us that Paul stayed with Prisca and Aquila while in Corinth. To some copyists it may have seemed plausible that the couple hosted the apostle in Ephesus too. The addition in question could have also been influenced by a passage from the apocryphal Acts of Paul, which relates that upon his arrival from Smyrna Paul came to the house of Prisca and Aquila in Ephesus, where he found the community assembled.6 To return to the diminutive form of Prisca’s name in 1 Cor 16:19, external support for this variant is remarkable, for it includes both “Western” and Byzantine witnesses. Such a reading—albeit more likely secondary, taking into account the unanimity of Alexandrian witnesses, supported by ∏46—must nevertheless be a very early one.7 It is worth noting that in the textual tradition of Acts we do not find the tendency to change the name to Prisca. Why would the text of the Pauline epistles but not that of Acts have been “corrected” in this way? And were the changes indeed merely harmonizations, or was something else at stake? I shall return to this question in the discussion of Rom 16:3–5a, but first we must comment on the most striking textual variant in 1 Cor 16:19. In ∏46 we come across the masculine form PREISKAS.8 One could speculate about what tried to check the photographic reproductions of the relevant manuscripts. The lists of witnesses provided in the present paper, however, far from being exhaustive, are rather intended as an illustration exemplifying the phenomena under discussion. 6 See Acta Pauli 9.1. Unfortunately this passage and the ones that follow (9.1–14), which describe the vigil before Pentecost taking place in the house of the couple, are preserved only in a fragmentary Coptic Bodmer papyrus. 7 See Günther Zuntz, The Text of the Epistles: A Disquisition upon the Corpus Paulinum (Schweich Lectures 1946; London: Oxford University Press, 1953). For a summary, see Günther Zuntz, “The Text of the Epistles,” in Opuscula selecta: Classica, Hellenistica, Christiana (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1972), 252–68. 8 For the text of 1 Cor 16:19 in ∏46, see Frederic G. Kenyon, ed., The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts of Papyrus of the Greek Bible, Fasc. 3 supple-

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kind of other Christian writings the copyist was familiar with, if he (less likely she) did not see the connection between the names mentioned in 1 Corinthians and Romans, and the couple extensively described by Luke in Acts 18. In any case, it is very unlikely that ∏46, notorious for its blunders, presents us here with the original reading.9 It is hardly conceivable that in later manuscripts the masculine form would have been changed to the feminine, whereas it is easier to imagine that the copyist of ∏46, deliberately or not, added S at the end of the feminine form, thus turning it into a man’s name. This is all the more plausible if one takes into account similar textual problems with Nympha and her house church in Col 4:15, or the famous debate concerning the prominent apostle Junia in Rom 16:7.10 As for the latter, one could object to mentioning Junia as an analogy, for there ment, Pauline Epistles: Text (London: Emery Walker, 1936), 92. For the facsimile of the relevant leaves of the papyrus, see Frederic G. Kenyon, ed., The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of Twelve Manuscripts of Papyrus of the Greek Bible, Fasc. 3 supplement, Pauline Epistles: Plates (London: Emery Walker, 1937). In Nestle-Aland27 this striking textual variant is mentioned only in Appendix II (“Variae lectiones minores,” p. 740); in the list of the manuscripts attesting the nondiminutive form in the critical apparatus, ∏46 is placed in brackets. 9 As has been observed by a number of scholars, ∏46 is replete with errors and singular readings. Thus, despite its antiquity and the fact that the basic text it attests is of high quality and in agreement with the main Alexandrian witnesses, it is prudent to treat this particular papyrus with caution. For a detailed examination of the singular readings of ∏46, see James Ronald Royse, “Scribal Habits in Early Greek New Testament Papyri” (Ph.D. diss., Graduate Theological Union, 1981), 182–330 (“The Scribe of ∏46”). Concerning the quality of the text attested by ∏46, see the remarks of Zuntz: “The excellent quality of the text represented by our oldest manuscript, ∏46, stands out again. . . . we must be careful to distinguish between the very poor work of the scribe who penned it and the basic text which he so poorly rendered. ∏46 abounds with scribal blunders, omissions, and also additions. In some of them the scribe anticipated the errors of later copyists; in some other instances he shares an older error; but the vast majority are his own uncontested property. Once they have been discarded, there remains a text of outstanding (although not absolute) purity” (Text of the Epistles, 212). Zuntz reached this conclusion concerning the quality of ∏46 after having examined it in much detail, with a special focus on 1 Corinthians and Hebrews. As for the dating of the papyrus, whether we retain the traditional dating to ca. 200 c.e. or even later, or follow the recent attempts to date it much earlier, ∏46 still remains our oldest witness to the verse in question. I remain skeptical that we can really date it much earlier than the end of the second century, but see Young Kyu Kim, who dates it to the reign of Domitian, that is 81–96 c.e. (“Palaeographical Dating of ∏46 to the Later First Century,” Bib 69 [1988]: 248–57). Philip W. Comfort and David P. Barrett reject this extraordinarily early dating, but the date they suggest as most likely is also early: during the reign of Hadrian (117–138 c.e.), or more precisely, sometime after 125 c.e. (The Complete Text of the Earliest New Testament Manuscripts [Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1999], 194–97). 10 Since Bernadette Brooten’s “‘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, numerous studies have been devoted to this passage. References to some more important ones can be found in the most recent contribution to the apparently never-ending discussion on Junia: Linda Belleville, “!Iounian . . . ejpivshmoi ejn toi'" ajpostovloi": A Re-examination of Romans 16.7 in Light of Primary Source Materials,” NTS 51 (2005): 231–49.

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appears to be no disagreement among the NT manuscripts as to whether she was a woman.11 In fact, despite one patristic writing that refers to Junia as a man, real controversy regarding her gender seems to have emerged only in the second millennium. The patristic source in question is Index apostolorum discipulorumque ascribed to Epiphanius, which is also the only one, apart from ∏46, attesting the masculine form of Prisca’s name.12 Next to !Iouniva", a supposedly male apostle who is said to have become bishop of Apamaea in Syria, it lists Privska", “who later became bishop of Colophonos.” Concerning both !Iouniva" and Privska" it is explained that “Paul makes mention of them.” Taking into account that the scribe of ∏46 was apparently rather careless,13 it cannot be excluded that the error in this papyrus was unintentional and was a result of dittography. In 1 Cor 16:19 Prisca’s name is immediately followed by the preposition SUN and whereas in ∏46 there is some space left between the two words, so that it is hard to confuse them, we may imagine that it was not there in the Vorlage. The copyist of ∏46 could have read Prisca’s name with the sigma at the end, written down PREISKAS, and then returned to his exemplar to read the rest of the sentence. Yet another possible explanation is that the reading was due to the assimilation with the ending of Aquila’s name.14 The majority of the numerous corrections in ∏46, however, were made by the initial hand, which suggests that the copyist was aware of the errors; nonetheless, neither the original scribe nor later correctors considered it appropriate to emend the text in this case. As a consequence, we cannot be sure that this singular reading should be explained as a mere mechanical error. The outcome at any rate is obvious: the variant under discussion reduces the number of women mentioned in 1 Corinthians. This, however, does not yet facilitate any far-fetched conclusions with respect to the possible animosity toward women in ∏46, the kind of sentiment that has been suggested for the witnesses associated with the “Western” text.15 There is one more variant in 1 Cor 16:19 that I would like to discuss. A number of witnesses have the plural ajspavzontai in v. 19b instead of the singular ajspavzetai. The plural form is attested by B F G; some majuscules from the tenth century: 075, 0121, 0243; several significant minuscules: 33, 1739, 1881; and also 11 ∏46 has IOULIAN in Rom 16:7. This reading is attested by a number of manuscripts, but most scholars agree that it is secondary. 12 Theodorus Schermann, ed., Prophetarum vitae fabulosae; Indices apostolorum discipulorumque: Domini Dorotheo, Epiphanio, Hippolyto aliisque vindicata (Leipzig: Teubner, 1907). 13 See n. 9 above. 14 See Royse, “Scribal Habits,” 274. 15 As Zuntz has demonstrated, the association of ∏46 with the “Western” witnesses, based on the allegedly “Western” readings in this papyrus, cannot be defended, since the variants in question can be dated to a time before the clear differentiation into the main text types (Text of the Epistles, passim).

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˜ and co. It has thus a remarkably strong attestation, yet based only on the results of external criticism the conclusion cannot be decisive. The singular is attested by ) C D K P Y 104, 2464 pc, so even though its attestation is much weaker, both readings are found in various traditions and in important manuscripts. Internal criticism further complicates the question. Taking into account intrinsic probability, the singular form commends itself as the preferred reading, since it is consistent with the way the greetings are formulated in Pauline epistles—and for that matter in all other NT epistles. The third person singular of the verb ajspavzomai in the present tense occurs about ten times in the NT, of which only two are outside the Pauline corpus. In Pauline literature it nearly always refers to two or more individuals. Exceptional in this regard are Rom 16:23a (but note v. 23b) and Col 4:12, where only one person is named. The third person plural, on the other hand, is apparently never used with proper names, except for the variant readings attested by some witnesses in Rom 16:21 and Phlm 23. Otherwise it occurs only with groups as the subject, such as ejkklhsivai, ajdelfoiv, a{gioi, and so on. The question of transcriptional probability is more ambiguous and lends itself to two competing interpretations. Had Paul once exceptionally used the plural ajspavzontai in connection with two individuals, scribes may have changed it to conform to Paul’s otherwise invariant style. A much simpler explanation, however, seems to be that Paul wrote ajspavzetai in accordance with his normal usage and the plural was introduced later, as an attempt to harmonize v. 19b with vv. 19a and 20a, where the verb appears in the plural form, in connection with the “churches of Asia” and “all the sisters and brothers” respectively. On balance, therefore, although a certain degree of doubt still remains, arguments in favor of the plural form seem to be weaker than those supporting the singular. Could there be yet another interpretation for the change from ajspavzetai to ajspavzontai? It might be of some significance that in the aforementioned cases where ajspavzetai precedes a list of individuals sending greetings, the first person often receives a more extensive characterization (cf. Rom 16:21; Col 4:14; Phlm 23), implying that that person is supposed to be somehow distinguished from the ones that follow (remarkably, that “first person” is always a man). That ajspavzetai is repeated in Rom 16:23 is noteworthy. Paul may have wished to emphasize particularly the position of Erastus and not to give the impression that he was in any way inferior or less important than Gaius. Does the singular ajspavzetai preceding Aquila’s name in 1 Cor 16:19 suggest that Aquila was in some way more prominent than Prisca? This is the claim of Daniel B. Wallace. According to him, “the syntactical evidence for the combination of a compound subject with a singular verb is a much stronger indicator for Aquila’s prominence than word order alone is for Priscilla’s.”16 If one were to follow his argumentation, one could suggest 16 Daniel B. Wallace, “Aquila and Priscilla in 1 Corinthians 16:19,” http://www.bible.org/ page. asp?page_id=1191 (accessed June 16, 2005). The question of how to interpret the construction

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that certain scribes, regarding the singular form as an indication of a somewhat inferior position of Prisca, changed it to the plural ajspavzontai. There are, however, two problems with this interpretation. First, “the syntactical evidence for the combination of a compound subject with a singular verb” to which Wallace refers is too slender and therefore inconclusive. Consequently, it is difficult to formulate clear-cut rules on how to interpret the construction consisting of a singular verb with a compound subject. Second, even though we cannot be sure about the intentions of the copyists, it is unlikely that this change was indeed meant to highlight the position of Prisca, especially since the plural form is attested also by Western codices, such as Augiensis (F) and Boernerianus (G), which are generally suspected of playing down the role of women. However, that some readers of 1 Corinthians, whether ancient or contemporary, could interpret the change this way is best attested by the claims made by Wallace. To sum up, while it is fairly implausible that by changing ajspavzetai to ajspavzontai the copyists intended to make sure that Prisca was not regarded as inferior to Aquila, it is possible that some readers, especially those impressed by Wallace’s arguments on the combination of a compound subject with a singular verb, will interpret the plural form in this way. It is therefore notable that not all the textual variants necessarily have a negative impact on Prisca’s image. We are now in a position to turn to Rom 16:3–5a. The names of Prisca and Aquila not only open the long list of greetings, but, more importantly, the characterization they receive is the most extensive one. Paul calls them his “co-workers in Christ Jesus” (v. 3), who risked their necks for his life, and to whom not only he but also all the churches of the Gentiles owe gratitude (v. 4). Finally, before naming the next person to be greeted, Epaenetus, the apostle appends the greeting to their kat! oi\kon ejkklhsiva (v. 5a). One more feature worth noting at this point is that, as opposed to 1 Corinthians, where Aquila was named before Prisca, in Romans all the extant witnesses have Prisca’s name first. Interestingly, external attestation seems to be remarkably consistent concerning the order in which these two names appear in Pauline literature. In all three occurrences the couple is invariably mentioned together, but while in 1 Cor 16:19, as far as I can tell, the manuscripts are unanimous in putting Aquila’s name first, in Rom 16:3 and 2 Tim 4:19 Prisca is mentioned before her male partner. By contrast, as we shall see, the textual tradition of Acts 18 is more divided. In the manuscripts generally regarded as best, Prisca’s name precedes that of Aquila four times out of six in the entire NT. composed of a singular verb with a compound subject is a complex one and it reaches beyond the scope of the present article. At any rate, however, the form of the verb in 1 Cor 16:19b does not allow us to make generalizing statements about Paul’s attitude toward the couple throughout their missionary career, as Wallace does. In his article he reacts against the tendency of some, mainly feminist authors, to overemphasize Prisca’s prominence. Whereas his critique is to a certain extent justified (the NT texts witness to Prisca’s privileged position but it is far from obvious in what precisely it consisted), his attempt to play down the role of Prisca is simply misleading and ideologically motivated.

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This fact has drawn an extraordinary amount of attention from commentators, and practically all of them consider this very meaningful. The following assertion of Ivoni Richter Reimer is characteristic: “Priscilla war in der Missionsarbeit sehr wichtig. Das zeigt sich daran, daß sie viermal als erste genannt wird.”17 Yet is such an implication valid? That Prisca is more often named first is possibly of some significance, and various ways of accounting for this have been proposed by different authors, but with little evidence to substantiate their argumentation.18 We now return to the text-critical matters concerning Rom 16:3–5. In this passage there is again a textual problem with Prisca’s name, but here the proportion of witnesses with the diminutive and nondiminutive forms is different. The latter form is attested by the majority of manuscripts, with only several late minuscules, as well as some versional evidence, supporting the diminutive (see table 2). It is significant, however, that among these late minuscules 614 appears, which in Acts will be one of the witnesses suspected of subordinating Prisca’s position. The earliest witness, ∏46, supports the nondiminutive form of the name. However, since in 1 Cor 16:19 the same papyrus has the masculine form, the 17

Ivoni Richter Reimer, Frauen in der Apostelgeschichte des Lukas: Eine feministisch-theologische Exegese (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1992), 202. 18 At least since the times of John Chrysostom, who suspected that Prisca might have been more zealous and more faithful, there have been attempts to explain why Prisca is named first in the aforementioned passages. It has been argued that she could be of a higher social standing than her husband, presumably a freedperson, though there is no evidence for that either. This hypothesis is mainly a result of finding a connection between the NT Prisca and Coemeterium Priscillae in Via Salaria in Rome. She could then be considered to have been a member of gens Acilia, an old distinguished Roman family. Today most authors suppose that if there was a link, she was rather a freed member of that household than its noble representative (see Gillman, Women Who Knew Paul, 50; and Murphy-O’Connor, “Prisca and Aquila,” 44). There is no compelling evidence, however, proving that putting the woman’s name first was exceptional. It can merely be remarked that at least in official lists it was more customary to begin the enumeration with a man’s name. Nor do Paul’s epistles supply conclusive evidence, since he scarcely mentions couples. Yet in the nearest context in Romans 16 we may point to the occurrence of Andronicus and Junia (v. 7), who could have been a couple, like Prisca and Aquila, and then to pairs of relatives, such as Nereus with his sister (v. 15) and Rufus with his mother (v. 13). In all these instances a man is mentioned first and a woman is sometimes not even named. This suggests that placing Prisca before Aquila in Romans was not absolutely accidental. Moreover, one may suppose that something happened since Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, where, as we remember, the sequence was different. Nonetheless, we must not overestimate this. Paul may have had his own reasons for naming Prisca first, yet we can scarcely know what motivated him to do that. He may have been better acquainted with her, or perhaps during the months spent in Ephesus, following his return there and preceding the couple’s departure for Rome, she did something special to deserve his greater gratitude (maybe she was more courageous in “risking her neck” for him?). We may also conjecture that she was better known among her fellow Christians as more active or just more skilled in public relations. The last suggestion would best account for the mention of Prisca first by Paul’s imitator in 2 Tim 4:19 as well as (partly) in the Lukan account of Acts 18.

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Table 2 Prisca’s Name in Romans 16:3

a

Witnesses

Reading

∏46 B*

PREISKAN

) A Bc C D F G L P most minusc (incl. 1175, 1739, 1881*) it vg sa bo cop arm al

PRISKAN

2, 5, 81, 209*, 255, 256, 365, 462, 489, 614, 629, 630, 920, 945, 1311, 1319, 1505, 1509, 1827, 1852, 1881c, 2495 al a m vgmss sy (bopt); Ambst

PRISKILLAN

gender in Rom 16:3, where the name is in the accusative, cannot be determined with certainty. If the scribe had been consistent, both forms would have been masculine, for in the entire ∏46 the name occurs only twice (of the four NT writings that mention Prisca, ∏46 contains only two, namely, 1 Corinthians and Romans). The sole fact that Prisca is known from other passages in the NT makes many authors automatically assume that in Rom 16:3 ∏46 attests exactly the same feminine name as the majority of witnesses, even though in 1 Cor 16:19 in ∏46 Aquila’s companion is evidently male. Some possible gender uncertainty notwithstanding, however, external evidence points nearly unanimously toward regarding the nondiminutive form of the name as the original reading in Rom 16:3. Interestingly, in both the “Western” and Byzantine tradition the diminutive was consistently inserted in 1 Corinthians (the variant cannot therefore be seen as distinctively “Western”), whereas in Romans it was not,19 as table 3 on the following page illustrates. The alteration in a number of witnesses may have been due to the fact that in Acts Prisca and Aquila are easily recognizable, distinctive characters, while Paul’s references are much shorter, especially the one in 1 Cor 16:19. One could almost say that in 1 Corinthians they are just names behind which it is difficult to picture human beings, hence the tendency to turn to Luke’s account. When the diminutive form of Prisca’s name is used by the copyists of the Pauline epistles, the result is obviously that the connection between these letters and Acts becomes more explicit and what is more, the reliability of Luke as the chronicler of Paul’s missionary activity is emphasized. 19 The Byzantine tradition is not unanimous in this respect. While some of the minuscules listed in table 2 above as supporting the diminutive form, such as 2 and 920, belong to the Byzantine type, the majority of Byzantine witnesses attest the nondiminutive form. Thus, even though the Textus Receptus had the diminutive Privskillan, both Zane C. Hodges and Arthur L. Farstad (The Greek New Testament According to the Majority Text [Nashville: Nelson, 1982]), and Maurice A. Robinson and William G. Pierpont (The New Testament in the Original Greek According to the Byzantine/Majority Textform [Atlanta: Original Word, 1991]) opt for Privskan.

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) Table 3 Prisca’s Name in 1 Corinthians 16:19 and Romans 16:3 (Selected Witnesses)

a

Witnesses

1 Corinthians 16:19

Romans 16:3

∏46

PREISKAS

PREISKAN

B*

PRISKA

PRESKAN

)

PRISKA

PRISKAN

C D F G L 1175c it

PRISKILLA

PRISKAN

A

---------------

PRISKAN

614, 1881c sy Ambst

PRISKILLA

PRISKILLAN

Bc P 33, 1175*, 1739, 1881*, Sa

In Romans, on the contrary, Paul, by praising Prisca and Aquila so highly, allows the reader to imagine them as people of flesh and blood, without the necessity to turn to other NT books. This could be a plausible explanation for the fact that the name was changed in Rom 16:3 in very few manuscripts. There is yet another possible explanation for this, however, even though it might sound somewhat more tentative. Little research has been conducted (possibly because of the scarcity of evidence) on the use of diminutives in Greek, especially with respect to proper names. A first but limited approach to the sources, as well as a glance at some secondary literature, has brought me to the conclusion that in general diminutives were used rather infrequently in ancient Greek. Whereas in a private context they could function as a form of endearment (hypocoristic), they more often had a negative connotation, expressing ridicule or contempt. They were usually employed when addressing children or adults of lower rank, and even if apparently affectionate, they usually had some undignified, comic overtones. Diminutive forms of proper names are especially rare in Greek literature, which makes the following fact even more remarkable: they are conspicuously frequent in Lucian’s Dialogi Meretricii, where in both reference and address they are used for prostitutes.20 Diminutive forms of proper names are much more frequent in Latin than in Greek. Yet in general, the circumstances in which they are used are similar. They usually appear in an informal context, where they mostly function as a hypocoristic, but when the context is more official, often some disparaging nuances can be detected. Thus, for instance, Suetonius uses the diminutive to refer to several 20 See Eleanor Dickey, Greek Forms of Address: From Herodotus to Lucian (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 51.

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of Octavianus’s mistresses, which, as Mika Kajava, a specialist in Latin prosopography, comments, is “obviously significant.”21 Nevertheless, a devoted father such as Cicero, who normally preferred to call his beloved daughter by the diminutive “Tulliola,” “used the style ‘Tullia’ in letters of formal tone.”22 Sometimes, however, the diminutive form was the name given by the parents, and in such cases no special significance can be attached to it. But in that case the nondiminutive form would not appear in reference to a given woman, whereas in the case of Paul’s coworker both forms are attested.23 In sum, there is some evidence indicating that the diminutive could be regarded as a put-down by both Greek and Latin native speakers, at least in a more official context. May we then conjecture that, since Paul himself does not single out Prisca in any special way in his greetings to the Corinthian community (her name is following that of Aquila), copyists (or editors) were able to deal with her more freely, plausibly inserting the slightly derogatory diminutive from Acts? In Romans the situation is different: here the author extols Prisca (consistently mentioned first in manuscript evidence) and Aquila to such an extent that it would be improper to refer to this woman as one would to a slave, a child, or a lady of ill repute. In the end, of course, we cannot be sure about the intentions of the copyists responsible for inserting the diminutive form. Yet the consequence might be that Prisca’s image would be devalued to some extent for readers of the Pauline letters as a result of the use of the diminutive.24 21

Mika Kajava, Roman Female Praenomina: Studies in the Nomenclature of Roman Women (Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 14; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1995), 209. It is notable that one of these alleged mistresses was the wife of Maecenas, in other contexts called Terentia, but when mentioned among the mistresses, referred to as Terentilla. See Suetonius, Aug. 69.3 for the diminutive form and 66.6 for the nondiminutive one; cf. also Seneca, Ep. 114.6; and Dio Cassius Hist. Rom. 54.19.3. 22 Kajava, Roman Female Praenomina, 120. 23 As Kajava has suggested to me, “[p]erhaps the two variants simply go back to real life, illustrating the practice of calling Prisca in different social situations and contexts” (e-mail correspondence of June 22, 2004). This is perfectly plausible, but although using different forms of address is understandable in various everyday life situations, the references to Prisca in Pauline epistles and in Acts are in a more official context. 24 One of the comments on the earlier draft of this article was that in my discussion of the Prisca/Priscilla variation I did not take into account the evidence on the Montanist prophetess Priscilla. When I checked the relevant sources, however, it became clear that she too, was in fact “Prisca,” in some cases called by the diminutive Priscilla! Taking into account that most of the extant documents in which she is mentioned were written by the adversaries of the New Prophecy, who evidently referred to her in a derogatory way, it is hard to draw any conclusions based on their use (they use both the diminutive and nondiminutive forms and sometimes the same source attests the two interchangeably). What is more conspicuous, however, is that Tertullian, whose attitude was unquestionably positive, nearly always calls her Prisca (at least in three different places: Exh.

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There are some other textual variants in 1 Cor 16:19 and Rom 16:3–5a, yet for our purpose it is not necessary to examine them here. As for 2 Tim 4:19, there are no significant text-critical problems. The couple is again mentioned together and, as we have already remarked, the order is the same as in Romans, with no alternative readings. It is worth noting that, as far as I know, in none of the Greek manuscripts of 2 Timothy, do we encounter the diminutive form of Prisca’s name.25 One interesting addition in 2 Tim 4:19 is found in two minuscules (181 and 460—from the eleventh and thirteenth centuries), which after !Akuvlan have: Levktran th;n gunai'ka aujtou' kai; Simaivan (460 Shmaivan) kai; Zhvnwna tou;" uiJou;" aujtou'. Bruce Metzger is probably correct when he asserts that this is a gloss, “written first in the margin and later introduced into the text at the wrong place,” since from the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla we know that “these are the names of the wife and children of Onesiphorus.”26 The copyists who made such a careless mistake appear to have had little interest in the couple praised by Paul in Romans. They also seem to have been unaware of the connection between 2 Tim 4:19 and Acts 18. Perhaps for some reason the link was less obvious than in the case of Romans and 1 Corinthians and that is why Prisca’s name in 2 Tim 4:19 escaped harmonization with the form known from Acts.

II. On the “Western” Anti-Woman Tendency: Prisca and Aquila in the Acts of the Apostles The situation in the Acts of the Apostles is more complex than in the epistles, both because Luke’s account of the couple’s activities is much longer and, even more importantly, because the textual history of Acts presents us with numerous difficulties. It has been the subject of heated controversy and remains a thorny question. In ch. 18, the large part of which is focused on Prisca and Aquila, the main text-critical matters, as in other parts of Acts, pertain to the differences between the Alexandrian and so-called “Western” texts. There is no need to engage in another extended discussion concerning the matter at this point, since the secondary character of most of the longer readings attested by the witnesses customcast. 10; Res. 11; Prax. 1). The only work in which Tertullian seems to be using the diminutive form, De Ieiunio 1, is textually uncertain: there are no extant manuscripts, and the text in contemporary editions is based on the sixteenth-century edition. 25 Interestingly, however, in the Latin text of Codex Boernerianus (G) the diminutive Priscillam appears, even though the Greek clearly has Privskan. As regards the two other occurrences of the name (in 1 Cor 16:19 and Rom 16:3), the Latin text matches the Greek. The fact that in 1 Tim 4:19 it does not, is all the more striking taking into consideration that Boernerianus is an interlinear diglot, where the Latin text is written directly above the Greek one. 26 Metzger, Textual Commentary, 581.

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arily referred to as “Western” has been demonstrated convincingly by a number of scholars, the recent studies pleading for the rehabilitation of the “Western” text as the most ancient textual tradition available notwithstanding.27 In general, “Western” readings rarely alter the account substantially, nor do they add much important information. Most of the changes and expansions pertain to details and are mainly intended to clarify the text and make it more attractive. Thus, ambiguous statements and at times even the ones easily understandable for an average reader are frequently explained with plentiful details. Yet according to some scholars a number of changes are not merely accidental: they claim that particular tendencies can be distinguished in many of these alterations, such as anti-Judaic, but also anti-feminist, or rather anti-woman.28 The former tendency has been studied in detail by Eldon Jay Epp,29 and the latter is taken for granted by a number of authors. Except for a recent article by Michael W. Holmes, however, I know of no other attempts to examine the matter in a more comprehensive manner.30 It is the possible anti-woman tendency that is of special interest to me. Owing to the limited scope of this study, I shall make only a few remarks about just one example of how the “Western” text treats women, namely, the way Prisca is presented in the manuscripts bearing witness to the “Western” tradition. 27 See Joël Delobel, who offers a brief history of research, but focuses rather on the recent theories, followed by “a confrontation and a more personal evaluation” (“The Text of Luke-Acts: A Confrontation of Recent Theories,” in The Unity of Luke-Acts [ed. J. Verheyden; BETL 142; Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1999], 83–107). 28 Bart D. Ehrman rightly observes that the label “anti-feminist” is “anachronistic and misleading, since these changes are not directed against ‘feminists’ (a modern intellectual category)” (“The Text as Window: New Testament Manuscripts and the Social History of Early Christianity,” in The Text of the New Testament in Contemporary Research: Essays on the Status Quaestionis [ed. Bart D. Ehrman and Michael W. Holmes; SD 46; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995], 361–79, here 368). 29 Eldon Jay Epp, The Theological Tendency of Codex Bezae Cantabrigiensis in Acts (SNTSMS 3; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966). Contra C. K. Barrett, “Is There a Theological Tendency in Codex Bezae?” in Text and Interpretation: Studies in the New Testament Presented to Matthew Black (ed. Ernest Best and Robert McLachlan Wilson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 15–28. Barrett gives a negative answer to the question posed in the title of his article. 30 See n. 4 above. Note Holmes’s assessment that “the claim that the ‘Western’ text of Acts in particular displays an anti-feminist tendency seemingly has achieved something of the status of an ‘assured result,’ to the degree that not only the identification of the tendency itself but also of the motives behind it are considered as established facts” (“Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 183). Ironically, the article that follows in the same volume, although referring to Holmes’s text at some point, in practice seems to take no account of his conclusions, as it repeats the commonplaces concerning the alleged anti-woman tendency of Codex Bezae (Ann Graham Brock, “Appeasement, Authority, and the Role of Women in the D-Text of Acts,” in Book of Acts as Church History, 205–24). As for earlier articles on the subject, see a critical note by Ben Witherington, “The Anti-Feminist Tendencies of the ‘Western’ Text in Acts,” JBL 103 (1984): 82–84. Some other references can be found in Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” esp. n. 1.

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It was already Adolf von Harnack who claimed to have detected a tendency to reduce the prominence of Prisca in the “syro-lateinische Recension” when using ch. 18 of Acts in his polemics with Friedrich Blass to demonstrate the antiquity and originality of the Alexandrian version over against the former recension. In his conclusion von Harnack wondered whether the alterations in ch. 18 were an expression of a general tendency of “Zurückdrängung der Frauen”—or, he asked, “ist noch eine besondere Animosität gegen Prisca anzunehmen?”31 The problem with his study, however, is that he does not pay any attention to the differentiation within the “Western” tradition itself, discussing the variants as if they were all to be found in one manuscript. This is not the case, as will be demonstrated. Before we begin a closer examination of the significant readings in the account of Prisca and Aquila’s activities in Acts 18, we turn briefly to Luke’s overall presentation of the couple. A significant part of the eighteenth chapter of Acts is devoted to the events in which Prisca and Aquila most likely participated. Yet, as a consequence of Luke’s “Paulocentric” perspective, they are named only when a particular piece of information is relevant to the story of Paul. Luke is careful not to give the impression that the couple could be considered independent teachers and missionaries equal to Paul rather than subordinate to him. Overall, as has been noted by several authors, Luke’s attitude to the couple and to Prisca specifically is rather ambiguous, compared to Paul’s enthusiastic commendation of them in Romans. As Gail R. O’Day pointedly observes, Paul’s high assessment of Priscilla and other women leaders runs contrary to Luke’s own more ambivalent assessment of women’s leadership. For example, Luke never identifies the work of Priscilla and Aquila as ministry, but his description of what they do leaves no doubt that Priscilla was a missionary and a teacher. In other parts of the Acts narrative, Luke studiously avoided discussing women’s leadership, but he could not avoid this subject in the story of Priscilla because she was too well known. He did try, however, to tell her story with as much restraint and decorum as possible.32 31 Adolf von Harnack, “Über die beiden Recensionen der Geschichte der Prisca und des Aquila in Act. Apost. 18,1–27,” in SPAW (1900) 2–13. See also the response of F. Blass, “Priscilla und Aquila,” TSK 74 (1901): 124–26. Unfortunately, following the initial discussion provoked by von Harnack’s claims, few scholars have considered the matter. Even in more recent times the problem has been mentioned only randomly, mainly by authors who display a particular interest in gender issues, but their approach is often marked by little understanding of text-critical questions. They usually simply repeat von Harnack’s arguments, instead of reexamining them afresh. See, e.g., Susanne Heine, Frauen der frühen Christenheit: Zur historischen Kritik einer feministischen Theologie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986) 50–52; Richter Reimer, Frauen in der Apostelgeschichte, 204–6; Hanneliese Steichele, “Priska: Ein verdrängter Fall,” in Zwischen Ohnmacht und Befreiung: Biblische Frauengestalten (ed. Karin Walter; Freiburg: Herder, 1988), 155–62, esp. 160–62. 32 Gail R. O’Day, “Acts,” in Women’s Bible Commentary: Expanded Edition with Apocrypha (ed. Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 394–402, here 400.

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It is beyond the scope of the present study to go into detail concerning the issues discussed by O’Day. I agree with her critical comments, yet it is significant that she fails to mention one important point, namely, Luke’s consistent use of the diminutive form of Prisca’s name. Ironically, most of the feminist theologians, when eulogizing Prisca, refer to her as Priscilla, just as Luke did, not realizing that this could in itself be a sign of Luke’s condescending attitude toward Aquila’s wife.33 As I argued in the previous section, diminutives in Greek and Latin, especially when used in an official context, had more often than not a rather negative connotation. On the other hand, it cannot be excluded that the diminutive was merely the form of Prisca’s name that the author of Acts had inherited from earlier tradition, possibly oral. We now turn to the scrutiny of the textual variants in Acts 18 that are relevant to the purpose of this article. In v. 2, where Luke introduces the couple Paul found upon his arrival in Corinth, the “Western” text probably had: su;n Priskivllh/ gunaiki; aujtou' (it is attested by h syhmg and gig) instead of kai; Privskillan gunai'ka aujtou'. This could be a grammatical correction, since the sentence, as it stands in most manuscripts, sounds rather awkward in Greek.34 Von Harnack, however, found in this passage one of his arguments that the “Western” text intended to diminish the significance of Prisca. He argued that in the original text Luke (according to von Harnack the “syro-lateinische Recension” is much later and cannot possibly be attributed to Luke), by using the accusative, “sie [Prisca] selbständig neben ihren Gatten stellt.”35 Even though the use of suvn rather than kaiv does not immediately suggest that the person in the dative is somehow inferior,36 von Harnack was not necessarily completely wrong. In two other passages 33 Most scholars limit their remarks to a mere observation that Luke uses the diminutive form of Prisca’s name, without attempting to interpret this fact. The comment of C. K. Barrett, that “in Acts she is Priscilla; in the epistles she is Prisca,” is typical (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles [ICC; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994–98], 2:861). According to Johannes Munck, “Luke uses the familiar, Paul the formal name” (The Acts of the Apostles: Introduction, Translation, and Notes [rev. by William F. Albright and C. S. Mann; AB 31; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967], 176). That the diminutive could be interpreted as a put-down is, however, noted by Murphy-O’Connor, although unfortunately he does not elaborate on this statement (“Prisca and Aquila,” 40). 34 Ernst Haenchen comments that “die Bemerkung über Priscilla steht denkbar unglücklich” (Die Apostelgeschichte [KEK 3; 16th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977], 512). He thinks that the “Western” text merely seeks to accommodate these words better and is clearly secondary. 35 Von Harnack, “Über die beiden Recensionen,” 8. 36 See A. T. Robertson, who observes that suvn, not unlike in other Greek literature, is rare in the NT (A Grammar of the New Testament in the Light of Historical Research [3rd ed.; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1919], 626–28). Moreover, its use in the NT is largely confined to the Gospel of Luke and Acts. In Pauline literature the expression su;n Cristw'/ occurs, denoting perhaps the intimate mystic union with Christ, but in Luke-Acts suvn usually pertains to other human beings. The connotation is that of accompaniment and association. In certain contexts the preposition

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in Acts where the author introduces a couple, 5:1 and 24:24, the husband is named first, followed by suvn and the name of the wife in the dative. Consequently, it is possible that the scribe who changed the kaiv phrase to suvn in 18:2 merely harmonized it with the other introductions of wives in Acts. In Acts 24:24, however, Drusilla’s presence is fairly ornamental, whereas in the story of Ananias and Sapphira, despite the fact that Ananias made decisions with the consent of his wife, he remained the one who performed all the actions (see 5:2). Thus, neither of the two couples can really be perceived as analogous to Prisca and Aquila. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that several times when the author writes about believers, often in the context of persecutions or baptism, he uses the expression a[ndre" (te) kai; gunai'ke" (5:14; 8:3, 12; 9:2; 17:12—note that here women are mentioned first; 22:4).37 In this way participation of both men and women is stressed, implying that women were full members of the Christian community.38 Then again in Acts 1:14 the author uses the expression su;n gunaixivn to denote women who prayed together with the Eleven, and in 21:5 su;n gunaixi; kai; tevknoi" when referring to women and children who together with the disciples (maqhtaiv) at Tyre escorted Paul outside the city upon his leave. In spite of what most translations imply, it is by no means certain that in the former passage su;n gunaixivn means “with (certain) women” (supposedly those who had followed Jesus during his earthly life), whereas in the latter, “with wives.”39 Whether the word gunai'ke" in one or both of these passages refers to certain Christian women or rather denotes “wives,” in both cases gunai'ke" receive much less attention than the men whom they accompany. To sum up, although it would be far-fetched to argue that the use of suvn always implies that the person named in the dative is less important, the way the author of Acts employs this construction when presenting the activities of men and women is telling. As opposed to the conjunction kaiv, which suggests equal participation, suvn with the dative in this context refers to women who are largely marginalized. Consequently, it is not completely unfounded to interpret the change in the way Prisca is introduced in Acts 18:2 as a put-down. expresses the notion of help, which grew “naturally out of that of association” (Robertson, Grammar, 627). Correspondingly, it can signify experiencing something (often suffering) with someone else. Whether it is degrading or, on the contrary, enhancing the position of the person named in the dative depends mainly on the context. In most cases it is probably neutral. Robertson, however, points to Acts 15:22, where “the use of suvn may subordinate the church a bit to the Apostles” (ibid.). 37 I would like to thank one of my anonymous reviewers for bringing these passages to my attention. 38 See O’Day, “Acts,” 397. 39 See, e.g., the NRSV. The addition of kai; tevknoi" in Codex Bezae does not necessarily indicate that the copyists wanted to marginalize the role of women as witnesses by identifying them as “wives” of the apostles. It could just as well suggest that they made more explicit what according to them was already implicit in the text. For the discussion on this variant, see Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 185–89. Even with the addition of kai; tevknoi", however, it is not necessary that su;n gunaixivn be translated as “with wives.”

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As for other variants in v. 2, following the couple’s introduction, h inserts: et salutavit eos and further, in order to clarify the passage and make it flow smoother, it explains (attested also by syhmg): hii aute[m propte]rea exsierunt ab urbe [syhmg: a Roma]. Toward the end of the verse, several witnesses, namely D, supported by h syhmg, after @Rwvmh" add an explanation: oi{ ke [sic] katwv/khsan [D*: katw/vkhsen] eij" th;n !Acai?an. Manuscript h (syhmg) further developed this: Paulus autem agnitus est Aquilae. C. K. Barrett suggests that these additions “may come from tradition of some kind.”40 It could also be a result of the “Western” fondness for providing details, which sometimes, contrary to the intention, renders the text inconsistent. As for the second addition, whenever additional information about Aquila is supplied by any of the “Western” witnesses, Prisca’s name is characteristically not mentioned. Concerning the first addition, as Epp observes, it “pictures Aquila and Priscilla as settling permanently in Achaia,”41 which would obviously contradict Acts 18:18–19. katw/vkhsen in D* could suggest that the verb refers only to Aquila (according to Codex Bezae Paul came to “him,” not to “them”; see the following paragraph), even though the plural pronoun oi{ makes it likely that the singular form of the verb was an accidental error. It was corrected later by a corrector of Codex Bezae, so, for example, the textual apparatus of Nestle-Aland27 does not even mention this singular reading. Notably, however, this is not the only time in Acts 18 when this sort of apparently accidental scribal blunder affects the presentation of the couple in that it focuses on what Aquila did, without taking Prisca into account (see ajkouvsanto" in v. 26 below). In the last phrase of v. 2, Codex Bezae (supported by aethmss) had aujtw'/ oJ Pau'lo", instead of the plural aujtoi'". This, however, was later amended by the corrector of D. In v. 3 this time h ignores Prisca, as it reads: apud eum.42 At the beginning of v. 7, instead of kai; metaba;" ejkei'qen, in D*vid h we read metaba;" de; ajpo; !Akuvla.43 Minuscules 257 614 (1799 2147) 2412 have kai; metaba;" ejkei'qen ajpo; (tou') !Akuvla. Again, as we see, Prisca is completely neglected. In the “Western” text there was possibly an attempt to clarify the passage, which is slightly ambiguous in the Alexandrian version, hence the indication that Paul changed not just the location of teaching but also the living quarters.44 40

Barrett, Acts, 2:863. Epp, Theological Tendency, 92. 42 For comments on two other variants in v. 3, see Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 196–97. 43 See Epp, Theological Tendency, 91, where the reading of Codex Bezae is examined in more detail, since the text of the manuscript “is obscured in places” and scholars disagree on how to read particular words. 44 Some modern commentators tend to agree with the latter interpretation, although no other textual witnesses support it. For example, Joseph A. Fitzmyer accepts this interpretation and wonders why Paul would prefer “the house of a Jewish sympathiser to that of Jewish Christians” (The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 31; New York: Doubleday, 1998], 627). He conjectures that maybe “it was to give him better entrée among indig41

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In v. 18 keiravmeno" may refer both to Paul and Aquila; thus h has: Aquila, qui votum cum fecisset, [Cenchris] caput tondit. Most commentators think that Luke had Paul in mind, as it would be one of the traits with which Luke could illustrate Paul’s faithfulness to Mosaic Law.45 Metzger informs us that “several manuscripts of the Latin Vulgate read the plural,” implying that Prisca also had her hair cut.46 In v. 22 in “a surprising number of minuscules,”47 including the “Western” 614, supported by syp.hmg but not D, instead of kai; katelqwvn, we find a rewording of what was said in v. 19 (without mentioning Prisca, though): to;n de; !Akuvlan ei[asen ejn !Eqevsw/, aujto;" de; ajnenecqei;" h\lqen eij" Kaisavreian. There was no need for such a repetition, but it is remarkable that this time 614 ignores Aquila’s wife. In v. 26b nearly all the most important witnesses (∏74, ) A B E 33 pc vg bo) mention Prisca’s name first. This allegedly unusual order must have been revised in a number of witnesses, thus in D H L Y 0120 88, 614, 1241, 1611, 1739 ˜ gig sy samss arm we read !Akuvla" kai; Privskilla.48 Moreover, even though enous Corinthian Gentiles.” The correction may also imply that Paul broke his relations with the couple, even though the rest of the chapter suggests the opposite. Their trip together to Ephesus, where Paul is reported to ‘have left’ Prisca and Aquila, while he embarked on a further journey, does not make a serious breach earlier in Corinth very likely. Of course, Paul’s move from the couple’s place may have been coincidental, yet placing the passage immediately after his break with the Jews suggests a different interpretation. Epp argues that “this separation from the synagogue and surrender of house-fellowship with Aquila would be the clearest demonstration of Paul’s break with the Jews and his turning to the Gentiles” (Theological Tendency, 92). The confusion may be due to the “Western” inconsistency and carelessness in paraphrasing the text. Even if we assume that a particular animosity toward Aquila can be distinguished here, this would contradict the fact that otherwise the text deals with him rather favorably, mentioning him more often than Prisca. 45 See, e.g., Haenchen, who following a number of other scholars thinks that “es Lukas fernliegt, von einer Nebenperson wie Aquila eine solche Einzelheit zu erzählen” (Apostelgeschichte, 523). Yet according to D. Erwin Preuschen, Luke has Aquila in mind (Die Apostelgeschichte [HNT 4/1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1912], 113). The word order indeed suggests it. Haenchen lists both those who support the latter view and those who argue that the person who had his hair cut must have been Paul (Apostelgeschichte, 520 n. 4, and 523 respectively). It may be of interest that Epp does not sense any anti-Judaic tendency in this alteration. Admittedly, however, only Codex Floriacensis, but not Codex Bezae, presents Aquila instead of Paul as a devoted Jew, thus freeing the main hero from a close attachment to Judaism. 46 Metzger, Textual Commentary, 412. Unfortunately, the author does not give any details and I have been unable to find any witnesses that would name Prisca as cutting her hair at Cenchreae. Depending on how the phrase was formulated in Latin, the plural could also indicate that both Paul and Aquila, but not Prisca, were meant. Theodor Zahn considered the possibility that Prisca had her hair cut too, but he denied it on the basis of 1 Cor 11:6 (Die Apostelgeschichte des Lucas [KNT 5; 2 vols.; 1st and 2nd ed.; Leipzig: Deichert, 1919–21], 2:661). 47 Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 198. He lists some of these minuscules. 48 Metzger argues that “there was always a tendency among scribes to change the unusual to the usual” (Textual Commentary, 414). The problem is, however, that, as I already noted when

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Prisca’s name is not erased, in D the preceding participle is in the singular form: ajkouvsanto", implying that it was only Aquila who heard Apollos speaking.49 The reversal of the order is probably the most (in)famous indication of the “Western” tendency to diminish the importance of Prisca, even though, as should be noted, it is not peculiar to “Western” texts, since the same has happened in the Byzantine textual tradition.50 It is remarkable that in v. 18 Prisca and Aquila are named together as accompanying Paul, the wife likewise preceding the husband. Yet, in that verse, unlike verse 26, at least to my knowledge, no manuscript has changed the order. One may conjecture that the context was the main reason: the priority of a woman was more difficult to accept when she was reported to be instructing a learned man than when she was merely traveling.51 It has been sugdiscussing the order in the Pauline literature, we do not really know what was considered usual and what unusual at that time, as there is no conclusive evidence. If this were the only reason for reversing the order, the same thing would have happened in v. 18. Hence, there were most likely some other reasons for changing the sequence. 49 The variant is not mentioned in Nestle-Aland27. Holmes is probably right when he says that it is “a copying mistake by the scribe of Bezae, rather than a significant variant” (“Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 199), but it is noteworthy that again “accidental” error has the effect of getting Prisca out of the picture (see my remarks on katw/vkhsen in v. 2 above). It would be worthwhile to examine the psychology behind this sort of “accident.” Marie-Emile Boismard rightly notes that “le texte de D est incohérent” by putting one verb in the singular and the rest in the plural (Le texte occidental des Actes des Apôtres [EBib NS 40; new revised ed.; Paris: Gabalda, 2000], 310). According to Boismard, ejxevqeto is attested by H and 1175; unfortunately, I have not been able to check this. Yet Boismard claims that in ) only Aquila’s name is attested, and based on this flawed assumption, as well as pointing to the singular forms in D in v. 26b and in v. 26d in H and 1175, he contends that these must be the traces of the “TO primitif, selon lequel Aquila était le seul à intervenir.” He argues that later numerous witnesses added Privskilla “à une mauvaise place.” A certain inconsistency, however, can also be traced in Boismard’s line of reasoning: if both the “Western” and the Alexandrian texts (TO and TA) are to be attributed to the author of Acts, as Boismard suggests, and taking into account that Prisca’s precedence is well attested in the Alexandrian tradition, it would be rather astonishing if Luke were to write first solely about Aquila and only then add Prisca, placing her name before that of her husband. 50 One wonders why, for example, Brock, who thinks that “[p]erhaps the most compelling indication of a diminished role for women in D occurs with references to the missionary couple Priscilla and Aquila in chapter 18,” in her discussion on the portrayal of women in Codex Bezae, singles out the reversal of order in v. 26 as specific to D (“Appeasement,” 218). Interestingly, she fails to indicate the readings truly peculiar to D. 51 With regard to 18:26, Blass conjectures that here the name Aquila could have been an interpolation (“Priscilla und Aquila,” 125). Likewise Witherington, according to whom “it is possible that in some passages even the oldest and best manuscripts have not escaped this sort of tendentious altering [adding Aquila’s name] of the text” (“Anti-Feminist Tendencies,” 83). He argues that an examination of John Chrysostom’s homilies on the Acts of the Apostles may lead to the conclusion that the text he used had Prisca as the only person teaching Apollos. It is, however, doubtful that this was the case. The statement that according to Luke Prisca received and instructed Apollos, followed by the most elaborate praise, is found in Chrysostom’s homily on Rom 15:25–16:5a (Hom. Rom. 30), whereas in that on Acts (Hom. Act. 40) Chrysostom concentrates mainly on the figure of

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gested that naming Prisca first in Acts 18:26 points to her being a principal teacher of Apollos.52 This would indicate her excellent didactic qualities and missionary skills as well as outstanding education. This was possibly the reason for the reversal of the order in many manuscripts. Since Apollos is described as dunato;" w[n ejn tai'" grafai'", Prisca must have had a superior knowledge of Scripture and theological expertise.53 Yet since the variant is present both in the “Western” and Byzantine tradition, “it is possible that this reading was already in the base text upon which the ‘revisor’ worked.”54 The entire v. 27 appears in a different form in D (partly supported by syhmg and ∏38vid, but not 614, h or gig): ejn de; th'/ !Efevsw/ ejpidhmou'ntev" tine" Korivnqioi kai; ajkouvsante" aujtou' parekavloun dielqei'n su;n aujtoi'" eij" th;n patrivda aujtw'n. sunkataneuvsanto" de; aujtou' oiJ !Efevsioi e[grayan toi'" ejn Korivnqw/ maqhtai'" o{pw" ajpodevxwntai to;n a[ndra: o{" ejpidhmhvsa" eij" th;n !Acaivan polu; sunebavlleto ejn tai'" ejkklhsivai". Thus, the meaning of the verse is changed as a result of an attempt to explain more precisely why Apollos went to Corinth: certain Corinthians invited him to their city, instead of his going there on his own initiative. It also implies that Apollos traveled all over Achaia (and that the mission in that province was more extended than both Acts and the Corinthian letters allow us to suppose). He helped not just in one ejkklhsiva in Corinth but in other centers of Achaia. In the “Western” version of v. 27, von Harnack discovers traces of some “anti-Priscan” prejudice. According to him, oiJ ajdelfoiv of the Alexandrian text should be understood as referring to Prisca and Aquila, who “ein warmes Herz für the Alexandrian erudite. Moreover, in his quotations of Acts 18 he places Prisca first in v. 18, but in v. 26 her husband precedes her. In his comment on Acts 18 there is nothing that would entitle us to presume that his text of Acts omitted Aquila and solely named Prisca as the one expounding the way of God to Apollos. See also Rudolf Schumacher, “Aquila und Priscilla,” TGl 12 (1920): 86–99, esp. 97. Characteristically, whereas von Harnack always talks about “Prisca,” other German scholars from the beginning of the twentieth century who have shown their interest in Prisca and Aquila, prefer the diminutive form. 52 See Gillman, Women Who Knew Paul, 55; and Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (2nd ed.; London: SCM, 1995), 179. 53 Having considered all this, von Harnack argued that Prisca and Aquila were the authors of the letter to the Hebrews, with the former playing a more active role, but as a result of the increasing criticism of female teachers in the early church and the diminishing position of women her name was suppressed (“Probabilia über die Adresse und den Verfasser des Hebräerbriefs,” ZNW 1 [1900]: 16–41). This audacious hypothesis is commonly credited to von Harnack, and perhaps rightly so, since he emphasized the role of Prisca, but in fact, as Schumacher observes, “schon Bleek hatte hypothetisch die Möglichkeit erwogen, daß Aquila den Hebräerbrief verfaßt habe” (“Aquila und Priscilla,” 98). He refers to Friedrich Bleek, Der Brief an die Hebräer (3 vols.; Berlin: Dümmler, 1828–40) 1:420–22. (Unfortunately, I was unable to verify this, since the book was unavailable to me.) 54 Holmes, “Women and the ‘Western’ Text,” 199.

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Korinth haben mussten,” having just arrived from there.55 The “Western” editor supposedly could not accept that Prisca would have written a letter of recommendation and, as a result, completely reworked the account in order to avoid crediting her with too much merit. This line of argumentation, however, seems rather far-fetched. In conclusion, von Harnack may have correctly deduced that a number of the textual variants discussed above minimize the role that Prisca plays in the narrative, although more attention needs to be paid to differences between particular witnesses. In v. 2 only h syhmg and gig, though not D, have the accusative instead of the dative with a preposition, but then D provides some additional data, namely, that the couple (or at least Aquila) settled in Achaia (attested also by h syhmg). Later h inserts even more information, this time only about Aquila (that he became known to Paul). At the end of the verse D alters aujtoi'" to aujtw'/. Manuscript h again neglects Prisca in v. 3, stating that Paul remained apud eum (i.e., Aquila). In v. 7 Prisca is ignored by numerous witnesses. Instead of kai; metabav", D*vid and h have metaba;" de; ajpo; !Akuvla. Some minuscules, including 614, read kai; metaba;" ejkei'qen ajpo; (tou') !Akuvla. In v. 18 the sequence of the names is left untouched, but h refers to Aquila as the one who had his hair cut. In v. 22, 614 and some other minuscules as well as syp.hmg fail to mention Prisca, stating that Paul left Aquila in Ephesus before departing for Caesarea. In v. 26 not only nearly all the “Western” but also Byzantine witnesses place Aquila’s name before that of Prisca. Finally, D has the participle in v. 26 in the singular form (ajkouvsanto"). On the whole, Codex Bezae (D) and Codex Floriacensis (h) appear to be the manuscripts where Prisca’s position is most clearly diminished, but one could also say, especially about the latter codex, that it is most keen on emphasizing Aquila’s role, since it tends to supply additional information about Aquila rather than erase Prisca’s name. The same can be said about other “Western” witnesses, mainly minuscule 614. It is not highly probable that all the above-mentioned alterations can be attributed to one editor, and some of the readings we have discussed, including the famous change in the sequence of names in Acts 18:26, are not peculiar to “Western” witnesses. Nevertheless, it is not necessary to prove that all the alterations are due to one person, since if there was some kind of a prejudice against Prisca (or more generally, against women) in the Vorlage, it would have been quite natural for later scribes to insert other changes, along the same line. Before charging the Western editor with playing down the role of women, however, one should perhaps examine carefully the Alexandrian text as well, assuming that it is closer to what the author of Acts wrote, in order to establish whether he also (rather than she) is not to blame. Barrett, who remains skeptical with regard to accusing the “Western” text of any special tendency, argues that its main characteristic is 55 Von Harnack, “Über die beiden Recensionen,” 10.

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to exaggerate and develop the tendencies already present in Acts.56 In our case this could refer to Luke’s anti-woman—or at least “anti-Priscan”—sentiment. A scrutiny of Acts 18 shows that Luke’s attitude toward Prisca is more reserved than Paul’s wholehearted praise. He partly acknowledges the renown and merits of Prisca, whose popularity was widespread in early Christianity, yet he shows no interest in her (or in Aquila for that matter) as a missionary independent of Paul. In addition, he expresses his slightly ironic stance toward her by using the diminutive form of her name.

III. Conclusion To sum up, it cannot be excluded that some of the textual variants in the passages mentioning Prisca and Aquila in Pauline epistles, and to a greater extent in Acts, may be understood as intended to diminish the importance of Prisca. Although the tendency to change the nondiminutive form of the name in 1 Corinthians and, to a far lesser extent, in Romans can be explained as a mere harmonization with the diminutive known from Acts, it could also be interpreted as a put-down. The singular reading in ∏46 suggests that the copyist was either careless and ignorant, or otherwise that he (less likely she) consciously added S in order to reduce the role women play in the NT. Whatever the case may be, although the intentions of particular scribes cannot be easily ascertained, specific readings have a negative influence on the overall picture of Prisca. That said, there are also some most likely secondary readings, such as the plural ajspavzontai in 1 Cor 16:19b that can be understood to highlight the role of Prisca. Hence, at least as regards the textual tradition of Pauline epistles, we cannot presuppose the existence of a consistent anti-woman tendency. The changes introduced in Acts are also difficult to assess. Depending on one’s point of view, they can be interpreted as either playing down the role of Prisca or as enhancing the significance of Aquila. If the former is the case, they could be a sign of a more general tendency to delimit the importance of women in the so-called “Western” tradition, since they are found mainly in “Western” witnesses. Whether they were part of a deliberate strategy to reduce the importance of women in the NT is impossible to establish, yet they certainly do affect the presentation of women in Acts in a negative way. It is possible that there was some resentment toward Prisca in the “Western” text, but we must be careful to note the differences between particular manuscripts. What is more, we must not exclude the possibility that such an “antiPriscan tendency” could be ascribed to the author of Acts himself and that the subsequent scribes merely developed it further. 56

Barrett, “Theological Tendency,” 26-27.

JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 129–50

Critical Notes On David’s “Taking” and “Leaving” Concubines (2 Samuel 5:13; 15:16)

The report in the court narrative of King David’s decision to leave ten concubines behind when he fled the city of Jerusalem in the face of Absalom’s coup has long puzzled biblical interpreters (2 Sam 15:16). The account is problematic because it appears contrived, a necessary insertion foreshadowing the episode of the violation of David’s concubines by Absalom (2 Sam 16:21–22). All this was to fulfill Nathan’s prophetic curse of David’s dynasty (2 Sam 12:11–12). Hence, some biblical commentators simply reject all or part of 2 Sam 15:16 as the work of a glossator.1 Apart from the assessments of the integrity of the MT (as well as the historical reliability of the Samuel narrative), most scholars agree that David was unwise (if not foolish) to abandon harem wives “to keep” the palace complex in his retreat from Absalom (tyIb%fha rmo#$;li, 2 Sam 15:16)—especially given that according to ancient custom, marriage to a member of the royal harem legitimized a usurper's claims to kingship.2 Yet few have tendered a plausible explanation for what at first blush appears to be a serious (and certainly uncharacteristic) tactical blunder on the part of this shrewd Hebrew king. Thoroughgoing critical analysis of the issues related to the literary integrity and historical reliability of the so-called court narrative of David (2 Samuel 9–1 Kings 2) and its relationship to the larger Deuteronomistic History is beyond the scope of this brief note. Suffice it to say, this study takes a sociopolitical approach to the literature of the Samuel narrative while presuming that the account has a certain value as both a theological commentary on and a historical witness to the reign of King David. The following reconstruction has merit generally in furthering an appreciation for the thematic unity of the court narrative, and more specifically in offering an explanation for King David’s taking and leaving concubines in Jerusalem. Such is the case whether the bibliThis essay is a fuller version of a paper delivered on November 23, 1996, to the Egyptology and the History and Culture of Ancient Israel Group at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in New Orleans, Louisiana. 1 E.g., F. Langlamet, “Pour ou contre Salomon? La rédaction prosalomonienne de 1 Rois, I-II,” RB 83 (1976): 352. 2 On the issue of laying claim to suzerainty through carnal knowledge of a suzerain’s harem, see Jon D. Levenson and Baruch Halpern, “The Political Import of David’s Marriages,” JBL 99 (1980): 507–18; see also the earlier study of Matitiahu Tsevat, “Marriage and Monarchical Legitimacy in Ugarit and Israel,” JSS 3 (1958): 237–43.

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cal narratives addressing kingship in early Israel are deemed “prose fiction” or “political propaganda” or exemplary “Hebrew historiography.” This analysis also assumes the originality of the MT for 2 Sam 15:16 and suggests that an explanation for David’s ill-advised behavior may be found among the customs associated with diplomatic marriages as practiced in New Kingdom Egypt and borrowed by the petty kingships of the Canaanite city-states. Specifically, four related arguments are advanced in support of the thesis: • The first posits that at least some of the “concubines and wives” (My#$inFw: My#$ig:lap%i, 2 Sam 5:13) that King David married after his conquest of Jerusalem were Jebusite women and that these marriages were politically motivated. • The second identifies these women with those concubines David left behind in the palace when he fled Jerusalem in the face of Absalom’s coup (2 Sam 15:16). • The third addresses the implications for royal protocol as practiced by the Jebusites in Jerusalem given the widely recognized influence of New Kingdom Egypt on the Levant. • The fourth treats the literary nature and thematic emphases of the biblical narrative in Samuel (especially 2 Sam 5–16).

I. David’s “Wives and Concubines” What’s “in” a Nmi , the Hebrew preposition meaning “out of ” or “away from”? According to 2 Sam 5:13, David took more “concubines and wives” (My#$inFw: My#$ig:lapi%) “from Jerusalem” (Mila#$fw%rymi). More recent English versions, such as Today’s New International Version, the NJB, and the NRSV, understand the phrase Mila#$fw%rymi in a temporal sense.3 That is, David took more wives and concubines while he ruled “in Jerusalem.” These renderings may be dependent on the parallel passage in 1 Chr 14:3, which uses the preposition -b%; (“and David took more wives in Jerusalem,” Mila#$fw%ryb%i).4 It is possible, however, to understand the preposition Nmi in the phrase Mila#$fw%rymi in a locational or even a partitive sense.5 That is, David “took more concubines and wives from Jerusalem” (see the English Standard Version [ESV], the New American Standard Bible [NAS], and the NKJV). The alternative reading describes the place of origin, that is, concubines and wives from the resident population of Jerusalem.6 Stated more directly, at least some of these women added to David’s harem were local Jebusites! 3 See IBHS §11.2.11c, pp. 212–13; cf. Tony W. Cartledge (1 & 2 Samuel [Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2001], 416), who admits that “the MT actually says that he took these wives from Jerusalem. The MT may be the original reading, but even so, the primary point is that David’s harem continued to grow after he reached Jerusalem.” 4 See Gary N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 12A; New York: Doubleday, 2004), 595; see also A. A. Anderson, 2 Samuel (WBC 11; Waco: Word, 1989), 80. 5 See IBHS §11.2.11.d, e, pp. 213–14. 6 E.g., P. Kyle McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes, and Commen-

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The Septuagint ejx (“from, out from”) supports this understanding of the MT.7 The use of the phrase “in Jerusalem” (Mila#$fw%rb%i) in the following verse (2 Sam 5:14) further suggests that the biblical writer deliberately sought to identify (some of) these women that David married as citizens of the city-state of Jerusalem. Biblical commentators have been slow to grasp the significance of these royal marriages. For example, Henry P. Smith simply acknowledges the relationship between the increase in the size of a monarch’s harem and the corresponding increase in that ruler’s prestige.8 Robert P. Gordon is content to view the section as another illustration of the theme of David’s prosperity.9 It seems likely that Peter R. Ackroyd is closer to the truth when he states that David was in “some measure seeking diplomatic advantages” in these marriages.10 George E. Mendenhall has described David’s capture of Jerusalem as essentially a military coup in which he expropriates supreme command of an existing (Jebusite) political organization.11 If Mendenhall’s interpretation of David’s usurpation of the administrative substructure of the city-state of Jerusalem is correct, then the marriages to women belonging to the families of the Jebusite power brokers were absolutely necessary. They were a means of securing the loyalty of both the cadre of “civil servants” and the citizenry of Jerusalem to the new Hebrew regime. Adopting Yossef Freund’s rubric, these unions were “treaty marriages.”12 This may also help explain why David apparently left the population of Jerusalem untouched, a deviation from the customary treatment of a defeated enemy.13 tary (AB 9; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 147; see also Hans Joachim Stoebe, Das erste Buch Samuels (KAT 8/1; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1973), 174–75; and Silvia Schroer, Die Samuelbücher (Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar: Altes Testament 7; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1992), 148. 7 Hans Willhelm Hertzberg retains the phrase “from Jerusalem” as original to the MT but restricts it to “wives” only and suggests that these marriages were “arranged from Jerusalem” as the capital of David’s kingdom (1 and 2 Samuel [trans. John S. Bowden; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976], 271). Georg Hentschel has observed that the theophoric names of the children born to David in Jerusalem (2 Sam 5:14–16) incorporate the divine name “El” not “Yah/weh,” presumably because the mothers who named them were Jebusite women—not Hebrew women from Israel or Judah (2 Samuel [NEchtB 34; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1994], 22, 66). 8 Henry Preserved Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Samuel (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1899), 289; see also Karen Engelken, Frauen im Alten Israel: Eine begriffsgeschichtliche und sozialrechtliche Studie zur Stellung der Frau im Alten Testament (BWANT 130; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990), 75–77; and Bruce C. Birch, “First and Second Books of Samuel,” NIB 2:1242. 9 Robert P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1986), 228; see also Robert D. Bergen, 1, 2 Samuel (NAC 7; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1996), 323. 10 Peter R. Ackroyd, The Second Book of Samuel (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 59. See further Walter Brueggemann (1–2 Samuel [Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1990], 246), who comments that the word “concubine” now appears in connection with King David, indicating that “David is well into the process of sexual politics”; see also Carol L. Meyers, gen. ed., Women in Scripture (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 261. 11 George E. Mendenhall, “The Monarchy,” Int 19 (1975): 160–61. 12 Yossef Freund, “The Marriage and the Dowry,” JBQ 23 (1995): 249. 13 Although Gösta W. Ahlström has commented that David’s behavior may be explained by

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006) II. Toward Identifying David’s Concubines in 2 Samuel 5:13

Identifying the ten concubines David left behind in token occupation of the palace complex when he fled Jerusalem as among those women he married after annexing the city proves more difficult.14 The word combination of My#$inF: and My#$ig:lap%i occurs only five times in the Hebrew Bible (2 Sam 5:13; 15:16; 19:5[MT 6]; 20:3; 2 Chr 11:21). Only 2 Sam 5:13 reverses the order, reading My#$inFw: My#$ig:lap%i. Agreeing with Eugene C. Ulrich, P. Kyle McCarter understands the MT here as original, supported by LXXA and 4QSama.15 Ulrich argues that the alternate word order “wives and concubines” (gunai'ka" kai; pallakav"), in LXXB may be explained on the basis of “protocol”; whereas the deletion of My#$ig:lap%i (“concubines”) from the parallel in 1 Chr 14:3 was intentional “to insure the legitimacy of the sons’ pedigree.”16 All this is to say that the indefinite use of My#$ig:lap%i My#$inFw: in combination in 2 Sam 5:13; 15:16; and 20:3 seems to be more than coincidental. McCarter defines “concubines” in 2 Sam 5:13 as “slave women who belonged to wealthy households and bore children but did not share all the legal privileges of wives.”17 A. A. Anderson counters that the actual status of the concubines in 2 Sam 15:16 is unclear and that they need not have been slave wives.18 Citing Werner Plautz, Anderson suggests that a concubine was a legitimate wife of second rank.19 He is probably correct. It is even possible that the appositional phrase My#$inFw: My#$ig:lapi% (“wives, the concubine type”), unique

the fact that he himself was a Jebusite subject (“Was David a Jebusite Subject?” ZAW 92 [1980]: 286–87). See John Bright, A History of Israel (4th ed.; Philadelphia: Westminster John Knox, 2000), 200. 14 One can only speculate as to the number of concubines (ten women sequestered in the palace complex according to 2 Sam 15:16, and later quarantined upon David’s return to Jerusalem according to 2 Sam 20:3). The Amarna Letters may shed some light on local custom in similar contexts. For instance, the number ten is prominent in the “greeting-gift inventories” of the Amarna correspondence: EA 3 mentions ten teams of horses and ten wooden chariots given by the king of Karaduniyas to the king of Egypt; EA 25 lists two women and ten pages (complete with ornamentation) in the inventory of gifts from Tusratta (according to William L. Moran, ed. and trans., The Amarna Letters [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992], 82 n. 29, these were persons of some social standing); and EA 64 records Abdi-Astarti dutifully complying with the pharaoh’s request for ten women. It is even possible that the ten women mentioned in 2 Sam 5:13 simply represent a coalition of Jebusite ruling families who happen to number ten and who enter a pact of some sort with David. 15 Eugene C. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1978); McCarter, II Samuel, 147. 16 Ulrich, Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus, 163, 182; cf. Engelken, Frauen im Alten Israel, 78. 17 McCarter, II Samuel, 148; see also Karen Engelken, “My#$ig:lap%i pilegeš,” TDOT 11: 549–51. 18 Anderson, 2 Samuel, 203. 19 Ibid., 56, citing Werner Plautz, “Monogamie und Polygamie im Alten Testament,” ZAW 65 (1963): 9-13. Engelken concurs (Frauen im Alten Israel, 124–26).

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to 2 Sam 15:16 and 20:3, is a quasi-technical term ascribing a particular status or rank to these women.20 Additionally, the sign of the definite direct object used with indefinites in 2 Sam 15:16 (My#$inFw: My#$ig:lap%i r#oe(e t)') deserves comment. According to GKC §117d, the mark of the accusative in 2 Sam 15:16 has been incorrectly inserted from 2 Sam 20:3. This prompts Hans Wilhelm Hertzberg to note that these ten concubines “are thus ‘those who are known,’ although they are only mentioned later.”21 Is it possible that the mark of the accusative in 2 Sam 15:16 actually signifies those women who “are known” from a prior reference, the “concubines and wives” (My#$inFw: My#$ig:lap%i) introduced in 2 Sam 5:13?

III. New Kingdom Egyptian Influence on the Levant Previously, Albrecht Alt reasoned that the city of Jerusalem retained its status as a sovereign independent city-state after David’s conquest, but the leadership changed hands, as it was now controlled by the Israelite king.22 Mendenhall concurs, acknowledging that David appropriated the city-state of Jerusalem as “crown property.”23 Yet others, for example, Giorgio Buccellati, contest the notion that Jerusalem retained the status of a sovereign city-state after David’s conquest.24 John H. Hayes and J. Maxwell Miller aptly summarize the discussion and readily admit “some modification of the thesis of Alt seems necessary.”25 They conclude, however, that the city-state of Jerusalem enjoyed a certain autonomy as a type of “federal district” administered directly by the crown, not subject to the traditional tribal structure of Israel. Mendenhall theorizes that King David essentially inherited the bureaucratic substructure for his fledgling monarchy from the previous Jebusite regime.26 For Mendenhall, David’s capture of Jerusalem amounted to little more than a coup d’état in which he took supreme command of an existing political organization badly needed for the oversight of an increasingly complex society. 20 See IBHS §12.3b, p. 230, on apposition of a sortal type (a broad class term followed by a more restrictive term of the same type). Chaim Rabin argues as much for the “concubine” (#$gElep%i) when compared to “slave girl” (hmf)f) with reference to the patriarchs, suggesting the concubine possessed a legal status not shared by the slave girl (“The Origin of the Hebrew Word Pilegeš,” JJS 3 [1974]: 363–64). 21 Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 338. 22 Albrecht Alt, “The Formation of the Israelite State in Palestine,” in Essays on Old Testament History and Religion (trans. R. A. Wilson; New York: Doubleday, 1967), 304–5. 23 Mendenhall, “Monarchy,” 160. 24 Giorgio Buccellati, Cities and Nations of Ancient Syria (Studi Semitici 26; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1967), 137–93. 25 John H. Hayes and J. Maxwell Miller, Israelite and Judaean History (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977), 353–56, here 355. 26 Mendenhall, “Monarchy,” 163. At the very least, the identification of Jerusalem as “the city of David” (2 Sam 5:7–12; 1 Chr 11:4–9) suggests that the former Jebusite city-state somehow stood apart from the normal sociopolitical conventions of Israelite and Judean tribal administration. The very fact that Absalom lays claim to David’s throne from Hebron (2 Sam 15:7–9) further strengthens the argument that Israelite tribal loyalties were centered outside of Jerusalem.

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Likewise, the usurpation of the Jebusite administration helps explain why the Israelite bureaucracy centered in Jerusalem was, to some degree, an imitation of an earlier Egyptian political organization. Given the long Egyptian hegemony over Palestine, Ronald J. Williams indicates that Egyptian models were probably adopted by the Israelites because the creation of a state required efficient administrative structure.27 John Bright concludes that “Egyptian influence upon the development of bureaucracy of the Israelite empire seems undeniable.”28 Indeed, the question is not so much the fact of Egyptian influence on the sociopolitical organization of Israelite bureaucracy. Rather, the questions that now shape scholarly discussion are those addressing the extent of Egyptian influence in Palestine, the degree of borrowing from Egyptian administrative models by the Canaanites and Israelites, and the identification of the geographical centers transmitting Egyptian influence in Palestine.29 Kenneth A. Kitchen moves the discussion in the proper direction when he states that Egyptian influence on the early Hebrew monarchy was “possible, even highly probable.”30 He questions, however, the direct importation of Egyptian administrative 27 Ronald J. Williams, “A People Come Out of Egypt,” in Congress Volume: Edinburgh 1974 (VTSup 28; Leiden: Brill, 1975), 235. 28 John Bright, “The Organization and Administration of the Israelite Empire,” in Magnalia Dei, The Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. Frank Moore Cross, Werner E. Lemke, and Patrick D. Miller, Jr.; New York: Doubleday, 1976), 204. 29 Since the studies of W. F. Albright, many have acknowledged that this Egyptian influence extended to the language and literature of Syria-Palestine. Of singular interest is the presence of an Egyptian scribal tradition recognized by many in certain writings of the Amarna correspondence originating in Palestine (see William F. Albright, “The Egyptian Correspondence of Amimilke, Prince of Tyre,” JEA 23 [1937]: 190–203; see also Y. Lynn Holmes, “The Messengers of the Amarna Letters,” JAOS 95 [1973]: 376–81; James K. Hoffmeier, “The Structure of Joshua 1–11 and the Annals of Thutmose III,” in Faith, Tradition, and History: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context [ed. A. R. Millard, James K. Hoffmeier, and David W. Baker; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994], 176 n. 64). Dissenting voices include Donald B. Redford, who has challenged attempts to root Israelite governmental organization in the Egyptian model of royal administration (“Studies in Relations between Palestine and Egypt during the First Millennium B.C.: I. The Taxation System of Solomon,” in Studies on the Ancient Palestinian World, Presented to Professor F. V. Winnett on the Occasion of His Retirement, 1 July 1971 [ed. John William Wevers and Donald B. Redford; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972], 143–44). He has argued that bureaucratic structures in Israel arose primarily out of the ordinary day-to-day needs of the administration, not mimicry of Egyptian ways. In a later writing there seems to be some modification on this point, as he admits to the plausibility of Egyptian influence upon what he calls “the government mechanisms” of Israelite statecraft (see “The Relations between Egypt and Israel from El-Amarna to the Babylonian Conquest,” in Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, April 1984 [Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1985], 192–205). 30 Kenneth A. Kitchen, “Egypt and Israel during the First Millennium B.C.,” in Congress Volume: Jerusalem 1986 (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 40; Leiden: Brill, 1988), 116. There may be parallels between David’s cordial relations with Phoenicia (see 2 Sam 5:11; 1 Kgs 5:1) and his treatment of the Jebusites after conquering Jerusalem, since he apparently neither executed nor displaced the local population (see Bright, History of Israel, 200). Here I side with Redford, who suggests that allying himself to Phoenicia was in David’s best interests because in so doing “he was respecting an

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structure and practice. The operative word here is direct importation. My contention, a much lesser stake to be sure, is that whatever Egyptian influence might be detected in Hebrew royal administration came as the result of an indirect borrowing. It seems likely that vestiges of Egyptian political organization were still intact in the governments of the Canaanite city-states well after the Amarna period. Quite naturally, certain functional aspects of the indigenous administrative models were assimilated into the developing Hebrew statecraft. Pursuing this line of reasoning, its seems plausible to conclude that King David secured the services and loyalty of this bureaucratic substructure by means of political marriage to the Jebusite concubines representing the political power structures and the commercial cartels of the Jerusalem city-state. If Alan R. Schulman, Mendenhall, Bright, and others are correct, then these political marriages may have been patterned after the protocol of New Kingdom Egypt as a result of the imposition and/or borrowing of Egyptian administrative offices and practices by the bureaucratic machinery of the city-states of Palestine.31 Details notwithstanding, Schulman concludes that Egyptian practice regarding diplomatic marriages was “at best, one-sided.”32 Centuries of Egyptian influence on the statecraft of city-states in the Levant suggest that the political marriages forging a new relationship between the Jebusites of Jerusalem and King David were, like their Egyptian counterparts, equally “one-sided.” King David’s marriages to the ten Jebusite concubines were likely the tokens of an alliance or treaty between David and the residue of the local regime in Jerusalem after its capture by David’s mercenaries. Such marriages were the “crowning act of peace settlements,” as understood by Freund.33 Recently, both James K. Hoffmeier and Freund have addressed the jingoistic nature of Egypt’s policy concerning diplomatic marriages.34 The reference to the intriguing Amarna letter (EA 4:6–7) citing the long-standing Egyptian tradition of pharaohs refus-

Egyptian sphere of influence of hallowed antiquity” (“Studies in Relations between Palestine and Egypt during the First Millenium [sic] B.C.,” JAOS 93 [1973]: 5). Perhaps the same could be said about Jerusalem, even at this later period. 31 Alan R. Schulman, “Diplomatic Marriage in the Egyptian New Kingdom,” JNES 38 (1979): 179; Mendenhall, “Monarchy,” 160–62; Bright, History of Israel, 212–14. 32 Schulman, “Diplomatic Marriages,” 179. 33 Freund, “Marriage and the Dowry,” 249. Kitchen’s warning against “pan-Egyptianism” in OT studies remains pertinent (“Egypt and Israel,” 112). Yet it seems more feasible to affirm a panEgyptianism of sorts when discussing the city-states of Canaan during the Amarna period. The argument here is that aspects of both the administrative structure and bureaucratic policies of the Canaanite city-states may have been mimicry of Egyptian models, considering the extensive influence of Egypt in the Levant during the early dynasties of New Kingdom Egypt. What may well be the case, and what Redford fails to appreciate when he suggests that David’s kingdom would have borrowed local examples of political organization and administration, is that Egyptian influence foisted upon the Canaanite city-states during the Amarna period was institutionalized and had become “local custom” by the time of David (see Donald B. Redford, “Studies in Relations between Palestine and Egypt,” 5). 34 James K. Hoffmeier, “The Wives’ Tales of Genesis 12, 20, & 26,” TynBul 43 (1992): 88–91; Freund, “Marriage and the Dowry,” 250.

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ing to give their daughters to foreign kings in political marriage (whether this be propaganda or not) may have significance for this study. Elsewhere, Robert Polzin has discussed the ideological baggage carried when one crosses a boundary with the king (as in the case with David’s exodus from Jerusalem, 2 Sam 15:13).35 This might be applied as well to any boundary established by a king (as in the case of a pharaoh refusing to send Egyptian princesses to foreign potentates). Is it possible that issues of territorial sovereignty were at stake in the sending of royal women across a boundary, whether geographical or ideological? Were these Jebusite women wards of Jerusalem and the property of the city-state? When David fled the city in the wake of Absalom’s coup and abdicated his throne, he relinquished his claim upon the concubines as well as the urban center itself. The harem women were Jebusite royal citizens, and their travels were restricted to the confines of Jerusalem, if not the palace complex. Perhaps this was a local Canaanite adaptation of the one-sided practices of diplomatic marriage demonstrated by the Egyptians during their hegemony over Canaan. According to Schulman, diplomatic marriage in New Kingdom Egypt forged bonds between rulers, but not necessarily between their respective states.36 It would appear that David’s marriages to the Jebusite concubines established both a bond between rulers (or ruling families) and between Israel and the Jebusite city-state. Evidence to this effect may be found in the presence of the two hundred “invited guests from Jerusalem” (#$y)i MyIta)mf My)irUq; Mila#$fw%rymi) at Hebron when Absalom lays claim to the throne (2 Sam 15:11); and in the fact that Absalom’s (uncontested) violation of David’s concubines legitimized the usurper and apparently gave him control of the city-state of Jerusalem (2 Sam 16:22).37

IV. Thematic Emphasis and Literary Foreshadowing in 2 Samuel Considerable attention has been given to identifying the unifying theme (or themes) of the so-called court narrative of David (2 Samuel 9–20, 1 Kings 1–2).38 David 35 Robert Polzin, “Curses and Kings: A Reading of 2 Samuel 15–16,” in The New Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible (ed. J. Cheryl Exum and David J. A. Clines; Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993), 207–13. Interestingly, Engelken speculates that David left members of his royal harem behind in the Jerusalem palace in his flight from Absalom in order to maintain or confirm his claim to kingship and to test Absalom’s ambitions (Frauen im Alten Israel, 78–79). According to the thesis of this critical note, David had no choice but to leave the ten Jebusite concubines in Jerusalem because they were the tokens of his alliance with the local Jebusite ruling families. That these women were also tokens of Hebrew kingship as royal wives of some legal standing is evidenced by Absalom’s claim to Israel’s throne as a result of sleeping with his father’s concubines (see 2 Sam 16:21–22). 36 Schulman, “Diplomatic Marriages,” 192–93. 37 Kitchen’s caution against the indiscriminate application of practices associated with diplomatic marriage in the early periods of Egyptian history to the practices in the later dynasties deserves mention (“Egypt and Israel,” 111). This may well be an indication of the local adaptation of Egyptian custom influencing diplomatic marriage as practiced among the Canaanite city-states. 38 Leonhard Rost’s understanding of the narrative as the story of Solomon’s succession to David’s throne has guided biblical scholarship for two generations (Die Überlieferung von der

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M. Gunn’s analysis of the biblical narrative is especially attractive.39 His contention that the thematic thrust of the account is the “giving and grasping of the king and the private individual” resonates with this study. In the foil of the “giving” and “grasping” of the concubines in 2 Sam 5:13; 12:11–12; 15:16; and 20:3 can be seen, as I have conjectured in another place, the interplay of individual faith in the form of personal loyalty and the structures of social control. Inevitably, the structures of social control seek to politicize and manage the loyalties of the individual, as David the king plainly understood. David the individual, however, became painfully aware of that dynamic quality of individual loyalty capable of thwarting the best-laid plans, undoing the most sophisticated organizations, leading astray all counsel, and even rendering some events totally out of human control.40 Thronnachfolge Davids [BWANT 3/6; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926] = Das kleine Credo und andere Studien zum Alten Testament [Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1965] = The Succession to the Throne of David [trans. Michael D. Rutter and David M. Gunn; Sheffield: Almond, 1982]). Other voices have identified alternative themes of a political nature. For instance, James W. Flanagan contrasts the legitimation of David in the earlier portions of the narrative with the succession of Solomon in the later materials (“Court History or Succession Document? A Study of 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2,” JBL 91 [1972]: 172–81). Joseph Blenkinsopp has emphasized the moral elements of the story, offering the theme of “sin externalized in a sexual form which leads to death” (“Theme and Motif in the Succession History [2 Sam. xi 2ff] and the Yahwist Corpus,” in Volume du Congrès: Genève 1965 [VTSup 15; Leiden: Brill, 1965], 47). Brevard S. Childs (Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979], 276) has adopted Rolf August Carlson’s (David the Chosen King: A Tradition-Historical Approach to the Second Book of Samuel [trans. Eric J. Sharpe and Stanley Rudman; Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1964]) organizing principle of “David under the blessing” for 2 Samuel 2–7 and “David under the curse” for 2 Samuel 9–24. R. N. Whybray has postulated that the Egyptian influence on the early Israelite monarchy extends even to the genre of historiography, equating the court history of David with the “political novel” of Egypt, heavily dependent on wisdom themes (“The Political Novel in Egypt and Israel,” in The Succession Narrative: A Study of II Sam. 9–20 and 1 Kings 1 and 2 [SBT 2/9; London: SCM, 1968]; see also Leo G. Perdue, “The Testament of David and Egyptian Royal Instructions,” in More Essays on the Comparative Method [ed. William W. Hallo, James C. Moyer, and Leo G. Perdue; Scripture in Context 2; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1983], 79–96). Finally, Timo Veijola calls attention to how the OT witnesses of history, prophecy, and law inform three Deuteronomistic redactional strands of the court narrative, presenting respectively the idealized David (DtrG), the flawed David (DtrP), and the promise of hope for a Davidic dynasty rooted in obedience to the law (DtrN) (Die ewige Dynastie: David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung [Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemian toimituksai B 193; Helsinki: Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemia, 1975]). See further Harold O. Forshey, “Court Narrative (2 Samuel 9–1 Kings 2),” ABD 1:1172–79. 39 David M. Gunn, The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation (JSOTSup 6; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1978). 40 See Andrew E. Hill and Gary A. Herion, “Functional Yahwism and Social Control in the Early Israelite Monarchy,” JETS 29 (1986): 277–84; on the unpredictability and incalculability of the actions of personal agents in the historical sphere, see further William J. Abraham, Divine Revelation and the Limits of Historical Criticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), 106–8. A complete discussion of the features of narrative structure in the court history of David lies outside the scope of this study. The repetition of the verb xql in connection with David’s “wives” and/or “concubines” in 2 Sam 5:13; 11:4; 12:4; and 20:3, however, is most striking in the light of Gunn’s understanding of the king’s “giving” and “grasping” in the biblical account. This is especially the

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Finally, the literary feature of foreshadowing, which is prominent in the court narrative, and the sociopolitical perspectives promoted in this analysis of David’s taking and leaving concubines in Jerusalem lessen the need to assign the second threat of Nathan’s prophecy against the house of David to a redactor.41 Quite apart from the question of whether or not the prophet Nathan was a Jebusite, as Mendenhall contends,42 one could simply argue that he was an astute political observer and that he possessed keen insight into human nature. Nathan’s prediction of “another” taking David’s wives and sleeping with them in broad daylight can be explained in part by his knowledge of royal protocol in the Jebusite city-state of Jerusalem, and the (borrowed Egyptian?) policy prohibiting Jebusite members of the royal harem from leaving the environs of the city.43 Couple this with the fact that Nathan may have detected weaknesses in David’s position as king long before Absalom won over the hearts of the people (2 Sam 15:13), such a “prophetic” pronouncement hardly seems astonishing. The aforementioned conjecture seems plausible, since the behavior of Joab indicates that he too was well aware of the tenuity of David’s dynasty, as kingship in Israel shifted from the Saulides to the Davidides (cf. 2 Sam 18:10–15). The speculative and tentative nature of the conclusions drawn from any sociopolitical reconstruction of Israelite history is conceded. All the more so in this case, since the delicate fabric of this argument is woven from but a handful of loose threads dangling from the biblical text. This “reweaving” of the biblical narrative does, nevertheless, make more sense of the reports of David’s taking and leaving concubines in Jerusalem than those currently offered in the literature. In fact, this paper lends support to the thesis of Jon D. Levenson and Baruch Halpern that David’s political genius lay in his ability to play the periphery off against the center, especially through his “marriage diplomacy.”44 Tragically, David was never able to control fully the centrifugal and centripetal forces unleashed by his

case when juxtaposed with Nathan’s statement in 2 Sam 12:11 announcing that “I [i.e., the Lord] will take [xql] your wives” and the fateful report of 2 Sam 15:16, “and the king abandoned [bz)] ten wives—the concubine type.” 41 E.g., Ackroyd, Second Book of Samuel, 111; Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie, 113, 139–40; Anderson, 2 Samuel, 165. 42 Mendenhall, “Monarchy,” 164; see also Gösta W. Ahlström, “Der Prophet Nathan und der Tempelbau,” VT 11 (1961): 113–27. 43 It is possible that David acted in conformity with some sort of Jebusite adaptation of an Egyptian custom empowering the queen or queen mother as regent for a youthful king or an absent pharaoh engaged in a military campaign (e.g., Ahhotep II, according to the speculation of Gay Robins, Women in Ancient Egypt [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993], 42–43). This, however, does not appear to have been Israelite practice (cf. 2 Sam 11:1; 21:17; see further Susan Ackerman, “The Queen Mother and the Cult in Ancient Israel,” in Women in the Hebrew Bible: A Reader [ed. Alice Bach; New York: Routledge, 1999], 179–94). Nathan’s manipulation of Bathsheba during Adonijah’s coup also may suggest a diminished role for royal women in the developing Israelite united monarchy (see 1 Kgs 1:11–27; see further Tomoo Ishida, “Solomon’s Succession to the Throne of David,” Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays [ed. Tomoo Ishida; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1982], 178–79). 44 Levenson and Halpern, “Political Import,” 518.

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“grasping” and “giving,” as the “scandal sheet” reporting the humiliation of Tamar, Bathsheba, and the ten concubines, and the “obituary column” recording the names Abner, Uriah, and Absalom, among others, so soberly attest. Naturally, it is hoped that this essay will prompt further discussion of the sociopolitical factors associated with the accounts of King David’s taking and leaving concubines in Jerusalem. If the next wave of biblical commentaries on the book(s) of Samuel treats the episode of the ten concubine-wives with more than a glib remark to the effect that the event marks but “a momentary lapse of political savvy” on the part of David, then perhaps the effort will have succeeded.

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The Centurion in Matthew 8:5–13: Consideration of the Proposal of Theodore W. Jennings, Jr., and Tat-Siong Benny Liew

In an article entitled “Mistaken Identities but Model Faith: Rereading the Centurion, the Chap, and the Christ in Matthew 8:5–13,” in JBL 123 (2004): 467–94, Theodore W. Jennings, Jr., and Tat-Siong Benny Liew maintained that pai'" in the Matthean pericope is the centurion’s “boy-love” (p. 478) and that his reluctance to have Jesus come into his house was due to his regarding Jesus as his patron who might “usurp” his place in the boy’s affections (p. 484). Neither of these interpretations, however, appears to be supported by the Roman evidence adduced by the authors. To take the second point first, Jennings and Liew refer to the relationship between the poet Tibullus, his girlfriend Delia, and the general Messalla to illustrate “the patronage system of the Greco-Roman world” (p. 483). They cite Tib. 1.1.53–58, where Messalla is a victorious conqueror by land and sea while Tibullus stays at home, enslaved to his Delia; and 1.5.31–34, where Delia has been unfaithful to Tibullus and where he fantasizes that he is having a dream in which he has become a simple farmer and Delia his faithful wife and helpmate. When Messalla visits the farm, she prepares a good meal for him. At no point is there any suggestion that Messalla might replace Tibullus in Delia’s affections: the purpose of the poem was to honor Messalla. The simple feast in the countryside is not the typical dinner party in the city of Rome, in which the patron–client relationship often played a role. Tibullus belonged to the upper levels of Roman society; Messalla was one of the most distinguished statesmen of the day; and Delia was a highly sophisticated courtesan. The interchanges between them (the second was outside “reality,” and the first just a version of the common Latin metaphor of the poet as soldier) hardly throw any light on the relationship between a fairly junior officer in a small provincial town, his boy, and a Jewish healer. Patron–client relationships were a peculiarity of late Republican politics that later took on a more social dimension between the wealthy nobility and their hangers-on among the plebs. In these precise forms they did not filter down into the provinces or client kingdoms such as Galilee. As the authors point out, the word pai'", used to refer to the sick person about whom the centurion was concerned, can have several senses. (For the sort of personnel available to a centurion, the action of Cornelius, who was a Roman, in Acts 10:7 may be compared. He sent two servants [oijketaiv] and a soldier [stratiwvth"] to approach Peter on his behalf.) In the parallel passage in Luke 7:2 the patient is a dou'lo", or slave, but an “honored” (e[ntimo") one, possibly even a steward or slave-administrator, an important member of the household. It is not certain if John 4:46–54 refers to the same incident, but the patient is a uiJov", or son, and the person concerned is not a military man but a royal official (basilikov"). There may be a hint of status upgrading in these two

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accounts, which makes a suggestion in G. Zuntz’s interpretation interesting.1 He prefers a variant reading in Matt 8:5, cilivarco", which would make the petitioner the commander of a thousand and not merely of a hundred. For chiliarchs being accorded honor in Galilee, see Mark 6:21. A relationship in the Roman army that might correspond to that of the petitioner and the patient in Matthew is that between soldiers and calones or lixae. These were sutlers and soldiers’ servants, who were, interestingly, given paramilitary duties in times of crisis.2 But neither this Roman institution nor the parallel passages elsewhere in the Gospels are strictly germane to the authors’ proposal. It remains unclear whether the patient was a soldier or a servant (or a son). But, as the authors point out, the Greek word pai'" can mean the junior partner in a homosexual relationship—hence their suggestion that pai'" here means a “boy-love” in a “pederastic relationship” (p. 468). To bolster this interpretation they point to factors in the Roman army that promoted homosexuality. They quote the Roman ban on soldiers marrying, but the ban operated mainly as a status determinant and in the area of inheritance law. Soldiers might, and did, form customary unions and raise families while on service; however, from a legal point of view, the relationship was not a proper marriage (iustum matrimonium), nor the partner a “wife,” and the children were illegitimate.3 This applied to Roman citizens serving in the legions. The soldiers serving in Judea at this time were not legionaries but auxiliaries.4 Auxiliary unions were officially acknowledged: after twenty-five years of service, an auxiliary was granted Roman citizenship not only for himself but for his children as well and, in addition, conubium, or a legally valid relationship, with his partner.5 The implication of the citation of the ban on marriage seems to be that homosexuality was more prevalent in Roman than in other armies, but at least ancient Greek armies seem to have been more given to it than the Romans. The authors also suggest that centurions were particularly prone to homosexual relationships, but the instances they quote are of centurions (and other officers) raping adolescent boys (and girls) in actual warfare or forcing themselves on unwilling young recruits. In fact, the only case they quote of a possible long-term relationship between a centurion and his amor, or love, is in a satirical poem by Martial (Epigr. 1.31), where, however, there is no evidence of the centurion’s concern for the youth, as in Matthew. The point lies in the surprise use of a religious dedication to refer to the evanescence of adolescent beauty. But it is the basic irrelevance of the proffered analogies to the passage in Matthew that is the least convincing aspect of the article. The centurion is portrayed as a Roman. 1 G. Zuntz, “The ‘Centurion’ of Capernaum and His Authority (Matt. 8, 5–13),” JTS 46 (1945): 183–89 = G. Zuntz, Opuscula Selecta: Classica hellenistica christiana (Manchester: University Press; Totowa, NJ: Rowman & Littlefield, 1972), 181–87. 2 See R. Feig Vishnia, “The Shadow Army—the Lixae and the Roman Legions,” ZPE 139 (2002): 265–72. 3 See S. E. Phang (whom the authors quote), The Marriage of Roman Soldiers (13 B.C.–A.D. 235: Law and Family in the Imperial Army (Leiden: Brill, 2001), esp. 197ff. 4 See D. B. Saddington, “Roman Military and Administrative Personnel in the New Testament,” ANRW II.26.3 (1996): 2409–35, here 2413. 5 See Phang, Marriage of Roman Soldiers, 3, 53ff.

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He is called a “Roman centurion.”6 He shares “Roman attitudes” (p. 491). “We have been talking about the centurion and the Roman military in this paper” (p. 493 n. 65). As noted above, however, the soldiers stationed in Judea in the first century c.e. were non-Roman auxiliaries, not legionaries. Moreover, the incident took place not in Judea but in Galilee, which at the time was a nominally independent kingdom of the Herodian Antipas. Client kings of the time certainly modeled their armies on that of Rome. For example, in that of Nabataean Arabia (against whom Antipas fought after the death of John the Baptist) chiliarchs and centurions appear.7 Antipas himself used this terminology.8 All that can be definitely said is that the centurion in Matthew was a Gentile: his actual ethnicity cannot be determined.9 He may have had a homosexual relationship with his pai'"—who can tell? But that he might have is not supported by suggestion that his behavior was similar to that of upper-class society in Rome itself or to that of officers in crack regiments stationed at key points on the frontiers of the empire. One needs rather to know how captains in the armies of the petty kings of the East thought and behaved. D. B. Saddington [email protected] University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, South Africa 6 Except for one case in an important frontier army, the centurions assigned sensitive political tasks to whom the authors refer (p. 484 n. 47) come from the elite Praetorian Guard in Rome itself. 7 See D. F. Graf, “The Nabataean Army and the Cohortes Ulpiae Petraeorum,” in The Roman and Byzantine Army in the East (Kraków Colloquium, 1992) (ed. E. Dąbrowa; Kraków: Drukarnia Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 1994), 265–305, here 279, 289. 8 For Antipas’s army, see Saddington, “Roman Military,” 2412–13. 9 For the many different peoples who might be passing through Judea at the time, see the list of those in the audience during Peter’s sermon at Pentecost (Acts 2:9–11).

A Note on 2 Peter 1:19–20

19 kai; e[comen bebaiovteron to;n profhtiko;n lovgon, w|/ kalw'" poiei'te prosevconte" wJ" luvcnw/ faivnonti ejn aujcmhrw'/ tovpw/, e{w" ou| hJmevra diaugavsh/ kai; fwsfovro" ajnateivlh/ ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n 20 tou'to prw'ton ginwvskonte" o{ti pa'sa profhteiva grafh'" ijdiva" ejpiluvsew" ouj givnetai: Virtually all recent commentators interpret the prepositional phrase at the end of 2 Pet 1:19 (ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n) as modifying the immediately preceding verb (ajnateivlh/).1 A few commentators consider, and reject, two other possible construals. First, Julius Boehmer, D. Edmond Hiebert, J. N. D. Kelly, and G. Wohlenberg say that the prepositional phrase does not modify the participle prosevconte" found earlier in 1:19; the last three correctly argue that the prepositional phrase is too distant from this participle.2 Second, E. M. Sidebottom observes, “Commentators have sometimes sought 1 Richard J. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC 50; Waco: Word, 1983), 226; Charles Bigg, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter and St. Jude (ICC; New York: Scribner, 1901), 269; Julius Boehmer, “Tag und Morgenstern? Zu II Petr 1:19,” ZNW 22 (1923): 231; Daniel J. Harrington, “Jude and 2 Peter,” in Donald P. Senior and Daniel J. Harrington, 1 Peter, Jude, and 2 Peter (SP 15; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 257; D. Edmond Hiebert, “The Prophetic Foundation of Christian Life,” BSac 141 (1984): 162–63; J. N. D. Kelly, The Epistles of Peter and of Jude (HNTC; New York/Evanston: Harper & Row, 1969), 322–23; Joseph B. Mayor, The Epistle of St. Jude and the Second Epistle of St. Peter (London: Macmillan, 1907), 109–11; Robert H. Mounce, A Living Hope: A Commentary on 1 and 2 Peter (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 120; Jerome H. Neyrey, 2 Peter, Jude: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 37C; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 178; Henning Paulsen, Der Zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief (MeyerK; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1992), 121–22; Pheme Perkins, First and Second Peter, James and Jude (Louisville: John Knox, 1995), 177; Bo Reicke, The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 37; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 158; Karl H. Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, Der Judasbrief (HTKNT 13/2; Freiburg: Herder, 1961), 200; Donald Senior, 1 and 2 Peter (NTM 20; Wilmington, DE: Glazier, 1980), 115–16; E. M. Sidebottom, James, Jude, and 2 Peter (NCB; London/Edinburgh: Nelson, 1967), 111; Ceslas Spicq, Les Épitres de Saint Pierre (SB; Paris: Gabalda, 1966), 224; Anton Vögtle, Der Judasbrief/Der 2. Petrusbrief (EKKNT 22; Solothurn/ Düsseldorf: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1994), 170–71; Hans Windisch, Die Katholische Briefe (HNT 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1951), 90; G. Wohlenberg, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief und der Judasbrief (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1915), 202–5. The earliest patristic commentators also interpret the prepositional phrase at the end of v. 19 as modifying the preceding verb. See, for example, the Latin commentary attributed to Hilary of Arles (401–449; PL Supp 3:110); the Latin commentary of Bede (673–735; PL 93:73); and the Greek commentary of Oecumenius (ca. 990; PG 119:589). 2 Friedrich Spitta also makes this point, but concludes that the words intervening between prosevconte" and ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n are a gloss that has become part of the text; originally ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n did modify prosevconte" (Der zweite Brief des Petrus und der Brief des Judas [Halle: Waisenhaus, 1885], 112).

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to alter the implications of ‘in your hearts’ in this context by taking it as the beginning of the next verse.”3 J. Chr. K. V. Hofmann is one of these; Karl Matthias Schmidt is another.4 Boehmer mentions and rejects this possibility; Kelly discusses and rejects it because “the balance of the sentence” and “the stereotype expression” that begins 1:20 are against this.5 However, Kelly does not explain why he thinks “the balance of the sentence” and “the stereotype expression” make this construal unlikely.6 Wohlenberg rejects both construals for three reasons.7 First, prosevconte" and ginwvskonte" can only refer to something that happens in one’s heart; it would be necessary to make this explicit only for some special reason, but none is given. Second, the placement of the prepositional phrase is not consistent with its modifying either participle. Third, the parallel between wJ" luvcnw/ faivnonti ejn aujcmhrw'/ tovpw/ and e{w" ou| hJmevra diaugavsh/ kai; fwsfovro" ajnateivlh/ ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n implies that ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n modifies ajnateivlh/. The first of these points overlooks the possibility that specifying ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n might be an instance of the figure of speech pleonasm, that is, language fuller than absolutely required.8 I will address the second point, the placement of the prepositional phrase, below. With respect to the third point, we can observe that the parallel between wJ" luvcnw/ faivnonti ejn aujcmhrw'/ tovpw/ and e{w" 3 Sidebottom, James, Jude,

and 2 Peter, 111. Sidebottom does not name any of these commen-

tators. 4 J. Chr. K. v. Hofmann, Die heilige Schrift neuen Testaments 7.2: Der zweite Brief Petri und der Brief Judä (Nördlingen: Beck’schen, 1875), 41–42; Karl Matthias Schmidt, Mahnung und Erinnerung im Maskenspiel: Epistolographie, Rhetorik, und Narrative der Pseudepigraphen Petrusbriefe (Freiburg: Herder, 2003), 300–301, 359–61. 5 Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, 322. Spitta also mentions the first of these objections (Der zweite Brief des Petrus, 111–12). 6 Schmidt says that the stereotyped expression found in 2 Pet 1:20 and 3:3 is reminiscent of a “Kundgabeformel” that he finds in Ezra 4:12, 13; 5:8; and 2 Apoc. Bar. 79.1; 82.2; 85.1 (Mahnung und Erinnerung, 300). None of these passages contains a formula identical to the one found in 2 Peter, and in any case Schmidt sees no obstacle to its being modified by ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n. 7 Wohlenberg, Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief, 202–3. Spitta also mentions the first of Wohlenberg’s reasons, but only as an argument against the second construal (Der zweite Brief des Petrus, 112). 8 According to Hofmann the phrase indicates that what is known (ginwvskonte") is not the object of rational or experiential perception or knowledge; he calls attention to 2 Cor 4:6 as a parallel. Schmidt observes that Deut 8:5 and Josh 23:14 speak of knowing (ginwvskein) in one’s heart using a simple dative rather than a prepositional phrase, and that 1 Kgs 2:44 speaks of the heart knowing. The prepositional phrase is used with the verb “say” (= “think”) in Rev 18:7 and Deut 18:21. Schmidt considers the latter passage a particularly close parallel to 2 Pet 1:19–20 (Mahnung und Erinnerung, 300). There are several biblical passages that speak of knowing in one’s heart, using the prepositional phrase with other words whose meaning approximates “know.” We find dianoevomai (“thinking”) in one’s heart in Gen 6:5; Jer 7:31; 19:5; noevw in Isa 47:7; logivzomai in Zech 8:17; dialogivzomai in Mark 2:6, 8//Luke 5:22; Luke 3:15; dialogismov" in Luke 24:38; and ejnqumevomai in Matt 9:4. Cf. Qoh 8:16, which speaks of giving one’s heart to know wisdom. The prepositional phrase is used with verbs meaning “say” in many biblical passages in addition to those mentioned by Schmidt; see Deut 8:17; 9:4; 1 Sam 1:13; 27:1; 1 Kgs 12:26; Ps 4:5; 73:8 LXX; Isa 47:8; 49:21; Jer 5:24; 13:22; Zeph 1:12; Zech 12:5; Jdt 13:4; Tob 4:2; Pss. Sol. 8:3; Matt 24:48//Luke 12:45; and Rom 10:6.

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ou| hJmevra diaugavsh/ kai; fwsfovro" ajnateivlh/ ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n is not as close as Wohlenberg suggests. In the former case a prepositional phrase modifies a participle; in the latter it would modify one or two verbs. In what follows I will argue that the second construal of 1:19–20 is correct, that the prepositional phrase at the end of 1:19 should be understood as modifying the participle at the beginning of 1:20 (ginwvskonte"). The main argument for interpreting ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying ginwvskonte" in 1:20 is that it makes better sense of 1:19–20 than does the more common construal. As we will see, the common interpretation implies that in v. 19 the author of 2 Peter refers to Jesus’ parousiva as an inner, psychological event; that is, the author says that Jesus rises “in your hearts.” While not impossible, this is not as consonant with the rest of 2 Peter as the interpretation for which I argue; at no other place in 2 Peter does the author refer to the parousiva as an inner event.9 2 Peter 1:19 begins the author’s appeal to the prophetic word, a second argument (after the appeal to the transfiguration in 1:16–18) that the author has not followed cleverly devised myths in making the parousiva of Jesus known to the addressees. By the prophetic word the author means mainly the prophecies found in the Jewish Bible,10 but also those contained in Christian writings.11 The author implies that the prophetic word foretold Jesus’ parousiva and that expectation of it is thus well founded. Having referred to the prophetic word, the author urges the addressees to attend to it, supporting this invitation by comparing the prophetic word to a lamp shining in a dark place. The latter is the present world,12 which is dark because day has not yet dawned. The clause of 1:19 that immediately precedes the prepositional phrase we are investigating states that the addressees should attend to the prophetic word/lamp shining in a dark place e{w" ou| hJmevra diaugavsh/ kai; fwsfovro" ajnateivlh/v. Two metaphors—dawn of day and rising of the light-bearer—indicate the end of the period during which the addressees need to attend to the prophetic word. The meaning of “day” is relatively unambiguous; it is probably the first instance of an image for the end of the world that is later used frequently in 2 Peter: the day of judgment (2:9; 3:7), the day of the Lord (3:10), the day of God (3:12), the day of eternity (3:18).13 The meaning of “light-bearer” is more ambiguous. Fwsfovro" is not a common word, and it is often used as an adjective. As a substantive, it most often indicates the planet Venus, that is, the morning star, whose appearance precedes the dawn and heralds it.14 Therefore, 9 Hofmann

and Spitta (Der zweite Brief des Petrus, 111) also see this problem with the common interpretation. Ernst Käsemann avoids this problem by understanding v. 19 as a reference to the inner illumination given by prophecy (“An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology,” in Essays on New Testament Themes [trans. W. J. Montague; SBT 41; Naperville: Allenson, 1964], 189). As we will see below, it is more likely that the verse refers to Jesus’ parousiva. 10 Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, 321. 11 Contra Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 224. 12 Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, 321; cf. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 225. 13 On the use of this image in the OT and the NT, see Gerhard Delling, “hJmevra,” TDNT 2:943– 53. Wohlenberg argues that hJmevra alone without the article or any other specification cannot mean the day of judgment (Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief, 203). 14 It is used with this meaning in Cicero, De Nat. Deorum 2.20; Philo, Heres 224; Plutarch, Mor. 430a; 601a; 925a; 927c; 1028bd; 1029ab. On the meaning of the word, see Ceslas Spicq, Theo-

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this is usually taken to be its meaning in 2 Pet 1:19; it is often suggested that it alludes to Num 24:17. One problem is that according to this interpretation, dawn and the rising of the morning star are not mentioned in chronological order, since the appearance of the morning star precedes the dawn. A possible explanation of this is that the two are reversed so that the more vivid expression is mentioned after the less vivid in order to increase its impact, something recommended by Demetrius (On Style 50–52) as adding grandeur to style.15 The best interpretation of fwsfovro" in 2 Pet 1:19, however, may be to take it as referring to the sun.16 On this interpretation the rising of the light-bearer is the appearance of the sun over the horizon shortly after dawn. Hans Windisch and Karl H. Schelkle recognize the attractiveness of this interpretation but do not embrace it because the only other attested use of fwsfovro" as a substantive is to designate the planet Venus.17 Although this is the most common meaning of fwsfovro" as a substantive, fwsfovro" is hardly a technical term for the planet Venus. The word is used to designate the planet Venus mainly in the context of naming several stars or planets,18 which is obviously not the context in 2 Pet 1:19. The word is also used as a substantive to mean one or more goddesses, probably Artemis and Hecate.19 I have found no other example in which fwsfovro" is used as a substantive to mean the sun. As an adjective, however, fwsfovro" most often describes the stars, including the sun, moon, and planets.20 Likewise, the cognate verb fwsforevw is most often used to speak of the stars as bearing light.21 The sun is the preeminent light-bearer among the logical Lexicon of the New Testament (trans. and ed. J. D. Ernest; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994), 3:492–93. 15 Another instance of mentioning the less vivid before the more vivid is found in 2 Pet 1:9. 16 See Franz J. Dölger, Antike und Christentum 5 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1936), 10–11. Testament of Levi 18:3–4 portrays the future in terms similar to those used in 2 Pet 1:19. The passage from Testament of Levi speaks of a star that will rise (ajnatelei'), rather clearly referring to Num 24:17. This star is compared to the sun. The star will light up the light of knowledge as the sun the day; it will shine forth like the sun on the earth and remove all darkness. 17 Windisch, Die Katholische Briefe, 90; Schelkle, Die Petrusbriefe, 200 n. 4. Wohlenberg also rejects this interpretation (Der erste und zweite Petrusbrief, 204). 18 This is the context in the passages listed in n. 7 above. For example, in Heres 224 Philo says that above the sun are Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars, and below it are Mercury, fwsfovro" (= Venus), and the moon. 19 It is used with this meaning in Strabo 3.1.9; Plutarch, Mor. 1119e; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.24.163. For example, the last of these passages refers to Munychia as the location of an altar of fwsfovro". 20 This is the case in Philo, Opif. 29, 53; Fug. 184; Somn. 1.214; Mos. 1.120; 2.102; cf. Ebr. 44; Plutarch, Mor. 921e; 942d. Mosis 1.120 and 2.102 make it clear that the stars include the sun, the moon, and the planets. For example, the latter passage speaks of the candlestick in the south of the sanctuary as an image of the light-bearing stars (fwsfovrwn ajstevrwn) and explains this by saying that the sun, the moon, and the others run their courses in the south. Fwsfovro" is also used as an adjective to designate the eyes as light-bearing (Plato, Tim. 45b; Philo, Plant. 169; Plutarch, Mor. 98b [quoting Plato]; 928b) and Hecate as light-bearing (Plutarch, Mor. 379d [quoting Euripides]). 21 This is the case in Philo, Opif. 55, 168; Heres 222, 263; Mos. 2.103; Dec. 49.

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stars.22 Thus, the use of fwsfovro" as a substantive to designate the sun would not be at all surprising. Whether fwsfovro" refers to the planet Venus or to the sun, it is probably an image for Christ.23 The relationship between these two images—dawn of day and rising of the lightbearer—is not entirely clear. Kelly argues that the dawn of day refers to the end of time in general, while the rising of the morning star refers specifically to Jesus.24 I think it more likely that the two metaphors constitute hendiadys, a figure of speech in which two terms are used but only one thing or idea is intended, that is, the second coming of Jesus at the end of time. The main indication that this should be understood as hendiadys is the line of argument in 3:4–12. In 3:4 the author of 2 Peter quotes the question raised by his opponents—Where is the promise of his [Jesus’] parousiva? The author then responds to this question (in part) by saying that the day of the Lord comes like a thief (v. 10) and urging the addressees to await the parousiva of the day of God. This suggests that the author equates the parousiva of Jesus and the day that is the beginning of the end of time. Some commentators understand this verse as referring to the parousiva both as a physical occurrence and as a psychological event.25 Although they do not explicitly say so, they seem to think that the dawn of day is the former and the rising of the light-bearer the latter. Other commentators see this verse as referring simply to Jesus’ parousiva as a psychological event, though it is still also understood as a physical occurrence.26 Windisch, Ceslas Spicq, and Kelly support their understanding of ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying ajnateivlh/ by referring to passages in which Philo uses language like that found in 2 Pet 1:19 to express the idea of inner enlightenment. Thus in Ebrietate 44 Philo compares knowledge of God to the sun when it rises (ajnateivla") and describes it as the intelligible rays of the light-bearing (fwsfovrou) God that flash on the eye of the soul. Likewise in Confusione 60 Philo speaks of virtue as rising (ajnatolhv) in the soul like the sun. In Decalogo 49 Philo compares the laws to stars in the soul bringing light (fwsforou'nta"). Such passages clearly show that the language of 2 Pet 1:19 could be used to describe inner enlightenment. They provide no parallel, however, to the use of this language to speak about the spiritual dimension of a physical event such as is supposed to underlie 2 Pet 1:19. Nor, of course, do they provide a parallel to the use of this language to speak of Jesus’ parousiva as an inner event. Thus, these parallels do not diminish the problematic aspect of this interpretation. Such an interpretation of the verse is not as consonant with the general outlook of 22 Three times the sun is the only star Philo mentions by name when he refers to the stars as light-bearing (Opif. 29; Mos. 1.120; Heres 263); twice more only the sun and the moon are mentioned by name (Mos. 2.102; Opif. 168); once Philo says that the sun is in the center of the planets that give light (Heres 222); and once he says that the sun gives light to the other planets (Mos. 2.103). 23 Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, 322; Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 226. 24 Kelly, Epistles of Peter and of Jude, 321–22. 25 This seems to be the view of Kelly, Hiebert, Mounce, Reicke, Sidebottom, and Windisch. 26 This seems to be the view of Bauckham, Bigg, Schelkle, Spicq, Paulsen, Perkins, Vögtle, and Wohlenberg. Tord Fornberg also takes this view (An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter [ConBNT; Lund: Gleerup, 1977], 85). Spicq suggests that the dawn of day may refer to Jesus’ first coming (Épitres, 224).

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2 Peter as understanding ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying the following participle. It is clear from the account of Jesus’ transfiguration in 1:16–18, and even more from the account of the end-time in 3:10–13, that the author of 2 Peter sees the parousiva of Jesus and the end of the world as a public, physical event, observable by all. If ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n is taken as modifying the following participle, the parousiva is simply a physical event, as elsewhere in 2 Peter, and ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n specifies the locus of the knowing that 1:20 speaks about. Understanding ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying the following participle is not only more consonant with the rest of 2 Peter, it is also more consonant with the understanding of Jesus’ parousiva elsewhere in the NT. Nowhere else in the NT is the future parousiva of Jesus something that occurs in the hearts of believers.27 It is not at all impossible, of course, that the author of 2 Peter might develop an original understanding of Jesus’ parousiva, but in that case we would expect some explanation of the idea, not a rather casual reference to it in a metaphor. There is no obstacle to understanding ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying the following participle. One thing generally overlooked by commentators (and translators) is that the sentence begun in 1:19 is not completed at the end of the verse but continues into 1:20. Thus, whether ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n is seen as modifying ajnateivlh/ or ginwvskonte", the sentence continues after the prepositional phrase. This makes it possible for the phrase to modify the following participle rather than the preceding verb. Sixty-eight times in the course of 2 Peter a prepositional phrase modifies a verb. Thirty-three times the prepositional phrase precedes the verb,28 including twelve relative clauses introduced by a prepositional phrase;29 thirty-five times the prepositional phrase follows the verb.30 Other things being equal, it is almost as likely that a prepositional phrase will precede the verb it modifies, as that the phrase will follow the verb. 27 On this see Albrecht Oepke, “parousiva ktl.,” TDNT 5:858–71. Such an understanding did develop at a later time. Oepke mentions the later view that the four Sundays of the liturgical season Advent celebrated the coming of Jesus “in carnem, in mentem, in morte, in maiestate” (p. 871). 28 2 Peter 1:4 dia; touvtwn before gevnhsqe; 1:18 ejx oujranou' before ejnecqei'san and su;n aujtw'/ before o[nte"; 1:21 uJpo; pneuvmato" aJgivou before ferovmenoi; 2:1 ejn uJmi'n before e[sontai; 2:3 ejn pleonexiva/ before ejmporeuvsontai; 2:4 eij" krivsin before throumevnou"; 2:9 ejk peirasmou' before rJuvesqai and eij" hJmevran krivsew" before kolazomevnou"; 2:10 ojpivsw sarko;" and ejn ejpiqumiva/ miasmou' before poreuomevnou"; 2:12 ejn th'/ fqora'/ aujtw'n before fqarhvsontai; 2:13 ejn tai'" ajpavtai" aujtw'n before suneuwcouvmenoi; 2:16 ejn ajnqrwvpou fwnh'/ before fqegxavmenon; 2:17 uJpo; laivlapo" before ejlaunovmenai; 2:18 ejn plavnh/ before ajnastrefomevnou"; 3:3 kata; ta;" ijdiva" ejpiqumiva" aujtw'n before poreuovmenoi; 3:5 ejx u{dato" and di! u{dato" before sunestw'sa; 3:9 eij" metavnoian before cwrh'sai; 3:13 kata; to; ejpavggelma aujtou' before prosdokw'men; 3:15 kata; th;n doqei'san aujtw'/ sofivan before e[grayen; 3:16 ejn pavsai" ejpistolai'" before lalw'n. 29 2 Peter 1:4 di! w|n before dedwvrhtai; 1:13 ejf! o{son before eijmi; 1:17 eij" o}n before eujdovkhsa; 2:2 di! ou}" before blasfhmhqhvsetai; 2:12 ejn oi|" before ajgnoou'sin; 3:1 ejn ai|" before diegeivrw; 3:4 ajf! hJ" before ejkoimhvqhsan; 3:6 di! w|n before ajpwvleto; 3:10 ejn h|/ before pareleuvsontai; 3:12 di! h}n before luqhvsontai; 3:13 ejn oi|" before katoikei'; 3:16 ejn ai|" before ejstin. 30 2 Peter 1:1 ejn dikaiosuvnh/ tou' qeou' hJmw'n etc. after lacou'sin; 1:2 ejn ejpignwvsei after plhqunqeivh; 1:3 dia; th'" ejpignwvsew" after dedwrhmevnh"; 1:5–7 ejn th'/ pivstei etc. after ejpicorhghvsate; 1:8 eij" th;n tou' kurivou hJmw'n !Ihsou' Cristou' ejpivgnwsin after kaqivsthsin; 1:12 peri; touvtwn after uJpomimnhv/skein and ejn th'/ parouvsh/ ajlhqeiva/ after ejsthrigmevnou"; 1:13 ejn touvtw/ tw'/

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This is also true in cases where prepositional phrases specifically modify participles. This occurs twenty-eight times in 2 Peter. Thirteen times the prepositional phrase precedes the participle;31 fifteen times the prepositional phrase follows the participle.32 There is good reason why ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n would precede rather than follow ginwvskonte" in 2 Pet 1:19-20. The participle introduces a noun clause that specifies what the addressees are to know. So that this clause can follow immediately after ginwvskonte", ginwvskonte" is preceded not only by the prepositional phrase but also by a direct object and an adverb. In 3:3 the phrase tou'to prw'ton ginwvskonte" is also used to introduce a noun clause, in this case without being modified by a prepositional phrase. A turn of phrase somewhat parallel to my construal of 1:19–20 is found in 2:3, which begins kai; ejn pleonexiva/ plastoi'" lovgoi" uJma'" ejmporeuvsontai. Here a prepositional phrase, an instrumental dative phrase, and a direct object all precede the verb of the clause. The word kardiva is only used twice in 2 Peter, in 1:19 and 2:14. This makes it hard to determine the precise meaning of the word for 2 Peter. In 2:14 the author of 2 Peter refers to the false teachers as having a kardivan gegumnasmevnhn pleonexiva". This seems to imply that kardiva here has the meaning it characteristically has elsewhere in biblical literature; that is, it means the center of the inner life of a human being and thus the seat of all the forces and functions of soul and spirit.33 In 2:14 kardiva is specifically the seat of greed. On my construal, kardiva is used in a similar sense in 1:19, to mean the seat of the knowledge that all prophecy of Scripture is not of its own interpretation. Kardiva is used in a similar sense according to the common construal of 1:19, the seat of awareness of the parousiva of Jesus within oneself. Thus, the word kardiva is equally compatible with either interpretation.

Conclusion Considerations of grammar and vocabulary show that it is possible to interpret ejn tai'" kardivai" uJmw'n as modifying ginwvskonte", but they do not show that it is impossiskhnwvmati after eijmiv and ejn uJpomnhvsei after diegeivrein; 1:15 meta; th;n ejmh;n e[xodon after e[cein; 1:17 para; qeou' patro;" after labwvn and uJpo; th'" megaloprepou'" dovxh" after ejnecqeivsh"; 1:18 ejn tw'/ aJgivw/ o[rei after o[nte"; 1:19 ejn aujcmhrw'/ tovpw/ after faivnonti; 1:21 ajpo; qeou' after ejlavlhsan; 2:1 ejn tw'/ law'/ after !Egevnonto; 2:7 uJpo; th'" tw'n ajqevsmwn ejn ajselgeiva/ ajnastrofh'" after kataponouvmenon; 2:8 ejn aujtoi'" after ejgkatoikw'n; 2:11 kat! aujtw'n and para; kurivou after fevrousin; 2:12 eij" a{lwsin after gegennhmevna; 2:18 ejn ejpiqumivai" sarko;" ajselgeivai" after deleavzousin; 2:20 ejn ejpignwvsei etc. after ajpofugovnte"; 2:21 ejk th'" paradoqeivsh" aujtoi'" aJgiva" ejntolh'" after uJpostrevyai; 2:22 ejpi; to; i[dion ejxevrama after ejpistrevya"; 3:1 ejn uJpomnhvsei after diegeivrw; 3:2 uJpo; tw'n aJgivwn profhtw'n after proeirhmevnwn; 3:3 ejp! ejscavtwn tw'n hJmerw'n and [ejn] ejmpaigmonh'/ after ejleuvsontai; 3:4 ajp! ajrch'" after diamevnei; 3:7 eij" hJmevran after throuvmenoi; 3:9 eij" uJma'" after makroqumei'; 3:11 ejn aJgivai" ajnastrofai'" kai; eujsebeivai" after uJpavrcein; 3:14 ejn eijrhvnh/ after euJreqh'nai; 3:16 ejn aujtai'" and peri; touvtwn after lalw'n and pro;" th;n ijdivan aujtw'n ajpwvleian after streblou'sin; 3:18 ejn cavriti kai; gnwvsei etc. after aujxavnete. 31 2 Peter 1:18 (twice), 21; 2:4, 9, 10, 13, 16, 17, 18; 3:3, 5, 16. 32 2 Peter 1:1, 3, 12, 17 (twice), 18, 19; 2:7, 8, 12, 20, 22; 3:2, 7, 16. 33 See Friedrich Baumgärtel, Johannes Behm, “kardiva ktl.,” TDNT 3:605–14.

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ble to interpret it as modifying ajnateivlh/, or even that the former is more likely than the latter. If the two interpretations are equally possible on grammatical grounds, however, the former is preferable because of the meaning it gives the passage. On the latter interpretation, 1:19 speaks of the parousiva of Jesus (1) as both a physical occurrence and a psychological event, or (2) only the latter, making use of an idea not found elsewhere in 2 Peter or the rest of the NT. On the former interpretation, 1:19–20 simply speaks of the parousiva of Jesus as a physical event, as elsewhere in 2 Peter, and goes on to speak of the knowledge of prophecy one must have to continue one’s expectation of this event. Terrance Callan [email protected] The Athenaeum of Ohio, Cincinnati, OH 45230

JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE

125th Anniversary Commemorative Essays Editorial Reflections Gail R. O'Day Presidential Addresses of the Society of Biblical Literature: A Quasquicentennial Review Patrick Gray Book Reviews: 125 Years in Retrospect Christine Roy Yoder and Todd C. Penner

JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 153–65

Editorial Reflections gail r. o’day [email protected] Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322

The general editor of the Journal of Biblical Literature is appropriately an invisible presence to the readers of the Journal. The Journal would not exist without the work of the editor, but that work is always behind the scenes. Most readers are not aware when a change is made in the editorial leadership, as can be evidenced by the mail, including submissions. In my time as editor, I have received mail addressed to previous editors, beginning with Professor Fitzmyer, and each of these editors has also continued to receive occasional mail addressed to “Editor, Journal of Biblical Literature.” The occasion of the 125th anniversary of the Journal of Biblical Literature, however, seems an appropriate occasion to make the editors of JBL visible to its readership, as the work of the editors is a signal part of the Journal’s 125-year history. The invisibility and, to a degree, anonymity of the general editor is key to the Journal’s functioning with professional and scholarly integrity and is an essential element of its longevity as a journal of a learned society. The general editor has a variety of roles and responsibilities, but the primary one, noted in all the reflections that follow, is the responsibility to maintain the quality of JBL as the premier English-language refereed journal in biblical studies. In undertaking this responsibility, the editor is required to exercise stewardship of the valuable resource over which he or she presides for a time. This stewardship has a quality of caretaking and conservation, to ensure that certain essential characteristics of the Journal are strengthened, for example, the refereeing process, publishing articles that are submitted rather than solicited from particular scholars, and producing a journal that sets the standard for production excellence (copyediting, typesetting, etc.). But this stewardship also entails innovation, to ensure that the Journal will continue to grow and reflect changes and developments in biblical studies. Much of this innovation involves technical matters: the creation of a style sheet, newer and more efficient systems for logging in submissions and tracking their progress through the review process, new formats for book reviews, and the significant 153

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changes that have resulted from the advent and growth of computer technologies, most apparent in the availability of older issues of JBL on JSTOR and in the publication of electronic and hard-copy versions of JBL since 2000. Even these technical matters often have broad-ranging implications for the discipline of biblical studies as a whole: the creation of a style sheet for JBL, for example, introduced a standard of professionalism across all publications in the field, and the addition of RBL to the book review operation of the Society has changed the ways in which biblical scholars are able to engage reviews of recent publications. Yet not all of the innovative stewardship is purely technical. Innovation is also reflected in how the Journal responds to developments in biblical studies. One concrete expression of this response is in the way that members of the editorial board are chosen. As the Society of Biblical Literature has grown and its membership and disciplinary perspectives have becoming increasingly diverse, the editor of JBL is challenged to reflect this growth and change in the editorial board. The articles published in the Journal cannot reflect the particular interests of an individual editor, but need to reflect the breadth and depth of the academic perspectives that constitute biblical studies across the membership of the Society of Biblical Literature. The editor does not select the articles that appear in JBL, but processes the studies that are submitted. Each issue is the result of a peer review and referee process undertaken by the members of the editorial board. The editor ensures that the integrity of the peer review process is maintained—the general editor’s office is the only place in the editorial review process where the identities of author and reviewers are known. Yet the editor’s stamp and identity are a part of the review process because the general editor has the lead role in determining membership on the JBL editorial board. Board members are elected by the Research and Publications Committee of the SBL, and nominations come to Research and Publications from the JBL editor. In the reflections below, many general editors comment on their intentionality in making nominations to the editorial board in order to ensure that the breadth of biblical scholarship was represented. In addition to noting the work and contributions of individual editors in the 125 years of JBL, there is another important reason to remove the anonymity of the work of the general editor of the Journal. JBL, like all other aspects of the Society, depends on the work of volunteers. Neither the general editor nor members of the editorial board receive remuneration for their work for the Journal.1 The general editorship is an act of professional service to the Society. In each of the reflections below, the sense of honor at being elected general editor and of 1

The editorial board gets a free meal at the annual meeting, but editorial board members will be the first to note that, given the amount of reading they do for the Journal during the year, that meal is hardly “free”!

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gratitude for the opportunity to undertake this work dominates. None of these persons sought the position of general editor of JBL. Nor at the time that each of these editors was elected, was he or she the only member of the Society qualified for this position. But for whatever combination of reasons and circumstances, each of these editors received the position and gave many years of service to the Society. Despite the rough edges of any editorial term—and each term has had them—the importance of service and contribution to the Society in particular, but also to biblical studies more generally, is what is remembered. I do not call attention to the service dimension of the general editorship in order to highlight how important each of these editors was and how much the Society is in their debt; if anything, I highlight the service dimension for the opposite reason. On the occasion of the 125th anniversary of JBL, it is fitting to make visible the editors who have labored in this enterprise because the general editorship of the Journal of Biblical Literature represents in an intensive form what is essential for all of the SBL—collegial work in service of an academic and professional enterprise that all biblical scholars hold in common. Below are reflections from general editors of the Journal of Biblical Literature covering terms of editorial service beginning in 1955, reflections from fifty of the Journal’s 125 years.

David Noel Freedman Volumes 74–78 (1955–1959) Before I was appointed editor, I served for three years as associate editor responsible for Old Testament book reviews. At that time, I was only four years out of graduate school and teaching an overload at Western Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The appointment was entirely unexpected. It was arranged through the good offices of Herbert G. May, then teaching at Oberlin College in Ohio, and a good friend of my teacher, W. F. Albright, who had served in the same capacity for JBL at an earlier date. The training as book review editor was both vigorous and rigorous, and then just as I was beginning to get the hang of receiving and requesting, and then asking and assigning, the three years were up and, with my equally unexpected promotion to editor, I relinquished the other task. When I came on board, the first issue for calendar 1955 was already at the press, so I was able to watch the process before taking on the responsibility. At the time, the printer was the celebrated Maurice Jacobs of Philadelphia, who, with a small staff of expert researchers and typesetters, produced an excellent and elegant journal. During the five years that I served in this capacity, I learned much more than I taught, and the experience through the whole range of editing and

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proofreading provided first-rate preparation for my subsequent career as editor of the Anchor Bible project, the similar undertaking with William B. Eerdmans, as well as an extended stint supervising all the publications of ASOR. When I became editor of JBL, we were in a difficult situation. Membership in the Society was limited, and circulation of the Journal was marginal. Measured by the number of pages, the Journal had settled in the middle 200s,2 and prospects all around seemed dim. Just at that time, the publication of articles and books on the Dead Sea Scrolls was stirring up major interest across the country and in the graduate schools. With the help of Frank Cross especially, and many others in the field, we prepared a special number of JBL devoted to the discoveries and their significance. I was then able to use that issue to promote circulation, subscriptions (including a special offer to students), and memberships in the Society. As I recall, the subscription list increased from around 1,400 to about 3,200, the number of pages went up to about 375 for the year, and the major expansion of the ’60s and ’70s had already begun. All in all, it was a marvelous experience for me as I learned the trade from the ground up. I am completely and eternally grateful to the Society for taking a chance on a young neophyte and giving me the opportunity to serve my fellow scholars.

Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J. Volumes 90–95 (1971–1976) Professor Morton S. Enslin had been the editor of the JBL from 1960 to 1969, and after the interim editorship of John Reumann during 1969–1970, I took over the job in 1971 and served two three-year terms until 1976, when John H. Hayes became the editor. During my first year, the first two issues of JBL were printed by the Philadelphia firm of Maurice Jacobs, Inc., which had been used for several decades. The last issues of 1971 were produced by the printing department of the University of Montana in Missoula. A keen eye can detect the slight differences in the letters of the first and last issues of that year, and especially in the lettering on the title page of the years 1971 and 1969 or 1970. The reason for the change of printers was a decision made by the council of the Society of Biblical Literature at its annual meeting in 1970, when members realized that the Philadelphia printer’s prices were far in excess of what could be had from the Missoula printer, and because there was discontent among some members with the JBL and the way it was being handled. Although I, as the new editor, had many misgivings at first about the 2

This refers to the page numbers for an entire volume of JBL, not an individual issue.—Ed.

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change, I soon realized that those who were advocating the change were right. In hindsight, one sees that the change was in no way detrimental to the Journal. Another change came about in 1971, when the use of a colon to separate chapter from verse numbers was introduced, with a comma for different verse numbers and a semicolon for different references (when used in succession). For years up until 1970, the custom had been to use a big number for the chapter and a smaller number for the verse(s), separated by a blank space. The reason for this change was twofold: complaints from some Society members at the 1970 meeting about the alleged confusing numbers, and the desire of others to have a system of references that would be common to other biblical journals. So, in order to accommodate such complaints and desires, I introduced the colon, comma, and semicolon. At the following annual meeting I was criticized for the change, and I had to recall the discussion of the previous meeting, which seemed to call for such a change. The result is that the use of the colon has persisted until today in the JBL. It was also the time when many members of the Society of Biblical Literature and of the Catholic Biblical Association were suggesting that a common set of instructions for contributors be drawn up. The suggestion arose from the problem of having to prepare a manuscript of an article in one format for JBL and in a different format for CBQ, when the two periodicals had so many similarities in content and general style. Before becoming editor of the JBL, I had been one of the associate editors of the CBQ, and we had already been agitating for such a set of instructions to make the contributions to that periodical more uniform. A list of abbreviations had been drawn up for use by its contributors of articles and book reviews. When I became the editor of the JBL, I brought the suggestion expressed at the annual meeting to the board of associate editors, and we began to develop the list of instructions. This we did in conjunction with the editor and associate editors of the CBQ. Eventually, the “Instructions for Contributors to the Journal of Biblical Literature” appeared in JBL 90 (1971): 510–19; and a similar list was adopted by the Catholic Biblical Association, “Style Sheet for Contributors to the CBQ and CBQMS,” which appeared in CBQ 33 (1971): 85–99, which had already been printing the list of abbreviations in each issue of the periodical. In that style sheet, the CBQ also changed its use of the comma separating chapter and verse numbers to the colon. Greater similarity was thus achieved in the two chief biblical periodicals then in use in the United States. The common features in the instructions of the JBL and the CBQ soon led to the adoption of them by several others periodicals, both American and European. The system has been developed and improved subsequently, and the latest result can be seen in The SBL Handbook of Style, edited by P. H. Alexander et al. and published by Hendrickson. So the influence of the JBL has had no little success.

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Such changes in the JBL did not go unnoticed. When E. W. Saunders wrote his book Searching the Scriptures: A History of the Society of Biblical Literature 1880–1980 (Biblical Scholarship in North America 8; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), he recorded: In more recent years the wise guidance and remarkable and skillful editing achievement of Joseph A. Fitzmyer have brought this periodical to a position of excellence that has won international acclaim. “In our country there are numerous religious publications but in its field the Journal stands alone in its biblical scholarship.” With that appreciative judgment by an SBL member there is common concurrence. (p. 90)

Although I am grateful to Dr. Saunders for the tribute that he has thus paid to me, my only wish is that he had included mention of the many associate editors who assisted me, especially the book review editors, Martin J. Buss, Eldon Jay Epp, and William L. Holladay, who worked equally hard to improve the book review section of each issue.

John H. Hayes Volumes 96–101 (1977–1982) My nomination to be editor of the JBL came as a complete surprise and had some of the qualities of a conspiracy by my colleagues and friends. Although I had edited two volumes, one on OT form criticisms (1974) and one (with J. M. Miller) on Israelite history (1976) and was editor of the Trinity University Monograph Series in Religion, I had absolutely no experience nor competence in the details of the editing process. When later asked how to justify the final paragraph of an article, my thoughts were, “Why do we have to justify it, it was part of the original manuscript?” With my election, few in the Society realized they now had an editor who was a highly disorganized procrastinator, an ordained Southern Baptist with no fulltime position in biblical studies. Fortunately, I inherited from Joseph Fitzmyer a well-thought-out procedure for handling matters related to the Journal and spent a day with him discussing the issues. His contributions to the quality of the journal have been enormous. My tenure in office seems to have coincided with the proliferation of both article submissions and the publication of books in the field. Over six years, I received 731 submitted articles averaging about thirty pages each and hundreds of book reviews. Since the Journal at the time was limited to 160 pages an issue, my successor was bequeathed a hefty backlog of accepted articles and reviews. I followed certain editorial practices which I am not sure had either precedent or antecedent. (1) I never responded to persons who sought to persuade

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me to publish an article that had been rejected. (2) I never solicited articles in any attempt to balance the topics discussed. (3) No article was declined because it was too theological. (4) I refused to turn the Journal into an organ of debate and never published anyone’s direct response to a previous article. Relationships with the book review editors and members of the editorial board, as well as having every new book in the field cross my desk, are things I still remember with delight.

Victor Paul Furnish Volumes 102–107 (1983–1988) When I became general editor of the Journal in 1983, I was confronted with a threefold challenge: (1) to maintain and if possible enhance its status as the “flagship” publication of the Society of Biblical Literature; (2) to broaden its appeal and relevance by publishing articles that were more representative of the research and interests of the Society’s members and of the ever-broadening field of biblical studies; and (3) to find ways to deal with the increase in the number of submissions to JBL. The third of these challenges had to be met immediately. Upon my assuming the post of general editor, the Society budgeted money for my hiring of a graduate student who was able to take over various chores, such as receiving, sorting, and acknowledging all articles submitted for publication; receiving and recording the bibliographical data for all books submitted for review; and sending on to the two book review editors those books that I deemed worth their considering for assignment to reviewers. The new availability of computers and modems made many of these tasks much easier. A further important development occurred in 1985, when we turned over the typesetting of the Journal to Paul Kobelski and Maurya Horgan of The HK Scriptorium, Inc., who were themselves biblical scholars. Their assistance also with copyediting and proofreading was invaluable, and the Society can be grateful that their association with the Journal continues. At that time the editorial board consisted of just twenty-one members. To help ease the burden on this group and expedite the assessment of articles, I initiated the practice of sometimes seeking assistance from scholars not presently on the board, especially when I judged that a topic required some particular expertise not represented among its current members. Given that the number of submissions to JBL showed no signs of abating, in order to continue timely publication of accepted articles, the size of the Journal needed to be increased. We began to do this in the second year of my editorship (1984), with the result that the average number of pages per issue increased from about 168 (from 1980 through 1983) to about 190 (from 1984 through 1988). The Journal has remained at this size ever since.

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The task of maintaining and, if possible, enhancing the quality of the Journal was challenging in quite another way. It had become the Society’s flagship publication not just by reason of its being the first one founded, nor because it had long been the venue for the publication of the annual presidential address. Above all, its flagship status had been earned because it had come to be the most thoroughly refereed of the Society’s publications. As a result its articles and book reviews were, overall, of extraordinarily high quality. My predecessor told me that many, if not most, of the articles that I rejected would end up being published somewhere else, and I found that to be true. Recognizing that the quality of the Journal’s articles and book reviews could only be maintained and enhanced with the help of the editorial board and book review editors, I sought to develop clear protocols and criteria for these colleagues to use. The most important change that I introduced along these lines (despite the logistical problems it involved) was the policy that the name of the author would be stripped from every article before it was sent out for assessment. I was also the first editor (as far as I know) to arrange for an annual face-to-face meeting of the members of the editorial board. During those meetings we reviewed and refined our procedures and discussed various particular issues related to the selection of articles for publication. The most difficult of the three challenges that I faced was the task of making the pages of the Journal more reflective of the ever-broadening range of interests and research that was represented in the membership of the Society. Over the course of my two terms as editor at least some modest progress was made toward broadening and enlivening the Journal’s contents and diversifying the membership of its still relatively small editorial board. At the beginning of my tenure there was only one woman among the twenty-one members of that board; at the close of it there were six. My efforts to appoint members of ethnic minority groups, however, proved fruitless. As for the Journal’s articles, only ten of those published from 1983 through 1988 were by women, and only one (as far as I can tell) was by a scholar who could be considered the member of an ethnic minority. As for topics represented in the Journal, I can identify only one as “feminist” in its approach. New literary approaches were somewhat better represented, although the publication of just five such articles over the six-year period seems, in retrospect, to have been but a small beginning. During the same period, twice this many articles were specifically devoted to some theological aspect of a biblical or related text, and three times as many dealt with the LXX or “intertestamental” literature, including Qumran. However modest and halting these changes were, by the late 1980s it was no longer possible to say of the Journal, as it could have been said during certain periods, that it was concerned only or primarily with the textual and philological analysis of the Jewish and Christian canons. It was at least beginning to be more representative of the wide range of interests and research of the Society’s rapidly growing and increasingly diverse membership.

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John J. Collins Volumes 108–113 (1989-1994) The major controversy that stirred the waters of the Society of Biblical Literature in the years 1989–1994 concerned the publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls. This controversy erupted in 1991, when photographs of the hitherto unpublished scrolls were made available by the Huntington library, and subsequently all competent scholars were given access to microfilm or photographs. In fact, the pace of publication of the scrolls had been picking up before these developments, and the team of scrolls editors had been expanded in the late 1980s. Already in 1991 we published two preliminary publications of scroll fragments in JBL, one a fragment of the book of Jubilees by James VanderKam and J. T. Milik (JBL 110 [1991]: 243–70) and the other a fragment of Genesis, by James Davila (JBL 110 [1991]: 577–82). Both of these articles had been in press before the release of the scrolls by the Huntington, and the authors were part of the official team of editors. In the years 1992–1994 we had a steady stream of articles related to the scrolls. Most of these were preliminary editions of texts,3 and the editions were not restricted to “official” editors.4 We also saw the beginnings of debate about the interpretation of the newly published fragments.5 The newly available scrolls provided an opportunity for JBL to publish several previously unpublished texts, an opportunity that presents itself only rarely in biblical studies. The Journal did not reflect the heated polemics about the ethics of publication that raged in those years. The closest approximation to a polemical exchange about the scrolls was a review article by Daniel Harrington and John Strugnell of The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered, by Robert Eisenman and Michael Wise, the unauthorized publication of fifty fragmentary texts, which caused a firestorm of controversy in 1992.6 The review, however, did not address the legitimacy of the publication, but focused on the critical examination of the readings. The scrolls were not the only source of controversy in those years. It was my policy as editor that if an article was a critique of the work of a particular scholar or scholars, these should have the right of reply. This policy produced a number of sharp exchanges, which reflected some of the major debates of those years. One 3 E.g., the article on “The Prayer of Levi” by Michael Stone and Jonas Greenfield (JBL 112 [1993]: 247–66), Eileen Schuller’s edition of a hymn from the Hodayot, 4Q427 (JBL 112 [1993]: 605–28), or Moshe Weinfeld’s presentation of a fragment of 4Q434, Barki Nafshi (“Grace after Meals at Qumran” [JBL 111 (1992): 427–40]). 4 See, e.g., the article of Douglas Penney and Michael Wise on an Aramaic incantation formula (4Q560), “By the Power of Beelzebub” (JBL 113 [1994]: 627–50). 5 In Martin Abegg’s article “Messianic Hope and 4Q285: A Reassessment” (JBL 113 [1994]: 81–91). 6 The review article appeared in JBL 112 (1993): 491–99.

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concerned literary criticism of the Hebrew Bible.7 Another even sharper exchange concerning the historical value of the Hebrew Bible was initiated under my editorship, although the articles did not appear until 1995.8 Most of the articles published in JBL in these years can be classified under the rubric of historical criticism, broadly construed, and dealt with traditional questions of philology, redaction, historical setting, and literary form. There was also a good sprinkling of literary criticism in a more modern mode, on both Testaments. Among the more adventurous titles we may note Ziony Zevit on “Roman Jakobson, Psycholinguistics, and Biblical Poetry” (JBL 109 [1990]: 385–401) and Ellen van Wolde, “A Text-Semantic Study of the Hebrew Bible, Illustrated with Noah and Job” (JBL 113 [1994]: 19–35). Feminist criticism was also represented, although less frequently.9 In general, however, JBL was still the forum for established methods, while the newer, postmodern, developments were left to the Society’s other journal, Semeia. Postcolonial and third-world studies were also regarded as the province of Semeia. This division of labor was unfortunate in a way, as it exaggerated the gap between older and newer methodologies and lessened the potential for cross-fertilization. The newer trends affecting at least some areas of biblical studies are reflected, however, in some of the presidential addresses of this period. Walter Brueggemann’s 1990 address insisted that “the spillover of the text into present social reality is not an ‘add-on’ for relevance, but it is a scholarly responsibility that the text should have a hearing as a serious voice on its own terms.”10 Brueggemann paid homage to earlier addresses by James Muilenburg and Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, but also to the postmodern theoretician Jean-Francois Lyotard’s view of speech as fundamentally agonistic. The appeal to a postmodern philosopher in a presidential address, however, was in itself a moment of significance in the history of the Society of Biblical Literature. Norman Gottwald’s 1992 address was 7 Danna Nolan Fewell and David Gunn wrote a critique of Meir Sternberg’s concept of “foolproof composition” (JBL 110 [1991]: 193–211). Sternberg responded at length, with an article entitled “Biblical Poetics and Sexual Politics: From Reading to Counter-Reading,” JBL 111 (1992): 463–88. 8 The article of Iain Provan, “Ideologies, Literary and Critical: Reflections on Recent Writing on the History of Israel,” JBL 114 (1995): 585–606, a frontal attack on the so-called minimalists who deny the historicity of much of the biblical narrative, was submitted and accepted in 1994, and Thomas Thompson and Philip Davies were invited to reply. Their rejoinders (Thompson, “A Neo-Albrightean School in History and Biblical Scholarship”; Davies, “Method and Madness: Some Remarks on Doing History with the Bible”) appeared in the same issue (pp. 683-705) under the editorship of Jouette Bassler. 9 See, e.g., the articles of Mary Rose D’Angelo: “Women in Luke-Acts,” JBL 109 (1990): 441– 61, and “Abba and ‘Father’: Imperial Theology and the Jesus Traditions,” JBL 111 (1992): 611–30. 10 Walter J. Brueggemann, “At the Mercy of Babylon: A Subversive Rereading of the Empire,” JBL 110 (1991): 3–22.

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perhaps less novel, since Gottwald had been advocating a materialist sociological approach to the Bible for decades.11 Nonetheless, this too marked a move away from the traditional historical-theological methodologies of the Journal in the direction of modern critical theory.

Jouette M. Bassler Volumes 114–118 (1995–1999) I clearly remember the odd combination of excitement and dismay that I felt when John Collins confided to me one evening that I would be asked to be the next editor—excitement because of the honor of the nomination and dismay because I had done enough editing to anticipate what the demands would be. Yet I could not refuse, nor did I want to. It was a unique opportunity to work closely with some wonderful scholars—the editorial board, the associate editors, and contributors—and to have some impact on the way the journal reflected and supported the work of the Society. It turned out that I was wrong on two counts. First, I really had no idea of the demands of the job, though they were quickly brought home to me. In my first issue, for example, there were articles on a Coptic treatise, a Hebrew inscription, and an Aramaic text that challenged my linguistic and proofreading skills as never before. Second, I learned that the editor has relatively little control over the contents of the journal. She certainly controls quality, but in terms of subject matter and methodological approaches, the content is entirely dependent on submissions, and there were many more specialized journals vying for articles in the newer subfields. When I recently reviewed the issues I edited, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the methodological range of the articles was actually quite broad. I had remembered greater dominance of the more traditional philological and historical-critical studies than was actually the case. There were, of course, plenty of those more traditional studies, but there were also in every issue articles employing feminist, literary, anthropological, or rhetorical methodologies. During this period of methodological proliferation, the Journal reflected—as it should—the broad range of the work of the members of the Society. One major change during my editorship was technological: we moved the journal into the computer age. My first assistant, Dan Griswold, wrote a computer program to handle all the data on articles and books and to create at the touch of an icon all the various lists and letters and tables of content and acknowledgments and reminders that flowed constantly from the office. The hand-written 11

Norman K. Gottwald, “Social Class as a Hermeneutical Category,” JBL 111 (1992): 3–22.

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logs of the past became a quaint memory. With the help of the executive office, we also began publishing book reviews online in 1996 (with 115, no. 2), thus making them available to scholars months, if not years, earlier than before. The second major area of change was organizational. When I became editor, I was responsible not only for overseeing the review and publication of articles, but also for overseeing the review of books. Two associate book review editors solicited reviewers and vetted the reviews, but books for review were sent to and processed by my office and I selected and copyedited the reviews for each issue and read and corrected the proofs. The editor was doing the work of two people, and I proposed to the executive committee that two people be given the work. In 1997 (116, no. 4) we created the position of book review editor to assume oversight of that side of the journal. Bart Ehrman was the first to hold that position, with the two associate book review editors supporting his work. Finally, I worked with the editorial board members to update and revise the instructions for contributors. These new instructions were published in 1998 (117, no. 3), though they were rather quickly superseded by the SBL Handbook of Style, which the executive committee commissioned and published online. It is difficult to identify specific articles as publishing highlights of my time as editor. They were all, I think, good. The presidential addresses were particularly important. Their range and quality reflected the amazing breadth and depth of the Society. There were a few memorably heated exchanges between contributors that posed interesting challenges to editorial tact, diplomacy, and firmness. Truth be known, what I most remember are letters of appreciation that I received from scholars whose submissions were rejected. They were amazed and grateful for the extensive and helpful comments they received from the readers. The story of the Journal’s success is really the story of the dedication of the members of the editorial board. My thanks to them all.

Gail R. O’Day Volumes 119–125 (2000–2006) My reflections in many ways mirror those of my predecessors, and I have the advantage of having all of theirs before me as I write mine. What may be most striking, as I read back through fifty years worth of editorial reflections, is the common thread of challenges and rewards that are part and parcel of this position. Each editor was concerned in his or her own way, and in ways that reflected the state of the discipline at the time, both to represent and contribute to the changing dimensions of biblical studies. Those changes ranged from the availability of new texts (the Dead Sea Scrolls) to new interpretive methods. I am struck that none of the editors mentions the publication of the Nag Hammadi corpus as having had an effect on what was published in JBL in the years immediately fol-

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lowing its publication, a possible reflection of what has often been a critique of JBL’s assessment of the boundaries of early Christian literature. Each editor also shares the perennial and often consuming concern about the simple mechanics of the Journal, even as those mechanics have shifted from paper and pencil submission logs to computerized databases. Each editor also mentions his or her editorial co-workers, and as I reflect on my two terms as JBL general editor, there is little doubt that the intellectual collegiality and collaboration of the editorial work stands out most. The continuing flow of submissions to JBL and the wide range of subfields and specialties in biblical studies meant that in order to provide rigorous peer review across all disciplinary perspectives, both the size and research expertise of the editorial board needed to be stretched. I attempted to attend to demographic diversity in board membership (gender, ethnicity, nationality, religion), institutional location (state school, private college or university, divinity school), and disciplinary orientation (fields of study and methodologies). The caliber of scholars on the board and the care and attention to detail with which they undertook their article reviews made my job interesting and much less onerous than one might think. The current board represents a range of methodologies and disciplinary interests in order to ensure that JBL will publish quality articles written from diverse perspectives. Nearly half of the articles published during my tenure as editor utilize newer methodologies, including narrative, ideological, and sociological approaches.12 I have worked to create a review ethos for all the board members in which reviewers approach their work not simply as gate keepers for the discipline (although there is that dimension to the work), but also as teachers and as critical conversation partners who might otherwise not be available to many of those who submit work to JBL. In almost any issue of JBL, at least one of the authors published will thank the anonymous JBL reviewers for their comments on the article. And those whose articles are rejected also regularly write to me to express appreciation for the comments they received. Victor Furnish mentions the work of The Scriptorium, and I, too, must comment on the invaluable work of Maurya Horgan and Paul Kobelski. It is possible to have a volunteer editor for JBL because of Maurya’s careful work. I rely on her excellent copyediting skills and refined sense of grammar and syntax, as well as her knowledge of biblical studies, especially the biblical languages. The challenges that lie ahead for JBL will be remarkably similar to those that have shaped its past—how to maintain its position as a premier journal and how to ensure that all critical perspectives are welcomed in its pages. The two are interrelated, because only as JBL continues to encourage scholars to bring the full range of perspectives to the work of biblical studies will it maintain its position of disciplinary leadership and excellence. 12 See the essay by Susan E. Haddox, “Journal of Biblical Literature Today,” in SBL Forum, 5/5/2004–6/6/2004.

THE HK SCRIPTORIUM congratulates the SBL on the 125th Anniversary of the Journal of Biblical Literature Specialists in prepress work for professional journals, academic monographs and textbooks, multivolume reference books, and publications requiring ancient and modern foreign languages HK

Since MCMLXXV

• Publication design • Copyediting • Typesetting • Proofreading • Indexing • Project Management • Editorial and production consulting

Serving the Journal of Biblical Literature since 1975

maurya p. horgan paul j. kobelski jeska b. horgan-kobelski 6687 East Dartmouth Avenue Denver, CO 80224 303-758-7050 [email protected]

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Presidential Addresses of the Society of Biblical Literature: A Quasquicentennial Review patrick gray [email protected] Rhodes College, Memphis, TN 38112

Members of the guild who have served as president of the Society of Biblical Literature comprise an exclusive fraternity.1 They enjoy the respect of their peers on account of their contributions to the discipline. In their official capacity, they also command the attention of their peers once a year in accordance with the Society’s constitution.2 As S. Vernon McCasland puts it in beginning his own presidential address, “Once each year with undisguised premeditation the members of this Society subject themselves to an address of unpredictable length and quality by one of their own colleagues, and in advance they cast the mantle of charity about whatever may be brought forth.”3 In most years, the audience for the presidential address is larger than the audience for any other scholarly address devoted to the Bible anywhere in the world. This Sitz im Leben has produced different results on different occasions. Some of these addresses have been all but forgotten, while others have gone down as definitive statements on a given subject, be it a narrow exegetical problem or a broader question pertaining to the field of biblical studies. While these pronouncements from the podium only rarely set the scholarly agenda for the coming year, it would nonetheless be inexpedient to let this anniversary pass without pausing briefly to reflect on the ways 1 Whereas only four women have served in the office of president—Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Phyllis Trible, Adele Berlin, and Carolyn Osiek—“fraternity” is not a wholly inappropriate term. 2 The Society’s constitution was amended in 1889 to establish the presidential address as a fixture on the program for the first day of the annual meeting. No presidential address is mentioned in the minutes for the years preceding this change. The first recorded presidential address is that of Talbot W. Chambers in 1892. 3 S. Vernon McCasland, “The Unity of the Scriptures,” JBL 73 (1954): 1.

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in which past presidents have cast their remarks to the Society since its founding 125 years ago. The presidential address is a hybrid form. It is delivered first to the assembled membership, and since 1895 it has also been the custom subsequently to publish the address in the pages of the Journal of Biblical Literature (which, like many other academic journals, began as a record of the Society’s proceedings).4 A speech, however, does not belong to the same genre as the scholarly essay, and so the task of composing an address appropriate to both written and oral media can be a challenging one.5 Not all presidents have even made the attempt. None admits failure in this respect more frankly than Theophile James Meek, who begins without any remorse: “Hebrew syntax may not be a very exciting subject for a Presidential Address, but it is an exceedingly important one for the interpretation of the Hebrew text.”6 Such a remark suggests that the published version of the address closely resembles the version delivered at the annual meeting. For the audience’s sake, one hopes this is not always the case. Kemper Fullerton’s review of scholarship on Isaiah, for example, comes to one hundred pages in print!7 A number of presidents have followed the lead of Fullerton and Meek in taking the occasion of the annual meeting to present results of their ongoing research projects. As might be expected of a discipline demanding a high degree of specialization, there have been a few years, one suspects, in which their remarks were accessible to a relatively small sector of the membership. Others have chosen to write more expansively on matters of abiding interest to all biblical scholars.8 To speak to the few or to the many—these two basic alternatives have remained the same over the years even if the audience for the presidential address has changed significantly. No more than a few dozen colleagues would gather at 4 Frank Chamberlain Porter’s 1908 address is the only one to be published in a different journal. Although he taught at Yale, for unspecified reasons Porter published his speech in the fledgling Harvard Theological Review, which had just been launched under the guidance of his predecessors in the office of president, George Foot Moore (1898-99) and James Hardy Ropes (1907). 5 Note J. Henry Thayer, who feels compelled to explain in a footnote that his comments originated as a public lecture: “This circumstance will explain . . . their somewhat disjointed character, and their popular and unscientific style” (“The Historical Element in the New Testament,” JBL 14 [1895]: 1 n. 1). Thayer’s address, in which he calls for the establishment of a center for study in Palestine, was the first presidential address to be published in JBL. The minutes give no specific reason for the decision to publish. A desire to publicize Thayer’s proposal seems to have provided the initial impetus. If so, the strategy, which led to the founding of the American Schools of Oriental Research, was a success; see Ernest W. Saunders (Searching the Scriptures: A History of the Society of Biblical Literature, 1880–1980 [SBLBSNA 8; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982], 15–16). 6 Theophile James Meek, “The Syntax of the Sentence in Hebrew,” JBL 64 (1945): 1. 7 Kemper Fullerton, “Viewpoints in the Discussion of Isaiah’s Hopes for the Future,” JBL 41 (1922): 1–101. The same could be said for Paul Haupt (“The Book of Nahum,” JBL 25 [1907]: 1–53) and Lewis B. Paton (“Israel’s Conquest of Canaan,” JBL 32 [1913]: 1–53). 8 See, e.g., George A. Barton (1913), William R. Arnold (1922), James Moffatt (1933), E. C. Colwell (1947), Floyd V. Filson (1949), Krister Stendahl (1983), and Norman K. Gottwald (1992).

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Union Theological Seminary in New York in the early years.9 Attendance gradually increased and, for a time around the turn of the century, meetings were held jointly with such groups as the Modern Language Association and the Spelling Reform Association. That a large percentage of the attendees were Christian clergyman is clearly assumed by Clayton R. Bowen in 1924. The membership rolls nevertheless list the names of several Jewish scholars, including Morris Jastrow, Jr., who served as president in 1916. James Moffatt acknowledges their presence in the Society and the objections made by some Jewish scholars to the nomenclature “Old Testament” for the Hebrew Scriptures because it implies “a religious affirmation or synthesis to which they cannot agree.”10 The promulgation of Divino afflante spiritu in 1943 also contributed to the ecumenical character of the proceedings by opening the way to greater participation by Roman Catholic scholars. Yet another demographic change (which has accelerated in recent decades) is the increasing number of students who attend the meetings. While some presidents, such as William F. Badè (1930) and Julian Morgenstern (1941), have taken a constructive approach by calling for the establishment of fellowships to train the next generation, one can imagine the discomfort of any aspiring biblical scholars in the audience as not a few presidents have decried in near-apocalyptic terms the dismal level of preparation characteristic of most graduate students.11 Now that attendance at the annual meeting is measured in the thousands, it is easy to forget how small the guild remains until one glances at the roster of former presidents. The addresses are open to the public, but listening is not infrequently a bit like eavesdropping on the intramural debates of a tight-knit group of teachers and students. To cite just a few examples, Shirley Jackson Case (1926) studied with Frank Chamberlain Porter (1908) and Benjamin Wisner Bacon (1902), as did Amos N. Wilder (1955), who had also spent time in the classroom with Kirsopp Lake (1942–43). Ernest de Witt Burton (1911) could point to Edgar J. Goodspeed (1919) as his prize pupil, while Goodspeed could count S. Vernon McCasland (1953) and John Knox (1963) among his students. Not to be outdone, Erwin R. Goodenough (1951) taught Samuel Sandmel (1961), who was the 9 For a description of this early period, see Nathaniel Schmidt, “Memoir on the History of the Society,” JBL 50 (1931): xiv–xxiii; and Saunders, Searching the Scriptures, 3–30. 10 James Moffatt, “The Sacred Book in Religion,” JBL 53 (1934): 1–2. 11 E.g., James A. Montgomery (1918), Max Margolis (1923), Morton Enslin (1945), E. C. Colwell (1947), and Harry M. Orlinsky (1970). Erwin R. Goodenough extends this indictment to his professional colleagues as well. He reports that in his tenure as editor, he found it difficult to fill the pages of JBL with articles and book reviews because of the dearth of quality scholarship being produced (“The Inspiration of New Testament Research,” JBL 71 [1952]: 1–2). Many saw the situation as particularly dire as a result of the broken ties with German colleagues in the aftermath of the two World Wars. Even before the full enormity of Nazism was disclosed at the end of the war, Morgenstern declared that “in Germany biblical science is doomed” on account of “the present atmosphere of hostility toward the Bible and toward the religions founded thereon” (“The Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis,” JBL 61 [1942]: 4).

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teacher of Robert Funk (1975) and James A. Sanders (1978). Paul Haupt (1906) had taught W. F. Albright (1939), who in turn taught Harry M. Orlinsky (1970), Frank Moore Cross, Jr. (1974), David Noel Freedman (1976), Raymond E. Brown (1977), Joseph A. Fitzmyer (1979), and Roland E. Murphy (1984). The students of James Muilenburg (1968) include Walter Harrelson (1972), Bernhard Anderson (1980), Walter Brueggemann (1990), and Phyllis Trible (1994). And Robert M. Grant (1959) no doubt learned much at the foot of his father, Frederick C. Grant (1934). Examples could be multiplied ad infinitum, especially if one were to consider less formal relationships.12 Although it has long been the custom that no debate follows the presidential address, several have provoked considerable discussion subsequent to their publication. If familiarity and frequency of reference are reliable guides, a few examples stand out as classics of the genre. The speeches of Samuel Sandmel (1961), James Muilenburg (1968), and Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (1987) belong in this category.13 Many readers will immediately recognize the titles even if they are unaware that they originated as presidential addresses. Sandmel defines parallelomania (a term he came across in a forgotten French volume from the early nineteenth century) as “that extravagance among scholars which first overdoes the supposed similarity in passages and then proceeds to describe source and derivation as if implying literary connection flowing in an inevitable or predetermined direction.”14 In response to the recent discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which had prompted rampant speculation about their relationship to Paul, Jesus, Philo, and the rabbinic literature, Sandmel sounds a note of methodological caution. It is certainly conceivable that Qumran might have influenced the NT or the Mishnah, but “detailed study ought to respect the context and not be limited to juxtaposing mere excerpts.”15 Not all “parallels” are of equal heuristic value, nor can a common source be reliably inferred from the occurrence of similar ideas or language in two different texts. In a discipline where the acquisition of new materials for analysis generates considerable excitement, Sandmel’s remarks remain pertinent. Only a parallelomaniac would automatically assume that any writer using the term “parallelomania” had been reading 12 For example, the papers of Robert H. Pfeiffer (1950) collected at the Andover-Harvard Theological Library include personal letters from several presidents—Albright, Goodenough, R. Grant, Goodspeed, Enslin, and Muilenburg, as well as from C. C. Torrey (1915), Millar Burrows (1954), J. Philip Hyatt (1956), and Herbert G. May (1962)—all written in 1949. 13 S. Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81 (1962): 1–13; J. Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” JBL 88 (1969): 1–18; E. Schüssler Fiorenza, “The Ethics of Interpretation: De-Centering Biblical Scholarship,” JBL 107 (1988): 3–17. 14 Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” 1. 15 Ibid., 2. On this score, Sandmel subjects Strack and Billerbeck’s widely used Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch to withering critique.

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presidential speeches, but it is hard to imagine it having such currency among biblical scholars were it not for Sandmel. Muilenburg makes no secret of his own indebtedness to Hermann Gunkel and other pioneers of Gattungsforschung even as he argues that form criticism must be supplemented by what he calls rhetorical criticism. Earlier study had emphasized the typical and representative features of literary forms to the neglect of “what is unique and unpredictable, [of] the particularity of the formulation.”16 This tendency, he says, obscures the connection between the abstract form and the concrete content of the biblical writings. Close attention to the stylistic and structural qualities such as parallelism and repetition helps the interpreter to “think the thoughts ofthe biblical author after him.”17 Notwithstanding the continuing debates about the precise aims and methods to which the label refers, “rhetorical criticism” is now common coin among biblical scholars due in no small measure to Muilenburg’s influence. It is perhaps no overstatement to say that Muilenburg “enacted the decisive methodological turn in the guild toward literary analysis.”18 While Muilenburg calls for a greater appreciation of the rhetorical aspects of the biblical text, Schüssler Fiorenza goes one step further and focuses on the rhetorical practices of the discipline itself. She calls for a “double ethics,” that is, an ethics of historical reading that enables the original meaning to challenge the interpreter and an ethics of accountability whereby interpreters hold the text as well as earlier interpreters of the text responsible for the oppressive ways in which it has been actualized. The Society of Biblical Literature constitutes an interpretive community demonstrably committed to the former. Schüssler Fiorenza believes that an “ethos of scientist [sic] positivism and professed value-neutrality” has retarded progress on the latter.19 Without a reconceptualization of biblical scholarship in rhetorical rather than scientific terms, it will be difficult to develop a repertoire of discursive practices to aid in “a critical interpretive praxis for liberation.”20 Nearly twenty years have passed since Schüssler Fiorenza called for a paradigm shift in biblical studies. Has this call received an affirmative response? Not entirely, perhaps. Yet the fact that relatively few scholars would categorically reject her claim that one’s social location “is decisive of how one sees the world, 16 Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” 5. 17 Ibid., 7. 18 See Walter Brueggemann, “At the Mercy of Babylon: A Subversive Rereading of the Empire,” JBL 110 (1991): 17. For a brief description of the “Muilenburg school,” which attempted to implement the program set out in his presidential address, see Thomas B. Dozeman, “OT Rhetorical Criticism,” ABD 5:714–15. 19 Schüssler Fiorenza, “The Ethics of Interpretation: De-Centering Biblical Scholarship,” 13. 20 Ibid., 9.

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constructs reality, or interprets biblical texts” is an indication that the tide has already turned and is moving in her direction.21 Likewise, Sandmel’s warnings about sloppy comparative analysis and Muilenburg’s emphasis on the unity of form and content hardly seem controversial today. To observe that, with the passage of time, their insights and arguments are in many ways unremarkable is not in the least to belittle them. Quite to the contrary, it is a sign of their success that they have assumed the status of conventional wisdom. Disciplinary shifts by their very nature are fully visible only in hindsight, and so it is impossible to predict the questions around which a new consensus will crystallize or which presidential addresses will emerge as classics. It is likely that the Society will continue to witness tension between those who insist on a greater degree of engagement with the contested social, cultural, and political questions of the day and those who maintain that “the demand for the practical” must be resisted for the sake of the integrity of the discipline.22 Future presidents will likewise continue to manifest the separate but related divide between the historians and the theologians. To everything there is a season. The survival of the Society for so many years and the accomplishments of its members provide ample evidence that the dialogue and debate have been worth the while.

Appendix Society of Biblical Literature Presidential Addresses The following list of the presidents of the SBL includes the titles and publication information for presidential addresses delivered to the Society of Biblical Literature since its founding in 1880. An asterisk (*) indicates a year in which no address was delivered or for which no title can be located in the Society’s records. (The official minutes of the meeting were published in the Journal of Biblical Literature until 1960.) In a few instances, there is a record of the title, but there is no evidence that the address ever appeared in published form. 1880–87 1887–89 1889–90 1890–91

Daniel Raynes Goodwin* Frederic Gardiner* Francis Brown* Charles A. Briggs*

21 Ibid., 5. 22 Cf. M. S. Enslin, “The Future of Biblical Studies,” JBL 65 (1946): 5–6. In his later tenure as editor (1960–69), Enslin demanded that articles in JBL focus on philological and historical questions rather than on theological questions (Saunders, Searching the Scriptures, 89).

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1893 1894

1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917

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Talbot W. Chambers, “On the Function of the Prophet” [The minutes of the meeting list this as the subject of Chambers’s address. It is not clear whether this was the title of the address, and there is no record that the address subsequently appeared in print.] Talbot W. Chambers [Owing to absence, Chambers did not deliver an address.] [Talbot W. Chambers and J. Henry Thayer each served as president for a portion of 1894, but the minutes of the meeting contain no mention of a presidential address.] J. Henry Thayer, “The Historical Element in the New Testament,” JBL 14 (1895): 1–18. Francis Brown, “Old Testament Problems,” JBL 15 (1896): 63–74. Edward T. Bartlett* George Foot Moore, “Jewish Historical Literature” George Foot Moore, “The Age of the Jewish Canon of Hagiographa” John P. Peters, “The Religion of Moses,” JBL 20 (1901): 101–28. Edward Y. Hincks, “Some Tendencies and Results of Recent New Testament Study” Benjamin W. Bacon, “Ultimate Problems of Biblical Science,” JBL 21 (1903): 1–14. Richard J. H. Gottheil, “Some Early Jewish Bible Criticism,” JBL 22 (1904): 1–12. Willis J. Beecher, “‘Torah’: A Word-study in the Old Testament,” JBL 23 (1905): 1–16. William Rainey Harper [Owing to illness, Harper did not deliver an address.] Paul Haupt, “The Book of Nahum,” JBL 25 (1907): 1–53. James Hardy Ropes, “The Epistle to the Hebrews” Frank Chamberlain Porter, “The Bearing of Historical Studies on the Religious Use of the Bible,” HTR 2 (1909): 253–76. Henry Preserved Smith, “Old Testament Ideals,” JBL 29 (1910): 1–26. David G. Lyon, “On the Archaeological Exploration of Palestine,” JBL 30 (1911): 1–17. Ernest de Witt Burton, “Some Phases of the Synoptic Problem,” JBL 31 (1912): 95–113. Lewis B. Paton, “Israel’s Conquest of Canaan,” JBL 32 (1913): 1–53. George A. Barton, “The Hermeneutic Canon ‘Interpreted Historically’ in the Light of Modern Research,” JBL 33 (1914): 56–77. Nathaniel Schmidt, “The Story of the Flood and the Growth of the Pentateuch” Charles Cutler Torrey, “The Need of a New Edition of the Hebrew Bible” Morris Jastrow, Jr., “Constructive Elements in the Critical Study of the Old Testament,” JBL 36 (1917): 1–20. Warren J. Moulton, “The Dating of the Synoptic Gospels,” JBL 37 (1918): 1–19.

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1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941

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James A. Montgomery, “Present Tasks of American Biblical Scholarship,” JBL 38 (1919): 1–14. Edgar J. Goodspeed, “The Origin of Acts,” JBL 39 (1920): 83–101. Albert T. Clay, “A Recent Journey through Babylonia and Assyria” Kemper Fullerton, “Viewpoints in the Discussion of Isaiah’s Hopes for the Future,” JBL 41 (1922): 1–101. William R. Arnold, “Observations on the Origin of Holy Scripture,” JBL 42 (1923): 1–21. Max L. Margolis, “Our Own Future: A Forecast and a Programme,” JBL 43 (1924): 1–8. Clayton R. Bowen, “Why Eschatology?” JBL 44 (1925): 1–9. Julius A. Bewer, “The Hellenistic Mystery Religions and the Old Testament,” JBL 45 (1926): 1–13. Shirley Jackson Case, “The Alleged Messianic Consciousness of Jesus,” JBL 46 (1927): 1–19. Irving F. Wood, “The Contribution of the Bible to the History of Religion,” JBL 47 (1928): 1–19. Loring Woart Batten, “Hosea’s Message and Marriage,” JBL 48 (1929): 257–73. James E. Frame, “Paul’s Idea of Deliverance,” JBL 49 (1930): 1–12. William Frederic Badè, “Ceramics and History in Palestine,” JBL 50 (1931): 1–19. Burton Scott Easton, “New Testament Ethical Lists,” JBL 51 (1932): 1–12. J. M. Powis Smith, “The Character of King David,” JBL 52 (1933): 1–11. [Smith did not deliver the address owing to his untimely death a few months before the meeting of the Society. W. C. Graham read the paper in his place.] James Moffatt, “The Sacred Book in Religion,” JBL 53 (1934): 1–12. Frederick C. Grant, “The Spiritual Christ,” JBL 54 (1935): 1–15. Elihu Grant, “The Philistines,” JBL 55 (1936): 175–94. Henry J. Cadbury, “Motives of Biblical Scholarship,” JBL 56 (1937): 1–16. George Dahl, “The Messianic Expectation in the Psalter,” JBL 57 (1938): 1–12. William Henry Paine Hatch, “The Primitive Christian Message,” JBL 58 (1939): 1–13. William F. Albright, “The Ancient Near East and the Religion of Israel,” JBL 59 (1940): 85–112. Chester C. McCown, “Gospel Geography: Fiction, Fact, and Truth,” JBL 60 (1941): 1–25. Julian Morgenstern, “The Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis,” JBL 61 (1942): 1–10. [The original title of the address was “The Task of the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis.”] Kirsopp Lake (No address was delivered owing to Lake’s absence.) Kirsopp Lake (No address was delivered owing to Lake’s absence.) Theophile James Meek, “The Syntax of the Sentence in Hebrew,” JBL 64 (1945): 1–13.

JBL 125th Anniversary Commemorative Essays 1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 1959 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970

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Morton Scott Enslin, “The Future of Biblical Studies,” JBL 65 (1946): 1–12. Leroy Waterman, “Biblical Studies in a New Setting,” JBL 66 (1947): 1–14. Ernest Cadman Colwell, “Biblical Criticism: Lower and Higher,” JBL 67 (1948): 1–12. John W. Flight [Owing to illness, Flight was unable to attend the meeting.] Floyd V. Filson, “Method in Studying Biblical History,” JBL 69 (1950): 1–18. Robert H. Pfeiffer, “Facts and Faith in Biblical History,” JBL 70 (1951): 1–14. Erwin R. Goodenough, “The Inspiration of New Testament Research,” JBL 71 (1952): 1–9. Sheldon H. Blank, “Men Against God: The Promethean Element in Biblical Prayer,” JBL 72 (1953): 1–13. S. Vernon McCasland, “The Unity of the Scriptures,” JBL 73 (1954): 1–10. Millar Burrows, “Thy Kingdom Come,” JBL 74 (1955): 1–8. Amos N. Wilder, “Scholars, Theologians, and Ancient Rhetoric,” JBL 75 (1956): 1–11. J. Philip Hyatt, “The Dead Sea Discoveries: Retrospect and Challenge,” JBL 76 (1957): 1–12. Sherman E. Johnson, “Early Christianity in Asia Minor,” JBL 77 (1958): 1–17. William A. Irwin, “A Still Small Voice . . . Said, What Are You Doing Here?” JBL 78 (1959): 1–12. Robert M. Grant, “Two Gnostic Gospels,” JBL 79 (1960): 1–11. R. B. Y. Scott, “Priesthood, Prophecy, Wisdom, and the Knowledge of God,” JBL 80 (1961): 1–15. Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81 (1962): 1–13. Herbert G. May, “Cosmological Reference in the Qumran Doctrine of the Two Spirits and in Old Testament Imagery,” JBL 82 (1963): 1–14. John Knox, “Romans 15:14–33 and Paul’s Conception of His Apostolic Mission,” JBL 83 (1964): 1–11. Frederick V. Winnett, “Re-Examining the Foundations,” JBL 84 (1965): 1–19. Kenneth W. Clark, “The Theological Relevance of Textual Variation in Current Criticism of the Greek New Testament,” JBL 85 (1966): 1–16. John L. McKenzie, “Reflections on Wisdom,” JBL 86 (1967): 1–9. Paul Schubert, “The Final Cycle of Speeches in the Book of Acts,” JBL 87 (1968): 1–16. James Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” JBL 88 (1969): 1–18. Frank W. Beare, “The Mission of the Disciples and the Mission Charge: Matthew 10 and Parallels,” JBL 89 (1970): 1–13. Harry M. Orlinsky, “Whither Biblical Research?” JBL 90 (1971): 1–14. [The title of the address originally bore the subtitle “The Problem of ‘Sin’ as a Case in Point.”] Bruce M. Metzger, “Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha,” JBL 91 (1972): 3–24.

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1973 1974 1975 1976 1977

1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993

Walter J. Harrelson* [The annual meeting was held in Los Angeles in conjunction with the International Congress of Learned Societies in the Field of Religion. It was to that point the largest meeting of the Society, with over 2,500 attending (see Saunders, Searching the Scriptures, 62–63). So as not to add to an already crowded program, Harrelson chose not to deliver an address.] Norman Perrin, “Eschatology and Hermeneutics: Reflections on Method in the Interpretation of the New Testament,” JBL 93 (1974): 3–14. Frank M. Cross, Jr., “A Reconstruction of the Judean Restoration,” JBL 94 (1975): 4–18. Robert W. Funk, “The Watershed of the American Biblical Tradition: The Chicago School, First Phase, 1892–1920,” JBL 95 (1976): 4–22. David Noel Freedman, “Pottery, Poetry, and Prophecy: An Essay on Biblical Poetry,” JBL 96 (1977): 5–26. Raymond E. Brown, “‘Other Sheep Not of This Fold’: The Johannine Perspective on Christian Diversity in the Late First Century,” JBL 97 (1978): 5–22. James A. Sanders, “Text and Canon: Concepts and Method,” JBL 98 (1979): 5–29. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Aramaic Language and the Study of the New Testament,” JBL 99 (1980): 5–21. Bernhard Anderson, “Tradition and Scripture in the Community of Faith,” JBL 100 (1981): 5–21. James M. Robinson, “Jesus from Easter to Valentinus (or to the Apostle’s Creed),” JBL 101 (1982): 5–37. Lou H. Silberman, “Listening to the Text,” JBL 102 (1983): 3–26. Krister Stendahl, “The Bible as a Classic and the Bible as Holy Scripture,” JBL 103 (1984): 3–10. Roland E. Murphy, “Wisdom and Creation,” JBL 104 (1984): 3–11. Wayne A. Meeks, “Understanding Early Christian Ethics,” JBL 105 (1986): 3–11. James L. Mays, “The Place of the Torah-Psalms in the Psalter,” JBL 106 (1987): 3–12. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “The Ethics of Interpretation: De-Centering Biblical Scholarship,” JBL 107 (1988): 3–17. Philip J. King, “The Eighth, the Greatest of Centuries,” JBL 108 (1989): 3–15. Paul J. Achtemeier, “Omne verbum sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” JBL 109 (1990): 3–27. Walter Brueggemann, “At the Mercy of Babylon: A Subversive Rereading of the Empire,” JBL 110 (1991): 3–22. Helmut Koester, “Jesus the Victim,” JBL 111 (1992): 3–15. Norman K. Gottwald, “Social Class as an Analytic and Hermeneutical Category in Biblical Studies,” JBL 112 (1993): 3–22. Victor P. Furnish, “On Putting Paul in His Place,” JBL 113 (1994): 3–17.

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Phyllis Trible, “Exegesis for Storytellers and Other Strangers,” JBL 114 (1995): 3–19. Leander E. Keck, “Rethinking ‘New Testament Ethics,’” JBL 115 (1996): 3–16. Gene M. Tucker, “Rain on a Land Where No One Lives: The Hebrew Bible and the Environment,” JBL 116 (1997): 3–17. Hans Dieter Betz, “Antiquity and Christianity,” JBL 117 (1998): 3–22. Patrick D. Miller, “Deuteronomy and Psalms: Evoking a Biblical Conversation,” JBL 118 (1999): 3–18. D. Moody Smith, “When Did the Gospels Become Scripture?” JBL 119 (2000): 3–20. Adele Berlin, “The Book of Esther and Ancient Storytelling,” JBL 120 (2001): 3–14. Harold W. Attridge, “Genre Bending in the Fourth Gospel,” JBL 121 (2002): 3–21. John J. Collins, “The Zeal of Phinehas: The Bible and the Legitimation of Violence,” JBL 122 (2003): 3–21. Eldon Jay Epp, “The Oxyrhynchus New Testament Papyri: ‘Not Without Honor Except in Their Hometown’?” JBL 123 (2004): 5–55. David L. Petersen, “Genesis and Family Values,” JBL 124 (2005): 5–23. Carolyn Osiek, “Catholic or catholic? Biblical Scholarship at the Center,” JBL 125 (2006): 5–22.

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JBL 125, no. 1 (2006): 179–212

Book Reviews in the Journal of Biblical Literature 125 Years in Retrospect christine roy yoder [email protected] Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031

todd c. penner [email protected] Austin College, Sherman, TX 75090

In his presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature delivered at Haverford College on December 26, 1916, Morris Jastrow (1861–1922) reflected on the role of the critic (“Constructive Elements in the Critical Study of the Old Testament,” JBL 36 [1917]: 1–30). Jastrow noted that “the critic has never been a popular figure. At his worst he is an iconoclast, at his best he makes us feel uncomfortable. . . . The biblical critic . . . fortunately appeared at a time when it was no longer fashionable to burn people at the stake, but he has been alternatively denounced as an enemy to the church and as a foe to religion” (p. 1). Despite such risks, Jastrow argued, the fundamental commitment of biblical scholars must be to cultivate critical engagement: “A scholar tied or pledged to traditional views can never become a critic, even though his learning reaches to the pinnacles of human industry” (p. 2). Jastrow’s words, which read as an encomium for critical methodologies and bear repeating in our own context, aptly celebrate the spirit and scholarship fostered by the Society of Biblical Literature over the last 125 years. And Jastrow spurs us onward, affirming that the “progress of critical study” cannot be obstructed “any more than it is possible to dam up the ocean” (p. 1). Looking back at one facet of the Society’s commitment to critical study, namely, book reviews in the Journal of Biblical Literature (titled Journal of the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis until vol. 9 [1889]), one is struck by how gradually and variously the journal incorporated reviews into its content. This may be a consequence of the Society’s initial stated purpose: “The object of the 179

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Society is to stimulate the critical study of the Scriptures by presenting, discussing, and publishing original papers on biblical topics” (“Constitution and By-Laws,” JSBLE 7 [1887]: 71, emphasis added). Review of published materials was not a high priority. Accordingly, in the first fifty-four years of JBL (1881–1935, vols. 1–54), book “reviews” were sporadic (e.g., vols. 9 and 10 contain none) and only occasionally resemble what we expect today. Readers may find a line or two summarizing a book and evaluating its significance in the “Books Received” section (e.g., see two examples from vol. 47 reprinted below). More typical were articlelength reviews of certain scholarly theories, such as George Barton’s “Higher Archaeology and the Verdict of Criticism,” JBL 32 (1913): 244–60 (cf. S. M. Jackson, “Eberhard Vischer’s Theory of the Composition of the Revelation,” JSBLE 7 [1887]: 93–95; Lewis B. Paton, “Notes on Driver’s Leviticus,” JBL 14 [1895]: 48–56; C. W. Rishell, “Baldensperger’s Theory of the Origin of the Fourth Gospel,” JBL 20 [1901]: 38–49; and James A. Montgomery, “Torrey’s Aramaic Gospels,” JBL 53 [1934]: 79–99). There were also intermittent precursors to the genre as it currently appears in JBL. The first is Isaac H. Hall’s brief review titled “A New ArabicFrench Dictionary” (JSBLE 5 [1885]: 108, reprinted below). Hall’s brief review is noteworthy for two reasons. First, it highlights the Society’s early concern to locate and identify pertinent resources, to “map” the emergent territory of biblical and cognate studies: “This dictionary has been drawn from the best sources, and is the ablest production of the Jesuit establishment at Beirût. Its existence is not generally known by the Protestant missionaries.” In this context it made sense to publish pieces like “Professor Tsagareli’s Catalogue of the Georgian Manuscripts in the Monastery of the Holy Cross at Jerusalem” (trans. Oliver Wardrop; JBL 12 [1893]: 168–79). Extensive lists and descriptions of basic materials that would serve as the bases for analyses were thus being catalogued and made known to the scholarly world. Second, Hall reminds us that books were comparatively difficult to come by. He made it a point to suggest ways to purchase the new Arabic-French dictionary (“through Westermann of New York, or through a consul at Beirût”). Today, of course, the number of published volumes (and publications for a growing “lay” public) is exponentially greater and access to them is easier, though we may wish dictionaries cost $3.25 and could be “carried in the pocket.” Increasing scholarly production over the years prompted JBL to announce and assess recent publications more vigorously. The journal established an official section for book reviews in 1936 (vol. 55). For twenty years thereafter, book reviews in each volume (for the most part) alternated between a NT section (issues 1, 3) and an OT section (issues 2, 4). The field was largely defined by the two canonical spheres of engagement. On average, volumes 55–60 devoted eighty-two pages to book reviews, featuring thirty-five or so of varying lengths (from a line or two to several pages). Volume 75 (1956) was the first time that OT

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and NT reviews appeared together in the same issue, but they remained in distinct sections until JBL 79, no. 2 (1960). Certain reviewers are prominent in these early volumes. William F. Albright (1891–1971) contributed an astounding fifty-three reviews of varying lengths in volumes 55–60 (the first of which is reprinted below). Ernest Cadman Colwell (d. 1974) was also prolific, with twenty-four reviews in the same five volumes, and Erwin R. Goodenough (b. 1893) contributed nineteen. The first woman to author a review in JBL and to have her own book reviewed in the journal was Silva [New] Lake (b. 1898). Lake contributed three reviews in volume 55 (the first of which is reprinted below) and a review of her book Family II and the Codex Alexandrinus (London: Christophers, 1937) was published in volume 56 (reprinted below). Mary E. Andrews also published reviews in volumes 58 and 60 (the latter is reprinted below). As we expect, the participation of these women in the journal was more the exception than the rule. Indeed, one year prior to Silva Lake’s first review, James A. Montgomery (1866–1949) announced an OT meeting to be held at Göttingen thus: “Papers will be read in German, French, and English by outstanding men in the field from various countries” (JBL 54 [1935]: 126; emphasis added). Occasionally, JBL published variations of the book review genre. The first variation was reviews of multiple works. Silva Lake’s first review in volume 55, for instance, analyzed six books published in 1934–35 that were relevant to NT textual criticism. More typical were reviews of two books on the same topic, so-called “double reviews,” the first two of which appeared in JBL 57 (1938): 428–34 (reprinted below). JBL has reclaimed this tradition in recent years (e.g., 120 [2001]: 784–92; 121 [2002]: 339–43, 750–56, and 757–66 [a triple review]). Another variation, though far more rare, was the publication of a response to a previously published review. Volume 63 (1944), for example, includes a response by Amos Edelheit (pp. 438–49) to Frank R. Blake’s review of Alexander Sperber’s Hebrew Grammar: A New Approach (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1943), published two issues earlier (pp. 195–99; both reprinted below). The exchange reveals some of the scholarly rancor that enlivened the pages of JBL (e.g., Blake’s opening remarks: “Dr. Sperber is a man of great industry, with a extensive knowledge of the Bible and Hebrew morphology, but apparently with little knowledge of linguistic science or of comparative Semitic grammar”). Lastly, in 1946, the book review editor, W. F. Albright, published an English abstract of a book review written in German by Walter Eichrodt (1890–1978) of H. Emerson Fosdick’s A Guide to Understanding the Bible (New York: Harper, 1938). The abstract (reprinted below) preceded the review and had been revised by Eichrodt. Albright included the abstract “to aid the reader,” noting that although Fosdick’s book was published in 1938, “due to the intervention of the war, the review was not received until the autumn of 1945.” Here we glimpse the impact of world events on the work of the journal.

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Book reviews are windows into larger dynamics within the guild. For example, some reviews in the mid-twentieth century highlighted the distance between Jewish and non-Jewish scholars, a situation that many in recent years have endeavored earnestly to change. Fanny Goldstein concludes her review of Martin Buber’s For the Sake of Heaven (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1946) thus: “Gentile readers will find this book more instructive than entertaining: it brings to life an unfamiliar culture, an exotic philosophy often taught through quaint epigrams” (JBL 65 [1946]: 424). Similarly, gaps between Protestant and Catholic scholarship are evident in Kendrick Grobel’s (1908–1965) review of a volume by Laurence J. McGinley: “It is doubtful whether any Protestant scholar of our time has devoted as much careful study to any contemporary Catholic work of exegesis as Father McGinley . . . has to the form-critical works and their ancillary literature” (JBL 64 [1945]: 403). When one looks back over these earlier reviews, it is evident that while some things have changed, others have not. Analysis of JBL book reviews for the last six years (vols. 119–124 [2000–2005]) reveals a significant increase in the number of reviews per volume. A stark point of comparison may be made between volume 64 (1945), which featured just seventeen book reviews, and the notably high 135 book reviews (representing 160 book authors) published in JBL 119 (2000). Factoring out that near record-setting year, the average number of reviews per volume from 2001 to 2005 was sixty-seven, almost twice as many as were published annually in volumes 55–60. Keep in mind also that with Critical Review of Books in Religion (1988–97, published by Scholars Press) and the institution of the Review of Biblical Literature in the fall of 1998, JBL book reviews represent only a fraction of the reviews published annually by SBL. While the number of reviews has increased, the representation of women as reviewers and as authors of books reviewed in JBL remains low, despite some efforts to address that situation. From 2000 to 2005, approximately 87 percent of reviewers were male and 87 percent of the authors reviewed were male; only 13 percent of reviewers and book authors included in the journal were women. This number is fairly consistent with the gender representation we see in articles submitted to and/or published in JBL (e.g., in 2004, only 17.5 percent of the articles submitted to the journal were authored by women), but it is significantly lower than the estimated 25–30 percent of women in the Society as a whole. There are various ways to explain those figures and assess their significance, but at the very least they call on us to work more rigorously at including the work of women and other minorities in JBL, the major North American serial for biblical and cognate studies. Finally, as we look back at JBL book reviews on this anniversary occasion, we are impressed by the enormous amount of material scholars have engaged, and mindful that the reviews represent only a very small portion of biblical scholar-

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ship worldwide. Qoheleth’s words thus spring readily to mind: “Of making many books there is no end” (Eccl 12:12). We expect that scholars of all ages, and certainly book review editors, would concur with the ancient sage. Emil G. Kraeling (1892–1956), for example, opens his 1946 review of Johannes Lindblom’s La composition du livre de Job (Lund, 1945) with this sentiment: “This reviewer, who has himself written on the subject, asks himself the anxious question as to why phenomena can be so variously appraised by different minds” (JBL 65 [1946]: 224). And Horace Abram Rigg, in his article “Barabbas,” notes: “The literature concerning the trial of Jesus, almost endless in extent and variety, is too well known to warrant my listing it here” (JBL 64 [1945]: 417). Ironically, Rigg simultaneously asserts the “almost endless” amount of scholarship on his subject and the assumption that scholars should (and even could) nonetheless control the material: it should be “too well known.” His claim captures the tension that most of us today know well, and that Umberto Eco encapsulates when he describes what happens when visitors encounter the massive collection of books in his home. He writes: “confronted by a vast array of books, anyone will be seized by the anguish of learning, and will inevitably lapse into asking the question that expresses his torment and his remorse” (“How to Justify a Private Library,” in How to Travel with a Salmon and Other Essays [New York: Harvest, 1992], 117). The question to which Eco refers, of course, is this: “What a lot of books! Have you read them all?” (p. 6). Such are the dilemma and delight of critical study—an endeavor that, as Jastrow reminded us, cannot be obstructed “any more than it is possible to dam up the ocean.”

JBL 47, no. 3/4 (1928): 390 BOOKS RECEIVED

The Second Isaiah. A New Interpretation. By Charles Cutler Torrey. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1928. Pp. XII + 477. $ 5.—. Professor Torrey maintains that chapters 34, 35, 40–66 of Isaiah constitute a group of 27 poems written by one author who lived in Palestine near the end of the 5th century B. C. His commentary is divided into three parts: (1), Literary and Critical Essays; (2), Translation, with Indication of Metric Form; and (3), Introduction and Notes to the Several Poems. The work is both scholarly and appreciative, and marks a notable advance in the study of the much abused and freely dismembered Second Isaiah. It is no exaggeration to say that this book is absolutely indispensable for anyone who seeks a true interpretation and worthy appreciation of these matchless poems.

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What Remains of the Old Testament and Other Essays. By Hermann Gunkel. Translated by A. K. Dallas. New York: The Macmillan Co., 1928. Pp. 187. $1.50. A translation of five essays by this celebrated German scholar. Besides the title essay there are papers on “Fundamental Problems of Hebrew Literary History,” “The Religion of the Psalms,” “The Close of Micah,” and “Jacob.” The book is dedicated as follows: “To the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis, New York, as a Token of Respect and of Gratitude for the Honour Bestowed by Them on the Author.”

JBL [Journal of the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis] 5 (1885): 108

A New Arabic-French Dictionary by Isaac H. Hall, Ph.D. I would call attention to the new Arabic-French dictionary, published by the Jesuits at Beirût, as, on the whole, the best of the ordinary Arabic dictionaries of moderate size. The former 8vo edition was out of print some years ago, and the present edition is of smaller size, better printed, with improvements. Its system of abbreviations and symbols is very lucid, and saves a vast amount of space. The French title is as follows : — “Vocabulaire Arabe-Français à 1’usage des étudiants. Par un père missionaire de la Cie de Jesus. A.M.D.G. Beyrouth: Imprimerie Catholique. 1883.” 16mo, pp. 10, 1009. Can be carried in the pocket. Costs here about $3.25. This dictionary has been drawn from the best sources, and is the ablest production of the Jesuit establishment at Beirût. Its existence is not generally known by the Protestant missionaries. It is sufficient to read the Arabic Bible, and all the chaste general literature, ancient and modern. It gives an exact knowledge of the roots, and points out the peculiar verb-inflections. Modern words, or modern significations of old words, are denoted by a peculiar sign. Its lack is expressed in the following words of the author’s “Avertissement”: “Mais le respect dû aux étudiants et le désir de leur être utile, en éclairant leur esprit, sans offrir la moindre pierre d’achoppement à leur coeur, out fait éliminer de ce vocabulaire toutes les expressions obscènes, si nombreuses dans la langue arabe et dans la plupart des dictionnaires de cette langue.” It can be obtained through Westermann of New York, or through a consul at Beirût.

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JBL 55 (1936): 164–69

Die Ursprünge des israelitischen Rechts, by Albrecht Alt, Berichte der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften: Phil.-hist. Klasse, 86, No. 1, Leipzig, 1934. Multum in parvo! In the monograph before us Professor Alt of Leipzig, Kittel’s successor, has revolutionized our approach to the juristic origins of Israel, and has accomplished this feat in less than seventy pages of closelywritten argument. It will henceforth be impossible for any serious student of Israel to study Hebrew law without detailed consideration of every page of Alt’s investigation. In a series of monographic treatments Alt had previously dealt with Die Landnahme der Israeliten in Palästina (1925), Der Gott der Väter (1929), and Die Staatenbildung der Israeliten in Palästina (1930). Each of these studies is a model of sound method in its field. Die Ursprünge des israelitischen Rechts is, in the reviewer’s judgment, superior to all of them, and shows the distinguished author at his best. One may go farther and say that it is the most important contribution to the study of Hebrew law since Wellhausen’s Prolegomena, which first appeared in 1878. This assertion will undoubtedly come as a surprise to many readers, so some justification is necessary. The great importance of Wellhausen’s work lay in two directions. First, he proved to the satisfaction of most subsequent students that the then commonly accepted chronological order of the documents, G (P), E, J, D (using present terminology) was wrong, and should be corrected with Graf to J, E, D, P. The Grundschrift, now known as the Priestly Document, was thus the latest Pentateuchal source, not the oldest. Secondly, he showed by rigid logic how such problems should be attacked. It is increasingly recognized now that the resulting system was far too rigid and that Wellhausen began with two erroneous premises, first that the evolution of Hebrew culture and religion followed Hegelian principles as enunciated by Vatke, and secondly that Israel was an isolated people which began its development at the stage represented by nomadic Arabia in the late Jâhilîyah. Wellhausen himself was much more prudent than most members of his school, who have often assumed light-heartedly that the material contained in the codes dates in general from the time of their original composition. Actually he and his followers have only shown that the final form of each of the major documents must be set in a given chronological relation to the others. With this result work has only begun, since nothing can be said about the age of the underlying sources and materials until they have been carefully analyzed, on the basis of objective criteria unknown to Wellhausen and his contemporaries.

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No amount of analysis could yield satisfactory conclusions, as long as such criteria were lacking. Nor could any reconstruction of Hebrew history, whether that of the Wellhausen school or of another, carry much weight, since the earliest document, J, is dated by the school in question to the middle of the ninth century, i.e., nearly a century after the Division of the Monarchy. If Stanley Cook and the reviewer, among recent writers, are correct, the final form of J must be brought down to the end of the eighth century B.C., after the Fall of Samaria.* If we are right, the Wellhausen reconstruction becomes even more treacherous. Considerations like these impelled Kittel to make his famous pronouncement (1921) with regard to the solidity of the critical construction of Hebrew history: “Es fehlte dem Gebäude das Fundament, und es fehlten den Baumeistern die Massstäbe.” Since 1900 new criteria have become available. First and most important are the discovery and interpretation of a vast body of cuneiform legal material, including the Code of Hammurabi, the Assyrian Code, the Hittite Code, and innumerable legal documents and contracts from the last three pre-Christian millennia. In the hands of comparative jurists like Kohler, Koschaker, San Nicoló, Cuq, and Miles, this material has been reduced to manageable juristic form. Secondly comes the reconstruction of both Canaanite and Israelite culture with the aid of cuneiform, hieroglyphic, and alphabetic texts, combined with the rapidly augmenting and increasingly clear-cut archaeological data from excavations in Palestine and Syria. Thirdly—and in some respects of first importance—comes the detailed study of the historical topography and toponymy of Palestine, which makes correct evaluation of the numerous bodies of hitherto useless source-material in the Old Testament one of the most promising objectives of scholarship today. With so much new evidence at our disposal, it is hardly likely that we shall be content to accept the results obtained by Wellhausen or any other scholar without renewed testing. Volz, Rudolph, and others are now leading a revolt against the very foundations of the documentary theory—a revolt which the reviewer is not prepared to follow, however much one may deprecate the excessive refinement of dissection in the hands of Holzinger, Eissfeldt, and many others in the past two generations. It is very significant that Eissfeldt no longer undertakes critical dissection of documents, though he has not yet abandoned his defense of the method. More promising than the VolzRudolph reaction is the effort by Alt and members of his school to penetrate into the obscurity behind the documents, by careful analysis of the latter in the light of new external criteria. *See provisionally the reviewer, The Archaeology of Palestine and the Bible,3 pp. 147 and 213 f. (n. 59); Stanley Cook, JBL, 1932, pp. 274 f. The theory that the literary sources are even later than they are placed by the Wellhausen School may seem paradoxical when combined with the reviewer’s view of the substantial historicity of the early traditions of Israel, but it becomes quite reasonable when we consider the tenacity of oral tradition, especially when couched in poetic form, and the antiquity of the use of writing for formal documents.

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Anton Jirku was the first scholar to attack the problem of the legal sources underlying the Pentateuchal documents in his book, Das weltliche Recht im Alten Testament (1927), where he distinguished no fewer than ten formulations of law, each of which he thought existed independently before being incorporated in fragmentary form into the documents. Useful though his study is in some respects, it is too hairsplitting in its analysis of form, and not incisive enough in its analysis of content and purpose. He considered both the mišpāt \im and the devārîm as Hebrew. Jepsen’s contemporary study, Untersuchungen zum Bundesbuch, stops far short of Jirku’s thoroughness in distinguishing between different formulations, but goes beyond him in trying to separate laws of originally Canaanite origin from those of Hebrew origin. These works are both superseded by Alt’s treatment, though Jirku’s arrangement of material still has some value. Alt’s fundamental contention is that the older laws of Israel are partly of Canaanite and partly of Israelite origin. The Canaanite laws may generally be recognized at once by their stereotyped juristic formulation with ki, “when,” in the major protasis and with ’im, “if,” in subordinated clauses. This formulation he calls “casuistic,” i.e., it belongs to a body of jurisprudence built up from court decisions, like the English common law. The resemblance of this law, Heb. mišpāt\, to Babylonian, Assyrian, and Hittite law-codes is so striking, both in formulation, in content, and in juristic approach, that a common origin, or at least a close relation in its formative period, must be assumed. The mišpāt \im cannot be considered as reflecting an older customary law, as has often been supposed, but belong to the casuistic jurisprudence of the Ancient Orient. It may be added that the relation between the three codes and the Hebrew code may well be compared with the relation existing between four contiguous dialects of a single language: when any dialect is compared with any other both agreements and disagreements will be found, but the nature of the latter will vary from dialect to dialect. It follows that the situation may best be explained as Alt does, by supposing that there was a common ancient oriental background of jurisprudence, where a long process of mutual influence, diffusion, divergence, and conformation had acted in such a way as to create the conditions which we find existing in the second millennium B.C. Palestine was, of course, on the periphery, so we may follow Alt in deriving its Canaanite jurisprudence from the north, with most other elements of Canaanite culture. We may also follow him when he objects to attempts like those of Waterman, Jepsen, and Caspari to localize the Canaanite elements in Hebrew law at Shechem, Gibeon, or Heshbon. In connection with Alt’s discussion of the Canaanite elements still recognizable in the corpus of the mišpāt \im, it is now possible to make further confirmatory observations. The use of <eloµhîm as “gods” (cf. Alt, pp. 23 f.) rather than as “judges” is now established conclusively by the close parallels cited by Gordon from Nuzian contracts of the fifteenth-fourteenth centuries B.C. (JBL, 1935, pp. 139–144). In the Hebrew form of our document the word naturally receives

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the meaning “God,” which was awkward and was consequently explained differently in later times. The term pelîlîm (Alt, p. 16, n. 2) comes from the juristic terminology of the early second millennium in Mesopotamia-Syria, as recently pointed out by Lewy; see Zeitschrift für Assyriologie, XXXVIII, p. 248 and Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-aegyptischen Gesellschaft, XXXV: 3, p. 165, n. a. The reviewer diverges from the author with regard to the development of the terms >Ivrî and h\ofšî (pp. 19–23), regarding the former as the term in civil law for a man who belonged either to the Kingdom of Judah or to that of Israel, where the use of “man of Israel,” or the like, would be subject to legal misconstruction; cf. also the sound observations of Morgenstern, The Book of the Covenant, Part II, pp. 38–40, n. 24. H\ ofšî meant originally, the reviewer believes, “peasant bound to the soil”; see provisionally JPOS, VI, pp. 106 f. (there is now additional material). In the Book of the Covenant the word has received its later sense of “freeholder,” with a melioration of meaning which is probably due to the changed social organization of the Hebrews. To recapitulate, the reviewer accepts Alt’s theory that the casuistic corpus was adopted by the Israelites from the Canaanites in the period between the Conquest and the time of Saul (p. 30). The form which the laws found in the Book of the Covenant take, however, can hardly antedate the ninth century B.C., as perhaps indicated by the use of >Ivrî in the sense proposed above. Morgenstern’s discussion of the status of the mišpāt \im in the legal system of the Divided Kingdoms (The Book of the Covenant, Part II, pp. 231–241) is particularly good, and should be read as a supplement to pp. 29–33 of Alt. The reviewer, who shares with the Alt school a higher opinion of the historicity of the unique data preserved by the Chronicler than is generally held, would suggest that the corpus from which the mišpāt i\ m now preserved in the Book of the Covenant were excerpted, was drawn up in the reign of Jehoshaphat, who is said to have introduced the institution of royally appointed judiciary (II Chron. 19 5–7). The evidence adduced by Alt and the reviewer (above) seems, however, to show that there was little change either in the form or in the content of the mišpāt \im in the four centuries preceding the reign of Jehoshaphat (cir. 872–851). In pp. 33–71 Alt gives a brilliant treatment of the apodictically formulated laws of the Pentateuch, which he considers as specifically Israelite. Here lies his major contribution. Alt does not attempt, of course, to exhaust the material, but simply offers a preliminary analysis of certain types of formulation, especially the participially introduced commands (Morgenstern’s h\uqqôth), the curses (Deut. 27 15–26), and the “thou shalt not” commands (Morgenstern’s mis\wôth). To these he adds an important discussion of the Decalogue (Morgenstern’s devaµrîm). On p. 59 ff. he considers the problem of the origin of these groups of legislation, calls attention to the fact that most of them refer to religious and ethical matters with which the casuistic corpus of civil law was not concerned, and shows that this law was administered by the Levitic priests, not by elders or

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judges. He shows in detail how intimately the apodictic law was bound up with Israelite religious conceptions and even with religious festivals, such as the Feast of Tabernacles. In its origin the apodictic type goes back, Alt maintains, to the period of Israel’s formation, before the collision between Hebrew and Canaanite culture after the Conquest. He also points out some interesting traces of the modifications which arose as a consequence of this collision of legal systems. In concluding this review the present writer wishes to call attention to the agreement of other phases of the relationship between Canaanite and Israelite culture with Alt’s view of the juristic situation. For example, the cosmogony and mythology which early became traditional in Israel, known to us mainly from the Book of Genesis, are different almost throughout from the corresponding Canaanite conceptions, as we know them from the texts of Ugarit and from Philo Byblius. The rich mythological imagery used in the Psalms, Job, the exilic parts of Isaiah, etc., belongs to the sixth (seventh?) century and later, when Canaanite (Phoenician) literature, like Egyptian and Aramaic (gnomic texts, etc.), began to exercise a strong direct influence on extant Hebrew writing. In other words, Israelite religious literature continued its traditional way, little influenced by that of surrounding peoples, until late in the period of the Divided Monarchy. Had we more of the earlier civil literature of Israel, we should probably find just as strong Canaanite influence as Alt has discovered in the corpus of mišpāt \im. The Song of Deborah, for instance, seems to reflect a genre of composition which was widely employed at the time outside of Israel (Bulletin of the Am. Sch. of Or. Res., No. 62, p. 31). W. F. Albright

JBL 55 (1936): 95–100

Novum Testamentum Graece, S. E. C. Legg, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1935. Critique Textuelle II, Critique Rationelle, Father M.-J. Lagrange O. P., Gabalda and Co., Paris, 1935. A Greek Fragment of Tatian’s Diatessaron from Dura, C. H. Kraeling, Studies and Documents III, Christophers, London, 1935. The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri, F. G. Kenyon, Emery Walker, London, 1933– 1934.

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A Third Century Papyrus Codex of the Epistles of Paul, H. A. Sanders, University of Michigan, 1935. Fragments of an Unknown Gospel, H. I. Bell and T. C. Skeat, British Museum, London, 1935. The last few years have seen a revival of interest in the history of the text of the New Testament, not only among specialists but among many whose chief interests lie outside this comparatively narrow and technical field. This has been due to two factors, quite distinct from each other: assimilation of the work of Hermann von Soden, and the discovery of new documents. i. The announcement, at the beginning of the century, of the plan for von Soden’s monumental Schriften des Neuen Testaments inclined most scholars to delay further extensive work on the subject until after his results had been published and digested. His failure to accomplish many of the things which had been expected did not alter the necessity of understanding his work,— indeed it increased it. The need of grouping the documents was not diminished because his groupings were often wrong; a general theory of the development of the text was no less desirable because his seemed untenable. For almost twenty years after the appearance of the final volume, in 1913, the majority of the scholars concerned were engaged in a series of articles or short books on individual problems, so oriented toward von Soden’s work that they must be considered as epilegomena to it. Only comparatively recently has it been possible for anyone to stand off and view the wood as a whole, unhindered by the individual trees. The result has been two books which, while quite different in character, are alike in that they deal with the problems of New Testament textual criticism as a whole. These are the first volume of the “New Tischendorf ” (Novum Testamentum Graece, S. C. E. Legg) and Volume II of Father Lagrange’s Critique Textuelle. The first of these is an edition of the Greek text of the Gospel of St. Mark with an apparatus criticus which has been made as comprehensive as possible. A great deal of material is quoted which was not available in earlier critical editions and the volume is therefore quite indispensable to the student of the text of the New Testament. The editor returns to the method prevailing before von Soden’s edition and quotes each manuscript by its own symbol instead of by general symbols indicating groups, without consideration of the individual manuscripts. This is undoubtedly necessary, both for intelligibility and practical use, but it seems a pity that it was decided to print this evidence in alphabetical and numerical sequence rather than in connected groups. To read ABCDEFGH etc. certainly avoids the necessity of indicating any theories on the relations of manuscripts, but surely it would not have been too rash a step to associate )B, CL, EFGH, Q Fam. 1 Fam. 13 565, etc. and would have tremendously increased the ease with which the book could have been used. But one very valuable

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departure in method was made by the division of the apparatus criticus into two sections; the first giving the evidence of the Greek manuscripts and the versions, the second the patristic quotations. The Greek text chosen for the edition is that of Westcott and Hort, as the best text available. This is perhaps defensible, although the fact that it is the best text renders it useless to collate to,—since collations must be made with the worst text from which variation is important, rather than with the best, important agreements with which are thereby concealed,—but the omission of any indication of the readings of the Textus Receptus is the most serious fault in the book and makes it, without the supplementary use of another edition, almost valueless to the collator. So serious is this deficiency that the addition of the evidence of the Textus Receptus in future sections is urgently to be recommended. Father Lagrange’s volume is a general survey of the history and present state of the study of the text of the New Testament. The volume (701 pages) is divided into five parts in which the text of the Gospels, Acts, Pauline Epistles, Catholic Epistles and Apocalypse are dealt with in order. A series of appendices, chiefly concerned with recent discoveries, and a full Table des Matières (in place of an index, in accordance with French custom) conclude the book. It is probably impossible for anyone to develope a theory of the text of the New Testament without also to some extent inventing a new nomenclature to fit it, and we can only be grateful to Père Lagrange for limiting himself to so simple a system. For the gospels, “Recension D”, “Recension B” and “The Ecclesiastical Text A” are far more readily intelligible than von Soden’s I, H or K and less misleading than Westcott and Hort’s “Western” “Neutral” and “Antiochian”. It is not clear whether or not the change to “Group D”, “Group B” and “The Antiochian Recension” for the same groups in Acts indicates a change in the author’s theory of origins, but in any case this is too slight a point to cause great confusion. Not the least useful characteristic of the book is the comprehensive bibliography given in the many footnotes to each division. Even the most obscure articles seem to have been carefully considered. Other scholars will differ from Father Lagrange on individual points and further work and new discoveries may be expected to change or supersede some of his conclusions, but this comprehensive study of the history of textual problems will long remain invaluable to the student and is the most intelligible general statement on the subject since Westcott and Hort’s “Introduction.” ii. To the uninitiated it seems strange that a great many more important literary remains are still procured by purchase from various dealers in Egypt than are uncovered by the many archaeological expeditions of recent years. But it must be remembered that the area over which an expedition can work is severely limited, while the fellahin is omnipresent and well aware of the probable value

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of anything he may discover. An irrigation ditch in an Egyptian field is quite as likely to uncover a wad of papyrus as the most scientifically dug archaeological “trench”, and there are many more of them. But one major discovery in the text of the New Testament is due directly to excavation,—not in Egypt, but in Dura-Europos on the Euphrates. This is a small crumpled bit of parchment uncovered by the Yale expedition in 1933 and published two years later by Dr. Kraeling who recognized that its fourteen lines are a portion of Tatian’s “Diatessaron”. That Tatian experimented with a continuous Gospel narrative which combined our four separate sources had long been known and his work had been preserved in several unsatisfactory forms: quotations in a commentary by Ephraim Syrus which, though written in Syriac, is extant only in Armenian; an Arabic translation so thoroughly harmonized to the traditional text of the Gospels that Tatian’s characteristic readings have almost disappeared; a Latin parallel on the basis of an older codex (probably in Latin, possibly in Greek) made by Victor of Capua, in which an excellent Vulgate text is cut up and rearranged in the order of Tatian; and a Dutch version based on a lost Latin translation which may have been that which Victor used. Apart from the detailed characteristics of the text there are two interesting problems in regard to Tatian. Who was he? What was the original language of the Diatessaron? Toward the end of the second century a certain Tatian, who lived for a time in Rome and later returned to the East, wrote a Discourse against the Greeks. But it is difficult to believe that this man who shows no interest in the life of Jesus can be the same as the fashioner of the Diatessaron who must have been deeply imbued with the story and language of the gospels. On the other hand, if there were two Tatians, they must have been very nearly contemporaries, for Dura was destroyed in 250 and the copy of the Diatessaron found in the ruins must be earlier. But the most important point in regard to the Dura fragment is that it is Greek. The majority of scholars had long argued that the Diatessaron was written in Syriac, and certainly no trace of the original Greek was extant. Now, however, the Greek has been found and the burden of the proof must surely rest on any who wish to argue that it is a translation from an original Syriac. The fact that a mass of Biblical and early Christian papyri were offered for sale in one place and at one time has led many people to think of them as parts of one manuscript. But actually, apart from Old Testament, Apocryphal and Homiletic material, three separate New Testament manuscripts are involved: a. Thirty leaves of the Gospel and Acts, b. Eighty leaves of the Pauline Epistles, c. Ten leaves of the Apocalypse (unpublished). The first of these is believed to date from the early third century and was published by Sir Frederic Kenyon in two small volumes, one containing the

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transcribed text, an apparatus criticus and a discussion of the material, the other a facsimile reproduction. The author limits himself to a brief statement of the facts about the papyrus and the general characteristics of its text. The great importance of the book lies in the number of problems which it raises. For example, Sir Frederic states that in the gospel of Mark the text of the papyrus is closely connected with the Caesarean text and agrees more often with W than with any other single witness to it. But the Caesarean text is properly the text used by Origen and Eusebius in Caesarea and W is a less good witness to it than several other manuscripts. This has been explained as corruption in W but cannot explain the text of a manuscript more or less contemporary with Origen. Possibly the “corruption” is merely evidence of the text from which the Caesarean descended. Of about the same date is the codex of the Pauline Epistles. Ten leaves were a part of Mr. Beatty’s purchase and were published by Sir Frederic Kenyon. Thirty others were bought by the University of Michigan and were published by Prof. Sanders in 1935, together with a reprint of the text of the London leaves. In his preface, Prof. Sanders mentions the likelihood that the remainder of the codex was in some dealer’s hands and would soon be bought up, and in an early review of Prof. Sanders’ publication Sir Frederic Kenyon announces the fulfillment of this prophecy in the purchase of 46 more leaves. Kenyon’s new leaves show,—rather surprizingly,—that Sanders’ calculation that Philemon came between Galatians and Philippians is wrong; but it still remains a problem whether I and II Timothy and Titus, or which of them, were contained in the missing pages at the end of the codex. The lack of an apparatus criticus and of facsimiles by which the reconstruction could be checked would be serious in a final edition but are entirely justifiable in view of the avowedly interim character of this publication; and the temptation to hold up the presentation of new material in the hope of improving it is so widespread and has so often led to such endless delays that Prof. Sanders’ courageous cutting of the knot is especially to be praised. Eventually a complete edition of this codex will be published and in the meantime a great deal of work can be done on the fragmentary material. Each of these discoveries achieved in turn a notoriety which gave it a brief appearance in newspaper headlines, but perhaps most sensational of all was the announcement of a fragment of an “Unknown Gospel.” This proves to be a strange compilation of episodes found in the canonical gospels together with some which were hitherto unknown. The greater part seem to come from the Fourth Gospel, and this is very remarkable in view of the fact that the papyrus is said to belong to the first half of the second century. It cannot be identified with any known document and the editors are clearly inclined to think that it may be a “source” of the Fourth Gospel, rather than derived from it. It is hard to agree with them on this point, but even if,

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as has been well said, it should be placed between the Diatessaron and the Gospel of Peter, it is an extraordinarily interesting fragment and remarkably tantalizing. Silva Lake

JBL 56 (1937): 57–60

Family II and the Codex Alexandrinus. The Text according to Mark, by Silva Lake, [Studies and Documents V] Christophers, London, 1937. For many years Mrs. Lake has been engaged in the study of the text of the New Testament, and is well known as a collaborator with her husband. In this independent study she reveals the results of this incomparable training. The present volume is of value not only for the light it throws on this particular type of text, but as an example of the way such a study should be carried out. Similarities between the texts of K and II have long been noticed. Von Soden recognized that these manuscripts were but two in a long list derived from a common archetype. At first he classified the group as Ka, that is, a subdivision of his K text. Later he reclassified them as Ik. He furthermore considered that A was a member of the same group. Mrs. Lake has studied the group for Mark. Mark was selected because it provided more variants per page than any of the other gospels. It also provided the opportunity for comparison of this type of text with the Caesarean text of Mark 1 and 11, in the reconstruction of which she had been associated with her husband and Professor Blake (Harvard Theological Review, XXI (1928), 397 ff.). Naturally this limit may conceivably obscure some of the characteristics of this type of text which would be found in the other gospels. Furthermore, some eccentricities may be included as a result of forced harmonization of Mark’s text with that of Matthew or Luke and which no apparatus criticus can hope to reveal. None the less a start had to be made, and the selection of Mark is a happy one. It soon became clear that Ka (or Ik) was a real family (not merely a text) and that since II is the best example and the probable ancestor of all the others it might well be styled Fam II. To cite the evidence A K II is very misleading. K is a distinctly inferior example of this family text—in a list of twenty-one witnesses it stands thirteenth, and should be placed in the eleventh century (not ninth)— while, even more important, A is not, as von Soden thought, a member of the family at all, although it is closely related through a (lost) common ancestor x.

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To eighteen of the twenty-eight manuscripts which von Soden had listed as the best witnesses for this type she added three others 1313, 1318, and 1780 which her husband and Dr. Huffman had identified as of the same family, and from them reconstructed the family text. Furthermore, she has constructed a family tree from these twenty-one members. In this are (at least) seven missing links (called a, b, c, etc.). All but five of the twenty-one (II, 114, 1079, 1219, and 1500) are descendants of 1219. None (even of the other four) is a direct descendent of II, but of a lost uncial a. Since the text of Fam II is a constructed text based on the majority readings of the best five (II, 1219, 1079, 1346, 265), often this text is that of a (not of II itself). In addition to the text and the reconstruction of the stemmata of the family she has made a full and careful examination of the textual peculiarities of all twenty-one members, with especial attention to the singularly interesting type of text found in 389. The text of Fam II flourished during the last quarter of the tenth century and through the twelfth, although many of its witnesses are earlier. Where it was produced and where it flourished is not at present known, although it would appear that Mrs. Lake plays with the possibility that it might have been on Mt. Athos. Furthermore, it is at least possible that this text is essentially that of the hypothetical but probable recension of Lucian mentioned by Jerome. What is the relation of A to II? Although it is closely related, it is not a direct ancestor. Rather, both A and II are descendants of an earlier ms.—she refers to it as x—which may be placed in the early fifth century. A is far older than II, but II is a much better witness of the lost x. In fact, save for its singular readings II gives essentially the text of this lost x and is thus a good copy of a ms. older than A. Furthermore x (as seen from II and less clearly from A) contained a distinct Caesarean element. In a graph on p. 70 she represents x as a descendant of a Caesarean manuscript and the Alexandrian text. II is a descendant in a direct line from x; A, on the contrary, is connected with the Alexandrian text directly, as well as indirectly through x. Again, both II and A are elements in the Ecclesiastical text, which latter differs about equally from both, and about the same as II and A do from each other. II and A are more like the Ecclesiastical text than are ), B, D, or Q, but less like it than EFGH or VW. All of these conclusions are interesting and, if warranted, are highly important. They are based on full tables of evidence printed as appendices. The arrangement of the material leaves little to be desired. In Appendix A seven tables are provided which give respectively the unique readings of Fam II, the variants of Fam II which have but little support, those which are supported by A and other mss., those which are not in A but are supported elsewhere, the sub-singular variants of Fam II, the readings found in more than one of Fam II and which have other support, and variants of the individual Fam II mss. not supported by others in the family. In Appendix B are three tables giving respectively collations of Fam II with the Caesarean text and text of A in Mark 1 and 11, and the instances where A departs from both Fam II and the Caesarean text in

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three chapters. Appendix C gives a collation of A against Fam II for all of Mark; Appendix D, the Kr variants in Mark as tabulated by Dr. D. O. Voss. The form of these tables is admirable and well calculated to supply precisely the necessary information. Their value naturally depends upon their accuracy. No one who has engaged in such a study will expect infallibility, and will be only too ready to excuse slips. Some perplexities arise. In the table giving the unique readings of Fam II are 18 items (not 16 as reported on pp. 56 f.). But no one of these readings (according to the testimony of Legg and von Soden) is entirely devoid of other attestation, while in one case (15 40) the reading “om tou 1°” is also that of ) B C N U W DSY fam1 and others. Again, should not an additional reading “om o Ihsou"” (1 16) be added to Appendix B, Table I? Unless I am in error 25 and 48 (p. 56, last line) should read 26 and 50. On p. 57 (line 5) my count reveals 17 agreements with U (not 15). Furthermore, I can detect but two cases (1 43 and 4 11), not four, where A and Fam II agree against all other authorities. On p. 63 it is said, “Moreover, although all or some of the group C L D 33 frequently attest readings which are not in ), B, D, Fam 1 or Fam 13, there are no cases where A and II have the support of ) or B or D or W (in chapter i) when the reading is not also attested by one or more of the group C L D 33 or the group Fam 1 Fam 13”. Surely the apparatus suggests that om o ante Ihsou" (1 14) provides such a case. Before comparing the figures on p. 59 top and in the table on p. 62 with the lists in the appendices the addendum to footnote 14 on p. 60 should be read; otherwise more serious contradictions would seem to be involved. These apparent slips are of minor importance and in no case invalidate the conclusions. Mrs. Lake is to be congratulated upon a highly important and useful study which entailed “journeyings often” not to mention “labor and travail and watchings”. Morton S. Enslin

JBL 60 (1941): 77–79

Paul, Man of Conflict, by Donald Wayne Riddle, Nashville, Cokesbury, 1940, pp. 244, $2.00. A reviewer who has read other reviews of the book assigned is at a disadvantage. The situation is not unlike that of the student in English I who must at all costs avoid plagiarism, be original and not imitative, and at the same time cover the subject adequately. The disadvantage is obviated, in the present case, by

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the fact that her own major criticism has been entirely overlooked in the reviews read, and that the others’ objections, to her, do not seem to militate against the value of the book concerned. To any one who has followed Professor Riddle’s work during the past decade it comes as no surprise that he would repeat in this book the first two commandments of his scholars’ decalogue: Thou shalt not separate Luke-Acts and Thou shalt understand and appreciate the purpose of Luke-Acts as “defence” literature, and see it as history in the hellenistic manner. It is his consistent adherence to the primary source, Paul’s letters, that has drawn fire. To the present reviewer that method constitutes one of the main excellences of the book, even though we do lose the student of Gamaliel and the Roman citizen. But the layman, Paul, is delineated with such skill that the loss is not a severe one, and with the eminent W. W. Tarn instructing us that it could be only potential citizenship anyway for the person unwilling to worship the state gods, the disuse of Acts at these points is not serious (Tarn points out a case where a potential citizen did appeal to the emperor, Hellenistic Civilization, p. 193). The acceptance of a new chronology seems erratic to one reviewer and thoroughly plausible to another. Here, too, the objection is ultimately based on confidence in the secondary source. This chronology has obvious advantages. Paul needs no longer to be pictured as having worked for twenty years before he wrote even I Thess; it is surely more natural to see the letters as belonging to those years in which he was most actively engaged. It is startling to see Col antedating Gal and I Cor, but Col is what it is in content because the situation in Colossae was what it was, rather than because it was written near the end of Paul’s life or for any other reason that has been advanced. Many scholars no longer see it as un-Pauline. In it and in Phil the preëxistence of Christ is noted; in it and in Rom Christ’s death was of cosmic significance; in it and in Gal Judaism figures in the situation facing Paul, though as the author points out there is no crisis in reference to Judaism in Colossae as there was in Galatia. There is something especially fitting in Rom as the last letter of Paul, and hospitality to the idea of Ephesus as the scene of Paul’s imprisonment — or imprisonments — has been gaining ground in recent years. It is easy for me to agree with one reviewer in his keen appreciation of the chapters that show Paul’s inner conflict over his inability to achieve the standards of Torah, of his essential loyalty to Judaism as he believed it revealed in the Scriptures. Consequently, the claim of another review that conflict is a too simple motivation seems to me to lack support. All agree that the book contains penetrating insights, that it is well written, provocative, and stimulating. I would add that it seems to me a remarkable feat that Professor Riddle has performed in the production of a book that is debated in scholarly circles, that elicits both appreciation and criticism, and can be used with profit and enjoyment by college students. I have used it in a course on Beginnings of Chris-

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tianity and the student verdict is distinctly favorable, a guarantee that the book is interesting. A pivotal point in the author’s interpretation is found in his bringing together II Cor 12 1–5 and Gal 1 12–17. I see no compelling reason why they should not refer to the same experience and belong to the same period of activity, but, while I am in utter sympathy with the interrogation of the data of the primary sources, I do not follow Professor Riddle in his interpretation of the motivation of the “bitter” letter, II Cor 10–13. When I interrogate the data I do not find Judaizers as influential in the Corinthian situation, and I believe that the Galatian situation also was complicated by the presence of antinomians. I am convinced that the Lütgert-Ropes interpretation of the charge that Paul was still preaching circumcision is the best possible explanation of that particular statement. Granting that II Cor 12 1–5 is a second reference to Paul’s unique and revolutionary experience that changed the course of his life, that it belongs to the same period as Gal, I see no reason for certainty that II Cor 10–13 is directed against Judaizers in Corinth. It seems to me that the Corinthian situation was singularly free from trouble over the law and circumcision. There is the one reference to Hebrews, Israelites, and sons of Abraham, but the bulk of those chapters seems to point to the antinomians. When Paul describes what he fears he will find when he returns to Corinth, he employs terms with no special connection with Judaizers; he fears that he will have to mourn over many who have never repented of the impurity, immorality, and sensuality in which they have indulged. That would seem to be more applicable to antinomians than to Judaizers. Professor Riddle is aware of this angle of the Corinthian situation, but he sees the Judaizers making an already precarious situation worse. The basis for my view of Paul’s enemies in II Cor 10–13 as pneumatikoi rather than Judaizers lies in the essential similarity of view between I and II Cor. The former contains the elements present in the latter, although the trouble had not burst into flame. The Corinthians were ready to investigate Paul (I Cor 4 3–4 and 9 3 ff.), there were “other apostles” (I Cor 9 12). These “apostles” are described in II Cor 10 12; 11 4–6, 12–15, 20. The absence of reference to law and circumcision in the Corinthian correspondence, the attention paid to problems of morals, the effort to combat the attitude that liberty meant license all serve to indicate that the hostile group, probably quite small, over which Paul won the final victory (II Cor 1–7) were not Judaizers. It scarcely needs to be pointed out, however, that this judgment does not affect the essential soundness of the principles employed in the production of an extremely important book on a perennially stimulating theme. Mary E. Andrews

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JBL 57 (1938): 428–31 TWO BOOKS ON THE PSALMS

Three distinct stages may be recognized in the history of higher criticism as applied to the Psalter. In the first, the headings of the Psalms were taken at their face value; expressions involving a personal name were held to certify authorship, and occasionally the actual circumstances in which a Psalm was composed could be identified. The second stage goes back as far as to Theodore of Mopsuestia, the exegete par excellence of the Eastern Church, though it had no effect on the general body of scholarship until it was sponsored by the genius of Ewald, whose methods held the field throughout the nineteenth century. Scholars no longer accepted the headings as reliable evidence of authorship, though some Psalms might be ascribed to David. It was thought possible to assign individual pieces to different periods in the history of Israel, on the basis of the general situation reflected in each poem. Nearly the whole history of Israel was covered, from the time of David down to that of the Hasmonean priest-kings, and the tendency, especially at the turn of the century, was to regard the greater number of the pieces in the Psalter as post-exilic. In the third stage an entirely new line of approach was adopted, and while a rough approximation to the period of a Psalm was generally attempted, the main stress was laid on the place it took in the religious life of Israel. It was assumed that in every case a poem was composed to meet a definite need or was adapted to a definite situation, either in the public worship of the community or in the spiritual life of the individual. Thus Mowinckel refers many of the Psalms to the annual celebration of the enthronement of Yahweh, while the “pattern school” relates a number of them to a great New Year festival of pre-exilic days. The leading exponent of this line of approach, however, is Gunkel, who classifies the Psalms according to their “types” (Gattungen). Each type had a characteristic form, especially noticeable at the beginning or at the end of a Psalm. A minor, though important variation of this view is to be seen in the theory of Hans Schmidt, who holds that certain Psalms were used in legal processes, being employed by persons who came for trial before the supreme court of Israel, i. e. the priests acting in a judicial capacity as the mouthpiece of Yahweh. Adherents of all three methods are still to be found, though the first has been generally discarded by Christian scholars, and is no longer universal among Jews. The second and third, however, still hold their place, and in the last few months American scholarship has given us a conspicuous example of each. We may take first the work of Buttenwieser.* This is a full-length commentary by a veteran scholar, and contains the results of patient and devoted study carried *The Psalms, Chronologically Treated. With a new translation by Moses Buttenwieser, University of Chicago Press, 1938, pp. xviii–911, $5.00.

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on through a life-time. The general arrangement is that of Ewald, the Psalms being grouped in successive periods. Several authors are identified, if unnamed; Ps. 68B (consisting, in the following order, of vv. 8, 9a–b, 9cb, 9ca, 16–18, 12–13, 14b, 15, 19a–b, 25–28, 14a) is assigned to the poet of Jud. 5, several are ascribed to David, and 68A, 85 and 126 are the work of Deutero-Isaiah. A favorite dating is that of the Persian period, and these Psalms are used for the reconstruction of a history otherwise almost unknown to us. Each Psalm is translated and expounded, frequently with copious reference to other literature, and with discussion of various related problems, especially such as deal with the historical background. Textual notes also are appended, for Buttenwieser is not afraid of conjectural emendation, though he uses it with caution. In this volume, then, we have a monument of painstaking and careful study of the text, combined with a high degree of originality in certain directions. It is, further, difficult to speak too warmly of the sincerity and devotion of the author. Yet it must be admitted that it belongs to a past age and to a passing school, of which it is not even a good representative. It may have been inevitable that the type of criticism inaugurated by Ewald should lead in the end to Briggs and Buttenwieser; if so, we can understand why it could not endure, and why its permanent contribution to Old Testament study lay in the fact that it set men’s thought free from extreme literalism. In the present instance we miss several features indispensable in a modern commentary. There is no reference to the modern approach to the Psalter; Gunkel is occasionally cited in textual notes. The eschatological element in the Psalms is almost wholly ignored; whether we agree with them or not, there can be little doubt that many of these ancient Hebrew poets looked and longed for an age in which Yahweh alone should be supreme, a veritable Kingdom of God. Still more serious is the fact that Hebrew poetic form is wholly ignored. A very large measure of agreement has now been reached on the subject of Old Testament Prosody, and there is no justification whatever for complete silence on the subject. Buttenwieser may disagree with the modern position, but in view of the fact that it now holds so firm a place, his disagreement should have been recorded, together with his reasons. Even if the normal methods of scansion be held to be disputable, some respect should have been paid to parallelism, and not only does Buttenwieser fail to call attention to this feature of Hebrew poetry (hardly any commentator has denied it during the last two centuries), but at times his conjectural reconstruction of the text wilfully destroys the balance of versemembers. In general, too, this reconstruction fails to conform to normally recognized principles. Comparatively few Psalms escape without drastic reorganization; the case of “68B”, cited above, is not an extreme example of the author’s kaleidoscopic methods. In this direction Buttenwieser goes even further than Briggs. No doubt verses have been occasionally misplaced in the course of transmission, but the number cannot have been very large. If dislocation of sentences had been a normal type of error, it would certainly have left some trace in the LXX, and it is simply incredible that it should have been so frequent as to affect so much of the

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literature as Buttenwieser’s theories demand. Very few readers will be convinced by the attempt to use the Psalms as a reliable source of historical information; even if the dating be approximately correct—and Psalm-dating is nearly always precarious—the references are normally too vague and general to justify their use for this purpose. The criteria employed so confidently for the identification of certain authors will certainly not meet with general acceptance; they consist in the main of similarities in vocabulary and phrasing, and the line of argument generally runs, “the language and phraseology of this poem has much in common with so-and-so; now the poem is of high literary quality, which proves that the writer did not borrow from the other poet; therefore the two must be one and the same.” It is unnecessary to comment on this type of reasoning. It is especially weak when we realize that Buttenwieser’s sense of literary values will seldom be endorsed by anything like consensus of opinion. It will be enough to remark that he regards Ps. 103 as the work of an “inferior writer”, whom he contrasts with the “superior” poets (e.g. Deutero-Isaiah and the author of Job) whom the Psalmist has copied. The translation is at times open to criticism, and there are even slips on grammatical points, though Buttenwieser’s insistence on the “Precative Perfect” is one of the few useful contributions he has made to our understanding of the Psalms. However much we may admire the moral and spiritual qualities which Buttenwieser has shown in this work, and however deeply we may sympathize with him personally, the tragic fact remains that this great work must be written down an almost complete failure. The second book which we have to record belongs emphatically to the recent type. This is Professor Fleming James’s Thirty Psalmists,* which is a practical attempt to apply Gunkel’s principles to the Psalms selected. Dr. Fleming (like most other scholars) is inclined to think that Gunkel sometimes goes too far, but that is almost inevitable in a pioneer, and need not blind any of us to the essential truth of his position. Gunkel is far from being the only scholar cited, and if Dr. Fleming has a fault it is the modesty which leads him to give weight and credence to scholars of considerably lower standing than his own. His method is to give a short introduction to each Psalm, followed by a running commentary, in which a few verses at a time are quoted in an original (and excellent) translation, and then expounded, some general remarks being added in each case. The arrangement is not obtrusively formal or rigidly maintained; the author is capable of rising above his system when the occasion requires a different procedure. The result is a fine piece of work. Professor James has a high standard of scholarship, but it is not thrust on the reader. Naturally he has to make textual emendations from time to time, but he is content simply to record them; readers familiar with Hebrew will see at once the changes he proposes, and *G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938, pp. xv+261, $2.75.

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will be able to appreciate his reasons. His aim is not to exhibit his own learning or to make an original contribution to scholarship. It is rather to help the plain man to get the best out of what the experts (including the author) have done, and with their aid to realize the profound spiritual value and message of the Psalms chosen. In this he has achieved signal success; his tone and attitude remind us more of Kittel than of any other modern commentator on the Psalter. He has, it is true, had the inestimable advantage of being able to choose his material; had he been compelled to deal with the other hundred and twenty Psalms his work might not have been so impressive. He has, with sure instinct, selected the best and the greatest of the Psalms, and nearly all the favorites are there. We might wish that he had given two or three more—notably, perhaps, Ps. 90—, but we can find little fault with what he has actually written. Here we have a book which not only deserves the respect and approval of the scholar, but can also be warmly commended to every man engaged in the practical work of the ministry, for it is technically reliable and delightful to read, and forms a splendid example of consecrated scholarship. Theodore H. Robinson, Cardiff

JBL 57 (1938): 432–34

Sprüche Salomos, by B. Gemser. Handbuch zum Alten Testament. Erste Reihe, 16. Tübingen, J. C. B. Mohr—P. Siebeck, 1937, pp. 85, M. 3.80. Proverbiastudien, by Gustav Boström. Lunds Universitets Årsskrift, N.f. Avd. 1, Bd. 30, Nr. 3. Lund, 1935. The former of these two volumes is not only international, in line with the character of this excellent series, but also inter-continental, the author being Dutch and professor at the University of Pretoria in South Africa. It is evidently a development of an earlier work contributed by him to the Dutch series, Tekst en Uitleg (1929–31). The volume is a “kurzgefasster Kommentar” in the extreme sense of the term, with its 85 pages of extent, and it is an admirable example how such condensation may be made. The usual plan of the series is followed, with translation of the portions of text on the left-hand page, below brief notes on text and criticism, along with metrical statistics, and then a compact exposé of the con-

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tents of the respective section. The first nine chapters of the book on the subject of Wisdom lend themselves well to a consecutive running commentary, which is excellently done. In the case of the remaining contents of the book the author is able to work out very readable expositions of the themes of the proverbs; e. g., the treatment of the sociological background (pp. 47, 51 f.), of legal practise (p. 48), the rôle of the king (pp. 49 f.), the subjects briefly digested, multum in parvo. The reviewer has read through a considerable portion of the Hebrew text in company with the commentary. He is pleased to find that, as against the prevailing trend, the commentator is conservative in treatment of the text; this contrast appears in comparison with G. Beer’s numerous suggested “corrections” in Kittel-Kahle’s Biblia Hebraica; see for example the treatment of ch. 8. The author is often satisfied with presenting various criticisms in brief. For independent treatment might be noticed his handling of 6 26 and 30 15, but the change of text proposed in the last case is dubious. Also as to metrical form he is conservative, allowing freedom of metre, e. g. passage of trimeter to dimeter, a case in point at 6 3b, where he remarks that “der kurze Rhythmus . . . dient wohl zum Ausdruck der Spannung.” Indeed unlike the mathematical regularity of Classical verse Hebrew prosody is subject to the immediate mood of the poet. Similarly conservative is he in historical criticism. The second Solomonic book (cc. 10-20 16) he assigns to the century after Solomon; on the collection of “the men of Hezekiah” (cc. 25–29) he remarks, “An der Richtigkeit dieser Angabe zu zweifeln liegt kein Grund vor.” The king of the Proverbs is certainly a domestic monarch, not an alien tyrant. The youngest collection, as generally recognized, cc. 1–9, he assigns to the early post-Exilic centuries, more exactly not after Ezra’s age (p. 5). Among his arguments are the steady use of the divine Name, Yhwh, and of tôraµ for the teaching of the mother (1 8), of the teacher (3 1), etc.; it is used in the later technical sense only at 29 18. Cf., per contra, Toy’s late dating of the whole book in his standard English commentary in the International Series. Similar reaction appears in the volume in the Westminster Commentaries by Oesterley (1929), who (p. xxv) dates cc. 10–22 16 and cc. 25–29 as not later than 700 B. C., while he brings cc. 1–9 down into the third century, but withal containing earlier elements (p. xxvi). This revulsion of critical opinion may be in large part due to archaeology at large, and in particular to the discovery of the Egyptian Teaching of Amem-em-ope, on which Oesterley has a most useful excursus (pp. xxxiii seq.), and which Gemser treats very exactly in his study of 23 12—24 22, “Die ägyptisierenden Sprüche.” Valuable is the very full bibliography he gives on this Egyptian material, pp. 9 f. On the fascinating and much vexed problem of the personified Wisdom Gemser’s observations (pp. 38 f.) are worthy of note; he takes issue with the many treatments which would find there direct importations from abroad. Indeed, due to the fact that it is the traditional shibboleth that philosophy began with the Greeks, we have become accustomed

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to think that all that smacks of wisdom is an importation from that quarter; but reverse-wise we have not taken into account the influence of the Orient on Hellenism. And along with the admission of international leaven in this Israelite literature Gemser rightly insists upon its “Eigenart” (pp. 5 f.); it is indeed utilitarian and eudaemonistic—as indeed most actual religion always is—but thoroughly religious, with always the appeal to the sanction of the One God. The morality preached is democratic, for the plain citizen, not for the scribe or the gentleman, as in much of the foreign literature of the kind. And how different is the Biblical idea of the love for Wisdom from that of the Greeks; there love ascends, as in Plato’s Symposium, by animal evolution from the lowest passions of men to the high mark; but here there is the persistent Entweder-Oder, “from the days of thy youth.” And so now the better psychology of our day is coming to recognize the expulsive power of a higher affection—what the Hebrews called in unaffected language the love of Wisdom. Boström’s volume, appearing a little earlier than Gemser’s, is a collection of important, well-digested monographs on problems arising in Proverbs. His ch. 1 on “The Seven Pillars of Wisdom” is a discussion of a much mooted problem; after survey of a wide field of ancient theosophy he decides to base the idea on the Babylonian scheme of the seven planets. Here there is contradiction with Gemser, who (p. 41) holds to the contrary theory that the seven pillars are an architectonic feature of the ancient mansion; evidently Boström’s book was not at his hand in time. Of particular interest are the related chapters on “Wisdom and the Strange Woman,” “The Cultic Meaning of
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JBL 63 (1944): 195–99

Hebrew Grammar: A New Approach, by Alexander Sperber. (Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. LXII, Part III, pp. 137–262). Dr. Sperber is a man of great industry, with an extensive knowledge of the Bible and Hebrew morphology, but apparently with little knowledge of linguistic science or of comparative Semitic grammar. He is so firmly convinced of the value of his ideas that he is highly skeptical, even scornful, of the work of scientific grammarians. The work consists largely of lists of forms by means of which the author claims that he has proved certain things which are set down in his remarks on the various lists. At first these lists and remarks present a certain appearance of validity, but this disappears completely on further analysis. Neither the author’s aims nor his conclusions are stated with sufficient clearness; and his methods of reasoning prove to be superficial and mechanical. His introduction (pp. 137–162) is devoted almost entirely to a castigation of the grammars of Bergsträsser and of Bauer and Leander. Hebrew grammar, he says correctly, should be based on a correct Bible text, and he criticises Bergsträsser for using only “second hand material,” i. e., material collected by former grammarians, supplemented by lexicon and concordance, and contrasts this method with his own, the consistent use of a single Bible text, the Masoretic Bible of Jacob ben Hayyim of 1524–25. He, however, gives no reasons why this text is to be preferred to any other, and he acknowledges (not here but in his “Problems of the Masora,” Hebrew Union College Annual, XVII [1943], p. 370) that the editor of this text was eclectic in his choice of forms from various sources. One of the most common defects in the author’s methods is his failure to give due weight to both sides of a question. If he can collect a series of forms which apparently violate some grammatical rule or principle, he assumes that the rule or principle is overthrown, without any regard whatever for the weight of evidence, both in Hebrew itself and in the cognate tongues, on the basis of which the rule or principle has been established. He criticises (p. 140 ff.) the statement of Bauer and Leander that the usual form of the preposition Nm before the article is -h-Nm, and that exceptions (i. e., -hma) are infrequent, selten. He assumes that he has disproved this statement by citing a list of over fifty passages with -hma, but here (as is regularly his custom) he does not state the other side of the case, which would be a list of passages with -h-Nm. Such a comparison would show at once that forms -hma

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are still selten compared to forms -h-Nm; there are over forty of the latter in Genesis alone. A second defect is his practice of setting up a “straw man” and then proceeding to knock it down. For example, he misunderstands Bauer and Leander to assert that all verbs occurred orginally in all seven conjugations with different meanings, and attempts to disprove this incorrect assumption by citing numerous cases where the various pairs qal and hiphil, qal and piel, piel and hiphil have the same meaning. Here not only is his assumption incorrect, but his lists also fail to prove what he thinks they do, as it is perfectly possible for forms having originally different meanings to acquire ultimately the same meaning. Following the introduction the chief topics discussed are listed as follows: Vocalization through vowel letters Vocalization of preposition w Interchangeability of perfect and imperfect The construct state of nouns Number of nouns with numerals The preposition h The prepositions l, k, b The particles l) and l( His text is followed by an index of biblical passages (pp. 243–260) which, in view of the fact that these passages are already cited in groups under the various headings of the discussion, is of doubtful value, and a table of contents. The chief grammatical results which the author thinks he has obtained, including those reached in the Introduction, may be summarized as follows: 1. ma is not to be regarded as an exceptional form of Nm before the article. 2. The “conjugations” (Mynynb) are not derived stems, but are to be regarded as different ways of conjugating verbs — i. e., as conjugations in the Greek and Latin sense. 3. The negatives )l and l) are used “indiscriminately” [the author means in prohibitions, though he does not say so]. 4. The matres lectionis are simply vowels and have no value as indicating original consonants. 5. The perfect and imperfect do not complement one another, but represent two possibilities of expressing one and the same time; the difference between them is not temporal but dialectic [in other words, though the author does not draw this conclusion, they represent like the Mynynb, conjugations in the Greek or Latin sense, the perfect in one dialect, the imperfect in another]. 6. There is no difference in vocalization between waw conversive and simple

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waw conjuctive,w,,A wA, and w: are used interchangeably; w: and wF with nouns are also interchangeable; pretonic qameç is nonsense. 7. Forms like lpo%yI, xq%ayI, #$g%AyI are from bi-consonantal stems lp, xq, #g, not from triconconontal stems N``p. 8. The construct state and the absolute state may be used interchangeably without difference in meaning. 9. Numerals may take either the singular or the plural of their noun [what this well known fact is supposed to show does not appear]. 10. The article and the interrogative h are “equally” [= identically] vocalized and are hence identical in spite of Masoretic attempts to differentiate between them [they probably are identical, representing two different uses of the demonstrative particle haµ-]. 11. The prepositions l) and l( are used interchangeably without difference in meaning. 12. The prepositions l, k, b can be vocalized with –;, –a, or –f without difference of meaning; the theory that vocalization with a implies the article is untenable. The argument throughout is aimed at the overthrow of well-established grammatical facts and principles, many of which do not depend on Hebrew alone for their validity, and the results claimed are almost entirely negative; no attempt is made to build up a system to take the place of the one the author would fain tear down. It may help the reader to understand how the author arrives at some of his conclusions by stating some of his fundamental grammatical beliefs. According to his “Hebrew Phonology” (Hebrew Union College Annual, XVI, 1941) there are only three vowels: a (–a and –f) i (–i, –', –e), u (o) (–O, –u, w%) and the various symbols for these vowels may be used interchangeably, cf. pp. 453, 459, 466, 473–4, 479; he makes no clear distinction between daghesh lene and daghesh forte (p. 480) and states (p. 481) “Daghesh was inserted as a means by which to indicate that the vowel-sign of the preceding syllable indicates a short vowel.” In “Problems of the Masora,” p. 390, he seems to imply that daghesh was originally “a mere dot inserted at random in curved letters for the sole purpose of their beautification.” The author apparently does not consider, either in his arguments or his conclusions, the possibility of mistakes or mispointing, of varying traditions among various schools of Masoretes, or that differences in form or construction may be due to the fact that the texts belong to different periods; and, as already stated, linguistic science and comparative grammar do not function at all in his treatment. As distinguished from the results the author presumes he has reached, I fail to see any scientific results that follow from the investigation. None of the facts he mentions are new, none have the importance he ascribes to them, and all

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are susceptible of other and better explanations, as could be shown in detail if space permitted. The sole value of the work would seem to lie in the collections of examples which, while they do not serve the purpose for which they are here employed by the author, may well have application in the scientific discussion of exceptions, real or apparent, to well established grammatical rules and principles. Frank R. Blake

JBL 63 (1944): 438–39

Blake’s Review of “Hebrew Grammar: A New Approach,” by A. Sperber. In a recent issue of JBL (63 [1944] 195–9), Professor Frank R. Blake wrote a scathing review of Dr. Alexander Sperber’s New Approach to Hebrew Grammar, which also appeared in this journal (62 [1943] 137–262). Of Blake’s criticisms, the following result from a deep dislike of Dr. Sperber’s approach. 1. A lengthy list of exceptions to a rule of Hebrew grammar is not sufficient (in Blake’s opinion) to overthrow that rule or principle. 2. According to Blake, Dr. Sperber does not take into account the possibility of mistakes, mispointing, varying traditions, etc. 3. Blake maintains that in formulating or rejecting grammatical generalizations one must consider the weight of evidence from cognate languages, “linguistic science and comparative grammar.” 4. Blake questions Sperber’s selection of Jacob ben Hayyim’s Masoretic Bible of 1524–25 as the basis for his grammar, on the ground that this also is admittedly an eclectic text. 5. “The results claimed are almost entirely negative.” Sperber strives principally to “overthrow well-established grammatical facts and principles. . . .” 6. Professor Blake ridicules Dr. Sperber’s belief that the daghesh was originally a random dot with no grammatical significance, but does not attempt to argue against this view. The inadequacy of these criticisms is manifest. 1. Exceptions to a grammatical rule must somehow be accounted for. This is especially true of the current editions of the Hebrew Bible, which are “doctored”

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in accordance with “established grammatical law.” Furthermore, a scribe (or printer!) is less likely to change the text in deviation from grammatical law than vice versa. Thus, the exceptions listed by Sperber are, by and large, original readings, representing spoken Hebrew in Biblical times. 2. For these same reasons, the so-called “mistakes” must also be explained. Besides, it is to be remembered that when a series of “mistakes” follows a pattern or rule of its own, it becomes even more difficult to regard such abnormal forms as genuine errors. 3. Concerning the use of comparative grammar and cognate languages, it is the fundamental postulate of Sperber’s approach that Hebrew grammar should be based solely on the text of the Hebrew Bible. A comparative grammar can then be based upon this and upon similarly evolved grammars of the other Semitic languages, but never are we to base a Hebrew grammar on the grammatical facts and principles of another language. 4. There is an underlying consideration that determines the best Bible text to be used for this purpose: all current editions of the Hebrew Bible are derived, more or less, from the edition of Jacob ben Hayyim, although they contain deviations from and corrections of that text. Of course, a pure text would be preferable; but for the present this is an unattained ideal. Moreover, though ben Hayyim’s text is eclectic, his readings are based on manuscripts, whereas the deviations of later editions are in most instances purely conjectural, lacking any corroboration from the manuscripts. 5. The negative aspect of Dr. Sperber’s work must necessarily precede the constructive aspect. A hint of the results of the “New Approach” is contained in some of Dr. Sperber’s earlier works. In some of these it is suggested that the “exceptions” represent variant grammatical tendencies. These, in turn, resulted from dialectical differences, which arose in various locales and periods during the development of Biblical Hebrew. 6. The most convincing proof of the random nature of the daghesh is to be found in an article on the subject by the reviewer, Dr. Frank R. Blake (JBL 52 [1943] 89–107). After accepting many classes of daghesh (being unable to reduce its use to a small number of principles), he concludes: “In some few cases the point (apparently Daghesh) seems to be independent of the development here sketched.” Space permitting, it could be shown that the ad hominem remarks contained in the review are incorrect. In the light of the above analysis and in the interest of Biblical scholarship, a more careful and a more objective evaluation of Dr. Sperber’s work seems desirable. Amos Edelheit

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006)

JBL 65 (1946): 205–8

BOOK REVIEWS OLD TESTAMENT SECTION

A Guide to the Understanding of the Bible: the Development of Ideas within the Old and New Testaments, by Harry Emerson Fosdick. New York: Harper, 1938. Pp. xvi + 348. $3.00. [Owing to the intervention of the war, the review was not received until the autumn of 1945. To aid the reader I prepared the following abstract in English, and it has subsequently been revised by the reviewer. — W. F. A.] Fosdick’s book, A Guide to Understanding the Bible, is clearly and beautifully written. The author shows good knowledge of modern biblical research, as well as ability to control the wide material, from which he selects what suits his purpose, presenting it plastically and eloquently. He bases his approach to the ethical and spiritual values of the Bible almost wholly on an evolutionary historicism; his position in the mid-current of modern biblical scholarship without being himself an original investigator, renders his conclusions strikingly typical of the school to which he belongs, reflecting the prevailing intellectual atmosphere of the past generation in biblical scholarship. At the same time one cannot but be aware that Fosdick’s book reflects a period of biblical scholarship which is now drawing to an end, while a new period is dawning. In his book the author has, to speak candidly, written the obituary of a whole scholarly approach and method of investigation, making both their inherent merits and their limitations clear to the thoughtful student. While no trained scholar of today would deny the great importance of the evolutionary principle in history, much less its value in clearing up many seemingly enigmatic phenomena of biblical literature, we are today acutely conscious of the danger of assuming unilinear evolution of institutions or ideas. Two dangers stand out clearly: first that of reconstructing history to suit hypotheses a priori of the direction of development: second that of identifying description of evolutionary historical stages with insight into the true meaning of these successive stages. Thus Fosdick adopts a fundamental error of modern scholarly research in making the evolution of the religion of Israel begin with the most primitive ideas and practices in order to point a contrast between the alleged low level of early Israel and the high level evident in later books of the Old Testament. Of course, one cannot deny that there were early survivals from still earlier stages of religious culture; the great mistake is to construct a system out of such survivals, arbitrarily

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disregarding or rejecting all contrary evidence for a higher level of ethical and spiritual life and thought, which is explained away or treated as later interpolation in earlier sources. Thus we have the familiar figure of Yahweh as a purely anthropomorphic nature deity, limited to a single shrine or tribe, brutal and sanguinary in character, represented by a fetish or image, pacified by human sacrifice . . . This extraordinary picture is constructed only by eclectic selection of passages which are interpreted in such a way as to suggest the picture in question, disregarding the fact that the oldest narrative sources, in particular the Yahwist, as well as the earliest legal corpora, presuppose a much higher level of ethics and a much more advanced faith in God. In this connection the author disregards entirely the already published works of Gressmann and Volz, where similar objections to current criticism are stated. Moreover, our knowledge of Israelite religious history is not really made any easier by this schematizing reconstruction; actually historical interpretation becomes harder than it was originally. Modern scholars have failed completely to show how this alleged transformation of early Israelite religion to a pure ethical monotheism could have taken place and what basic forces there were which could have altered the picture of God so radically. It is quite impossible to attribute all this to the activity of the prophets, since their activity itself presupposes an established belief in God as judge, redeemer and foreseeing planner of Israel’s future. The familiar pattern of a nomadic stage followed by a peasant phase is totally inadequate, because a specifically religious innovation cannot emerge from a change of material status. Moreover, Canaanite religious syncretism exerted more disintegrative than constructive force, so it cannot be held responsible for such a radical change in the religion of Israel. With insight far surpassing his lesser contemporaries Wellhausen recognized that no satisfactory explanation of this change can be given, while Eduard Meyer pointed out the futility of the cliché which radical scholars often employed in order to explain the source of Israelite monotheism: “Yahweh God of Israel and Israel people of Yahweh.” The author also exaggerates the social mission of the prophets, who came primarily to proclaim the imminence of divine judgment on a sinful people, not to propagandize for a social ideal. It is a strange misunderstanding of the prophetic point of view to say with the author that God was identified by the prophets with an unattained social ideal. On the other hand the author fails entirely to mention such fundamental matters as the wrath and the stern severity of God, which formed so large a part of the prophetic message, presumably because they do not seem to fit well into the rising evolutionary curve from primitive polytheism toward the concept of the God of love. The author fails completely to reckon with the fact that the prophets were closely associated with the cultic life of Israel, a relation clearly expressed in their expectation of a new temple at the same time that they continued to combat the old temple. Similarly, the author does not even recognize, much less explain, the same paradox in Judaism, where preachers of a faith

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Journal of Biblical Literature 125, no. 1 (2006)

with cosmic scope at the same time attribute a special place to the holy people and its temple. The underlying reason for this lack of insight on the part of the author is his neglect of the covenant idea which is so characteristic of the conception of Israel’s relationship to God in Old Testament literature. Instead the author adopts certain general religious ideas derived from the individualistic spirit of Hellenism as his guide through the essentially different conceptual world of the Bible. With such guidance it is scarcely surprising that he stakes out a short cut through the Bible which consistently excludes not only Old Testament cult but also New Testament teachings about the Church, its sacraments, its liturgy and its expectation of the return of Christ. Here it becomes obvious that the choice of the author’s factual data for his purpose is determined by his subjective premises rather than by any scientific method. The second outstanding danger indicated above is that mere description of evolutionary stages is treated as equivalent to real understanding of what is essential in any phenomenon belonging to the history of the human spirit. However, phenomena of this order can be understood only when their basic principles and the intrinsic forces through which they receive their structure are known. For biblical religion this means that one cannot pass over the central concept, that God bears a special relationship to His people, a relationship appropriately designated by the words “covenant” and “election.” Only when we fully recognize the centrality of this conviction in the faith of Israel do we grasp the true inwardness of biblical teachings, which not only convey the teaching of God but also bear witness to the acts of God, through which a new reality makes itself felt in history. In this way we learn to see the world of early Israel, the age of the Prophets, and the period of post-exilic Judaism in a new light, standing not only in logical, but also in living, relationship to the divine act of revelation in Christ. It is, of course, true that the Old Testament becomes much less easy for the modern mind to understand as soon as we abandon certain widely assumed premises of modern thought. Nor can it be any longer subordinated to the New Testament by the simple method of drawing a line of evolution over it to culminate in certain selected high points of the New Testament. On the contrary, it demands careful study of its own dialectic representation of the process by which God reveals himself to man. Only in this way can the Old Testament receive due recognition for what it claims to be—a book of authoritative character, normative to all believers in God. This claim of the Old Testament—embodied in the Church’s recognition of its place in the canon of Scripture—demands the most careful and serious effort at real understanding on our part. W. Eichrodt

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Studies in Early Christianity François Bovon 080102935X • 352 pp. • $34.99p

“Scholars and students of the New Testament and early Christianity will be extremely grateful for this outstanding collection of distinguished essays by François Bovon. It brings together for the first time his erudite work on canonical and apocryphal literature of the gospels and acts, illustrating the dynamic complexity of Christian theology in the first centuries. These essays will delight readers with fascinating insights, and they will satisfy the most ardent desire for sober thoughtfulness in theological reflection.”—Karen L. King, Harvard Divinity School

Rereading Paul Together David E. Aune, editor 080102840X • 208 pp. • $21.99p • Available: April 2006

Protestant and Roman Catholic scholars have conferred in recent decades to reconsider their theological differences. Conversation regarding Paul’s doctrine of justification led to a breakthrough in 1999 with the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification. This book recounts, assesses, and continues that conversation. The contributors are David G. Truemper, David M. Rylaarsdam, Randall C. Zachman, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Richard E. DeMaris, John Reumann, Margaret M. Mitchell, Susan K. Wood, Michael J. Root, and David E. Aune.

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Understanding Paul Stephen Westerholm

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ETCHED IN STONE The Emergence of the Decalogue David H. Aaron

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New Collegeville Bible Commentary First and Second Timothy, Titus, Philemon,Volume 9 Terence J. Keegan, O.P. The sucessors of Jesus and Paul are given answers to the question, “What do we do now?” in these pastoral and practical letters. S0-8146-2868-0

Paper, 80 pp., 6 x 9, $6.95

James, First Peter, Jude, Second Peter,Volume 10 Patrick J. Hartin Patrick Hartin breathes new life into this old but ever new correspondence. S0-8146-2869-9

Paper, 88 pp., 6 x 9, $6.95

The Letter to the Hebrews,Volume 11 Daniel J. Harrington, S.J. Harrington’s commentary is straightforward and uncomplicated and will give readers a renewed appreciation of the saving work of Jesus. S0-8146-2870-2

Paper, 72 pp., 6 x 9, $6.95

The Book of Revelation,Volume 12 Catherine Ann Cory Here is the commentary that rescues the Book of Revelation from its fundamentalist interpretation as a calendar for cosmic chaos and reconfirms our faith in God’s presence and power. S0-8146-2885-0

1.800.858.5450

Paper, 96 pp., 6 x 9, $6.95

www.litpress.org

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New and Recent Titles BIBLICAL PEOPLES AND ETHNICITY An Archaeological Study of Egyptians, Canaanites, Philistines, and Early Israel 1300–1100 B.C.E. Ann E. Killebrew Ancient Israel existed alongside various peoples including Canaanites, Egyptians, and Philistines, and its proximity to these groups has made it difficult—until now—to distinguish the archaeological traces of early Israel and other contemporary groups. Features of late secondmillennium B.C.E. culture are critically examined in their historical and biblical contexts in order to define the complex social boundaries of the early Iron Age and reconstruct the diverse material world of these four peoples. Paper $39.95 1-58983-097-0 Archaeology and Biblical Studies

382 pages, 2004 Code: 061709 Hardback edition www.brill.nl

THE BIBLE AND THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS C. D. Elledge The Dead Sea Scrolls have revolutionized our understanding of the literature of the Hebrew Bible, Second Temple Judaism, and the New Testament. As the importance of the Scrolls has increased over the past decades, the scholarly literature has increased exponentially. This brief yet thorough book highlights the most important contributions the Scrolls have made to the study of the Bible and charts new territory for future research into the Scrolls and the Qumran community. After reading The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, students and scholars alike will have the basic understanding of the Scrolls necessary for pondering even deeper questions regarding the history, literature, and theology of the Bible. Paper $15.95 1-58983-183-7 Archaeology and Biblical Studies

160 pages, 2005 Code: 061714 Hardback edition www.brill.nl

Society of Biblical Literature • P.O. Box 2243 • Williston, VT 05495-2243 Phone: 877-725-3334 (toll-free) or 802-864-6185 • Fax: 802-864-7626 Order online at www.sbl-site.org

JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE

SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITORS OF THE JOURNAL General Editor: GAIL R. O’DAY, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 Book Review Editor: CHRISTINE ROY YODER, Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 Associate Book Review Editor: TODD C. PENNER, Austin College, Sherman, TX 75090

EDITORIAL BOARD

Term Expiring 2006: THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 PAUL B. DUFF, George Washington University, Washington, DC 20052 CAROLE R. FONTAINE, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 JUDITH LIEU, King’s College London, London WC2R 2LS United Kingdom MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland KATHLEEN M. O’CONNOR, Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, GA 30031 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 VINCENT L. WIMBUSH, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA 91711 2007: MOSHE BERNSTEIN, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 JO ANN HACKETT, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA 02138 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 ROBERT KUGLER, Lewis & Clark College, Portland, OR 97219 TIMOTHY LIM, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH1 2LX Scotland STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 STEPHEN PATTERSON, Eden Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO 63119 EMERSON POWERY, Lee University, Cleveland, TN 37312 ADELE REINHARTZ, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, ON N2L 3C5 Canada RICHARD STEINER, Yeshiva University, New York, NY 10033-3201 SZE-KAR WAN, Andover Newton Theological School, Newton Centre, MA 02459 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 Missouri, Columbia, MO 65211 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 Editorial Assistant: Christopher B. Hays, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 President of the Society: Robert A. Kraft, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA 19104-6304; Vice President: Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ 08542; 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 Greek and transliteration fonts used in this work are available from www.linguistsoftware.com, 425-775-1130. 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.

NEW BOOKS FROM EERDMANS THE ORIGINAL STORY God, Israel, and the World JOHN BARTON and JULIA BOWDEN A complete introduction to Old Testament history, archaeology, geography, and textual interpretation. Sidebars, fact boxes, maps, and illustrations compliment the accessibly written text. ISBN 0-8028-2900-7 • 334 pages • paperback • $20.00

2 SAMUEL The Forms of the Old Testament Literature Volume VIII ANTONY F. CAMPBELL, S.J. “Campbell is a master of this narrative material and is able to exhibit the deep artistic character of the text, making for a most welcome and fresh read. His commentary is informed on critical data but lingers with that data only in order to see the artistic force of the text itself.” — Walter Brueggemann ISBN 0-8028-2813-2 • 256 pages • paperback • $50.00

HE THAT COMETH The Messiah Concept in the Old Testament and Later Judaism SIGMUND MOWINCKEL Foreword by JOHN J. COLLINS

“This stimulating and richly rewarding book is unquestionably of first-rate importance for the study of both Old and New Testaments.” — Society for Old Testament Study Book List ISBN 0-8028-2850-7 • 560 pages • paperback • $40.00

THE BOOK OF PROVERBS Chapters 15–31 The New International Commentary on the Old Testament BRUCE K. WALTKE “Waltke brings to bear a lifetime of learning and expertise as a world authority on Hebrew grammar. His theological approach is conservative evangelical and intended to serve the Christian pulpit and laity.” — Raymond C. Van Leeuwen ISBN 0-8028-2776-4 • 623 pages • hardcover • $50.00

At your bookstore, or call 800-253-7521 www.eerdmans.com

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125 1 2006

The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls

JOURNAL OF

BIBLICAL LITERATURE SPRING 2006

Volume I: Scripture and the Scrolls

VOLUME 125, NO. 1

Volume II: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community

James H. Charlesworth George L. Collord Professor of New Testament Language and Literature, Princeton Theological Seminary ISBN 1-932792-34-1 (set) ISBN 1-932792-19-8 (volume I) ISBN 1-932792-20-1 (volume II) ISBN 1-932792-21-X (volume III) $19.95 | 5 x 8, 150 pages | Paper ISBN 1-932792-48-1

1-800-537-5487

baylorpress.com

...on the path of faith and understanding

JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE

Volume III: The Scrolls and Christian Origins

Catholic or catholic? Biblical Scholarship at the Center Carolyn Osiek 5–22 Why Does Deuteronomy Legislate Cities of Refuge? Asylum in the Covenant Collection (Exodus 21:12–14) and Deuteronomy (19:1–13) Jeffrey Stackert 23–49 Jeroboam the Ephratite Mark Leuchter

51–72

Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation Joel Marcus 73–87 Point of View in a Gospel Story: What Difference Does It Make? Luke 19:1–10 as a Test Case Gary Yamasaki 89–105 Is There an “Anti-Priscan” Tendency in the Manuscripts? Some Textual Problems with Prisca and Aquila Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz 107–128 On David's “Taking” and “Leaving” Concubines: (2 Samuel 5:13; 15:16) Andrew E. Hill 129–139 The Centurion in Matthew 8:5–13: Considerations of the Proposal of Theodore W. Jennings, Jr., and Tat-Siong Benny Liew D. B. Saddington 140–142 A Note on 2 Peter 1:19–20 Terrance Callan

143–150

JBL th Anniversary Commemorative Essays Gail O'Day, Patrick Gray, Christine Roy Yoder, and Todd C. Penner 151–213 US ISSN 0021-9231

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