0028–6885 | volume 56 | number 1 | january 2010
NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES Published quarterly in association with studiorum novi testamenti societas
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NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES
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EDITOR OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES J. M. G. Barclay (Durham, England) Editorial Board D. Allison (Pittsburgh Seminary, PA, USA) K. Backhaus (München, Germany) D. Balch (Pacific Lutheran Seminary, CA, USA) I. Dunderberg (Helsinki, Finland ) J. Fitzgerald (Miami, FL, USA) C. Gerber (Hamburg, Germany) M. Holmes (Bethel College, St. Paul, MN, USA) C. Karakolis (Athens, Greece) M. Konradt (Heidelberg, Germany) H. Löhr (Jena, Germany) L. M. McDonald (Arizona, USA) M. MacDonald (Antigonish Nova Scotia, Canada) H. Moxnes (Oslo, Norway) A. Reinhartz (Ottawa, Canada) D. Sim (Melbourne, Australia) G. Steyn (Pretoria, South Africa) F. Tolmie (Bloemfontein, South Africa) H. van de Sandt (Tilburg, The Netherlands)
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Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas: Die Gleichnisse vom verlorenen Sohn (Lk 15.11–32) und vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus (Lk 16.19–31) als Schwestergeschichten HAN NA R O O S E Leuphana University of Lueneburg, Scharnhorststr. 1, 21335 Lueneburg, Germany. email:
[email protected]
The observation that the exemplary narrative of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke .–) has a ‘sister-story’ in the parable of the Lost Son (Luke .–) takes us to the centre of Luke’s theology. In .– two motifs collide, which in different ways determine a person’s eschatological fate: the repentance of a sinner (.) and the compensating balance between the good and the bad that one receives in this life and in the next (.). Through the connectedness of the parable-trilogy in Luke and the parable of the rich man and Lazarus both concepts are set in tension with one another. The theological centre of Luke’s Gospel lies in the tense inter-relationship between Luke and Luke . Keywords: Lukas, Lazarus, Umkehr, Besitzethik, Eschatologie
. Lk .– und .– als Schwestergeschichten
Wer das Lukasevangelium als zusammenhängenden Text, der ‘in guter Ordnung’ (καθϵξῆς, .) gestaltet ist—und nicht als nur lose verbundene ‘Perikopenliteratur’—wahrnimmt, hat die beeindruckende Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn (Lk .–) noch lebendig vor Augen, wenn er die Erzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus (Lk .–) liest oder hört. Die Erinnerung an die Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn wird bei der Lektüre der Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus zusätzlich dadurch wach gehalten, dass Lk .– und .– Parallelen aufweisen. Die Geschichten lassen sich aufgrund dieser Parallelen auch gegeneinander
HANNA ROOSE
profilieren. Die räumliche Nähe sowie die strukturellen und motivischen Parallelen legen den Schluss nahe: Lk .– will im Lichte von Lk .– gelesen werden. Die Strukturparallelität zwischen Lk .– und Lk .– lässt sich in folgender Tabelle zusammenfassen: Lk .–
Lk .–
Die Ausgangssituation: reich und arm –: Der reiche jüngere Sohn verschleudert sein Vermögen.
: Der reiche Mann lebt in Freuden (ϵὐφραινόμϵνος).
–: Der arme jüngere Sohn (hat Hunger, möchte von dem essen, was die unreinen Tiere [Schweine] bekommen: ϵ̓πϵθύμϵι χορτασθῆναι).
–: Der arme Lazarus (hat Hunger, möchte von dem essen, was die unreinen Tiere [Hunde] sich holen: ϵ̓πιθυμῶν χορτασθῆναι).
Die Wende: Heimkehr und Umkehrung –: Der Sohn macht sich auf und kehrt zurück zu seinem Vater. Der Vater sieht ihn von Ferne (Ἔτι δϵ̀
αὐτοῦ μακρὰν ἀπϵ́χοντος ϵἶδϵν αὐτὸν ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ) und läuft ihm
entgegen. Der Sohn zeigt Reue und bittet darum, als Tagelöhner aufgenommen zu werden.
–: Der reiche Mann und Lazarus sterben. Lazarus kommt an Abrahams Brust, der ehemals reiche Mann in die Unterwelt. Der ehemals reiche Mann sieht Abraham von Ferne (ὁρᾷ Ἀβραὰμ ἀπὸ μακρόθϵν). Der ehemals reiche Mann bittet um Erbarmen und Sendung von Lazarus.
Reaktionen und ihre Begründungen –: Der Vater nimmt den Sohn auf. Er begründet sein Handeln damit, dass sein Sohn tot war und wieder lebendig
–: Abraham lehnt die Bitte ab. Anrede: τϵ́κνον Er begründet seine Ablehnung damit,
F. Bovon bezeichnet Lk .– (das Gleichnis vom barmherzigen Samaritaner), Lk .– und Lk .– als ‘Schwestergeschichten’. Er beruft sich dabei jedoch nur auf die gleichartige Einleitung und die Beobachtung, dass es sich jeweils um fiktive Geschichten handele, die zu einem bestimmten Verhalten motivieren wollen. (Das Evangelium nach Lukas, ,–, [EKKNT /; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, ] .). Diese Beobachtungen treffen jedoch auch auf andere lukanische Gleichnisse zu (vgl. J. Leonhardt-Balzer, ‘Wie kommt ein Reicher in Abrahams Schoß? Vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus—Lk ,–’, Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu [hg. R. Zimmermann; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, ] –, hier: ). Es gilt vielmehr, die spezifischen Berührungspunkte zwischen Lk .– und Lk .– herauszuarbeiten und für die Interpretation fruchtbar zu machen. In der Literatur wird gelegentlich auf diese Berührungspunkte zwischen beiden Texten verwiesen, ohne sie für die Auslegung der Texte fruchtbar zu machen. Z.B. O. Lehtipuu, The Afterlife Imagery in Luke’s Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (SNT ; Leiden/Boston: Brill, ) Anm. .
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas
geworden ist. Alle feiern gemeinsam ein Fest und sind fröhlich (ϵὐφραίνϵσθαι).
dass der ehemals reiche Mann sein Gutes bereits im Leben gehabt habe. Die Kluft zwischen Abrahams Brust— dem Ehrenplatz an der Festtafel—und dem Hades ist unüberwindlich.
Verschiebung des Fokus: Bruder/Brüder –: Der ältere Sohn erfährt, was passiert ist. Der Vater kommt hinaus zum Sohn und bittet ihn, hineinzukommen.
–: Der ehemals reiche Mann bittet darum, dass seine Brüder erfahren, was passiert ist. Abraham lehnt ab.
Einsprüche und Entgegnungen –: Der ältere Sohn bringt das Prinzip des Ausgleichs ein. Der Vater entgegnet: Alles, was mein ist, das ist dein. Anrede: τϵ́κνον Aufforderung zum Freuen (ϵὐφρανθῆναι). Sohn war tot und ist wieder lebendig geworden.
–: Der ehemals reiche Mann bringt das Prinzip der Umkehr ein. Abraham entgegnet: Es bringt nichts, wenn jemand von den Toten zu den Lebenden kommt.
Beide Erzählungen kontrastieren zu Beginn arm und reich, Freude und Bedrückung. Während der reiche Mann sich wie ein König kleidet und ‘jeden Tag in Freuden lebt’ (ϵὐφραινόμϵνος καθ’ ἡμϵ́ραν λαμπρῶς), liegt Lazarus hungrig und mit Geschwüren bedeckt draußen vor der Tür des Reichen. Diesen Kontrast zwischen reich und arm durchlebt der ‘verlorene Sohn’: Er lebt zuerst ‘drinnen’, bei Vater und Bruder, hat dort zu Essen und ein gutes Auskommen. Dann geht er nach ‘draußen’, verlässt den väterlichen Hof, verschleudert seinen Besitz und wird arm. Er fängt an zu hungern und endet in der sozialen Beziehungslosigkeit, in der allein die unreinen Schweine ihm noch Gesellschaft leisten. Insofern vereinigt der Sohn das Schicksal des reichen Mannes und des armen Lazarus in sich. Dabei fällt zweierlei auf: () Die Lebensweise des (noch) reichen Sohnes wird moralisch abwertend beschrieben, er ‘verschleudert’ sein Geld (καὶ ϵ̓κϵῖ διϵσκόρπισϵν τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ ζῶν ἀσώτως; .). Die Lebensweise des In der Forschung ist umstritten, ob wir uns hier einen wohlhabenden Großgrundbesitzer vorzustellen haben oder einen Hof ohne Spezialisierung von eher bescheidenem Wohlstand. Zur Diskussion vgl. K. H. Ostmeyer, ‘Dabeisein ist alles (Der verlorene Sohn) Lk ,–’, Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu (hg. R. Zimmermann; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, ) –, hier: –. In jedem Fall gilt, dass der Sohn zunächst sein Auskommen hat, dann aber existentiell durch Hunger bedroht ist. M. Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium (HNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –.
HANNA ROOSE
reichen Mannes (.) hingegen wird mit demselben Verb bezeichnet, das in ., zur Beschreibung der Freude des Vaters über den heimgekehrten Sohn dient (ϵὐφραίνω). Insofern ist hier keine moralische Abwertung erkennbar. () Das Schicksal des Lazarus wird in motivischer und wörtlicher Anlehnung an das Schicksal des ‘verlorenen’ Sohnes geschildert: Beide möchten etwas essen (ϵ̓πϵθύμϵι χορτασθῆναι/ϵ̓πιθυμῶν χορτασθῆναι), was letztlich die unreinen Tiere (Schweine bzw. Hunde) bekommen. In beiden Erzählungen stellt diese Passage einen narrativen Knotenpunkt dar. Der ‘verlorene’ Sohn gerät ins Nachdenken, er fasst einen Plan und wird aktiv (.–). Bei der Erzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus erwarten die Leser/innen an dieser Stelle, dass etwas passiert, damit die krasse Ungleichheit ein Ende hat: ‘Dass der Arme danach verlangt, sich mit dem zu sättigen, “was vom Tisch des Reichen fällt” (V ), stellt die beiden in die Beziehung einer Konfiguration, d.h.: Sie stehen sich nicht einfach beziehungslos gegenüber, sondern der Arme liegt “vor der Tür” des Reichen (V ), der eine ist drinnen, der andere draußen und die Lesererwartung richtet sich so nicht auf zwei lediglich oppositionelle oder parallele Geschehensabläufe, die jeden der beiden für sich beträfen, sondern erwartet, dass einer der beiden durch “die Türe” zum anderen gelangt’. Aber im Gegensatz zum Gleichnis vom verlorenen Sohn wird die Lesererwartung enttäuscht: In der ersten Szene geschieht buchstäblich nichts, ‘während gleichzeitig alles darauf angelegt ist, dass etwas geschehen müsste’. Nun kommt es in beiden Erzählungen zur entscheidenden Wende: Der Sohn macht sich auf und kehrt zurück zu seinem Vater (.). Der reiche Mann und der arme Lazarus hingegen sterben (.). Während der Sohn aktiv handelt, geschieht etwas mit dem reichen Mann und Lazarus. Sie kommen—quasi ‘automatisch’—in den Hades bzw. an Abrahams Brust. Mit dem Liegen an Abrahams Brust ist bildlich der Ehrenplatz beim himmlischen Mahl umschrieben. F. Schnider/W. Stenger, ‘Die offene Tür und die unüberschreitbare Kluft. Strukturanalytische Überlegungen zum Gleichnis vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus (Lk .–)’, NTS () –, hier . G. Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien. Form, Überlieferung, Auslegung (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, ) . Der Frage, wie diese Aussagen zu verstehen sind und wie sie sich in die Eschatologie des lukanischen Doppelwerks einfügen, hat O. Lehtipuu eine eigene Studie gewidmet. Wichtig scheint mir für unseren Zusammenhang die Feststellung, dass es sich bei der Unterwelt und der Brust Abrahams um die endgültigen eschatologischen ‘Aufenthaltsorte’ beider Personen handelt und dass Lukas nicht konsequent zwischen unterschiedlichen eschatologischen ‘Aufenthaltsräumen’ unterscheidet (vgl. Lk , Paradies). ‘Luke’s use of different images concerning fate after death is…ambivalent and cannot be harmonized into one scheme without difficulties’. Afterlife, . J. Jeremias, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Aufl. ) ; B. Heininger, Metaphorik, Erzählstruktur und szenisch-dramatische Gestaltung in den Sondergutgleichnissen bei Lukas (NTA ; Münster: Aschendorff, ) –. Anm. .
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas
Das Bild unterstreicht damit die Umkehrung der Verhältnisse: Im Diesseits hungerte Lazarus und der reiche Mann schwelgte im Überfluss und ließ Speisereste vom Tisch fallen. Ein göttliches Gericht oder Ähnliches wird gar nicht erwähnt. ‘Wie das Gericht Gottes stattfindet, wird nicht erzählt. Sein Ergebnis ist Realität, unmittelbar nach dem Tod der Menschen’. Die Situationen zu Lebzeiten werden dabei ‘automatisch’ in ihr Gegenteil umgekehrt. Im Folgenden wird der Kontrast zwischen dem Schicksal des ‘verlorenen’ Sohnes, der sich zu seinem Vater aufgemacht hat, und demjenigen des ehemals reichen Mannes scharf profiliert: Der Vater sieht den Sohn von Ferne (Ἔτι δϵ̀ αὐτοῦ μακρὰν ἀπϵ́χοντος ϵἶδϵν αὐτὸν ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ) und läuft ihm entgegen, er fällt ihm um den Hals und küsst ihn (.). Die große Distanz zwischen Vater und Sohn wird also einerseits durch die Rückkehr des Sohnes, andererseits durch das Entgegenkommen des Vaters überwunden. Ganz anders in Lk : Der ehemals reiche Mann sieht Abraham von Ferne (ὁρᾷ Ἀβραὰμ ἀπὸ μακρόθϵν), aber er weiß sofort, dass er diese Distanz nicht überwinden kann. Seine Bitte fällt dementsprechend viel bescheidener aus: Lazarus soll kommen und ihm die Zunge kühlen. Auch der ‘verlorene’ Sohn geht davon aus, dass das alte Verhältnis zwischen seinem Vater und ihm nicht wieder hergestellt werden kann: Er bekennt—anders als der ehemals reiche Mann—seine Sünden und will den Vater darum bitten, als Tagelöhner zu arbeiten (., ). Die Reaktionen auf die jeweiligen Bitten unterstreichen wiederum den Kontrast zwischen beiden Erzählungen: Der ‘verlorene’ Sohn kommt nicht einmal dazu, seine Bitte auszusprechen. Der Vater nimmt ihn spontan nicht als Tagelöhner, sondern als Sohn an (.–). Die Distanz ist vollständig überwunden. Abraham hingegen lehnt die Bitte des ehemals reichen Mannes ab. Sowohl der Vater als auch Abraham begründen ihre jeweiligen Reaktionen. Der Vater verweist darauf, dass sein Sohn tot war und nun wieder lebendig ist (.). Abraham liefert zwei Argumente: Zunächst argumentiert er mit dem Prinzip des Ausgleichs (.): Der reiche Mann hat ‘sein Gutes’ (τὰ ἀγαθά) bereits zu Lebzeiten empfangen, Lazarus hingegen nur Schlechtes (τὰ κακά). Die sozialgeschichtliche Analyse ist hier erhellend: ‘Dass Bettelarme Krankheiten leiden, ist in den synoptischen Evangelien selbst deutlich dokumentiert. Dass sie vor den Toreingängen der Reichen auf Lebensmittelspenden warteten, war üblich. Die Brocken, die vom Tisch der Reichen fallen (Lk ,), sind Gegenstand prächtiger Fußbodenmosaike in hellenistisch-römischen Palästen überall im Römischen Reich: Da liegen Geflügelreste, Obst, Brotstücke auf dem Boden. Mit den Brotstücken pflegten sich die Tafelnden die Finger abzuwischen. Die Mosaiken sind plastisch, bunt und lebensfroh. Sie bringen Stimmung in den Speisesaal. Sie zeigen den Reichtum im Spiegel seiner Abfälle voller Stolz’. L. Schottroff, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, ) . Schottroff, Gleichnisse, . ‘Die nicht immer ganz verständlichen Befehle des Vaters beweisen, dass er sich weigert, die Unwürdigkeit seines Sohnes zu akzeptieren, und ihn noch immer als seinen Sohn betrachtet, beziehungsweise ihn erneut in seiner Sohnschaft bestätigt’. Bovon, Lukas, .
HANNA ROOSE
Dieser Zustand wird jetzt kompensiert. Als zweites Argument führt Abraham an, dass es ohnehin unmöglich ist, Lazarus hinunterzuschicken, da zwischen ihnen eine tiefe Kluft sei (.). Die Trennung, die damit festgeschrieben wird, kontrastiert mit dem fröhlichen Feiern, in das der verlorene, wiedergekehrte Sohn selbstverständlich einbezogen ist (.). Mit dem fröhlichen Fest bzw. dem Hinweis auf die tiefe Kluft finden beide Erzählungen einen vorläufigen Abschluss. Es kommt nun zu einer Verschiebung des Fokus. Der Bruder des ‘verlorenen’ Sohnes bzw. die Brüder des ehemals reichen Mannes betreten die Bühne. Zunächst erfährt der ältere Sohn durch einen der Knechte, was passiert ist (.–). Genau darum bittet der ehemals reiche Mann Abraham: Er möge Lazarus zu seinen Brüdern schicken, damit—so ist wohl zu ergänzen—sie erfahren, was mit ihm geschehen ist, und sie gewarnt sind (.–). Doch Abraham lehnt ab: Das sei unnötig, denn die Brüder hätten Mose und die Propheten (.). Deshalb wird auch weiter nur indirekt über die Brüder geredet. Der Vater hingegen unterhält sich nun direkt mit seinem älteren Sohn. Er kommt auch ihm entgegen und bittet ihn hinein (.). Der Vater tut damit das, was die Leser/innen in .– vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus erwarten, was dort aber gerade nicht geschieht: Der Vater geht durch die Tür, die beim reichen Mann verschlossen bleibt. Er tritt aktiv in Kontakt mit seinem älteren Sohn und fordert ihn auf, wieder in die Gemeinschaft mit ihm und seinem Bruder einzutreten, also hereinzukommen und mit ihnen zu feiern. ‘Die Struktur der Parabel verdeutlicht deren Intention: Im Zentrum steht der Vater und die bei ihm gegenwärtige Freude… Wer außerhalb der Freude beim Vater ist, ist tot und verloren. Wer daran teilnimmt, ist wieder lebendig und gefunden… Es geht nicht um das, was war oder darum, ob der eine gegenüber dem anderen einen Vorteil hatte, sondern um die jetzt gegenwärtige Freude—dabei sein ist alles’. Im letzten Gesprächsgang kritisiert der ältere Sohn das Verhalten des Vaters (.–): Er stellt seinen vorbildlichen Lebenswandel heraus und beschwert sich darüber, dass der Vater ihm niemals einen Ziegenbock gegeben habe. Für den jüngeren Sohn hingegen habe er das Mastkalb geschlachtet, obwohl er sein Vermögen mit Dirnen durchgebracht habe. Der ältere Sohn kontrastiert also zum einen seine eigene Lebensweise mit derjenigen seines jüngeren Bruders, zum anderen die Art und Weise, wie der Vater sie beide behandelt. Von . her legt sich ein besonderer Fokus auf diese Darstellung: Der jüngere Sohn—so könnte man den Vorwurf an den Vater unter dem Eindruck der Äußerung Abrahams reformulieren—hat ‘sein Gutes’ bereits gehabt (vgl. .) und verschleudert, insofern ist es nicht gerecht, wenn er nun noch mehr (ein Mastkalb zum Feiern und die Wiedereinsetzung als Sohn) bekommt. Der Vater Während also zu Lebzeiten die Tür zwischen dem reichen Mann und Lazarus offen stand, aber nicht durchschritten wurde, besteht jetzt eine unüberwindbare Kluft zwischen beiden. Ostmeyer, ‘Dabeisein’, ..
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nimmt diesen Aspekt des Ausgleichs insofern auf, als er den älteren Sohn darauf hinweist, dass er (materiell) keineswegs zu kurz gekommen ist. ‘Alles, was mir gehört, gehört auch dir’ (.b). Die Anrede τϵ́κνον, die der Vater hier gegenüber seinem älteren Sohn benutzt, findet sich bezeichnenderweise auch im Gespräch zwischen Abraham und dem ehemals reichen Mann, und zwar eben in .. Während der Vater in .a die bleibende Gemeinschaft mit dem älteren Sohn herausstellt (‘Kind, du bist immer bei mir’), betont Abraham in diesem Zusammenhang die endgültige Trennung zwischen sich und dem ehemals reichen Mann (.–). Während der ältere Sohn gegen das Verhalten des Vaters aufbegehrt, stellt der ehemals reiche Mann das in Lk dominierende Prinzip des Ausgleichs und damit der Umkehrung der Situation nicht grundsätzlich in Frage. Das radikale Prinzip des Ausgleichs wird also nicht außer Kraft gesetzt oder auch nur kritisch angefragt. Der ehemals reiche Mann lässt sich vielmehr darauf ein und bittet im letzten Gesprächsgang darum, dass Abraham einen von den Toten (z.B. Lazarus) zu seinen Brüdern schickt, denn dann würden sie umkehren (μϵτανοήσουσιν .). Das Schicksal des ehemals reichen Mannes ist—auch in seiner eigenen Wahrnehmung—besiegelt. Offen bleibt, ob seine Brüder die Chance zur Umkehr nutzen werden. Der Kontrast tot/lebendig nimmt die Metaphorik aus ., auf: Was dort im übertragenden Sinn auf die Frage der Trennung von (=tot) bzw. Gemeinschaft mit (=lebendig) Gott abzielte, bezieht sich hier auf das physische Leben bzw. den physischen Tod. Mit dem Tod sind die Würfel gefallen. Abraham lehnt daher auch diese letzte Bitte ab. Dabei stellt er die Möglichkeit, dass Tote auferstehen, nicht grundsätzlich in Frage. Er bezweifelt aber, dass eine solche Sendung irgendetwas verändern würde und verweist wiederum auf Mose und die Propheten. Das heißt: Der ehemals reiche Mann unterstellt, dass sein eschatologisches Schicksal anders ausgesehen hätte, wenn er zu Lebzeiten umgekehrt wäre. Diese Annahme wird von Abraham indirekt bestätigt, zumindest widerspricht er ihr nicht. Damit wirft die Beispielerzählung die Frage nach dem Verhältnis von Umkehr und Ausgleich auf—und zwar im ‘Schatten’ von Lk .
Unter Exegeten ist umstritten, ob . als offenes Ende zu lesen ist. Die Frage entscheidet sich an der Deutung des imperfektischen ϵ῎δϵι. Jeremias deutet den Imperfekt ‘irreal’, im Sinne eines vorwurfsvollen ‘Du müsstest jubeln und Dich freuen’. Jeremias, Gleichnisse, . Wolter versteht das ϵ῎δϵι dagegen im Sinne von ‘musste doch’ (‘man musste feiern und sich freuen’). ‘Der Vater verteidigt also den Entschluss zum Fest… Es ist nicht zu erkennen, dass er seinen Sohn ein zweites Mal auffordert, doch noch am Fest teilzunehmen’ (Lukasevangelium, ). Folgt man der Auslegung von Wolter, so ergibt sich im Blick auf .– eine neue, interessante Innen-Außen-Konstellation: Der ältere Sohn bleibt dann draußen, der jüngere Sohn ist drinnen. Allerdings gilt auch für den älteren Sohn: ‘Du bist immer bei mir’ (.).
HANNA ROOSE
. Konsequenzen für die Auslegung von Lk .–
Welche weiteren Konsequenzen ergeben sich für die Auslegung von Lk .–, wenn wir die Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn und die Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus als Schwestergeschichten lesen?
.. Ausgleich als nicht moralisch geprägtes Prinzip Abraham begründet das jeweilige eschatologische Schicksal des ehemals reichen Mannes und des armen Lazarus mit dem Hinweis darauf, was jene zu Lebzeiten empfangen haben (.). Argumentiert wird hier mit dem Prinzip des gerechten Ausgleichs. Die Vorstellung ist offenbar die, dass jeder Mensch den gleichen Anteil an Gutem und Schlechtem ‘zugeteilt’ bekommt. Wer bereits im Diesseits sein Gutes bekommt, dem steht im Jenseits nur noch das Schlechte zu. Wer umgekehrt im Diesseits nur Schlechtes zugeteilt bekommt, darf im Jenseits das Gute genießen. Hierin liegt die Gerechtigkeit des Prinzips der Umkehrung der diesseitigen Situation im Jenseits. In der Forschung ist umstritten, ob bei dieser Begründung für die Umkehrung der Schicksale implizit auch die Frage der Gottesbeziehung bzw. des (un)moralischen Handelns eine Rolle spielt. Dabei wird einerseits mit dem Namen Lazarus, andererseits mit (angeblichen) griechisch-römischen Motivparallelen zum biblischen Text argumentiert. Der hebräische Name Lazarus bedeutet ‘Gott hilft’. Der Name impliziere, dass Lazarus wegen seiner Frömmigkeit an Abrahams Brust gelangt, während der reiche Mann aufgrund seiner Gottlosigkeit im Hades endet. Allerdings ist fraglich, ob Lukas damit rechnen durfte, dass seine (heidenchristlichen) Leser/innen diese Anspielung, die dann eine zentrale Bedeutung hätte, verstehen. Andere Exegeten versuchen, durch griechisch-römische Parallelen einen moralischen Unterton in Lk . zu begründen. Hock führt die Dialoge Cataplus und Gallus von Lukian von Samosata als Motivparallelen an, um zu zeigen, dass Lukas—wie Lukian—Reichtum mit Unmoral und Armut mit Moral Die Grenzen des Prinzips liegen dabei auf der Hand: Im Extremfall steht einem zeitlich begrenzten irdischen Leben in materiellem Wohlstand ein zeitlich unbegrenztes Leben in Abrahams Schoß gegenüber und umgekehrt. An dieser Unstimmigkeit ist Lukas aber nicht erkennbar interessiert. Das unterstreicht die Radikalität der Aussage. So z.B. F. W. Horn, Glaube und Handeln in der Theologie des Lukas (GTA ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Aufl. ) . V. Petracca, Gott oder das Geld. Die Besitzethik des Lukas (TANZ ; Tübingen/Basel: Francke, ) . Vgl. mit unterschiedlicher Zuspitzung Bovon, Lukas, –.; O. Lehtipuu, ‘Characterization and Persuasion. The Rich Man and the Poor Man in Luke .–’, Characterization in the Gospels. Reconceiving Narrative Criticism (hg. D. Rhoads/K. Syreeni [JSNT.S ]; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ) .
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koppelt. Hock unterstellt dem reichen Mann aufgrund dieser Parallele einen hedonistischen Lebensstil. R. Bauckham hat m.E. zu Recht darauf hingewiesen, dass sich die Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus von diesen griechisch-römischen Parallelen gerade dadurch unterscheidet, dass sie nicht moralisiert: Lucian ‘does not preserve, as the parable does, the stark simplicity of the motif in its basic form: that it is the inequality of rich and poor as such which is unjust and must be remedied… The parable does not condemn the rich man because his lavish feasts are self-indulgent and associated with sexual immorality, but because he is living in luxury while Lazarus is destitute. The juxtaposition of the rich man’s luxury and Lazarus’ painful poverty expresses the parable’s point of view without any moralizing between the lines’. Die These von Bauckham wird durch die Beachtung der Parallelität zwischen Lk .– und Lk .– gestützt. Denn der Lebensstil des reichen Mannes wird in . mit demselben Verb (ϵὐφραίνω) bezeichnet wie die Freude des Vaters über die Rückkehr seines Sohnes (., )—und diese zweimalige, pointierte Aussage dürften die Hörer/innen von .– durchaus noch im Ohr haben. Lukas verwendet das Verb also ohne moralische Wertung. Essen und Trinken gehören zur Freude, jedoch wiederum ohne moralischanklagenden Unterton. Die These, dass es sich bei dem Prinzip des Ausgleichs, das zu einer radikalen Umkehrung der Situation von Armen und Reichen im Jenseits führt, um ein Konzept handelt, das nicht moralisch geprägt ist, wird durch die Seligpreisungen und Wehe-Rufe unterstrichen. ‘Selig, ihr Armen, denn euch gehört das Reich Gottes. Selig, die ihr jetzt hungert, denn ihr werdet satt werden’ (.–). Und dagegen: ‘Weh euch Reichen! Denn ihr habt euren Trost schon gehabt’ (.). Lk .– liest sich geradezu wie eine narrative Entfaltung dieser Seligpreisungen und Wehe-Rufe. Tragendes Strukturprinzip ist auch hier die eschatologische Umkehrung der diesseitigen Situation in ihr Gegenteil. Wiederum ist nicht davon die Rede, dass die Armen moralisch besser wären als die Reichen.
R. F. Hock, ‘Lazarus and Micyllus. Greco-Roman Backgrounds to Luke :–’, JBL () –, hier ; zur Kritik vgl. R. Bauckham, ‘The Rich Man and Lazarus: The Parable and the Parallels’, NTS () –, hier –. Bauckham, ‘Lazarus’, –. Gegen Bovon, Lukas, . Das gilt m.E. auch für den reichen Kornbauern in Lk .–. Wolter, Lukasevangelium, –. Fraglich ist, ob dieses Ausgleichsdenken von der jesuanischen Fassung der Seligpreisungen fernzuhalten ist, wie J. Becker, Jesus von Nazaret (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, ) , meint. Nicht ohne Grund sieht Matthäus sich gemüßigt, die Seligpreisungen durch Zusätze zur Q-Fassung zu ‘ethisieren’.
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Das Prinzip des Ausgleichs zeichnet sich also durch folgende Merkmale aus: Im Jenseits werden die diesseitigen Verhältnisse radikal und endgültig umgekehrt. Diese Umkehrung erscheint wie ein ‘Automatismus’. Von einem Gericht, gar einem Gericht nach den Werken, ist keine Rede. Es geht nicht darum, dass die Reichen schlecht gehandelt hätten, moralische Begriffe wie ‘Sünde’ fehlen in diesem Zusammenhang. Es geht vielmehr um einen Ausgleich zwischen dem Guten und dem Schlechten, das jemand empfängt (ἀπϵ́λαβϵς τὰ ἀγαθά σου; nicht: das er tut!) (V ). ‘In the parable…there is no reference to the good deeds of Lazarus or the evil deeds of the rich man. The reason for the reversal of fortune is clearly stated but different. It is simply that the rich man has received “good things” during his life, whereas Lazarus has received “evil things” (Luke .)’. Die Implikationen dieser unterschiedlichen Interpretationen bringt L. Schottroff auf den Punkt: ‘Für die eschatologische Deutung ist entscheidend, was im Sinne des Textes der Fehler des Reichen ist. Ist er moralisch unverantwortlich mit seinem Reichtum umgegangen, oder ist sein Reichtum als solcher in Gottes Augen eine unvergebbare Schuld? In dieser Frage ist eine sozialgeschichtliche Dimension enthalten: Beruht im Sinne des Textes Reichtum als solcher auf dem Unrecht von Ausbeutung anderer Menschen? Ist dieses Unrecht vermeidbar und wie kann es vermieden werden?’ Lk .– bezieht seine Radikalität gerade aus der fehlenden moralischen Codierung des Geschehens: Reichtum ist angesichts von existentieller Armut in sich eine ‘Macht’, die Menschen im Diesseits korrumpiert und in der Tatenlosigkeit und Beziehungslosigkeit verharren lässt. .. Konkretisierung der Umkehr in . durch Lk Angesichts der Kompromisslosigkeit, mit der Lukas das Prinzip der Umkehrung der diesseitigen Verhältnisse propagiert, ist erstaunlich, dass ein reicher Mann offenbar dennoch ins Reich Gottes kommen kann, wenn er umkehrt. Von dieser Möglichkeit gehen jedenfalls sowohl der ehemals reiche Mann als auch Abraham aus (.–). Die Frage, was genau der ehemals reiche Mann im Rahmen seiner Umkehr hätte tun sollen—und was seine Brüder noch immer tun könnten, bleibt in . offen. ‘Aus V. geht zwar hervor, dass es allein das “Umkehren” (μϵτανοϵ́ω) ist, das die Brüder des reichen Mannes vor demselben Unheilsgeschick bewahren kann, doch ist damit immer noch nicht gesagt, durch welche Handlungen es zum Ausdruck gebracht werden soll’. Die dargestellten Strukturparallelen zwischen .– und .– legen m.E. zwingend nahe, die Umkehr in . auch im Lichte von Bauckham, ‘Lazarus’, . Schottroff, Gleichnisse, . Wolter, Lukasevangelium, .
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.– zu sehen. Denn die Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn schließt eine Gleichnistrilogie ab, die pointiert von der Umkehr handelt. Dabei fällt allerdings auf, dass die Begriffe μϵτανοϵ́ω bzw. μϵτάνοια in Lk .– nicht auftauchen. Der Kontext des Gleichnisses zeigt m.E. aber deutlich, dass der ‘verlorene Sohn’ im lukanischen Sinne umkehrt. Unstrittig gehören die drei Gleichnisse in Lk thematisch eng zusammen. Sie handeln von der Suche nach dem Verlorenen. Die Gleichnisse vom verlorenen Schaf und von der verlorenen Drachme schließen beide mit einer weitgehend parallel formulierten Anwendung, die die Erzählungen auf die himmlische Freude über einen umgekehrten Sünder hin deutet (., ). Diese Anwendungen passen nur bedingt auf die Gleichnisse, denn ein Schaf und schon gar eine Drachme können nicht ‘umkehren’. Hier findet also zwischen Erzählung und Anwendung eine Akzentverschiebung statt: Während die Erzählungen Schaf und Drachme eine passive Rolle zuschreiben, bringen die Anwendungen das ‘Schicksal’ von Schaf und Drachme mit der aktiven Umkehr des Sünders in Verbindung. Genau genommen passen die Anwendungen am besten auf das dritte Gleichnis, da es die inneren Beweggründe des Sünders, die ihn zur Umkehr bewegen, genauer beleuchtet. Aber gerade hier findet sich keine Anwendung. Diese Auffälligkeit legt den Schluss nahe: ‘V. hat…im Gesamtkontext von Lk klar die Funktion der Hinführung und Überleitung zur Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn…’ Damit aber wird der verlorene Sohn zum paradigmatischen Sünder, der umkehrt. Was also zeichnet die Umkehr nach Lk aus? Zur Umkehr gehört, dass der Mensch seine Sünden, also sein moralisches Fehlverhalten, erkennt, bekennt und Gott dafür um Verzeihung bittet. Der ‘verlorene’ Sohn hat sich falsch Diese Beobachtung ist auch formgeschichtlich interessant. Nach der klassischen Einteilung von A. Jülicher (Die Gleichnisreden Jesu. Zwei Teile in einem Band [Tübingen/Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Aufl. ] und ) bedürfen kurze Gleichnisse, die alltägliche Ereignisse thematisieren, keiner Anwendung, bei längeren Parabeln, die einen außergewöhnlichen Einzelfall erzählen, seien sie aber üblich. Nun legt der Duktus der rhetorischen Fragen in . und . die Antwort nahe: ‘Jeder würde so handeln!’ Insofern handelt es sich um alltägliche Vorfälle und damit hätten wir es mit Gleichnissen im engeren Sinn zu tun (so R. Bultmann, Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition [FRLANT ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Aufl. ] , , ). Die Anwendungen wären in dem Fall atypisch. Jülicher rechnet die beiden Texte daher zur Gattung der Parabel (Gleichnisreden, ). In Lk .– haben wir es unstrittig mit einer Parabel zu tun, der jedoch eine Anwendung fehlt. A. Merz, ‘Last und Freude des Kehrens (Von der verlorenen Drachme) Lk .–’, Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu (hg. R. Zimmermann; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, ) –, hier . J. Nolland, Luke :–: (WBC B; Dallas: Word, ) . ‘Sünden sind konkretes Fehlverhalten im ethisch-moralischen Bereich’. U. Schnelle, Theologie des Neuen Testaments (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ) .
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verhalten, indem er das Geld verprasst hat (.). Er erkennt sein Fehlverhalten und will seinen Vater um Verzeihung bitten (.–, ). In der Umkehr entspricht der Bewegung des reuigen Sünders zu Gott die Bewegung des (suchenden) Gottes zum Sünder hin. In Lk wird diese Bewegung Gottes bzw. Jesu Christi zu den Menschen als Suche nach dem Verlorenen narrativ entfaltet. Hier zeigt sich auch: Die Initiative Gottes bzw. Christi steht an erster Stelle. Das verdeutlicht die Reihenfolge der drei Gleichnisse, bei denen Schaf (vgl. .–) und Drachme (vgl. .–) keine ‘aktive Umkehr’ versinnbildlichen können. Hier steht das—z.T. unverschuldete—‘Verlorengehen’ im Vordergrund, das damit rechnen kann, von Gott bzw. Christus gesucht zu werden. Das dritte Gleichnis fokussiert dann ‘die innerpsychischen Vorgänge des Bekehrungsprozesses’. Umkehr zeichnet sich also durch ein sich Aufeinander-zu-Bewegen von Gott und Mensch aus: Der Mensch kehrt um und Gott bzw. Christus suchen ihn und laufen ihm entgegen. Die Umkehr polarisiert Sünder und Gerechte (.; .) und thematisiert Gottes Zuwendung zum reuigen Sünder. .. Spannung zwischen Ausgleich und Umkehr Umkehr und Ausgleich unterscheiden sich damit in drei wesentlichen Punkten: () Umkehr hat—anders als das Prinzip des eschatologischen Ausgleichs der materiellen Situation—mit ‘Sünden’ und deren Vergebung zu tun. Umkehr ist also moralisch konnotiert. () Bei der Umkehr geht es (auch) um ein aktives Sich-Aufmachen des Sünders, nicht um einen Automatismus, bei dem etwas mit den Menschen geschieht. () Die Vergangenheit erhält einen unterschiedlichen Stellenwert: Beim Prinzip des Ausgleichs wird das Gute im Jenseits gegen das Schlechte, das jemand empfangen hat, aufgewogen—und umgekehrt. Das, was war, entscheidet also darüber, was wird. Anders bei der Umkehr: Die Vergebung zieht einen Schlussstrich unter das, was war. Die Vergangenheit hat damit gerade keine Auswirkungen mehr auf das, was ist und kommt. Das Prinzip der Umkehr nach Lk —das in . nachklingt—und das Prinzip des Ausgleichs, wie es in . formuliert wird, treten damit in eine gewisse Spannung zueinander. Im Licht von .– erscheint der verlorene Sohn nachträglich als jemand, der ‘sein Gutes’ bereits gehabt hat. In diese Richtung argumentiert ja auch der ältere Sohn (.–). Und trotzdem eilt der Vater ‘Damals wie heute geht ja nicht jeder verloren in so dramatischen Verfehlungen, wie sie der verlorene Sohn begangen hat. Manch eine gerät in unverschuldete Not und verliert darin den Glauben, manch einer stellt plötzlich im täglichen Einerlei fest, wie verloren er ist’. Merz, ‘Last’, . Merz, ‘Last’, . Theologisch gesprochen: ‘Ohne das heilsgeschichtliche Werk Jesu Christi ist die Vergebung unmöglich, aber ohne die menschliche μϵτάνοια ist sie nicht zu verwirklichen’. F. Bovon, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (EKKNT III/; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, ) .
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dem jüngeren Sohn entgegen und verteidigt diese Entscheidung gegenüber dem Einwand des älteren (.–). Von Lk .– her wird damit deutlich, wie groß die Chance ist, die der ehemals reiche Mann verpasst hat, die seinen Brüdern und v.a. uns als Leser/innen der Beispielerzählung aber noch offen steht. Auch wer seinen Reichtum im Diesseits bereits verantwortungslos verschleudert hat, hat noch die Chance umzukehren. ‘Es gibt ein “Zu spät!”’, aber dieses ‘Zu spät!’ definiert sich einzig über den Zeitpunkt des physischen Todes, nicht über die Frage, ob ich mein anvertrautes ‘Gutes’ unter Umständen schon—egoistisch—aufgebraucht habe, wie . nahe legen könnte, wenn ich es allein von Lk . her verstehe. Das heißt: Wer die μϵτάνοια in . auch von Lk her versteht—und das ist m.E. durch die räumliche Nähe beider Texte und ihre strukturelle Parallelität gefordert—gerät durch die eigene, aktive Mitarbeit beim Lesen in einen gewissen Widerspruch zu dem in . kompromisslos formulierten Prinzip der Umkehrung und des Ausgleichs. Es bleibt zwar die Forderung, die materiellen Verhältnisse im Diesseits auszugleichen (vgl. Lk ). Wo diese Chance aber bereits vertan ist, bleibt auch für jemanden, der sein Gutes bereits gehabt hat, die Möglichkeit der Umkehr (vgl. Lk ). Es ist beachtlich, wie diese Relativierung eingebracht wird. Durch die Vorschaltung der Geschwistererzählung vom ‘verlorenen’ Sohn gewinnt die implizite Annahme, dass der ehemals reiche Mann sein eschatologisches Schicksal hätte verändern können, wenn er umgekehrt wäre (.), subversives Potenzial. Denn die Umkehr des ‘verlorenen’ Sohnes hebelt das Prinzip des Ausgleichs, mit dem Abraham in . argumentiert, in letzter Konsequenz aus. Der Text überlässt hier viel der Eigentätigkeit der Lesenden. An keiner Stelle im Lukasevangelium wird das Prinzip der Umkehrung und des Ausgleichs direkt von einer Figur im Text in Frage gestellt—wie es etwa der ältere Sohn mit Blick auf das Verhalten des Vaters gegenüber dem heimgekehrten Sohn tut. Der ehemals reiche Mann akzeptiert die Argumente Abrahams aus .–. Beide sind sich aber auch darin einig, dass dem ehemals reichen Mann sein jenseitiges Schicksal erspart geblieben wäre, wenn er umgekehrt wäre. Wer diese Umkehr von Lk her versteht, geht implizit zum Prinzip des Ausgleichs auf Distanz. Diese Distanzierung geschieht durch die Tätigkeit der Lesenden. Sie müssen den Einspruch gegen das Prinzip des Ausgleichs gleichsam selbst vorbringen und gegen die Chance der Umkehr abwägen. Die Spannung zwischen den Konzepten der Umkehr und des Ausgleichs darf m.E. nicht nivelliert werden, wenn man der Theologie des Lukasevangeliums gerecht werden will. Denn beide Konzepte beinhalten Kernaussagen, die dem Evangelisten offensichtlich wichtig waren. Für Lk ist das unbestritten: Die O. Glombitza, ‘Der reiche Mann und der arme Lazarus. Luk. xvi –. Zur Frage nach der Botschaft des Textes’, NT () –, hier: .
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Umkehr, der auf der Seite Gottes bzw. Christi die Suche nach dem Verlorenen entspricht, bildet ein Kernstück lukanischer Theologie. Deshalb findet sich die Gleichnistrilogie vom Verlorenen im Zentrum des Lukasevangeliums. Hier geht es um die Polarität von Gerechten und Sündern (., ; vgl. .). Ich meine jedoch, dass auch das Kapitel zum theologischen Zentrum des Lukasevangeliums zu rechnen ist. Lk arbeitet mit der Polarität von arm und reich. Es geht dem Evangelium dabei nicht nur darum, dass einige Menschen mit ihrem Besitz nicht ‘richtig’ umgehen, sondern es geht ihm um eine radikale und kompromisslose Verurteilung struktureller sozialer Ungerechtigkeit. Eine zu starke Moralisierung der lukanischen Reichtumskritik liefe Gefahr, das Problem der sozialen Ungerechtigkeit unangemessen zu individualisieren und damit letztlich zu relativieren. Für die Armen stellt die Aussicht auf radikale Umkehrung der diesseitigen Verhältnisse im Jenseits einen nicht zu unterschätzenden Trost dar. Während es also bei der Umkehr um das eschatologische Schicksal der Gerechten und der Sünder geht, geht es bei der Umkehrung der sozialen Verhältnisse um das eschatologische Schicksal der Armen und der Reichen. Lukas betont: Die Armen sollen bekommen, was ihnen (an Gutem) noch zusteht, die Sünder hingegen, die umkehren, werden gerade davor bewahrt, was ihnen (an Strafen für ihre Sünden) eigentlich zustünde. Beide Aussagen setzt Lukas radikal in Kraft. Dort, wo ehemals Reiche als Sünder umkehren, gerät die Spannung zwischen Umkehr und Ausgleich in den Blick. Dies ist in . potenziell der Fall.
G. Theißen, Das Neue Testament (München: Beck, ) . ‘Dass der Reichtum der Reichen mit der Armut der Armen zusammenhängt, wird nicht mithilfe ökonomischer Analyse erläutert, sondern mit dem literarischen Mittel der antithetischen Parallelität’. Schottroff, Gleichnisse, . Weiter heißt es: ‘Ich sehe die Arbeit, die die Strukturen der heutigen Geldwirtschaft sichtbar macht, kritisiert und kleine oder große Schritte der Veränderung geht, als Arbeit in der Nachfolge Jesu an’ (a.a.O., ). ‘Finanziell und sozial marginalisierte Leser indes sollen durch die Verheißung der intimen Geborgenheit in Abrahams Schoß getröstet werden und Vertrauen auf die göttliche Gerechtigkeit fassen’. Petracca, Gott, . Die Frage, auf welchen textexternen Kontext Lukas mit seiner Parabel zielt, ist damit nach wie vor offen. Hinsichtlich der Möglichkeiten einer methodisch gesicherten Festlegung—etwa im Sinne einer allegorischen Deutung des älteren Sohnes auf Judenchristen und des jüngeren auf Heiden(christen) (vgl. H. Räisänen, ‘The Prodigal Gentile and his Jewish Christian Brother Lk ,–’, The Four Gospels II [FS F. Neirynck; BEThL ; Löwen, ] –; etwas anders P. Pokorny, ‘Lukas ,– und die lukanische Soteriologie’, Christus bezeugen [FS W. Trilling; Freiburg, ] –; B. Heininger, Metaphorik, Erzählstruktur und szenischdramatische Gestaltung in den Sondergutgleichnissen bei Lukas [NTA ; Münster, ] ) bin ich skeptisch. ‘Das schließt natürlich nicht aus, dass der Text jederzeit für eine rezeptionshermeneutische Öffnung durch jeden realen Leser offen ist’. Wolter, Lukasevangelium, .
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas . Forschungsgeschichtliche Einordnung
Wie lässt sich die ausgeführte These in der Forschungsdiskussion verorten? Ich sehe hier v.a. zwei Fragen tangiert. Zum einen die Frage, wie die ‘Leerstelle’ in . zu füllen ist, zum anderen die Frage nach der Einheitlichkeit von Lk .–. .. Zum Verständnis der Umkehr in . Die Frage, was genau unter der μϵτάνοια in . zu verstehen ist, wird in der Forschung nicht durchgängig thematisiert. Auslegungen, die auf diese Frage eingehen, zeichnen sich dadurch aus, dass sie . in ein weitgehend spannungsfreies Verhältnis zu . setzen. Leonhardt-Balzer beantwortet die Frage unter Rückgriff auf die Wendung ‘Mose und die Propheten’ (., ): ‘Es stellt sich die Frage: wie kann ein Reicher in den Himmel kommen?… Somit stellen sich für die Reichen zwei Möglichkeiten dar: entweder sie geben ihren Reichtum ab oder sie verwenden ihn, der Mahnung von Tora und Propheten entsprechend, sozial verantwortlich’. Wolters Vorschlag geht in eine ähnliche Richtung, verfolgt aber genauer spezifische intratextuelle Verweise. Er sieht eine Verkettung, die beginnend bei dem Ausdruck ‘Mose und die Propheten’ (., ) über .a (‘Die Tora und die Propheten sind bis zu Johannes in Geltung’.) und .– (Taufe durch Johannes) auf die Predigt von Johannes dem Täufer in .–. verweist. Hier haben die Lesenden erfahren, was es heißt umzukehren: ‘Damit können aber auch die Leser die pragmatische Leerstelle auffüllen. Wenn die fünf reichen Brüder “umkehren” (V. ) und als “Früchte der Umkehr” (.) denjenigen Kleidung und Nahrung geben, die nichts haben (.), werden sie dem Unheilsgeschick entgehen, das ihren Bruder getroffen hat’. Was ergibt sich, wenn wir die Leerstelle in ., von der Wolter spricht, mit der Predigt von Johannes dem Täufer füllen? Worin unterscheidet sich die ‘Umkehr’ in der Täuferpredigt von der ‘Umkehr’ in Lk ? Johannes der Täufer predigt die ‘Taufe der Umkehr zur Vergebung der Sünden’ (βάπτισμα μϵτανοίας ϵἰς ἄφϵσιν ἁμαρτιῶν, .). Hier bestätigt sich: Umkehr hat—anders als das Prinzip der eschatologischen Umkehrung der materiellen Situation—mit ‘Sünden’ und deren Vergebung zu tun (etwa in der Taufe). So weit stimmen die Vorstellungen von ‘Umkehr’ in Lk und Lk überein. Auch in einem weiteren Aspekt liegen Lk und Lk eng beieinander: In der Umkehr entspricht der Bewegung des reuigen Sünders zu Gott die Bewegung des (suchenden) Gottes zum Sünder hin. In Lk wird dies durch das Jesaja-Zitat deutlich: ‘Bereitet dem Herrn den Weg! Ebnet ihm die Straßen!… Und alles Fleisch wird das Heil Gottes schauen’ (Lk ., ; vgl. Jes .–). Gott kommt zu Leonhardt-Balzer, Reicher, –. Wolter, Lukasevangelium, –.; Hervorhebungen im Original.
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den Menschen, daher gilt es, ihm den Weg zu bereiten. In der Gleichnistrilogie Lk wird diese Bewegung Gottes bzw. Jesu Christi zu den Menschen als Suche nach dem Verlorenen narrativ entfaltet. In einem dritten und für unseren Zusammenhang wesentlichen Punkt unterscheiden sich jedoch die Konkretionen der ‘Umkehr’ in Lk und Lk : Während Johannes der Täufer stark auf die ‘Früchte der Umkehr’ (.) abhebt, hören wir davon in Lk nichts. Johannes führt zu den ‘Früchten der Umkehr’ aus: ‘Wer zwei Untergewänder hat, soll dem abgeben, der keins hat, und wer zu essen hat, soll dasselbe tun’ (.). Der narrative Duktus in Lk .– lässt aber gar nicht mehr zu, dass der zurückgekehrte Sohn im Sinne der Täuferpredigt handelt: Er kann den Armen schlicht deshalb nichts mehr geben, weil er bereits alles verschwendet hat. Nach Lk ist ‘Umkehr’—und die damit verbundene Annahme durch Gott—also auch dann möglich, wenn die ‘Früchte der Umkehr’ im Sinne von Lk nicht mehr erbracht werden können. Genau dadurch gerät Lk .– in Spannung zu dem in . formulierten Prinzip des Ausgleichs von Gutem und Schlechtem. Ich halte die ‘Füllung’ der von Wolter ausgewiesenen Leerstelle in . durch die Täuferpredigt für möglich, bin aber der Meinung, dass sie nur eine von mindestens zweien ist, die der Text des Lukasevangeliums nahe legt. Denn während den Lesenden und v.a. der Zuhörerschaft bei Wolters Auslegung einiges abverlangt wird—sie sollen eine Motivverkettung nachvollziehen, die sie beinahe bis an den Anfang des Evangeliums zurückführt—geht die hier entfaltete These von der Beobachtung aus, dass in unmittelbarer Nähe zu Lk . das Thema der Umkehr in anderer Weise breit entfaltet wird. Die enge Parallelität zwischen der Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn und der Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus zwingt m.E. dazu, . auch im Lichte von .– zu verstehen. Die Auslegungen von Leonhardt-Balzer und Wolter bringen die Prinzipien des Ausgleichs und der Umkehr in ein weitgehend spannungsfreies Verhältnis. Wenn die materiellen Verhältnisse bereits im Diesseits ausgeglichen werden, indem der Reiche dem Armen die Hälfte seines Besitzes abgibt (vgl. in diesem Der Begriff der ‘Leerstelle’ verweist literaturwissenschaftlich u.a. auf die Theorie von W. Iser, die J. Culler wie folgt zusammenfasst: ‘Wolfgang Iser tells of the reader actively filling in gaps, actualizing what the text leaves indeterminate, attempting to construct a unity, and modifying the construction as the text yields further information’. On Deconstruction. Theory and Criticism after Structuralism (London: Routledge, ) . Wichtig ist also zum einen, den Akt des Lesens als interaktiven Prozess zu verstehen, der Texte als zusammenhängende Gebilde mit einem bestimmten Aufbau wahrnimmt, zum anderen, dem Text einen gewissen Grad an Offenheit zuzubilligen: Leerstellen lassen sich unterschiedlich, wenn auch nicht beliebig, füllen. ‘In dieser Hinsicht stimmt die Parabel mit der Gesamtaussage des Lukasevangeliums überein’. Leonhardt-Balzer, Reicher, .
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas
Sinne auch Lk .–), können sie auch im Jenseits ausgeglichen bleiben. Eine Verbannung in den Hades ‘entfällt’. Lk untergräbt diese ‘glatte’ Auslegung. Die Gleichnistrilogie entlässt die Leser/innen mit einer Vorstellung von ‘Umkehr’ ins . Kapitel, die mit . nicht vollständig in Einklang zu bringen ist, so dass zwischen . und . eine latente Spannung entsteht. .. Zur Frage der Einheitlichkeit von Lk .– Bereits A. Jülicher hat die These vertreten, dass es sich bei der Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus nicht um ein einheitliches Gleichnis handele. Drei Argumente dienen—in unterschiedlicher Gewichtung—zur Untermauerung dieser These. () Der Fokus der Erzählung verschiebt sich ab V: Standen zunächst der reiche Mann und Lazarus im Mittelpunkt, so betreten nun die fünf Brüder des reichen Mannes die Bühne. Von Lazarus ist nicht mehr die Rede, stattdessen führt der ehemals reiche Mann einen längeren Dialog mit Abraham. () Die Verse – bilden als ‘Erzählung von der Umkehrung der diesseitigen Verhältnisse im Jenseits’ eine eigenständige Einheit. () Die Verse – und – verarbeiten unterschiedliche Traditionen. Ägyptische und jüdische Parallelen finden sich nur zum ersten Teil. Die hier vertretene These berührt nicht die diachrone Frage der Entstehungsgeschichte von Lk .–. Sie hat aber auf synchroner Ebene Auswirkungen auf die Frage nach der Einheitlichkeit des Textes. Wir haben bereits gesehen, dass es auch in der Parabel vom ‘verlorenen’ Sohn zu einer Verschiebung des Fokus kommt. Der Auftritt des älteren Sohnes wird hier bereits in V. durch die Nennung der zwei Söhne vorbereitet. Das ist im Blick auf die Brüder des ehemals reichen Mannes in .– nicht der Fall. Ich sehe in .– eine Strukturparallele zu .–, die kompositionskritisch als solche zu würdigen ist. Die Erzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus thematisiert—so die hier vertretene These—in ihrem ersten Teil das Prinzip des eschatologischen Ausgleichs und der Umkehrung der diesseitigen Situation. Sie thematisiert in ihrem zweiten Teil das Prinzip der Umkehr. Die gegenseitige Profilierung beider Prinzipien bis hin zur Konstatierung von Spannungen scheint zunächst die These zu stützen, nach der es sich bei der Beispielerzählung auch auf synchroner Ebene nicht um einen einheitlichen Jülicher, Gleichnisreden, . ‘When Abraham acknowledges the great chasm, formally the narrative comes to a conclusion, for it has exhausted its possibilities’. B. B. Scott, Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of Jesus (Minneapolis: Bernard Brandon Scott, ) . Klassisch H. Gressmann, Vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus: eine literargeschichtliche Studie (Abhandlungen der königlich preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften: Philosophisch-historische Klasse, no. ; Berlin: Verlag der königlichen Akademie der Wissenschaft, ). Kritische Auseinandersetzung z.B. bei Bauckham, ‘Lazarus’.
HANNA ROOSE
Text handelt. Das ist insofern richtig, als eine Spannung bleibt. Die ‘Rolle’ des reichen Mannes ändert sich im Laufe der Erzählung: Er tritt zunächst als Mensch auf, der sein Gutes zu Lebzeiten erhält, und wird dann zum Sünder, der hätte umkehren können, diese Chance jedoch verpasst hat. Im Unterschied zu diachronen Textzugängen geht es der hier vorgetragenen Auslegung jedoch nicht darum, das eine Prinzip (als ‘traditionell’) gegenüber dem anderen (‘redaktionellen’) abzuschatten. Das Lukasevangelium vertritt beide Prinzipien kompromisslos. Im Zentrum des Evangeliums treffen sie aufeinander.
. Kompositionskritischer Ertrag
Die Kapitel und stellen eine spannungsvolle Einheit dar und sind gemeinsam als theologisches Zentrum des Lukasevangeliums anzusehen. Dagegen steht die Überzeugung u.a. von Wolter: ‘Gelegentliche Versuche, einen Zusammenhang [von Kapitel ] mit Kap. zu konstruieren…, sind gescheitert…’ Zu unterschiedlich seien die jeweiligen Themen: einerseits die Suche nach dem Verlorenen (Lk ), andererseits der Umgang mit Geld und Besitz (Lk ). Andere Exegeten sehen einen engen Zusammenhang zwischen .– und .–. Die hier vertretene These hingegen besagt, dass sich das spannungsvolle In- und Gegeneinander von Lk und nicht in erster Linie in einer direkten Verbindung zwischen .– und .– ausdrückt, sondern in der Anlage der Kapitel und insgesamt. .– und .– sind ‘Schwestererzählungen’. Gleichzeitig schließt Lk .– die Klammer, die Lk Diese Verschiebung wirkt dann durchaus auf die Deutung des ersten Teils zurück: Der reiche Mann kommt Lazarus nicht zu Hilfe, er hört nicht auf Mose und die Propheten. Diese ‘unterlassene Hilfeleistung’ lässt sich von .– her als moralisches Fehlverhalten werten. Umso mehr fällt dann aber auf, dass Abraham in seiner Begründung in . überhaupt nicht darauf abhebt, was der reiche Mann getan, sondern darauf, was er empfangen hat. Wolter, Lukasevangelium, . Der neueste Versuch in dieser Richtung stammt von E. Reinmuth: ‘Nach den drei Gleichnissen “Vom Verlorenen” und der offenen Problematisierung an ihrem Ende (,– ) nimmt die an den Jüngerkreis adressierte Unterrichtung das Thema der Kritik an Jesu Praxis, der bedingungslosen und vergebungsbereiten Gemeinschaft mit Sündern (,–) im Bild des angeklagten Verwalters auf. Jesus verschwendet mit seiner bedingungslosen Annahme von Sündern den (Vergebungs-)Reichtum Gottes’. E. Reinmuth, ‘Der beschuldigte Verwalter (Vom ungetreuen Haushalter) Lk ,–’, Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu (hg. R. Zimmermann; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, ) –, hier . Anders J. J. Kilgallen, ‘Luke and : a Connection’, Bib () –. Kilgallen macht darauf aufmerksam, dass der ‘verlorene Sohn’ nur deshalb nach Hause zurückkehrt, weil er hungrig ist und sich eine Verbesserung seiner materiellen Lage erhofft. Diese ‘Schläue’ verbinde ihn mit dem ungerechten Verwalter.
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas
.– eröffnet. Die beiden ersten Gleichnisse in Kapitel erhalten—wie bereits gesehen—jeweils eine Anwendung, die das Thema ‘Umkehr’ explizit thematisiert (., ). Eine solche Anwendung fehlt beim Gleichnis vom verlorenen Sohn. Die Erwartungshaltung der Leser/innen, die durch die parallelen Anwendungen in ., aufgebaut worden ist, wird also zunächst enttäuscht. Erst in , taucht das Wort μϵτανοϵ́ω wieder auf. Hier begegnen uns auch die Engel (.), von denen schon in . die Rede war. Sie freuen sich über die Umkehr des Sünders und tragen den Armen in Abrahams Schoß. Lk und sind ihrerseits in einen gemeinsamen Erzählzusammenhang eingespannt, der Lk – umfasst. Der Komplex wird begrenzt durch die Verortung und Situationsangabe in ,–. und ,–. Braun hat darauf hingewiesen, dass die sieben Gleichnisse in Lk – eine gemeinsame Motivstruktur aufweisen. Es geht um Mahlzeiten in einem Haus (vgl. ,), Statusfragen solche Mahlzeiten betreffend (vgl. ,ff.) und hierbei besonders um die Einladung von Menschen, die für gewöhnlich nicht in diesen Häusern an festlichen Mahlzeiten teilnehmen (vgl. ,). Diese Struktur findet sich dann durchgehend in den nun folgenden Gleichnissen wieder: Wird von dem Schicksal einer dort erzählten Figur positiv berichtet, dann wird dies mittels des Motivs ausgedrückt, dass sich diese Figur in einem Haus befindet. Wird aber von einem dramatischen Schicksal berichtet, dann befindet sich diese Figur außerhalb eines Hauses (oder einer äquivalenten Größe). Dieses Motiv wird dazu näher spezifiziert, denn im Haus zu sein bedeutet positiv, Nahrung im Überfluss zu haben. Außerhalb des Hauses zu sein bedeutet dagegen, von diesem Nahrungsüberfluss ausgeschlossen zu sein, ja zu hungern.
Dabei fällt auf, dass die Gleichnisse in Lk und explizit von (Fest-)Mählern handeln, während die Gleichnisse in Lk und dieses Motiv nur anklingen lassen und—im Falle der Parabeln vom verlorenen Sohn, vom ungerechten Haushalter und vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus—stärker mit der Dichotomie von drinnen und draußen arbeiten. Lk und bilden insofern nochmals eine Klammer um Lk und . Das heißt umgekehrt: Lk und Lk bilden das Zentrum eines Erzählzusammenhangs, der sich durch eine gemeinsame Motivstruktur auszeichnet. T. Braun, ‘Wenn zwischen den Zeilen ein Funke aufblitzt. Überlegungen zur Metaphorik lukanischer Gleichnisse im Anschluss an Paul Ricoeur und am Beispiel von Lk ,–’, Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu. Methodische Neuansätze zum Verstehen urchristlicher Parabeltexte (hg. R. Zimmermann; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –, hier –. Braun, ‘Zeilen’, . Vgl. den Titel des Beitrags von Ostmeyer zur Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn: ‘Dabeisein ist alles’.
HANNA ROOSE
Diese kompositionskritischen Beobachtungen stützen die These, dass die Umkehr, von der in Lk . die Rede ist, nicht allein im Lichte der Täuferpredigt in Lk gelesen werden darf, sondern stark unter dem Eindruck von Lk .– steht. An diesem Punkt kann die Auslegung noch einen Schritt weiter gehen. Braun hat festgestellt, dass das Gleichnis vom unnützen Knecht (.–) die Erwartungen voraussetzt und durchbricht, die in den voran gehenden sechs Gleichnissen lexikalisiert worden sind: Am Abschluss des Erzählabschnittes ,–, steht nun das Gleichnis vom Sklavenlohn und muss vor diesem Hintergrund befremdend wirken. Denn in das Lexikon der Leserinnen und Leser ist zum einen mittels der Rahmenhandlung zu Beginn des Abschnittes, zum anderen mittels der darauf folgenden sechs Gleichnisse die genannte Motivstruktur fest eingetragen worden und damit zum gewöhnlichen Motivgebrauch geworden: Im Haus zu sein bedeutet, Anteil an Nahrung, ja sogar an einem festlichen Mahl zu haben. Diese lexikalisierte Erwartungshaltung wird nun aber durch das Gleichnis irritiert und gleichzeitig vorausgesetzt, denn es setzt die Bedeutungsregeln jenes Lexikons voraus, um sie in Frage zu stellen.
Eine ganz ähnliche Kompositionstechnik ergibt sich für Lk und . Das Spiel mit den Erwartungshaltungen der Zuhörer ist auch hier zu beobachten. In Lk erfährt die Leserin, dass Umkehr auch dann möglich ist, wenn der Reichtum verschleudert wurde, so dass keine ‘Früchte der Umkehr’ im Sinne der Täuferpredigt erbracht werden können. Diese lexikalisierte Erwartung wird dann in . durchbrochen oder doch zumindest in Frage gestellt: Das von Abraham angewandte Prinzip des Ausgleichs von Gutem und Bösem, das jemand empfängt, erfährt keinen Widerspruch durch den ehemals reichen Mann. Hätte der Vater des ‘verlorenen’ Sohnes nach diesem Prinzip gehandelt, hätte er ihn kaum wieder aufnehmen dürfen. Dieses Prinzip des Ausgleichs ist den Hörer/innen aus den Seligpreisungen und Weherufen bereits bekannt. In . findet eine weitere Brechung statt: Der ehemals reiche Mann—so die Implikation—hätte sein eschatologisches Schicksal positiv beeinflussen können, wenn er umgekehrt wäre. Von ‘Früchten der Umkehr’ ist hier explizit keine Rede. Insofern haben seine Brüder wohl—wie der ‘verlorene’ Sohn—die Chance auf eine Umkehr auch ohne Früchte. Bovon sagt im Blick auf Lk .–, dass uns Lukas hier die ‘Schlüssel zum Paradies’ an die Hand gebe. Genau genommen wird man sagen müssen, dass uns das Lukasevangelium zwei unterschiedliche ‘Schlüssel zum Paradies’ an die Hand gibt: den ‘Schlüssel’ der Umkehr und den ‘Schlüssel’ des Ausgleichs der materiellen Verhältnisse. Beide ‘Schlüssel’ fordern besitzethisch die Abgabe Braun, ‘Zeilen’, –. Bovon, Lukas, .
Umkehr und Ausgleich bei Lukas
von Reichtum an Ärmere. In der jeweiligen radikalen Zuspitzung ergibt sich jedoch eine Spannung, die nicht harmonisiert werden darf. Für Lukas gilt beides ohne Abstriche: Reichtum ist nicht (nur) das Zeichen individueller moralischer Verfehlungen, sondern Ausdruck einer strukturellen Ungerechtigkeit, die Gott im Eschaton zugunsten der Armen ausgleicht. Die Chance auf Umkehr haben aber auch diejenigen nicht verwirkt, die ihren Reichtum im Diesseits selbstsüchtig verschleudern. Insofern scheint es weder angemessen, nur einen der beiden ‘Schlüssel’ als genuin lukanisch zu bewerten, noch beide Prinzipien in dem Sinne zu harmonisieren, als handele es sich letztlich um ein und denselben ‘Schlüssel’. Im Zentrum des Lukasevangeliums werden beide ‘Schlüssel’ insbesondere anhand der ‘Schwestererzählungen’ Lk .– und .– in ein potenziell spannungsvolles Verhältnis gesetzt. German abstract: Die Beobachtung, dass die Beispielerzählung vom reichen Mann und armen Lazarus (Lk .–) in der Parabel vom verlorenen Sohn (.–) eine ‘Schwestergeschichte’ hat, führt in das Zentrum lukanischer Theologie. Denn in .– prallen zwei Motive zusammen, die in unterschiedlicher Weise über das eschatologische Schicksal eines Menschen entscheiden: die Umkehr des Sünders (.) und der Ausgleich von Gutem und Schlechtem, das jemand im Diesseits und Jenseits empfängt (.). Durch die Vorschaltung der Gleichnistrilogie in Lk werden beide Konzepte in ein spannungsvolles Verhältnis gesetzt. Das theologische Zentrum des Lukasevangeliums liegt in dem spannungsvollen Ineinander von Lk und Lk .
Christfried Böttrich unterscheidet fünf verschiedene Aussagenreihen zum Thema ‘Armut und Reichtum’, die ganz unterschiedlich akzentuiert sind. ‘Ideal oder Zeichen? Besitzverzicht bei Lukas am Beispiel der “Ausrüstungsregel” ’, NTS () –.
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990178
From John 2.19 to Mark 15.29: The History of a Misunderstanding G O N ZA LO R OJAS - F LO R E S Suecia 3390, dep. 401, N˜un˜oa, Santiago de Chile. email:
[email protected]
Against the consensus that John . alludes to the destruction of the temple and is dependent on Synoptic traditions, it is argued here that: (a) there is some interdependence between the Johannine and Synoptic sayings on temple destruction, but not so as to posit Johannine use of Synoptic material; (b) Jesus’ saying in John . does not refer to the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, but to his death and resurrection (proof of his temple-cleansing authority), formulated in distinctively and exclusively Johannine terms; (c) Mark takes Jesus to have predicted the destruction of the temple, but the notion that he also predicted its rebuilding (Mark .) can be explained only as a distorted version of John ., known to Mark via a source hostile to Jesus. Keywords: John .–, Mark . and ., destruction of the temple, rebuilding the temple, John and the Synoptics
According to the Synoptics, Jesus prophesied the destruction of the temple (Matt .; Mark .; Luke .). At his trial, Jesus was accused of having said that he was able to destroy the temple and to build it in three days (Matt .) or that he would destroy the temple that was made with hands, and in three days would build another, not made with hands (Mark .). At his crucifixion, some people mocked him, recalling that he said that he would destroy the temple and build it in three days (Matt .; Mark .). Although John’s gospel has no reference to a temple-destruction prophecy nor to a trial accusation regarding the temple, it is usually assumed that John . and . allude to the destruction of the temple. This interpretation is linked to the traditional dating of John’s gospel in the last decade of the first century, which generally assumes Johannine dependence on the Synoptic gospels, especially Mark and Luke. A number of scholars have called this consensus into question, arguing for the literary independence of John’s gospel, its value as an independent historical
Cf. M. A. Matson, ‘Current Approaches to the Priority of John’, Stone Campbell Journal () –.
From John . to Mark .
source, its strong Jewish identity, and its early dating (before the destruction of Jerusalem in CE). Some others have suggested a reciprocal oral influence between John and Mark, or mutual influence between John and the Synoptics through successive stages of literary development, or even Johannine influence on Q, Matthew, and, particularly, Luke. However, the saying attributed to Jesus in John . is still interpreted as originally concerning the Jerusalem temple, subsequently reinterpreted as referring to Jesus (John .). From a different perspective, Dodd proposed that John . was from the outset associated with both the temple and Jesus. In this article I will argue that there is linguistic evidence for the interdependence of John . and Mark . // Matt .; Mark . // Matt ., but I will demonstrate that the saying attributed to Jesus in John . (‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’) does not make reference to the Jerusalem temple and does not depend on the Synoptics. It could derive ultimately from Jesus himself in reference to his own death and resurrection, J. A. T. Robinson, Redating the New Testament (London: SCM, ) – n. ; D. B. Wallace, ‘John , and the Date of the Fourth Gospel’, Bib () n. ; P. L. Hofrichter, ed., Für und wider die Priorität des Johannesevangelium: Symposion in Salzburg am . März (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, ). P. Anderson, ‘John and Mark: The Bi-optic Gospels’, Jesus in Johannine Tradition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ). M.-E. Boismard and A. Lamouille, L’Evangile de Jean (Paris: Cerf, ). K. Berger, Im Anfang war Johannes (Stuttgart: Quell, ). B. Shellard, ‘Luke as the Fourth Gospel: Its Purpose, Sources and Literary Character’ (M. Phil. diss., Oxford University, ); M. A. Matson, In Dialogue with Another Gospel? The Influence of the Fourth Gospel on the Passion Narrative of the Gospel of Luke (Atlanta: SBL, ). Cf. R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, ) .; Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave: A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels ( vols.; New York: Doubleday, ) . n. ; W. L. Lane, The Gospel according to Mark (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) ; J. Kilgallen, The Stephen Speech: A Literary and Redactional Study of Acts , – (Rome: Biblical Institute, ) ; O. Cullmann, The Johannine Circle (Philadelphia: Westminster, ) –; C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to St. John (Philadelphia: Westminster, nd ed. ) ; C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark: An Introduction and Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) ; E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, ) –; M. A. Matson, ‘The Contribution to the Temple Cleansing by the Fourth Gospel’, SBL Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars, ) ; J. Ashton, Understanding the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon, ) n. ; L. M. Wills, The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John, and the Origins of the Gospel Genre (London: Routledge, ) –; M. D. Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark (London: Continuum, ) . C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) . All biblical citations come from the New Revised Standard Version, unless indicated to the contrary.
GONZALO ROJAS-FLORES
but it has been formulated in distinctively and exclusively Johannine symbolic language. At the same time, I will suggest that the second half of the accusation against Jesus in Mark . // Matt .; Mark . // Matt . (the building of the temple in three days) cannot be explained by other evidence in the NT, except as a distorted version of John ., which was known to Mark via a source hostile to Jesus.
. Linguistic Evidence for the Interdependence of John . and Mark .; .
There are striking similarities between the saying attributed to Jesus in John . and the false accusations levelled against him in Mark . // Matt .; Mark . // Matt .; but there are also some remarkable differences:
Λύσατ1 τὸν ναὸν τοῦτον καὶ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις ἐγ1ϱῶ αὐτόν (‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’, John .)
Τ1σσ1ϱάκοντα καὶ ἓξ ἔτ1σιν οἰκοδομήθη ὁ ναὸς οὗτος, καὶ σὺ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις ἐγ1ϱ1ῖς αὐτόν (‘This temple has been under construction for fortysix years, and will you raise it up in three days?’, John .)
Ἐγὼ καταλύσω τὸν ναὸν τοῦτον τὸν χ1ιϱοποίητον καὶ διὰ τϱιῶν ἡμ1ϱῶν ἄλλον ἀχ1ιϱοποίητον οἰκοδομήσω (‘I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands’, Mark .)
Οὐὰ ὁ καταλύων τὸν ναὸν καὶ οἰκοδομῶν ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις (‘Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days’, Mark .)
Δύναμαι καταλῦσαι τὸν ναὸν τοῦ θ1οῦ καὶ διὰ τϱιῶν ἡμ1ϱῶν οἰκοδομῆσαι (‘I am able to destroy the temple of God and to build it in three days’, Matt .)
Ὁ καταλύων τὸν ναὸν καὶ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις οἰκοδομῶν (‘You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days’, Matt .)
The term ναός is very common in the NT, occurring times ( in Matthew, in Mark, in Luke, in John, in Acts, in the Pauline Epistles, and in Revelation). But, as M. D. Hooker has noted. the term for ‘sanctuary’ used in Mark .; ., and . ‘is ναός, instead of Mark’s more usual word for the temple, ἱ1ϱόν… A similar interesting change from ἱ1ϱόν to ναός takes My hypotheses do not depend on any particular theory about the Synoptic problem, but I will assume Markan priority in order to facilitate my investigation.
From John . to Mark .
place in John .–’. This coincidence does not prove, but it suggests interdependence between John . and Mark .; .. The phrase τϱ1ῖς ἡμέϱας appears times linked to the resurrection, preceded times by μ1τὰ and twice by ἐν. On the other hand, ‘three days’ appears times associated with the building or raising up of a temple, preceded twice by διά and times by ἐν. The common presence of ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις in John ., and Mark . // Matt . leads us to suspect interdependence between them, because they are the only four verses in the whole NT with the phrase ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις, and all of them are about the raising up or building of a temple. But there is no reason to exclude a priori the common dependence of Mark . and John . upon a primitive source, or even the dependence of Mark . on John .. On the other hand, there are some remarkable differences between the saying attributed to Jesus in John . and the false accusation against him in Mark . // Matt .. In fact, λύω and ἐγ1ίϱω are found only in John ., while καταλύω and οἰκοδομέω are found only in Mark . // Matt .. Two observations must be made. In the first place, the verb ἐγ1ίϱω can be applied to a material building, but it is primarily used for raising the dead to life, both in John’s gospel (.; .; ., , ; .) and in the rest of the NT. In the second place, the verb καταλύω in Mark . // Matt . is also found in the accusation against Stephen concerning the destruction of the temple (Acts .).
. Mark . and John . in Context: The Destruction or Cleansing of the Temple
The saying of John . (‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’) was attributed to Jesus in the context of the so-called cleansing of the temple episode. If Jesus’ action in the temple was a gesture prophesying its destruction and its replacement by a new temple, John . must be interpreted in the light of that prophecy. But in this section, I will argue that the overturning of
Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark, . Cf. Matt .; .; Mark .; John ., ; Rev ., . Cf. Matt .; Mark .; Rev .. Cf. John .–. Cf. Matt .; Mark .. Cf. Matt .; Mark .; John .–. See Matt .; .; .; .; .; .; .; ., –; .–; Mark .; ., ; .; .; ., ; Luke ., ; .; ., ; .; ., ; Acts .; .; .; .; ., ; .; Rom ., ; ., ; .; ., ; .; Cor .; ., –, , , , , –, ; Cor .; .; .; Gal .; Eph .; .; Col .; Thess .; Tim .; Heb .; Pet ..
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the tables in John does not symbolize the destruction of the temple, only its cleansing, in the light of Zech .. E. P. Sanders has argued that Jesus’ action in the temple—overturning the tables and driving out the traders and animals—was a prophetic demonstration symbolizing that the Kingdom was at hand and that the old temple would be destroyed, so that the expected eschatological temple might arise. Although Sanders argued that ‘there was current in some circles the expectation of the destruction and rebuilding of the temple’, C. A. Evans has shown that ‘there are no texts that predict the appearance of a messianic figure who first destroys (or predicts the destruction of) the Temple and then rebuilds it. These texts only suggest that a new Temple will be built, perhaps through the agency of the Messiah’. Since Sanders could not quote any Jewish text from the period of the Second Temple that predicts the destruction and rebuilding of the temple, he argued that the building of a new temple naturally implies the destruction of the old. But the only text quoted by Sanders that specifies the destiny of the old temple is En. ., where the temple desecrated by Antiochus Epiphanes is completely carried off (not destroyed) and laid ‘in a place in the south of the land’. In Sanders’s view, Jesus’ action symbolizing the destruction of the temple was reinterpreted by the embarrassed Mark as a mere act of protest against dishonesty, attributing to Jesus some words about a ‘den of robbers’, a saying rejected by most scholars as an addition: ‘Is it not written, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”? But you have made it a den of robbers’ (Mark .). But since Mark presents Jesus as prophesying the destruction of the temple explicitly in Mark . (‘Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down’), C. A. Evans has rightly asked: ‘why would the presentation of Jesus’ symbolic action in the Temple, an action that only implied the Temple’s destruction, be such a cause of embarrassment that he felt it necessary to reinterpret it as an act of cleansing?’ According to Evans, it seems highly unlikely that Mark has transformed a prophetic gesture portending destruction into a protest against business activities, since Mark wished to Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, –. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, . C. A. Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple: Cleansing or Portent of Destruction?’, Jesus in Context: Temple, Purity, and Restoration (ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans; Leiden: Brill, ) . Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, –. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, . Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, . Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, . Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, . Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple’, .
From John . to Mark .
emphasize that Jesus prophesied the destruction of the temple. In fact, the Markan narrative of Jesus’ action in the temple was intercalated between Jesus’ curse of the fruitless fig tree (Mark .–) and the notice regarding the fig tree having withered away to its roots (.–). This symbolizes a fruitless and doomed temple, making use of the imagery of Jer . and Hos ., . R. T. France confirms that the withering of the fig tree is a symbol of ‘the failure and the coming dissolution of the temple worship’. In his opinion, ‘Mark, by associating Jesus’ action with the cursing of the fig tree, ensures that his readers see it in this wider and more ominous perspective’. Moreover, according to the Markan narrative, when Jesus died the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom (Mark .). The tearing of the curtain seems to symbolize the abolition of the old worship, a warning sign of the impending destruction of the temple, and the partial fulfilment of the prophecy in Mark .–. The ‘destruction of the sanctuary has already begun (or, indeed, is done)’. ‘For Mark the rending of the veil after the death of Jesus both effected a present destruction of the holiness of the sanctuary and served as a sign of a future, less symbolic destruction’. In conclusion, Jesus’ action in the temple was interpreted by Mark as an act symbolizing its destruction because (a) the Markan narrative of Jesus’ action is preceded by the curse of the fruitless fig tree (.–) and followed by its withering (.–), symbolizing the destruction of the fruitless temple; (b) a prophecy of the temple’s destruction was explicitly attributed to Jesus in Mark .–; and (c) Jesus’ death was followed by the tearing of the temple curtain (.), symbolizing the partial fulfilment of this prophecy. In this context, I propose that the ‘den of robbers’ saying attributed to Jesus in Mark . is not only a quotation of Jer ., but also an allusion to Jeremiah’s prophecy of the destruction of the temple, which is clearly established in the following verses:
Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple’, . Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple’, –. R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) . France, The Gospel of Mark, . Cf. V. Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark (London: Macmillan, ) ; E. Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark (Atlanta: John Knox, ) ; C. S. Mann, Mark (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, ) . Lane, The Gospel according to Mark, . D. Juel, Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark (Missoula, MT: Scholars, ), –. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, .. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, ..
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Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your sight? You know, I too am watching, says the LORD. Go now to my place that was in Shiloh, where I made my name dwell at first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel. And now, because you have done all these things, says the LORD, and when I spoke to you persistently, you did not listen, and when I called you, you did not answer, therefore I will do to the house that is called by my name, in which you trust, and to the place that I gave to you and to your ancestors, just what I did to Shiloh (Jer .–)
In this sense, according to the saying attributed to Jesus in Mark ., when he drove out the merchants from the temple, he was following Jeremiah, who denounced the profanation of the temple and prophesied its destruction. This argument can also be applied to Matthew and Luke. In the first case, the expulsion of merchants and purchasers from the temple (Matt .) is followed by the quotation of Jer . (.), the curse of the fruitless fig tree (.), and the temple destruction prophecy (.). In the second case, the expulsion (Luke .) is preceded by the Jerusalem destruction prophecy (.–) and followed by the quotation of Jer . (.), and another temple destruction prophecy (.). This prophecy seems to have been known very early in the primitive community of Jerusalem, as it was preached by Stephen (Acts .) and preserved by the three Synoptics. But its authenticity is very questionable, since the prophecy was not apparently preached by the Twelve or the ‘Hebrews’, and it is omitted in the rest of the NT, including key texts such as Thess ., Hebrews –, and Revelation . Unlike Mark, who interpreted the ‘cleansing of the temple’ episode in the light of the temple destruction prophecy attributed to Jesus, John interpreted this episode as an act of purification of the temple. According to his gospel, Jesus exclaimed: ‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a market-place!’ (John .). These words allude not to Jeremiah, but to Zechariah, who prophesied the coming of God and the inauguration of his Kingdom (Zech .–), with Jerusalem and Judah wholly consecrated to God: W. L. Lane wrote that Mark . ‘actually forms the expected sequel’ to Mark .: ‘There, in a pronouncement of judgement upon the misuse of the Temple, Jesus cited Jer. :. In the context of that passage the destruction of the Temple by Nebuchadnezzar is seen as God’s punishment of the rebelliousness of Judah in the time of Jeremiah (Jer. :–)’. Lane, The Gospel according to Mark, . Due to limitations of space, I will develop this argument in a separate article. Regarding John . as an allusion to Zech ., see Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, ; B. Lindars, The Gospel of John (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, ) ; Brown, The Gospel according to John, ., . See recent discussion in B. D. Chilton, The Temple of Jesus: His Sacrificial Program Within a Cultural History of Sacrifice (University Park: Penn State University, ) –.
From John . to Mark . In that day there will be inscribed on the bells of the horses, ‘HOLY TO THE LORD’. And the cooking pots in the LORD’S house will be like the bowls before the altar. Every cooking pot in Jerusalem and in Judah will be holy to the LORD of hosts; and all who sacrifice will come and take of them and boil in them. And there will no longer be a Canaanite in the house of the LORD of hosts in that day. (Zech .–, NASB)
In this passage, the prophet says that Jerusalem and Judah, with all their utensils, will be consecrated to the worship of God, and that there will be no impure man or ‘Canaanite’ ( כנעניin MT, Χαναναῖος in LXX) in the temple. But since the word ‘Canaanite’ was often used as a synonym for ‘trader’ (cf. Job .; Prov .; Hos .; Zeph .), Aquila translated the כנעניof Zech . by μ1τάβολος (huckster, retail dealer) and the Targum of the Minor Prophets rendered it by ( עובד תגראsomeone doing business). This was precisely the reading of John .: ‘Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!’ According to this Johannine saying, when Jesus drove the merchants from the temple, he was following Zechariah, who prophesied an eschatological higher level of worship. If the Johannine allusion to Zech . in John . was constructed after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, it would be inexplicable in terms of scriptural exegesis, because Zech . is not associated with the temple’s destruction, but with a higher level of worship. That is very far from the Synoptic quotation of Jer . which is associated with Jeremiah’s prophecy about the destruction of the temple in Jer .–. Since the destruction of the temple was prophesied correctly in the three Synoptic gospels, John . must be a pre- saying, which shows no literary dependence on the Synoptics. C. H. Dodd maintained that the narrative of the cleansing of the temple is given in John’s gospel ‘with little substantial difference from the Marcan version, though with no great measure of verbal agreement’. But as we have just seen, the Johannine allusion to Zechariah is linked to a higher level of worship, while the Synoptic quotation of Jeremiah alludes to the destruction of the temple. Moreover, in the following section we will see that, according to John, Jesus did not prophesy the rebuilding of the temple in three days if it was destroyed, but his own resurrection in three days if he was killed; John attributes the misunderstanding to his adversaries. The verbal disagreement between the Johannine and the Synoptic versions is also a substantial disagreement.
For the Greek and Aramaic translations of Zech ., see H. J. de Jonge, ‘The Cleansing of the Temple in Mark : and Zechariah :’, The Book of Zechariah and its Influence (ed. C. Tuckett; Aldershot: Ashgate, ) . Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, .
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. John .: Meaning and Function
According to John ., Jesus proclaimed his power to raise up the temple in three days if it was destroyed by his opponents. This proclamation was pronounced by Jesus as a sign of his messianic authority to cleanse the temple: The Jews then said to him, ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’ (Λύσατ1 τὸν ναὸν τοῦτον καὶ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις ἐγ1ϱῶ αὐτόν). (John .–)
In this section, I will argue that John . makes reference only to Jesus’ death and resurrection, excluding any allusion to a supposed destruction and rebuilding of a physical temple or a spiritual temple of believers. In the cleansing of the temple episode, John . carries out the same function as Mark .–, that is, to proclaim the heavenly origin of Jesus’ messianic authority: in the case of Mark, this occurs by associating the heavenly origin of John the Baptist’s authority with Jesus’ own authority, in the case of John, by proclaiming Jesus’ power to raise himself from the dead in three days if he was killed by his opponents. In another context, Jesus’ resurrection as a sign of his messianic authority is also found in Matt .; ., and, more ambiguously, in Luke . (the sign of Jonah). Regarding the meaning of John ., it might be argued that Jesus uttered these words in reference to the physical temple. But this option must be discarded. In the first place, we have already seen that prophecies about the building of a new temple in Jewish literature are never linked to the destruction of the old one. In the second place, Jesus’ challenge to others to destroy the temple only makes sense if the ‘temple’ alludes to Jesus himself, since ‘the Jews’ had no intention to destroy the physical building. Thirdly, the notion of another physical temple being built or raised up by Jesus is completely absent from the NT, including Mark , John , Hebrews –, and Revelation . Finally, although ‘three days’ is an expression that also means ‘a short, but indefinite time’, it is strongly associated with Jesus’ resurrection. In this last sense, the phrase τϱίτῃ ἡμέϱᾳ appears times in the NT, while the phrase τϱ1ῖς ἡμέϱας appears times. Brown, The Gospel according to John, .. Cf. Acts .; ., , . Cf. also John . (‘on the third day’). Associated with Jesus’ resurrection, τϱίτῃ ἡμέϱᾳ (‘third day’) appears in Matt .; .; .; .; Mark .; .; Luke .; .; ., , ; Acts .; Cor .. Associated with Jesus’ resurrection, τϱ1ῖς ἡμέϱας (‘three days’) appears in Matt .; .; Mark .; indirectly in Matt . (Jonah’s sign), John .– (the temple’s raising up), Rev ., (the two witnesses’ death and resurrection). Although the allusion is distorted, Jesus’ resurrection is implied in Matt .; .; Mark .; . (the temple’s rebuilding). It is possible that Jesus’ resurrection underlies Matt .; Mark . (feeding the multitude after
From John . to Mark .
Another possibility is that Jesus alluded to his community. The temple as a symbol of the community can be found in many passages in the NT. The believers are, collectively speaking, a temple (ναός; Cor .–; Cor .; Eph .), a dwelling-place for God (Eph .), and the house of God ( Tim .). The same idea is found in Peter (.), and in one of the Qumran texts, where the new eschatological temple is the community itself, the ‘Sanctuary of men’ (QFlor .). Individually, believers are identified with the stones and pillars of a building: Jesus Christ is the cornerstone (Eph .); the apostles and prophets are the foundation (Eph .); James, Cephas, and John are pillars (Gal .). Similar symbols are found in Peter: Jesus Christ is the cornerstone (.), the head of the corner (.), a living stone (.)—a symbol which is applied also to believers (.). In the Synoptics, Jesus Christ is the head of the corner (Matt .; Mark .; Luke .). The same idea was preserved in Acts .. In Matthew, Peter is the rock upon which Jesus will build his community (.). In Revelation, the believer is a pillar in the temple (ναός; .). But the hypothesis that ‘this temple’ (John .) refers to the believing community does not make much sense, since the saying in John . clearly implies that the temple to be raised has the same nature as the temple destroyed. But Jesus could not have challenged ‘the Jews’ to destroy his community, and promised to raise it up. According to Mark ., and Rev .– he prophesied persecution and preservation, not destruction and reconstruction. Moreover, the reference to the ‘three days’ reveals that, in this specific saying, the temple does not symbolize the congregation of believers but the person of Jesus. Individually, the symbolic identification between the believer and the temple can be found only in one of the Pauline epistles: the believer must not desecrate his body because it is a temple (ναός) of the Holy Spirit ( Cor .). But the Johannine literature reserves the symbol of the temple exclusively for Christ. His body is a temple (ναός; John ., ). The water that flows from the side of his crucified body (John .) is linked to the rivers of living water that flow from the belly of his glorified body (.–), in allusion to the stream of lifegiving water that comes from under the eschatological temple and flows down from its side (Ezek .–). The eschatological corollary of this identification between Jesus and the temple is found in Revelation: at the end of time, God
three days); Luke . (Jesus found after three days); Acts . (restoration of Paul’s sight after three days). References without connection to Jesus’ resurrection can be found in Acts .; ., , . B. Gartner, The Temple and the Community in Qumran and the NT: A Comparative Study in the Temple Symbolism of the Qumran Texts and the NT (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ); R. J. McKelvey, The New Temple: The Church in the NT (Oxford: Oxford University, ). G. Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (Sheffield: JSOT, rd ed. ) .
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and the Lamb will be the temple (ναός) of the New Jerusalem (Rev .) and from their throne will flow the river of the water of life (.). In this symbolic context, Jesus is presented as proclaiming—as a sign of his messianic authority—his power to raise up the temple of his body if it is destroyed by his opponents. The use of this distinctively and purely Johannine symbolic language of ‘Jesus as temple’ reveals that, even if Jesus actually prophesied his own death and resurrection in three days, the wording found in John . is completely and exclusively Johannine. The phrase ‘Destroy this temple’ implicitly assumes that ‘the Jews’ looked for its destruction, an assumption that can only make sense if the ‘temple’ alludes to Jesus, not to the material sanctuary. John clearly states that ‘the Jews’ want to kill Jesus, not to destroy the Jerusalem temple. Moreover, he maintains that the Sanhedrin decided to put Jesus to death in order to preserve the temple from destruction (John .–). That the ‘temple’ alludes to Jesus is confirmed by the presence of the verb ‘raise up’: as we have already seen, ἐγ1ίϱω can be applied to a material building, but is primarily used for raising the dead to life, both in John’s gospel and in the rest of the NT. John’s gospel denies explicitly (John .) that Jesus alluded to the Jerusalem temple when he proclaimed (.) his power to rebuild the temple in three days if it was destroyed by his opponents; John attributes the misunderstanding to ‘the Jews’: The Jews then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body. (John .–)
In fact, the topic of the destruction of the Jerusalem temple is missing from John’s gospel and there is no evidence that allows us to assume that John . alludes at all to the destruction and rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple. In the first place, as we have already seen, the overturning of the tables does not symbolize the destruction of the temple, only its cleansing. Secondly, the allusion to Zech . in John . is linked to Zechariah’s prophecy about a higher quality of worship, in sharp contrast to the Synoptic quotation of Jer ., associated with the destruction of the temple. Thirdly, Jesus’ announcement that the end of the Jerusalem temple worship would come in an imminent future (‘the hour is coming’, John .), and that the time for worshiping God in spirit and truth had already arrived (‘the hour is coming, and is now here’, John .) does not necessarily imply the destruction of the temple. Fourth, all the Synoptic topics linked to the prophecy of the temple destruction (Jeremiah’s saying in the This argument does not work with the rendering of W. L. Lane (The Gospel according to Mark, ): ‘if this temple be destroyed, in three days I will raise it up’, adopted from K. Beyer, Semitische Syntax im Neuen Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ) .
From John . to Mark .
temple episode, the curse of the fruitless fig tree, prophecies about the throwing down of the temple and the setting up of the ‘desolating sacrilege’, the call to flee from Jerusalem, the false testimonies at Jesus’ trial, and the tearing of the temple curtain) are missing from John’s gospel. John . fits rather into the following sequence: Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem (John .)
Jesus’ messianic entry into Jerusalem (Matt .–; Mark .–; Luke .– )
Jesus’ expulsion of traders and money changers from the temple (John .–)
Jesus’ expulsion of traders and buyers from the temple (Matt .; Mark .–; cf. Luke .)
The ‘market-place’ (John .) associated with Zechariah’s prophecy about a higher level of worship
The ‘den of robbers’ (Matt .; Mark .; Luke .) associated with Jeremiah’s prophecy about the destruction of the temple
Questioned about his authority to do this, Jesus proclaims his power to raise up the temple in three days if it was destroyed by his opponents (John .– )
Questioned about his authority to do these things, Jesus asks if the baptism of John came from heaven or was of human origin (Matt .–; Mark .–; Luke .–)
John .– carries out the same function as Matt .–; Mark .–; Luke .–, that is, to proclaim the heavenly origin of Jesus’ messianic authority, which had been called into question by his opponents. While the dialogue between Jesus and ‘the Jews’ was placed by John just after the overturning of the tables (John .), the dialogue between Jesus and the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders was placed by Mark early on the next day (Mark .; cf. Matt .). Luke placed the discussion some days later (‘one day’, Luke .). While ‘the Jews’ of John asked Jesus: ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ (Τί σημ1ῖον δ1ικνύ1ις ἡμῖν, ὅτι ταῦτα ποι1ῖς; John .), the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders of Mark asked him: ‘By what authority are you doing these things? Who gave you this authority to do them?’ (Ἐν ποίᾳ ἐξουσίᾳ ταῦτα ποι1ῖς; ἢ τίς σοι ἔδωκ1ν τὴν ἐξουσίαν ταύτην ἵνα ταῦτα ποιῇς; Mark .; cf. Matt .). By ‘these things’, Mark means the overturning of the tables, because Jesus did nothing more in Jerusalem after that. In Matthew, ‘these things’ seem to mean Jesus’ teaching (.), which is clearly implied also in Luke .. But ‘it is often suggested that the question originally referred In the (related) vision of the Johannine seer, the temple would be replaced by God and Christ as the new temple (Rev .) of the New Jerusalem (., ) in the context of the eschatological renewal of all things (.), a renewal that excludes the profanation and destruction of the temple (.–).
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to the cleansing of the temple; indeed it would be surprising if that event had not provoked a reaction (cf. Jn. .–). Perhaps the whole activity of Jesus in the temple is in mind’. Both John and the Synoptics present Jesus as proclaiming the heavenly origin of his messianic authority: in the case of the Synoptics, by associating his authority with the heavenly origin of the authority of John the Baptist (Matt .–; Mark .–; Luke .–); in the case of John ., by proclaiming his power to raise ‘this temple’ in three days if it is destroyed by his opponents. As we will see, the heavenly origin of Jesus’ messianic authority is better supported if John . does not allude to the building of a material temple, but to his own rising from the dead. Jesus’ resurrection as a sign of his messianic authority is found not only in John ., but also in Matthew and, more ambiguously, in Luke: The Jews then said to him, ‘What sign can you show us for doing this?’ (John .)
Then some of the scribes and Pharisees said to him, ‘Teacher, we wish to see a sign from you’. (Matt .)
The Pharisees and Sadducees came, and to test Jesus they asked him to show them a sign from heaven (Matt .)
Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’ (John .)
But he answered them, ‘An evil and adulterous generation asks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of the prophet Jonah’ (Matt .)
‘An evil and adulterous generation asks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of Jonah’ (Matt .)
When the crowds were increasing, he began to say, ‘This generation is an evil generation; it asks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of Jonah’ (Luke .)
The Jews then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you
I. H. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) –.
From John . to Mark .
raise it up in three days?’ (John .) But he was speaking of the temple of his body (John .)
‘For just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the sea monster, so for three days and three nights the Son of Man will be in the heart of the earth’ (Matt .)
‘For just as Jonah became a sign to the people of Nineveh, so the Son of Man will be to this generation’ (Luke .)
‘The people of Nineveh will rise up at the judgement with this generation and condemn it, because they repented at the proclamation of Jonah, and see, something greater than Jonah is here!’ (Matt .)
‘The people of Nineveh will rise up at the judgement with this generation and condemn it, because they repented at the proclamation of Jonah, and see, something greater than Jonah is here!’ (Luke.)
There are several similarities between these passages. The sign asked for by ‘the Jews’ in John . is also requested in Matt . (by scribes and Pharisees), Matt . (by Pharisees and Sadducees), Matt .; . (by an evil and adulterous generation), and Luke . (by an evil generation). While Jesus answers in John . with a cryptic allusion to the temple destroyed and raised up in three days, he answers with a cryptic allusion to Jonah’s sign in Matt .; ., and Luke .. This sign alludes to the well-known story of Jonah devoured and liberated after three days and three nights. While the allusion to the temple is explained in John ., the allusion to Jonah’s sign is explained in Matt . and, more ambiguously, in Luke .. The ‘sign of Jonah’ is absent from Mark ., but the authenticity of Matt .– and Luke .– is irrelevant for my argument. Regarding the debate about the authenticity and meaning of the ‘sign of Jonah’, see R. A. Edwards, The Sign of Jonah in the Theology of the
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Although John, Matthew and (more ambiguously) Luke agree that Jesus proclaimed his own resurrection as a sign of his messianic authority, there are a number of differences between them: (a) while Matthew and Luke made use of an OT figure to allude to Jesus, John used the symbol of Jesus-as-temple; (b) while the allusion to Jonah is a mixture of warning, promise, and prophecy, the Johannine saying is also an act of defiance: ‘Kill me, and in three days I will raise myself from the dead’; (c) unlike the sign of Jonah, the Johannine saying not only prophesies Jesus’ resurrection, but also proclaims Jesus’ power to raise himself from the dead (cf. John .; .–); (d) unlike the sign of Jonah, the Johannine allusion to Jesus’ power to raise up his temple-body as a sign of his messianic authority is linked to the controversy about Jesus’ authority to cleanse the temple. In conclusion, there is no evidence that allows us to maintain the dependence of John . upon the prophecy of the temple destruction (Mark .), the false accusation at Jesus’ trial (.), or the mockery during his execution (.). John’s gospel claims that Jesus proclaimed, as a sign of his messianic authority to cleanse the temple, his power to raise himself from the dead in three days if he was killed by his opponents. The same topic (Jesus’ resurrection as a sign of his messianic authority) is also found in Matthew and (more ambiguously in) Luke, but with a different symbolic language: while John . made use of a Jesus–temple identification, Matt .; ., and Luke . made use of the sign of Jonah. Due to their conceptual affinities, John’s allusion to Jesus’ power to raise up his temple-body was linked to the controversy about Jesus’ authority to cleanse the temple. According to John, some ‘Jews’ believed that Jesus had boasted of being able to raise the Jerusalem temple in three days. Due to this misunderstanding of the proclamation attributed to Jesus in John ., it is explicitly denied in . that . had referred to the Jerusalem temple. In other words, John . does not here depend on the Synoptics.
. The Second Half of the Accusation against Jesus in Mark .: A Distorted Version of John .
According to the Markan (and Matthean, but not Lukan) version of Jesus’ trial, some witnesses falsely accused Jesus of having said that he would destroy the temple and that in three days he would build another (Mark .). Although the
Evangelists and Q (London: SCM, ); A. J. B. Higgins, The Son of Man in the Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –; E. H. Merrill, ‘The Sign of Jonah’, JETS () –; A. K. M. Adam, ‘The Sign of Jonah: A Fish-Eye View’, Semeia () –; S. Chow, The Sign of Jonah Reconsidered: A Study of its Meaning in the Gospel Traditions (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, ).
From John . to Mark .
witnesses did not agree (.) and the charge was thrown out (.), the accusation was repeated as a cruel mockery when Jesus was crucified (.). The first half of the accusation against Jesus in Mark . (‘I will destroy this temple’), repeated in Mark . (‘Aha! You who would destroy the temple’), can be explained as a distortion of the prophecy attributed to him in Mark ., according to which Jesus announced the destruction of the temple. Regarding the second half of the accusation, I will argue in this section (a) that the building of a temple not made with hands in Mark . is secondary to the building of a temple in Mark .; and (b) that the origin of this second half cannot be explained in the context of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Synoptics, Acts, and the rest of the NT, with the remarkable exception of John . (the raising up of the temple in three days). The common presence of ναός and ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις in Mark . and John . leads us to suspect some interdependence between them. But the saying attributed to Jesus in John . can be perfectly explained in the context of the Johannine narrative (Jesus’ power to raise himself from the dead in three days, as a sign of his messianic authority) and as Johannine symbolic language (Jesus’ body as temple). In this context, I will propound the following hypothesis. The four gospels describe Jesus as prophesying his own death and resurrection in three days. By making use of his distinctively symbolic language, John has Jesus proclaim—as a sign of his authority—his power to raise the temple (of his body) in three days (John .). This saying, attributed posthumously to Jesus, was misunderstood by some who believed that Jesus had boasted of being able to raise the Jerusalem temple in three days (John .). This misunderstanding turned into mockery against Jesus, which was known to Mark through a hostile source. Mark mixed this mockery about the building of the temple in three days with the accusation concerning the temple destruction, attributing the double accusation to some witnesses in Jesus’ trial and to hostile bystanders at Jesus’ execution. Regarding the authenticity of Mark ., O. Cullmann maintained that: ‘The second half of the (false) witness borne against Jesus probably corresponds to an actual saying of his, that he would “build a temple not made with human hands” (Mark .); other sayings of his suggest that this was a reference to the eschatological community of disciples’. But in Dodd’s opinion, ‘the sophisticated Greek χ1ιϱοποίητος […] and ἀχ1ιϱοποίητος are almost certainly secondary’. Brown wrote: Neither Matt nor John make this distinction, nor does Luke in the claim attributed to Jesus in Acts : (although Luke is aware of it, as Acts : shows). In Mark itself the distinction is not repeated in the mockery of :. The paired Cf. France, The Gospel of Mark, –. Cullmann, The Johannine Circle, . Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, n. .
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positive and negative adjectives are a good Greek construction, but very difficult to retrovert into Hebrew or Aramaic. We can be relatively certain, then, that any statement made historically by Jesus about the destruction and rebuilding of the sanctuary did not contain these two distinguishing words— they are interpretations that arose among Greek speakers.
In fact, the Markan use of the term χ1ιϱοποίητος (Mark .) seems to be inspired by a very early negative attitude to the temple within the ‘Hellenist’ Christian Jewish faction headed by Stephen, for whom the Jerusalem temple was a house ‘made by human hands’ or χ1ιϱοποίητος (Acts .), ‘a derogatory word used of idol worship’. The distinction introduced by Mark in . between the destruction of the worthless Jerusalem temple (‘made with hands’) and the building of a superior temple (‘not made with hands’) reveals that he thought that the statement attributed to Jesus was not totally false. In his view, Jesus had announced not only the destruction of the Jerusalem temple (cf. Mark .), but also the building of another temple, whose superior nature was established by the Markan contrast between χ1ιϱοποίητος and ἀχ1ιϱοποίητος. Mark affirmed that the accusation was false because the agent of the temple destruction would be not Christ—as the witnesses said—but a powerful enemy of God, who would try to enforce a pagan worship (the Danielic ‘desolating sacrilege’ set up where it ought not to be, Mark .). In conclusion, the second half of the accusation in Mark . seems to be a Markan development of a more primitive formulation, which is found in Mark . and Matt .; .. But this more primitive formulation (the building of a temple in three days) also presents several difficulties. In the first place, it cannot be explained in the context of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Synoptics. It is striking that the prophecy about the temple destruction attributed to Jesus in Matt .// Mark .// Luke . does not make reference to the building of any temple, not even after the coming of the Son of Man in Matt .– // Mark .– // Luke .–. L. Gaston proposed that the second half of the accusation could refer to a saying actually uttered by Jesus, that is, the founding of the eschatological community as the ‘temple’ of God. On the other hand, R. T. France has argued that the proclamation of the good news to all nations in Mark . must precede the temple destruction, so that the new ‘temple’ (that is, the gathering of the elect from all over the world in .) replaces the physical building. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, .. Marshall, The Acts of the Apostles, n. . L. Gaston, No Stone on Another: Studies in the Significance of the Fall of Jerusalem in the Synoptic Gospels (Leiden: Brill, ), , , . France, The Gospel of Mark, –.
From John . to Mark .
In fact, ‘there is evidence that some Jews in the first century believed that the existing temple was to be replaced with a new one in the last days. And while this was normally regarded as the work of God himself, there were some who thought that the work of rebuilding would be the task of the Messiah’. If this hypothesis is right, Jesus prophesied not only the destruction of the temple in Mark ., but also the rebuilding of a new one in .. But it is unlikely that the gathering of the elect in Mark . was the origin of the accusation against Jesus that he would build a temple in three days. In fact, a building of the temple-congregation ‘in three days’ is not attested in the NT. With regard to the Synoptics, the identification between the temple and the holy congregation is made loosely in only one verse. According to Matt ., Jesus said that Peter was the rock upon which he would build his community, which implies the construction of a symbolic building, perhaps a temple. But the saying itself, ‘you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church’ (which is absent from Mark and the rest of the NT), can be considered the origin of the accusation that Jesus said that he would build a temple in three days only with great difficulty. Although it has been argued that the period of ‘three days’ in Matt . ‘alludes to the change or decisive turn of events (see Hosea :)’, the accusation about the building of a temple in three days must be linked in some way to the raising of Jesus, because ‘the “three days” are too intimately linked with the resurrection to be used without implicit reference to it’. In this sense, the temple to be built in three days in Mark .; . may be an allusion to Jesus’ resurrection. It could have been attributed to his accusers by Mark, weaving a true statement into the false charge. R. T. France has argued that ‘a Christian reader, even without knowing Jn. :–, could hardly fail to recognise…a reference to Jesus’ resurrection… Mark, while dismissing the charge as false, has taken the opportunity to remind his readers that the prediction on which it was based (:) had more far-reaching implications than merely the destruction of a building’. On the other hand, B. Witherington sees a ‘latent Markan irony’ in ., for ‘the true conclusions are found on the lips of the mockers’, that is, Jesus crucified ‘is the one who will bring judgment on the temple and even be a temple raised up in three days’. But the verb οἰκοδομέω (Mark .; .; Matt .; .) is not consistent with the allusion to Jesus’ resurrection implied in the expression ‘three days’, since this verb can only be applied to a material building,
France, The Gospel of Mark, . D. J. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, ) . Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, . On the truth spoken by adversaries in Mark, see E. Best, Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (Sheffield: JSOT, ) . France, The Gospel of Mark, . B. Witherington III, The Gospel of Mark: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) .
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unlike ἐγ1ίϱω (John .), which can be applied both to a temple and to Jesus’ body. More important, neither Mark nor Matthew wrote a word about Jesus’ resurrection in terms of the raising of a temple. Moreover, they never referred to Jesus as a temple (as in John .) or as the eschatological temple (as in Rev .). In the second place, the second half of the accusation (the building of a temple in three days) cannot be explained in the context of the sayings attributed to Jesus in Acts. Stephen seems to have taught that Jesus prophesied the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, since he was accused by false witnesses of having said that Jesus would destroy ‘this holy place’ (Acts .–), but neither Stephen nor his accusers said anything about a new temple rebuilt in three days. Acts . seems to be more primitive than Mark .; ., because it only includes the first half of the accusation (the destruction of the temple), but not the second half (the building of another one). If Acts . depends upon Mark .; ., there is no reason for Luke to omit in Acts . the second half of the saying attributed to Jesus. It is more probable that Mark added the second half, maybe following another source. In conclusion, the second half of the accusation against Jesus in Mark . cannot be explained in the context of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Synoptics or Acts. The origin of this accusation must be found from elsewhere. But the building of a temple in three days, whatever is the meaning of ‘temple’ (material building, holy congregation, or Jesus’ body), cannot be found in the rest of the NT either, with the remarkable exception of John .. R. T. France recognizes that Mark has not recorded a promise to rebuild the temple: As for the restoration διὰ τϱιῶν ἡμ1ϱῶν, the only remotely relevant sayings hitherto in Mark have been uttered only in private to the disciples, and have concerned Jesus’ own resurrection μ1τὰ τϱ1ῖς ἡμέϱας (:; :; :); Ps . quoted in Matt .; Mark ., and Luke . mentions a stone rejected that becomes the cornerstone of a building, maybe a temple. Although it seems to have originally referred to Israel, it was applied to David in the Targum, and to Jesus in the Synoptics, symbolizing the rejection and vindication of the chosen one. Cf. France, The Gospel of Mark, –. Although the stone’s rejection and vindication could have been interpreted as referring to Jesus’ death and resurrection, the saying itself (‘The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone’) is very far from the saying attributed to Jesus in his trial: the building of a temple in three days. Although F. F. Bruce (The Acts of the Apostles: The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, rd rev. and enlarged ed. ], ) recognizes that ‘Stephen is not charged with going on to say that Jesus will build a new temple in place of the old’, he argues that ‘the theme of the new temple, “not made with hands,” may be read between the lines of his reply.’ But the contrast argued by Stephen is not between the current temple made with hands and the future temple not made with hands (which is not mentioned or implied at all), but between the old tent of testimony made according to a pattern revealed by God, and the current temple made with hands, that is, according to human devices, not being part of the divine plan.
From John . to Mark . they bear no relation to the temple. It is John who connects the two ideas (Jn. :–), and nothing in Mark prepares us for such a symbolic connection.
R. H. Gundry has proposed that Jesus’ prophecy of the temple destruction in Mark . would have been reported to the authorities by Judas. In this process, the prophecy would have been mingled with Jesus’ prediction of his own resurrection. If this hypothesis is right, the origin of the accusation can be found in Jesus himself, whose words were misunderstood by his enemies: prophecies
accusers
double accusation
The temple will be destroyed
Jesus said: I will destroy the temple
I will rise from the dead in three days
Jesus said: I will build a new temple in three days
Jesus said: I will destroy the temple and build another in three days
But how could a prediction about Jesus’ resurrection in three days be misunderstood and transformed into a prediction about the building of a temple in three days? The prediction of Jesus’ resurrection must have been formulated in a certain kind of symbolic language that made possible its transformation and its merger with the prediction of the temple’s destruction. That symbolic language must have been some Jesus–temple identification, the only one that makes possible that mutation: prophecies
reformulation
The temple will be destroyed I will rise from the dead in three days
accusers
Jesus said: I will destroy the temple Jesus said: I will raise up the destroyed temple (of my body) in three days
Jesus said: I will build a new temple in three days
double accusation
Jesus said: I will destroy the temple and build another in three days
But this Jesus-temple identification is distinctively and solely Johannine, a circumstance that excludes the trial of Jesus as the scenario for this process of mutation. We have already seen that the common presence of ναός and ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις allows us to suspect some interdependence between the saying attributed to Jesus in John . (misunderstood by ‘the Jews’ in John .) and the France, The Gospel of Mark, . R. H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) –.
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mockery in Mark . // Matt .. In fact, there are only four passages with the phrase ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις in the whole of the NT, and all of them are about the raising up or building of a temple. Καὶ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις ἐγ1ϱῶ αὐτόν
καὶ σὺ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις ἐγ1ϱ1ῖς αὐτόν
καὶ οἰκοδομῶν ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις (Mark
καὶ ἐν τϱισὶν ἡμέϱαις οἰκοδομῶν (Matt
(John .)
(John .)
.)
.)
I have already argued that there is no evidence of dependence of John . upon Mark. The proclamation attributed to Jesus in John . can be explained fully in its own context and is formulated in distinctively Johannine language. On the other hand, the second half of the accusation in Mark .; . cannot be explained in the context of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Synoptics or the rest of the NT—with the notable exception of John .. But Mark could not know John . directly from a Johannine source, because (a) he was not able to explain the origin of the second half of the accusation regarding the building of another temple in three days; (b) he thought that the temple to be destroyed was χ1ιϱοποίητος, a derogatory adjective not applicable to the body of Christ; and (c) he used the verb οἰκοδομέω, only applicable to a material building, not to Jesus’ body. We may conclude that Mark must have known the material underlying John . from another source, which misunderstood the Johannine saying attributed to Jesus. It is striking that this misunderstanding was mentioned in John ., attributing it to ‘the Jews’. In the light of John . we can conclude that Mark knew the saying in John . from a hostile source. My hypothesis is the following: the Johannine saying attributed posthumously to Jesus in John . was misunderstood by some (Jews?) who believed that Jesus had boasted of being able to raise the Jerusalem temple in three days (John .). This misunderstanding turned into mockery against Jesus, which was known by Mark through a hostile source. Mark mixed this mockery about the building of the temple in three days with the accusation concerning the temple’s destruction, attributing the double accusation to false witnesses in Jesus’ trial and to hostile bystanders at Jesus’ execution. In my view, this hypothesis can satisfactorily explain the origin of both John . and Mark ., including the interdependence between them.
. Conclusion
The topic of the destruction of the Jerusalem temple is completely missing from John’s gospel, including John ., a saying which refers exclusively to Jesus’ power to raise himself in three days as a sign of his messianic authority to cleanse
From John . to Mark .
the temple. This Johannine saying, attributed to Jesus, was misunderstood by John’s opponents, who believed that Jesus had boasted of being able to raise the Jerusalem temple in three days. Unlike the seer of Revelation, who saw in his visions that the Jerusalem temple would be replaced by God and Christ as the eschatological temple (Rev .), Stephen preached that the Jerusalem temple would be destroyed. Although this prophecy was not taught by the Twelve, the ‘Hebrews’, or in the rest of the NT (including such key texts as Thess .; Heb –, and Rev ), it was preserved by the Synoptic authors. The first half of the accusation against Jesus concerning the destruction of the temple in Mark . (expanded in .) can be explained as a distortion of the prophecy attributed to Jesus, preached by Stephen and misunderstood by his opponents (Acts .). But the second half of the accusation, concerning the building of a temple in three days (Mark ., expanded in .) can only be explained as a distortion of the Johannine saying attributed to Jesus in John . and misunderstood by John’s opponents. Both accusations were known to Mark through hostile sources, and inserted into his narrative of Jesus’ Passion.
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990130
The Claim of John 7.15 and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy C H R I S K E I TH Lincoln Christian University, 100 Campus View Drive, Lincoln, IL 62656, USA email:
[email protected]
This article argues that John . claims neither literacy nor illiteracy for Jesus, but rather that Jesus was able to confuse his opponents with regards to his scribal literacy. According to the Johannine narrator, Jesus’ opponents assumed he did not ‘know letters’, but also acknowledged that he taught as if he did. This article also suggests that the claim of John . is historically plausible in light of firstcentury Christianity’s corporate memory(ies) of Jesus’ literacy. Keywords: John ., literacy, historical Jesus, social memory
John . relates the following about Jesus’ activities at the Festival of Tabernacles: ‘About the middle of the festival Jesus went up to the temple and began to teach. The Jews were astonished at it, saying, “How does this man have such learning, when he has never been taught?”’ (NRSV). This text, specifically where ‘the Jews’ question how Jesus γράμματα οἶδεν (literally, ‘knows letters’; NRSV, ‘have such learning’), is the only explicit first-century reference to Jesus’ literate status. For this reason alone the passage deserves detailed attention, but its importance is heightened by the fact that Jesus’ literacy plays an important (but under-appreciated) role in scholarly discussions of Jesus as a Jewish teacher. This article will outline previous interpretations of John ., noting sources of confusion within the passage. Its primary contribution will be to elucidate what the text claims regarding Jesus’ literacy, but it will also comment upon its historical authenticity in relation to the memory of Jesus. First, however, it is necessary to clarify why both this text and the question of Jesus’ literacy are significant.
. Why Does Jesus’ Literacy Matter?
The question of Jesus’ literacy matters because not all Second Temple Jewish teachers were created equal. More specifically, the dividing line between recognized Torah authorities and unofficial teachers was one of education,
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
which led to mastery (whether presumed or actual) of the holy text rather than mere familiarity. In this context, then, literacy equaled power. This is not to suggest that uneducated Torah teachers had no authority or were unable to resist the literate elite. As purveyors of local traditions and interpretations, they too could have served as Torah teachers and text-brokers. It is, however, to observe that the locus of Torah authority resided with those teachers or groups of teachers who(m everyone knew) were most capable of accessing the text; that is, the most qualified text-brokers. In the words of Schwartz, ‘Mastery of the Torah was a source of power and prestige’. Yet, the vast majority of the Jewish population in the Second Temple period was illiterate, and thus incapable of attaining such power and prestige. Harris’s assertion of a general ten percent literacy rate for the Roman Empire is now well known. The most detailed assessment of the Jewish literate scene has furthered his research by suggesting that, if anything, illiteracy was even more common in Roman Palestine. Similarly, the most recent thorough studies of Jewish scribes, orality, textuality, and education have also affirmed Harris. In other words, the common anthropological description of Judaism in the time of Jesus as a world of ‘haves and have-nots’ applies as equally to education (and its benefits) as it does to wealth and food. In fact, there is an intrinsic connection between these matters, since a full education was generally attainable only by those wealthy enough to have leisure time in which they could pursue such an On this topic, see especially M. D. Goodman, ‘Texts, Scribes and Power in Roman Judaea’, Literacy and Power in the Ancient World (ed. Alan K. Bowman and Greg Woolf; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –, as well as Robin Lane Fox, ‘Literacy and Power in Early Christianity’, in the same volume, –. John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus ( vols.; New York: Doubleday, ) .: ‘But in an oral culture, one could theoretically be an effective teacher, especially of ordinary peasants, without engaging in reading or writing’. Cf. Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary ( vols.; Peabody: Hendrickson, ) . n.. More broadly on the power of literates in illiterate cultures with a holy text, see the well-known study of Brian Stock, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Princeton: Princeton University, ). Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, B.C.E. to C.E. (JCM; Princeton: Princeton University, ) (emphasis added). William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, ) . Further, ‘[It is] unlikely that the overall literacy of the western provinces even rose into the range of –%’ (). Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (TSAJ ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) . David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (New York: Oxford University, ) (cf. n.), generally, –; Richard A. Horsley, Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ) –, n. ; Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, ) –.
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education. Furthermore, this very stratification of the culture into a majority of illiterates and minority of literates led directly to the power of text-brokers, since the majority of the population was dependent upon them to access the holy text. In turn, this led to the increased authority of a (socially acknowledged) educated text-broker over an uneducated text-broker. Thus, while there is nearly universal agreement that the historical Jesus was, in one form or another, a Jewish teacher/text-broker, the question remains for critical scholarship: On which side of the literacy line did Jesus fall? Stated otherwise, what type of Jewish teacher was Jesus? Scholars have answered this question typically in one of two ways: () (sometimes unreflectively) making assumptions about Jesus’ literate status in the course of a broader discussion; and () assessing directly evidence like John .. I begin with examples of assumptions regarding both Jesus’ literacy and his illiteracy.
. Jesus’ Literacy and Scholarly Assumptions
Scholars often assume that Jesus was illiterate and/or uneducated. As one example, Bond claims, ‘Jesus was uneducated; he was not a priest, he claimed no learning in the law’. Similarly, Thatcher states that Jesus ‘probably couldn’t write at all, or at least very little’ and that he had ‘no real academic credentials’. Sometimes the assumption of Jesus’ illiteracy is based on the socio-cultural milieu of Jesus’ childhood home in Galilee. For example, in his biography of Jesus, Chilton says of Galilean Jewish peasants, ‘For the most part, like Jesus, they were illiterate’. Similarly, Crossan says, ‘Since between and percent of the Jewish state was illiterate at the time of Jesus, it must be presumed that Jesus also was illiterate’. Alternatively, Deissmann moves from the fact that Jesus left no evidence that he was literate—that is, written documents—to positing his inability to do so as an explanation of that fact: ‘Jesus of Nazareth is altogether Inter alia, H. Gamble, ‘Literacy and Book Culture’, The Dictionary of New Testament Background (ed. Craig A. Evans and Stanley E. Porter; Downers Grove: InterVarsity) . On Jewish and Christian ‘text-brokers’, see H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians (RFCC; New York: Routledge, ) –. Although the question is posed in this manner here in light of previous scholarly debates, discussed immediately in the main text, it is imprecise since literacy existed in gradations and John . is particularly concerned with scribal literacy. See below p. . Helen K. Bond, Caiaphas: Friend of Rome and Judge of Jesus? (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ) . Tom Thatcher, Jesus the Riddler: The Power of Ambiguity in the Gospels (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ) , , respectively. Bruce Chilton, Rabbi Jesus: An Intimate Biography (New York: Doubleday, ) xx. John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (New York: HarperCollins, ) . See also his The Essential Jesus: What Jesus Really Taught (New York: HarperCollins, ) .
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
unliterary. He never wrote or dictated a line’. That is, Deissmann assumes Jesus’ lack of having authored a text means that he was ‘unliterary’. Other scholars assume the opposite about Jesus, that he was literate and/or educated. In a recent introduction to Jesus and the gospels, Strauss presents a trilingual synagogue-educated Jesus: Like most Jewish boys, Jesus would have been educated in the local synagogue, where he learned the Scriptures and the Hebrew language. We know from his Nazareth sermon that he could read Hebrew (Luke :–). This means Jesus was probably trilingual, speaking Aramaic in the home and with friends, using Hebrew in religious contexts, and conversing in Greek in business and governmental contexts.
Bernard says flatly, ‘That [Jesus] was able to write may be assumed’. Like assumptions of Jesus’ illiteracy, sometimes an assumption that Jesus was literate is based on the context of his upbringing. An example of this is the short Life of Jesus by Cadoux, in which he says, ‘[Jesus’] educative influence… would from an early age be supplemented at the local synagogue—where with his younger brothers and other small boys Jesus would be taught in class to read and say by heart portions of the Mosaic Law, and perhaps also to write’. Lee goes so far as to say that an uneducated Jesus is implausible: ‘It seems safe to presume that he attended a bet sefer and bet talmud as a child and young man, because most Jewish males would have. His style of interaction with the Pharisees is not intelligible without presuming education’. In a similar vein, Flusser states, ‘When Jesus’ sayings are examined against the Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East (London: Hodder & Stoughton, rev. ed. ) , also p. . Jesus’ failure to leave written material remains was a point of discussion already in the early Church. Cf. Augustine’s refutation of the Manichaean Epistle of Christ in Faust .. Luke’s text does not technically claim that Jesus did read; only that he stood in order to do so. Additionally, the text Jesus purportedly reads has no manuscript evidence, as it is a compilation of Isa .–a and .. As I have suggested elsewhere, it may be that Luke clearly thinks Jesus capable of reading from a Hebrew text in the synagogue, but stops just short of claiming that he actually did so (see Chris Keith, The Pericope Adulterae, the Gospel of John, and the Literacy of Jesus [NTTSD ; Leiden: Brill, ] ). Mark L. Strauss, Four Portraits, One Jesus: An Introduction to Jesus and the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, ) . One major problem with Strauss’s statement is that ‘most Jewish boys’ did not receive a formal education. See Hezser, Jewish Literacy, –; relatedly, Harris, Ancient Literacy, –. J. H. Bernard, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel of John (ed. A. H. McNeile; vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, ) .. C. J. Cadoux, The Life of Jesus (Gateshead on Tyne: Pelican, ) . Bernard J. Lee, The Galilean Jewishness of Jesus: Retrieving the Jewish Origins of Christianity (New York: Paulist, ) –.
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background of contemporaneous Jewish learning…it is easy to observe that Jesus was far from uneducated’. Examples on both sides of this issue could be multiplied. These will suffice, however, for demonstrating that, sometimes, scholars simply assume Jesus’ literate status one way or another. At times this is based on the socio-historical background of Jesus’ upbringing, at others not. The second manner in which scholars have attempted to answer whether Jesus was an educated Jewish teacher is by critically engaging the admittedly limited evidence for Jesus’ literacy that exists. The canonical evidence discussed is typically any or all of the following: the twelve-year old Jesus teaching in the temple in Luke .–; Luke .’s statement that Jesus ‘increased in wisdom and in years’ (NRSV); Jesus’ standing to read in the Nazareth synagogue in Luke .–; Jesus’ ‘writing’ in the ground in John ., ; texts where Jesus questions the Jewish leadership by asking ‘Have you not read?’, which may imply an ability to read (for example, Mark .); Jesus’ identity as either a τέκτων (Mark .) or son of a τέκτων (Matt .); and, of course, the Jews’ question of Jesus’ knowledge of letters in John .. As mentioned previously, John . is the only one of these texts that explicitly discusses Jesus’ literacy, and is thus the primary focus of this essay. To previous discussions of this passage we now turn. . Previous Assessments of John .
In Foster’s article ‘Educating Jesus’, he collects the opinions of most of the major Johannine commentators (making rehearsal of all of them here David Flusser with R. Steven Notley, The Sage from Galilee: Rediscovering Jesus’ Genius (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, th Eng. ed. ) . For a brief presentation of the opinions of the nineteenth-century questers, see Paul Foster, ‘Educating Jesus: The Search for a Plausible Context’, JSHJ . () –. Strangely, given the topic of the book, Herman Horne, Jesus the Teacher: Examining his Expertise in Education (rev. Angus M. Gunn; Grand Rapids: Kregel, ), does not address the issue at all. Some examples are Pieter F. Craffart and Pieter J. J. Botha, ‘Why Jesus Could Walk on the Sea but He Could Not Read and Write’, Neotestamentica . () –; James D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ), –; Craig A. Evans, ‘Jewish Scripture and the Literacy of Jesus’, From Biblical Criticism to Biblical Faith: Essays in Honor of Lee Martin McDonald (ed. William H. Brackney and Craig A. Evans; Macon: Mercer University, ) –; Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, –; Meier, Marginal Jew, .– ; Rainer Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer: Eine Untersuchung zum Ursprung der EvangelienÜberlieferung (WUNT .; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –; David Friedrich Strauss, The Life of Jesus Critically Examined (ed. Peter C. Hodgson; London: SCM, ) –. See n. below. These texts are especially important for Crossan, Jesus, –. Some of the following information is rehearsed in an abbreviated manner in Keith, Pericope, –. Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, –.
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
unnecessary) and demonstrates that, contrary to the claim of Evans that this verse is sometimes taken as evidence for an illiterate Jesus, ‘this is rarely suggested, and if it is, it is either heavily qualified or rebutted’. Rather, the majority opinion ‘throughout the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries’ has been that the response of the Jews reflects not Jesus’ illiteracy per se, but rather his lack of formal rabbinic training. Evans himself takes this position with regards to John . and argues that the historical Jesus would have been literate enough to read the Hebrew Scriptures, but may not have received scribal training, as does Keener. Riesner claims the text is technically silent on his elementary education, but likely excludes a formal scribal education for Jesus: ‘Über die Möglichkeit einer Elementarbildung wird also an dieser Stelle nichts gesagt, wohl aber eine schriftgelehrte Schulung Jesu ausgeschlossen’. In a thorough consideration of Jesus’ education, Meier too sees John . as revealing a lack of formal training: ‘The demeaning reference in : is not to Jesus’ failure to learn his ABCs but to his lack of formal education in Scripture under the guidance of some noted scholar—no doubt in Jerusalem!’ Furthermore, of the three texts referring to Jesus’ education that Meier discusses (John ., John ., and Luke .–), he claims ‘this one at least provides some indirect basis for supposing that Jesus could read and comment on the Hebrew Scriptures’. Thus, for Meier, ‘John : indirectly intimates a reading knowledge of Hebrew Scriptures…[and] this indirect witness is the firmest evidence we have’ for Jesus’ literate abilities.
Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, , in reference to Craig A. Evans, ‘Context, Family, and Formation’, The Cambridge Companion to Jesus (ed. Markus Bockmuehl; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) . Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, . Evans, ‘Context’, , ; Craig S. Keener, IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, ) . Keener is more cautious in his Gospel of John, .– . Evans revisits the topic in the more recent Evans, ‘Jewish Scripture’, and rearticulates the same position on John . (for example, –). This latter publication is in response to Craffert and Botha, ‘Why Jesus’, who, surprisingly, despite mentioning John . in their abstract () and once briefly as a claim that Jesus ‘could write’ () allow it no place in their discussion on Jesus’ (il)literacy (–), which instead focuses upon Luke .. Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer, . Meier, Marginal Jew, .; also, . Regarding the Jews’ comment being a ‘demeaning reference’ (as stated by Meier), Thomas J. Kraus, ‘John :B: “Knowing Letters” and (Il)literacy’, Ad Fontes: Original Manuscripts and Their Significance for Studying Early Christianity— Selected Essays (TENTS ; Leiden: Brill, ) –, argues that the Jews’ statement is unbiased—‘No pejorative emphasis is put on social status or any lack of education’ (– ). Below, I will argue that Kraus is not correct in terms of the broader context of John , especially in light of .. Meier, Marginal Jew, .. Meier, Marginal Jew, ..
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Alternatively, Bauer sees John . as an early Christian claim of literacy responding to anti-Christian polemic that ‘Jesus wäre ein Analphabet gewesen’. Gerhardsson views John . as implying a lack of education, but nonetheless also as a dogmatic response (along with Acts .) and concludes that ‘critical research can hardly build too much on these sayings’. Foster is leery of Bauer’s conclusion of John . ultimately being evidence for an illiterate Jesus because, for him, ‘This passage as it stands points in precisely the opposite direction, namely that Jesus “knows letters” contrary to what expectations might have suggested’. Yet, despite this reading of the text, Foster, like Gerhardsson, believes John . to be of no help in reconstructing the historical Jesus, although for a different reason. Whereas Gerhardsson believes John . to be useless because of the dogmatic influence, Foster dismisses its witness by claiming that Jesus’ literate abilities per se are not primarily in view: ‘The context militates against taking this knowledge of letters as denoting the ability to read, for here it appears to refer to the skills of oral teaching and rhetoric’. Thus, scholars disagree as to whether John . claims Jesus actually knew letters and, further, what this claim might mean for the literacy of the historical Jesus. Some think it claims Jesus was literate, but that this does not accurately reflect the historical Jesus (Bauer). Others also think it claims Jesus was literate, but that this claim is ultimately unhelpful because the passage does not portray Jesus reading or writing (Foster). Alternatively, other scholars think John . implies an illiterate Jesus but is unhelpful due to dogmatic influence (Gerhardsson). More popular is the position that John . claims only that Jesus had not received a formal scribal education. According to some scholars, in making this point, the passage leaves unaddressed the issue of elementary education (Riesner), while others believe it implicitly references a literate Jesus, or at least a Jesus capable of reading Hebrew (Evans, Keener, and Meier).
. What Exactly is the Claim of John .?
How should one sort through this phalanx of opinions regarding John .? I suggest here that scholars have overlooked the actual claim of the text, and that this is unsurprising given the various sources of confusion in the passage. Following this assessment of the claim of John ., I will address the passage’s reflection of the historical Jesus. D. Walter Bauer, Das Johannesevangelium (HNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, d ed. ) . Birger Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity (combined ed. with Tradition and Transmission in Early Christianity; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) . Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, . He cites approvingly Dunn, Jesus Remembered, n. . Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, .
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
Contrary to scholarly efforts to use John . as evidence for the literacy or illiteracy of the historical Jesus, the text itself suggests that the matter is not quite that simple. There are at least three major sources of confusion in John .. First, confusion over the text’s claim is partially a result of the seemingly contradictory nature of the passage. The first statement of the Jews (‘How does this man know letters?’) implies that Jesus did know letters, contrary to their expectations. Their follow-up comment (‘since he has never been taught’) makes explicit those expectations, however, and implies a lack of literacy/education on the part of Jesus. (Although perhaps proper elsewhere, it would be improper here to separate literacy from education. As the circumstantial participle [μὴ μεμαθηκώς] makes clear, the Jews’ expectation that Jesus did not know letters is based upon his lack of education.) Thus, it would seem that the verse witnesses simultaneously both to Jesus’ knowledge of letters and his lack of knowledge of letters. That is, there is as much evidence to support the position that John . claims Jesus was illiterate/uneducated (‘since he has never been taught’) as there is to support the position that John . claims Jesus was literate/educated (‘How does this man know letters?’). A second source of confusion with regards to John . is that it is not always clear in the ancient record to which literate skill(s) the phrase γράμματα οἶδεν refers. If one ‘knew letters’, does it mean that one knew how to read?; or write?; or both? It is now clear that scholars cannot automatically assume that the two literate skills went ‘hand-in-hand’. The phrase is often translated as ‘know how to read’. An example is when Thackeray translates Josephus’s claim that the law commands that children be ‘taught letters’ (γράμματα παιδεύειν) in Ag. Ap. . as ‘taught to read’. Nevertheless, there are numerous examples from non-literary papyri that demonstrate that ‘not knowing letters’ can refer explicitly to not being able to write, more specifically to not being able to sign one’s name. To cite one Jewish example of many comparative occurrences of the phenomenon, several texts from the Babatha cache, dated to the Bar Kokhba revolt, include statements that a scribe had to sign for Babatha, noting that this was the case because she μὴ εἰδέναι γράμματα. Here, then, the phrase ‘knowing letters’ refers to signature literacy, a skill Babatha lacked. Even within discussions of John ., one may note that, for example, Meier translates the phrase as ‘know how to read’ while Botha translates it as a claim ‘that he Keith, Pericope, –. Hezser, Jewish Literacy, –, grants warrant to Thackeray’s translation, as her study shows that Torah reading was the focus of Jewish education, not writing. Similarly, Goodman, ‘Texts’, –. For example, P. Yadin .–; .; .. For texts, see Naphtali Lewis et al., eds., The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri (JDS; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, ). P. Yadin .–.
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could write’. Given the multivalence of the phrase γράμματα οἶδεν, Harris wisely warns: ‘It is very seldom clear how much knowledge a person needed to qualify as “knowing letters.” Such expressions have to be interpreted case by case’. In the specific case of John ., then (and as several of the aforementioned scholars also observe), the context demonstrates that Jesus’ general literacy or illiteracy is not what the Jews question. For, they are not concerned with whether Jesus could sign a bill of sale or read directional signs upon his visit to Jerusalem, what Harris deems ‘craftsman’s literacy’. They are concerned with a form of ‘knowing letters’ that stands in contrast to craftsman’s literacy, termed ‘scribal literacy’, which is the state of literacy held by the literate elite interpreters of holy texts. That is, the Jews are concerned specifically with whether Jesus’ Torah knowledge/authority (cf. John .–) is undergirded by literate scribal education in the holy text. At root, then, John . does not concern whether Jesus could read or write anything at all, but whether he held the type of literate education attained only by a select few. The Jews of John . are debating Jesus’ knowledge of letters as a manner of questioning his identity as one of their own. To return to the initial point made by this article, now with some further clarification, they are questioning whether Jesus fell on their side of the scribal literacy line. While, therefore, the specific ‘letters’ being questioned in John . are clearly those of the Mosaic Law, there is yet a third source of confusion with regards to the text’s claim about Jesus’ possible knowledge of them. Confusion over what John . actually claims is also partially a result of readers’ lack of attention to the Johannine narrative, or, indeed, the Johannine narrator. In this sense, it is Meier, Marginal Jew, .; Craffert and Botha, ‘Why Jesus’, , respectively. Harris, Ancient Literacy, . Harris, Ancient Literacy, –. Fox, ‘Literacy and Power’, , refers to this as ‘sacred literacy’; van der Toorn, Scribal Culture, , calls it ‘high literacy’; and Jack Goody, The Interface Between the Written and the Oral (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) , speaks of ‘religious literacy’. Thus, Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster, ) , interprets the Jews’ astonishment: ‘How can Jesus appeal to the Scriptures! He has not made a proper study of them! He does not belong to the guild of the Scribes’. One should note, however, that scribes appear in John only in the later textual addition of John .– . (at John .). Cf. Meier, Marginal Jew, .. C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: An Introduction and Commentary with Notes on the Greek Text (London: SPCK, d ed. ) ; Bultmann, Gospel of John, n. ; D. A. Carson, The Gospel According to John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) ; Edwyn Clement Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel (ed. Francis Noel Davey; London: Faber & Faber, d ed. ) ; Keener, Gospel of John, .; Francis J. Moloney, Signs and Shadows: Reading John – (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) . For the importance of the narrator and his point of view, see Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca: Cornell University, ) –, –; on John specifically, R. Alan Culpepper, The Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel:
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
crucially important that in John . the observation of Jesus’ (lack of) literate abilities is not a statement of the narrator, but rather a statement that the narrator places on the lips of Jesus’ interlocutors, the Jews. That is, the Johannine narrator never claims that Jesus knew letters or that he had not been educated. Rather, the narrator claims that Jesus’ opponents associate his teaching with literacy—knowledge of letters—but that this association causes problems for their assumption that Jesus was uneducated. Contrary to Foster, then, the context does not ‘militate…against taking this knowledge of letters as denoting the ability to read… [because] it appears to refer to the skills of oral teaching and rhetoric’. Quite the opposite, according to the narrative, Jesus’ Jewish opponents themselves draw the explicit connection between Jesus’ ‘skills of oral teaching and rhetoric’ and his knowledge of letters/lack of education. The Jews associate Jesus’ pedagogical abilities with someone who ‘knows letters’ as they do, a person with scribal literacy; yet they are quite certain that Jesus ‘had not been educated’ and thus had not attained the literate abilities that would enable this level of teaching. These three sources of confusion—the contradictory nature of the Jews’ statement, the multivalence of γράμματα οἶδεν, and insufficient attention to the position of the narrator—have thus hindered efforts at assessing the claim of John . with regards to Jesus’ literacy. Contrary to the aforementioned scholarly assessments of the passage, however, the claim of John . is more complicated than being a claim either for Jesus’ literacy or illiteracy. Indeed, and to repeat the point just made, John . claims neither that Jesus was illiterate nor that he was literate. Rather, John . claims that, although Jesus’ opponents assumed him not to have scribal literacy, they also acknowledged that he taught as if he did. In contrast to Matt ., then, for example, John . claims Jesus’ pedagogical style is not demarcated from the literate scribes, but rather comparable. John .’s broader context in John confirms this reading of the passage. As in ., the dividing line between those who are educated in the law and those who are not (scribal literacy) rises to the surface of the text in .–. The Pharisees send ‘temple police’ (NRSV) to arrest Jesus in . due to the public unrest his teaching is causing. They return empty-handed in ., however, and must answer for their lack of action. When they attest Jesus’ teaching prowess in ., their superiors offer a quick rebuke, in which they distinguish between the uneducated gullible crowd and the educated teachers of the law: ‘Surely you have not been deceived too, have you? Has any one of the authorities or of the
A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress, ) –. Since there is no indication that the implied author’s point of view in John is different from that of the narrator, it is unnecessary to distinguish between the two for present purposes. Cf. Chatman, Story, – ; Culpepper, Anatomy, –. Foster, ‘Educating Jesus’, .
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Pharisees believed in him? But this crowd, which does not know the law—they are accursed’ (John .–, NRSV; emphasis added). That is, the crowd can be understood, or perhaps pitied, for having been duped by Jesus and questioning if he might be the Messiah (.–). They may even have a limited knowledge of the Scriptures, as . suggests, but compared to the ‘chief priests and Pharisees’ in ., they cannot even be said to ‘know the law’ (.) at all. The Jewish leadership, however, knows the law, and thus knows better. Further confirming this dividing line is the immediate chastisement of Nicodemus. Immediately (and ironically) questioning his comrades’ knowledge of Torah, he implies the illegality of their preemptive (negative) judgment of Jesus’ messianic/prophetic status: ‘Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?’ (., NRSV). They reply, ‘Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you? Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee’ (., NRSV). Based on his ability to search the holy text, an ability apparently not shared by the accursed crowd and/or Galileans, Nicodemus should know that Jesus could not be a/the prophet. The common thread between the Jewish leadership’s chastisement of the temple police and Nicodemus is their insistence that those who know the Torah, who can search it for themselves—that is, the Jewish leadership— should carry the official opinion with regards to Jesus’ identity. Stated otherwise, authoritative opinion and pronouncement are the prerogatives of those who fall on the scribal literate side of the dividing line. The temple police of . are chastised for suggesting that Jesus—a Galilean—fell on the Jewish leadership’s side of that line. Also within the ranks of the Torah-knowing Jewish leadership, the Jews of . are confused by the fact that Jesus seemingly ‘knows letters’. Frustrating the attempts of the Jewish leadership to discount Jesus entirely in John , then, according to the Johannine narrator, is that Jesus carries himself as one of their own, despite their conviction that he—again, a Galilean—is one of the crowd who ‘does not know the law’. Therefore, the claim of John . is that Jesus was capable of convincing his contemporaries equally of two things: () he was not literate in a scribal-educated sense; () he taught as if he was. Further, unlike the narrator of Luke , who attributes to Jesus the literate skill of public reading (albeit without claiming it directly), the Johannine narrator offers no authoritative commentary as to whether Jesus’ opponents’ assumptions regarding his lack of education were correct.
On the possibility of the Jews’ statement here being an example of Johannine irony, since Jonah was from Galilee, see Keener, Gospel of John, .–. NA follows the majority of witnesses with the indefinite reading προφήτης; P offers the definite reading ὁ προφήτης. Similarly, Hoskyns, Fourth Gospel, : ‘To the Jewish authorities Jesus is one of the ignorant crowd which is accursed and knoweth not the law (vii. )’ (emphasis original).
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy . The Plausibility of the Johannine Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
I suggest that John .’s claim is historically plausible in light of firstcentury Christianity’s corporate memory(ies) of Jesus’ literate abilities. Space prohibits a full discussion of criteria of authenticity, so I acknowledge here that undergirding the following approach to the plausibility of John . are recent emphases on the role of social/cultural memory in the development of the Jesus tradition. Three insights from these studies are particularly important for what follows. First, with others, I affirm that the only access to the ‘historical Jesus’—here meaning the man who walked, talked, and died in Judea and Galilee in the first century CE—that modern scholars have is through the early Christian memories of him recorded in the gospel texts. That is, the ‘remembered Jesus’ is what we find in the gospels and the only Jesus with which we have to work. Second, this is the case because, from the perspective of social memory theory, the (form-critical) idea that there is a ‘historical kernel’ available (if only scholars can peel away the layers of later Christian faith) is a chimera. Any act of commemoration—be it John ., the Vietnam War Memorial, or Guy Fawkes Day—is a complex interworking of the past putting pressure on the present’s interpretation of it while the present simultaneously provides the only lens(es) through which the past can be viewed. This approach therefore does not deny the role that the For succinct introductions to social/cultural memory, see Jan Assmann, ‘Introduction: What is “Cultural Memory”?’ Religion and Cultural Memory (CMP; Stanford: Stanford University, ) –; Alan Kirk, ‘Social and Cultural Memory’, Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (ed. Alan Kirk and Tom Thatcher; SemSt ; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, ) –. With particular reference to the Jesus tradition, see Alan Kirk and Tom Thatcher, ‘Jesus Tradition as Social Memory’, Memory, Tradition, and Text (ed. Kirk and Thatcher) –; Anthony Le Donne, ‘Theological Distortion in the Jesus Tradition: A Study in Social Memory Theory’, Memory in the Bible and Antiquity (ed. Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Stephen C. Barton, and Benjamin G. Wold; WUNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –; Jens Schröter, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Sayings Tradition: Comments on Current Research’, Neot . () –. For fuller applications to the Jesus tradition, see Jens Schröter, Erinnerung an Jesu Worte: Studien zur Rezeption der Logienüberlieferung in Markus, Q und Thomas (WMANT ; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, ) and two new studies: Anthony Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus: Memory, Typology, and the Son of David (Waco: Baylor University, ); Rafael Rodriguez, Structuring Early Christian Memory: Jesus in Tradition, Performance, and Text (LNTS; London: T. & T. Clark, ). Despite the title, Dunn, Jesus Remembered, is not an application of social/cultural memory theory, although he arrives at many conclusions similar to the above-referenced scholars and will thus be included here. He deals with the implications of social memory theory for his own work in James D. G. Dunn, ‘Social Memory and the Oral Jesus Tradition’, Memory in the Bible and Antiquity (ed. Stuckenbruck, Barton, and Wold) –. See especially Dunn, Jesus Remembered, –; James D. G. Dunn, A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed (London: SPCK, ) –.
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convictions of early Christian communities played in shaping the Jesus tradition, perhaps even into historical inaccuracy. Indeed, it views them as thoroughly necessary: ‘Does the localization process have the capacity to distort one’s memory? The answer to this is not only yes, but always’. This approach does, however, reserve a role for the past (and past interpretations of the past) in the precise manner in which the present distorts the past. In other words, commemorations like gospel texts are neither purely mirror reflections of the commemorating communities nor static, anchored, pure images of the past—they are inextricably a combination of both present and past. In some cases, the past may be more dominant in the traditioning process; in other cases the present may be more dominant. The important point presently, however, is that any act of commemoration is an indissoluble combination of the present and the past. Third, this last point is important because it dictates that the starting point for asking questions about the historical Jesus must be the early Christian texts as specific instances of the reception of memories of Jesus. Only in light of early Christian texts, and their contexts, can one then draw inferences regarding the ‘actual past’ and how it may have impacted that present commemoration—that is, not on the basis of a criteria-sanitized ‘historical Jesus’ and/or dissected Jesus tradition. Thus, Schröter, whose work is on the sayings tradition, argues for ‘[die] Geschichte der Jesusüberlieferung als Rezeptionsgeschichte der Jesusverkündigung’. Part of this approach is thus accounting for factors within those contexts of reception that could have affected the shape of the memory. This methodological framework therefore highlights that what one may draw from the text with regards to the ‘actual past’ are indeed inferences, as its focus is primarily upon the memory-shape and secondarily upon what (in the past and present) could have created that memory-shape. Nevertheless, its strength is that it recognizes the important past/present dialectic in any commemoration and the resultant need to pay close attention to the various Jesus-memories and contexts of remembrance. A related strength is that it accounts for the role of the present communities in the shape of Jesus-memory without uncritically Le Donne, ‘Theological Distortion’, . ‘Distort’ here carries no negative connotations but rather refers to the fact that the past can only ever be interpreted through the lens of the present (p. ). See here the trenchant criticism of gospel scholarship in this regard by social memory theorist Barry Schwartz, ‘Christian Origins: Historical Truth and Social Memory’, Memory, Tradition, and Text (ed. Kirk and Thatcher) –. The past has a particularly impactful role in the commemoration of violence. See Chris Keith and Tom Thatcher, ‘The Scar of the Cross: The Violence Ratio and the Earliest Christian Memories of Jesus’, Jesus, the Voice, and the Text: Beyond the Oral and the Written Gospel (ed. Tom Thatcher; Waco: Baylor University, ) –; Alan Kirk, ‘The Memory of Violence and the Death of Jesus in Q’, Memory, Tradition, and Text (ed. Kirk and Thatcher) –. Schröter, Erinnerung, (emphasis removed). Cf. Kirk and Thatcher, ‘Jesus Tradition’, .
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
asserting that the shape of the memory is a mirror reflection of that community, detached from the historical progression that led to the community in the first place. Therefore, as Le Donne observes, ‘The historian’s task is not simply to sift through the data looking for facts…but to account for these early interpretations by explaining the perceptions and memories that birthed them’. With its focus on early Christian memories of Jesus and the possible impact(s) of the historical Jesus contributing to those memories, this study also forwards two other recent emphases in historical Jesus research by applying them to John .. First, it forwards the conviction that scholars should pay attention to the reception of Jesus by his opponents, as presented in early Christian tradition. Second, the present study affirms the appropriateness of the argument for plausibility based on the later effects of the historical Jesus: ‘What we know of Jesus as a whole must allow him to be recognized within his contemporary Jewish context and must be compatible with the Christian (canonical and noncanonical) history of his effects’. In light of this approach to the plausibility of John .’s claim, therefore, I will here briefly review the various memories of Jesus’ literacy in first-century gospel tradition and posit that the claim of John . plausibly accounts for these diverse memory-shapes. Importantly, Jesus is remembered as an educated Torah teacher in one stream of tradition in the early Church, while in a second stream of tradition he is remembered as someone who was clearly outside that limited group of literate elite. As is clear already, John . participates in both streams of tradition.
a. First-Century Images of Jesus as a Member of the Literate Elite Already in the first century CE, early Christians remembered Jesus as a literate Torah teacher. The most explicit first-century portrayal of Jesus as a member of the educated elite is the account of his synagogue activities in Luke .–. As mentioned already, Luke technically never claims that Jesus read the scroll, only that he stood in order to do so (.). Nonetheless, Luke’s portrayal of Jesus as a literate Jewish teacher is clear. Not only is Jesus familiar with and capable of handling a scroll, unrolling it (.) and rolling it back up (.), Luke claims he also can search (what would have been) scriptio continua and Le Donne, ‘Theological Distortion’, . Similarly, Schröter, ‘Historical Jesus’, : ‘Every approach to the historical Jesus behind the Gospels has to explain how these writings could have come into being as the earliest descriptions of this person’. Scot McKnight and Joseph B. Modica, eds., Who Do My Opponents Say That I Am?: An Investigation of the Accusations Against Jesus (LHJS/LNTS ; London: T. & T. Clark, ). Gerd Theissen and Dagmar Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus: The Question of Criteria (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ) . See n. above.
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find a specific Hebrew Bible text (.). Assuming that Luke has here modified Mark’s account of Jesus’ activities in the Capernaum synagogue in Mark , two Lukan alterations are highly significant. First, Luke has added Jesus’ demonstration of literate skills associated with the educated elite. Second, Luke has removed the identification of Jesus as an artisan (ὁ τέκτων) in Mark . (discussed below); that is, as a person outside the Torah-literate elite. Instead, Luke has the synagogue audience identify Jesus merely as ‘Joseph’s son’ (Luke .). Staying within the gospel of Luke, earlier Luke claims that Jesus was capable of participating in informed discussion on the law even as a twelve-year old in the temple. Luke does not, in this context, portray Jesus as using literate skills, but the significant point is that he portrays Jesus as a peer of Torah teachers who would have been in the literate minority. Jesus appears not as a student (contra Marshall) but as an equal member of the discussion. Despite the teachers of the law and their expectations based on his youth, Luke claims Jesus sat among them (‘in the midst of the teachers’; .), amazing them with his understanding (.). As Jesus and the teachers are in the temple, the most natural assumption is that their discussion, and Jesus’ ‘understanding’, is centered on the law. Along with John ., these Lukan texts provide first-century evidence that Christians viewed Jesus as an individual capable of scribal access to the Hebrew Scriptures (Luke .–) and capable of producing amazement amongst scribal-literate peers (Luke .–; John .).
Also mentioned in n. above, there is no manuscript evidence for the cited passage in Luke .–. Cf. I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) . Following, inter alia, אB C D. P most probably reads ὁ τοῦ τϵ́κτονος υἱός. Cf. Wayne C. Kannaday, Apologetic Discourse and the Scribal Tradition: Evidence of the Influence of Apologetic Interests on the Text of the Canonical Gospels (SBLTCS ; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, ) . Josephus makes a similar claim regarding himself in Vita . Marshall, Gospel of Luke, –. Similarly, Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) n. . Some may also cite passages like Mark . as evidence that Jesus himself could or did read the passages he references. So Evans, ‘Jewish Scripture’, : ‘But Jesus’ rhetorical and pointed “have you not read?”…would have little argumentative force if he himself could not read’. These passages are not included in the present discussion, however, because they do not necessitate that Jesus could read or was a member of the scribal guild. In fact, the rhetorical force of the question could hinge on the fact that Jesus was not able to read the passage—‘Surely you, the literate elite Torah teachers, have read such and such a text…why even I, not one of your own, know the passage that says…’ Cultural knowledge of the contents of a text does not necessarily require literate access to the text.
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
b. First-Century Images of Jesus as Outside the Scribal Elite Just as the above sources suggest that Jesus was educated and literate, other first-century Jesus traditions place Jesus outside scribal literate culture. As mentioned above, Mark . identifies Jesus as an artisan (ὁ τέκτων). That this explicit identification of Jesus as within the artisan guild is simultaneously an implicit identification of Jesus as outside the scribal literate Torah-teaching guild is confirmed not only by Luke’s (and others’) amelioration of the claim but also by the Markan narrative itself. For the audience’s question, ‘Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary?’ (NRSV), is one in a string of questions that serve as immediate reaction to Jesus’ pedagogical activities in the synagogue in Mark .: ‘They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him?”’ (NRSV). Importantly, the crowd is astonished because it is this man (the τέκτων) who is teaching, exhibiting a wisdom which has been given to him (not earned through scribal training). Similar to Mark . and earlier in Mark’s gospel, Mark . claims that Jesus amazed a synagogue crowd and places Jesus outside the class of the literate teachers. Mark ., though, adds the qualifier that ‘he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes’ (NRSV). Therefore, whereas Luke .– claims Jesus acted as a literate teacher in the synagogue, and the Jews of John . claim Jesus taught as a scribal literate teaches, Mark identifies Jesus, based on his teaching, as separate from the scribes who, as γραμματεῖς, were those most familiar with the γράμματα. Similarly, Matt . claims that Jesus’ teachings astonished ‘the crowds’, and then . records nearly verbatim the words of Mark .. These statements about Jesus may reference the fact that, whereas the scribes appealed to established tradition as their source of authority, Jesus’ source of authority was himself. More important, however, is that the respective narrators account for the reactions of ‘the crowd’ and the synagogue attendees by locating Jesus outside the scribes. Scholars who conceptualize the distinction between Jesus and the scribes in these passages as based generally on knowledge of Jewish texts and tradition miss the importance of the studies mentioned at the beginning of this article that have established Jesus’ first-century context as a lowliteracy environment. They thus miss the subtle distinction by the narrators who, in the world of literacy ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’, place Jesus outside the group of ‘haves’. Perhaps significant as well, Acts . places Jesus’ followers outside the
Matt . has Jesus’ hometown crowd identify him as ‘the son of the artisan/carpenter’ rather than ‘the artisan/carpenter’. The Palestinian Syriac manuscript tradition omits ὁ τϵ́κτων altogether. See Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, d ed. ) –. R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) , on the derogatory οὗτος. Cf. France, Gospel of Mark, .
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realm of formal scribal education, describing them as illiterate (ἀγράμματοι) and unlearned (ἰδιῶται). The previous discussion is not exhaustive of the early Christian evidence. It will suffice, however, to demonstrate that early Christians remembered Jesus simultaneously as one who ‘knew letters’ in a scribal sense and as one who did not ‘know letters’ in this sense; as one who taught like scribes and one who did not. Interestingly, Jesus’ pedagogical skills or style apparently served as the basis for both convictions. Furthermore, these two streams of tradition continue beyond the first century CE. In the third century CE, Eusebius will accept the claim that Jesus penned a letter to Abgar the Toparch, and the apocryphal Narrative of Joseph of Arimathea will claim Jesus wrote a letter to the cherubim. Similarly in the third century CE, Origen will wrestle not only with Jesus’ identification as a τέκτων and Celsus’s exploitation of it, but also the latter’s exploitation of the presumed illiterate status of Jesus’ followers, mere ‘fisherfolk and tax collectors who had not even a primary education’. Jesus’ educational status, therefore, was a sustained topos in early Christianity from its inception onward. c. The Plausibility of John . Thus, the corporate early Christian memory of Jesus’ literacy contradictorily includes individual receptions of a non-scribal Jesus and a scribal Jesus. My proposal is that the claim of John . that Jesus was able to confuse those around him with regards to his literate abilities plausibly accounts for both the corporate memory-shape and individual receptions in gospel texts. I must first note, however, a seemingly alternative solution that recommends itself. This theory is that Jesus was originally remembered as non-scribal (for example, Mark .), but as Christianity itself emerged into a more scribally Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles (SP ; Collegeville: Liturgical, ), , claims, ‘In the present case, the epithet [ἰδιῶται] may bear some of the implications of the Pharisaic distinction between the Associate and the ´am-ha´ ares’. In addition to commentary discussions, see Thomas J. Kraus, ‘“Uneducated”, “Ignorant”, or Even “Illiterate”? Aspects and Background for an Understanding of ΑΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΟΙ (and ΙΔΙΩΤΑΙ) in Acts .’, Ad Fontes, –; and particularly Allen Hilton, ‘The Dumb Speak: Early Christian Illiteracy and Pagan Criticism’ (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, ). Evans, ‘Jewish Scripture’, –, cites Jesus’ status as a rabbi who teaches followers as contributing towards an argument that Jesus was literate. The implication of the present argument is that Acts ., which Evans treats on p. , points in the opposite direction. Eusebius Eccl. hist. ..; Narrative of Joseph of Arimathea ., respectively. It is possible that dictation is in view, but neither specifies the usage of an amanuensis and thus they are open to the interpretation that Jesus authors the letters himself. On a fifth-century version of the Abgar legend in the Doctrina Addai that does specify an amanuensis, see H. J. W. Drijvers, ‘The Abgar Legend’, New Testament Apocrypha (ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher; vols.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, rev. ed. ) .. Origen Cels. ., . (Chadwick), respectively. On the topic of pagan criticism of Christian illiteracy, see Hilton, ‘Dumb Speak’, regrettably unpublished.
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
dominated religion, portrayals of Jesus became increasingly scribal (for example, Luke .–). Crossan and Kelber both advocate a version of this theory, with Kelber implying John . as a mid-point in this scribal transition. My proposal, however, does not deny the possibility, or even likelihood, of this historical development of the Jesus-memory(ies) but rather concerns why it would develop into that specific shape at all. Did Luke (or whoever first envisioned Jesus as a scribal literate) create that memory ex nihilo in his own (or someone else’s?; Paul’s?) scribal-literate image? (That is, Luke’s present almost entirely informed his remembrance of Jesus in Luke .) Or, could one plausibly attribute the memory of Jesus as a scribal literate to the impact and initial reception/memory of the historical Jesus by his contemporaries? (That is, the past of Jesus—while not requiring that the historical Jesus was a scribal literate— informed and/or enabled Luke’s remembrance of him as a scribal literate.) Although both proposals are possible, I regard it as more probable that the catalyst for remembering Jesus as a scribal literate and as a non-scribal individual is traceable to the historical Jesus because of the social circumstances of the reception of Jesus-memory. In the context of the historical Jesus (as well as the context of later Christians), literacy, including scribal literacy, was not a well-defined social reality but rather was dependent upon the perception of individuals who judged whether one ‘knew letters’, as do the Jews of John .. The literate skills of the person judging played a significant role in these attributions of literacy. A clear example of this phenomenon is the case of the Greco-Roman Egyptian village scribe Petaus. Petaus’s literate skills did not extend beyond his ability to sign his name and his short formula marking reception of a document. Yet Petaus defended another town clerk against a charge of ‘illiteracy’ by pointing to the fact that the scribe had demonstrated his literacy by being able to sign his documents. That is, while the limited ability of signing documents was sufficient for garnering that scribe the accusation of ‘illiterate’, it was also sufficient for garnering from Petaus—someone whose literate skills did not extend beyond that ability—a defense of ‘literate’. Petaus’s own level of literacy impacted his judgment of his colleague’s literacy.
Crossan, Jesus, –; Werner H. Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel: The Hermeneutics of Speaking and Writing in the Synoptic Tradition, Mark, Paul, and Q (Bloomington: Indiana University, ) . Kelber claims the transition of portrayals of Jesus went from Mark (less scribal) to Matt (rabbinic scribal). Space prohibits further investigation, but I regard it as possible that, at Luke .–, Luke remembers Jesus in imago Pauli, as Paul likely would have been able to enter a synagogue and read from a scroll. As the above makes clear, however, this was because certain aspects of Jesus’ own teaching career enabled remembering him as such. Herbert C. Youtie, ‘Βραδϵ́ως γράφων: Between Literacy and Illiteracy’, GRBS . (): –; repr. in his Scriptiunculae II (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, ) –.
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In such a literary context, and in light of the gospels’ broad testimony that Jesus’ audience often included a mix of (Jerusalem-affiliated) scribal literates such as Pharisees and scribes with his disciples and/or ‘the crowd’ of agrarian villagers and social outcasts (for example, Matt .–; ., ; Mark ., ; .–, –; .; .; .; Luke ., ; .–; .–; John ., , , –; ., –; .–), I regard it as thoroughly plausible that different social classes could have remembered Jesus’ literacy differently, depending on the literate skills they possessed, or lack thereof. In other words, it is possible— indeed likely—that a pharisaical temple envoy and an agrarian family in Jerusalem for a festival would have walked away from witnessing, for example, Jesus’ battle with the scribal elite over Moses in John (or similar episodes) with differing convictions regarding his scribal status. And a primary factor affecting their judgment of his literate status would have been that person’s or group’s own literate status. Therefore, under this suggestion, Jesus’ initial impact upon/reception by his own contemporaries could have plausibly contributed to the later growth of early Christian memories of his literacy that attribute to him scribal status, nonscribal status, and a literate status that is capable of creating confusion. Ultimately, then, in light of the remembered Jesus in first-century texts (or, in Theissen and Winter’s language, the ‘later effects’ of the historical Jesus) and the social contexts of initial and later remembrance, one must, at least, regard John .’s claim as historically plausible.
. Conclusion
In conclusion, therefore, this article primarily establishes that the claim of John . is not that Jesus was literate or illiterate, but that Jesus was capable of making the Jews question his scribal literacy. Secondarily, this essay proposes that the claim of the narrator plausibly accounts for the individual receptions and corporate memories of Jesus’ literacy in the early Church. He was able to convince his audience that his teaching was underscored by scribal literacy and a lack of scribal education that would enable such literacy. It is again critical to note here that this conclusion concerns early Christian memories of Jesus’ literacy and the plausible explanation for their shape in light of Jesus’ reception by his This claim about the Johannine narrative does not ignore the otherwise well-attested presence of ‘semi-literates’ in the Greco-Roman world. To the contrary, the text implies that, like semiliterates, Jesus was able to straddle the line between literacy and illiteracy. The further claim of the Johannine narrative, however, is that in the particular form of scribal literacy found in Second Temple Judaism, which centered on the law, semi-literacy was uncommon. In John, one either has scribal literacy or does not; thus the paradox of the Jesus of John . for his opponents. On semi-literates, see Youtie, ‘Βραδέως’, –.
The Claim of John . and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy
contemporaries and later Christians. It does not necessitate, therefore, that the historical Jesus was literate on par with recognized authorities such as Pharisees and scribes. Rather, it necessitates only that, on occasion(s), he was able to force those authorities (whether purposefully or not), as well as his completely illiterate contemporaries, to reassess their assumptions about his scribal (il)literacy and (lack of) training based on his teaching or via winning an interpretive duel. Thus, even if the narrator’s claim in John . is historically plausible, this affirmation of the Johannine narrator does not ultimately settle the matter of whether Jesus fell into the literate or illiterate camp of Second Temple Jewish teachers. Indeed, it resists specifically that approach to assessing Jesus and claims rather that Jesus was the type of Jewish teacher who was able to straddle the line between illiterate/uneducated and literate/educated teachers. Worth observing, however, is that if the historical Jesus was widely known as an educated literate Jewish teacher, a member of the trained scribal elite, there would perhaps have been no rhetorical payoff for remembering him as someone capable of straddling the line between scribal literacy and illiteracy, as does John ..
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S002868850999021X
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James: Between Narrative and History EYA L R E G EV Department of Land of Israel and Archaeology, Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan 52900 Israel email:
[email protected]
This article demonstrates that according to the Acts of the Apostles, the major charges brought against Peter, Stephen, and Paul—as well as, in later Christian texts, against James—are violations of the Temple’s sacredness, both by means of statements about and actions within it. On the narrative level, in their portrayal of the conflicts and trials of these early Christian leaders, the ancient Christian sources argued that because the early Christian community in Jerusalem sought to partake in the Temple worship in its own way, Jesus’ followers were falsely accused of violating the Temple’s sacredness. On the historical level, it may be concluded that these events were authentic, and that they were affected by two factors: (a) The assumption, on the part of the Jewish community, that Jesus represented an anti-Temple stance. This assumption was based on Jesus’ ‘cleansing’ action at the Temple, and the saying attributed to him regarding the destruction of the Temple and the erection of a new one ‘not made with [human] hands’. As such, Jesus’ followers were viewed as posing a threat to the Temple as well. (b) The meticulous approach to Temple rituals held by the Sadducean high priests in charge of the prosecutions. According to their approach, any deviance from the proscribed procedure desecrated the sacrificial cult and was to be avoided at any cost. Keywords: Luke–Acts, Temple, the Jerusalem church, Sadducees, Jewish-Christianity
According to the book of Acts, to be a Christian leader in Jerusalem in the years – CE was a dangerous, and potentially life-threatening, experience. Following Jesus’ crucifixion, the early Christian leaders in Jerusalem were also brought to trial before the Temple’s high priests: Peter and the apostles were flogged, Paul was charged, and Stephen was executed. Josephus (Ant. .) adds that James was stoned, a scene that is dramatized in later Christian sources. Different explanations have been offered for the persecution of these Christian leaders.
B. Reicke, ‘Judaeo-Christianity and Jewish Establishment, A.D. –’, Jesus and the Politics of His Day (ed. E. Bammel and C. F. D. Moule; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –,
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
In the present article, I will explore the charges directed against Peter, Stephen, Paul, and James by the high priests. Specifically, I will show that all these accusations and trials described in the book of Acts as well as in the later traditions pertaining to James’s execution are related to the Temple. My analysis will be carried out on two different levels: narrative and historical. I will endeavor to interpret what messages were conveyed in these narratives, as well as discuss certain relevant aspects of Luke’s treatment of the Temple and of the priesthood. I will similarly attempt to interpret the meanings inscribed in the later Christian traditions on James’s execution. Based on these findings, I will attempt to evaluate the historical plausibility of the Temple incidents in Acts and the traditions about James. Consequently, I will suggest that these Temple-related conflicts were shaped by two, interrelated factors: first, the conviction of Jewish leaders that Jesus posed a threat to the Temple, and second, the extreme sensitivity of the Sadducean high priests— who led the prosecution of the Christian leaders—to any possible violation of the cultic order. This latter factor, I will show, may well have led them to regard the early Christian activities in the Temple as sacrilegious threats. Finally, I will conclude with general, tentative considerations concerning the attitude of the early Christian community in Jerusalem towards the Temple.
. Temple-Related Conflicts and Prosecutions in Acts
a. Peter and the Apostles In Acts and , Peter and other apostles are arrested and brought before the Sanhedrin (τὸ συνέδριον, a judicial committee headed by a high priest or king; the NRSV translates it as a ‘council’). According to Acts .–, ‘While Peter and John were speaking to the people, the priests, the captain (στρατηγός) of
concluded that they were charged with religious heresy, especially preaching ‘the gospel of resurrection’. G. Baumbach, ‘The Sadduceens in Josephus’, Josephus, the Bible and History (ed. L. H. Feldman and G. Hata; Leiden: Brill, ) , pointed to law and eschatology. Acccording to P. Gaechter, ‘The Hatred of the House of Annas’, Theological Studies () –, the high priests regarded the messianism of Jesus and the Church as a threat to their social position. A. J. Hultgern, ‘Paul’s Pre-Christian Persecutions of the Church: Their Purpose, Locale, and Nature’, JBL () –, pointed to the belief in Jesus as the reason for these other persecutions. On the possibility that Peter and the apostles were regarded as beguilers, see J. Schwartz, ‘Ben Stada and Peter in Lydda’, JSJ () –. Finally, E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, ) – argues for the shortcomings of previous suggestions and concludes that the persecutions were ‘sporadic’. He suggests that they were related to the law and the Temple, even while he recognizes that this is an incomplete explanation.
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the Temple, and the Sadducees came to them, much annoyed because they were teaching the people and proclaiming that in Jesus there is the resurrection of the dead; so they arrested them and put them in custody’. At the judicial hearings, the high priests Annas, Caiaphas, and John, as well as other members of the high priestly families, were present (Acts .). To be sure, the charges were not baseless: Acts describes how Peter and John went up to the Temple for the afternoon prayer, and Peter, ‘in the name of Jesus’, healed a crippled beggar near the Temple’s ‘beautiful gate’. When the news of his action spread, a crowd gathered around Peter and John in ‘Solomon’s Portico’ at the Temple Mount, where Peter delivered a speech about the failure to believe in Jesus. As a result, the Sanhedrin decided to warn the apostles ‘not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus’ (.). A similar story is recounted in Acts .–, although the consequences of Peter’s actions are quite different. Here, the apostles continue to heal, preach, and gather in Solomon’s Portico (.); in response, ‘the high priest and all who were with him (that is, the sect of the Sadducees), being filled with jealousy, arrested the apostles and put them in the public prison’ (.). The apostles then fled and ‘entered the Temple at daybreak and went on with their teaching’ (.). The high priest, the captain of the Temple, and the other chief priests brought them back before the Sanhderin, where Peter defended himself through a speech on the salvation of Israel through Jesus. As a result, the apostles were flogged and ordered to halt their teaching in the name of Jesus—although, Luke makes clear, they continued preaching at the Temple regardless (.–). In both descriptions, the high priest and the Temple officers arrested and charged both Peter and the other apostles with healing and preaching in the name of Jesus. Previous scholars have suggested that the reason for these arrests was the apostles’ belief in resurrection or black magic, as well as the spreading of apocalyptic expectations. Yet instances of healing and preaching appear elsewhere in Acts (chs. , –), and in all those cases, the high priests take no judicial measures against them. What, then, accounts for this difference in response?
In all the cases discussed herein, ‘Temple’ is a translation of ἱ1ρόν. Cases in which ‘Temple’ refers to ναός (the actual building of the Temple, or the shrine) will be specifically noted. All translations follow the NRSV, unless noted otherwise. Most scholars do not adopt the view that one of the incidents is a duplication. See E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles (Oxford: Blackwell, ), –. In terms of literary artistry and theological purpose, the second builds upon the first, in which the charge is the violation of the Sanhedrin’s interdiction and the result a beating. See S. Cunningham, ‘Through Many Tribulations’: The Theology of Persecution in Luke–Acts (JSNTSup ; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ) – and references. Haenchen, Acts, – surveyed the relevant scholarship but left the question unresolved. H. K. Bond, Caiaphas: Friend of Rome and Judge of Jesus? (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, ) – suggested the possibility of apocalypticism.
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
If we examine Luke’s narratives of the instances in question, we see that he connected the arrests to the Temple. His frequent mention of the Temple in relation to these episodes suggests that he associated the prosecution of the apostles with the location of their activity—namely, the Temple Mount. In other words, Luke makes the implicit claim that the high priests were concerned not merely by the apostles’ teachings about Jesus and by their demonstrations of the power of healing through the use of Jesus’ name; rather, the priests were concerned because these teachings and demonstrations were carried out in the Temple, and were regarded as a public desecration of the holy place. This claim is supported by the direct involvement of the high priest (who was in charge of the Temple cult), in the legal measures taken against the apostles, and by the presence of the captain of the Temple at the trials. In this vein, it is interesting to note that when Agrippa I executed James, son of Zebedee and persecuted Peter (Acts .–), he was not concerned with such cultic or religious issues. b. Stephen Stephen, a Hellenistic Jew who lived in Jerusalem, was brought before the Sanhedrin. There, false witnesses declared, ‘This man never stops saying things against this holy place (namely, the Temple) and the law; for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and will change the customs that Moses handed on to us’ (Acts .–). The high priest asked Stephen if this was true, and Stephen replied in the form of a long speech (Acts .–) containing biblical teachings and a mention of the tabernacle. Citing Isa .–, he went on to claim that ‘the Most High does not dwell in houses made by human hands’ (Acts .)—an assertion that many commentators have regarded as proof of an anti-Temple stance—and condemned those who rejected and killed Jesus. The course of his trial was altered radically, however, when he declared at his speech’s conclusion, ‘I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God’ (.). The people regarded this statement as blasphemous; they rushed Stephen, drove him out of town, and stoned him to death in a kind of public lynching (.–). On the question of the identity of the στρατηγός, see J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke X–XXIV (AB A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, ) . On his functions, see D. Tropper, ‘The Internal Administration of the Second Temple at Jerusalem’ (Ph.D. diss., Yeshiva University, ). D. R. Schwartz, Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea (Tübingen: Mohr–Siebeck, ) –, suggested that Agrippa aimed to avoid political disturbances. E.g., W. Manson, The Epistle to the Hebrews (London: Hodder & Stoughton, ) –; H. Conzelmann, The Theology of Luke (trans. G. Buswell; Philadelphia: Fortress, ) . Several scholars have maintained that the entire episode is a mixture of two sources, one containing accusations of the Hellenistic Jews and the lynch, and the other containing the trial before the Sanhedrin. See S. Dockx, ‘Date de la morte d’Étienne le Protomartyr’, Biblica () –; J. A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (AB C; New York: Doubleday, )
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Significantly, however, although Stephen was killed on account of blasphemy, the original charge leveled against him was that he had declared that Jesus would destroy the Temple and change the Law. The first part of this accusation echoes the one attributed to Jesus by the false witnesses in Mark .: ‘I will destroy this Temple (τὸν ναόν) that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands’. Indeed, Stephen’s own statement about God not dwelling in a house made by human hands may likewise reflect an anti-Temple stance. Nevertheless, Luke made it clear that Stephen had not said what the witnesses argued he had. And in fact, if read literally, Stephen’s words regarding God’s dwelling do not necessarily imply the rejection of the Temple cult in Jerusalem, since they are derived from prophetic teachings whose purpose is the criticism of a belief in a limited abode for the Divine Presence. In any event, it is clear that the alleged rejection of the Temple—and certainly the claim of its imminent destruction, based upon Jesus’ prophecy—plays a crucial role in Luke’s presentation of Stephen’s arrest and trial. c. Paul When Paul returned to Jerusalem, he was suspected by other JewishChristians of warning Jews not to obey the Torah. The elders associated with James insisted that Paul would disprove this accusation, and demonstrate that he ‘observes and guards the law’, specifically through his sponsorship of the sacrifices (i.e. Nazirite vows) of fellow Christians. Paul purified himself along with the Nazirites and entered the Temple, thus ‘making public the completion of the days of purification when the sacrifice would be made’ (Acts .–). Yet as Paul entered the Temple, he was seized by Jews from Asia who declared, ‘This is the man who is teaching everyone everywhere against our people, our law, and this place; more than that, he has actually brought Greeks into the Temple and has defiled this holy place’. Luke here adds an explanatory comment meant to undermine the Asian Jews’ accusation: ‘For they had previously seen Trophimus the Ephesian with him in the city, and they supposed that Paul had brought him into the Temple’ (.–). Nonetheless, Paul was dragged out of
, –. Fitzmyer claimed that the speech originated in an Antiochian source with Luke’s own additions. For the background of Stephen’s alleged sayings and speech, see M. Hengel, ‘Between Jesus and Paul. The “Hellenists”, the “Seven” and Stephen (Acts .–; .– .)’, Between Jesus and Paul: Studies in the Earliest History of Christianity (London: Fortress, ) –. D. D. Sylva, ‘The Meaning and Function of Acts .–’, JBL () –; J. J. Kilgallen, ‘The Function of Stephen’s Speech’, Biblica () –; C. C. Hill, Hellenists and Hebrews: Reappraising Division within the Earliest Church (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) –. Hill also reviewed the anti-Temple interpretations. See also E. Larson, ‘Temple Criticism and the Jewish Heritage: Some Reflections on Acts –’, NTS () –.
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
the Temple and would surely have been killed but for the Roman troops stationed nearby; hearing the commotion, they interfered and arrested Paul instead (.–). It is possible that the crowd was fulfilling the legal practice, acknowledged by the Romans, according to which a gentile (ἀλλογ1νής) who enters the Temple’s courts is to be executed immediately, even without benefit of a trial. Yet in this case, we must remember, it was a Jew who was accused of responsibility for such a sacrilegious act. Subsequently, there ensued long and winding legal procedures under the leadership of the high priest Ananias son of Nedebaus, as well as the Roman procurators Felix and Festus and King Agrippa II. The Jewish crowd, led by the high priest and the Sanhedrin, demanded the enforcement of the death penalty, but the Romans were not convinced of any actual guilt. Therefore, since Paul was a Roman citizen, he was taken into Roman custody until his appeal to Nero. At first glance, the Temple accusation against Paul may seem like a mere excuse to punish him for his teachings against the Torah. (Note, however, that Paul visited Jerusalem in Acts without encountering any such enmity.) Yet Luke mentions the violation of the Temple’s sacredness time and again, both in his descriptions of the charges brought against Paul as well as in Paul’s own speeches. Indeed, after Paul was transferred to Caesarea, a delegation headed by the high priest Ananias approached Felix, accusing Paul of trying ‘to profane the Temple’ (.). Paul replied that he ‘went up to worship in Jerusalem’, but was not—in what would seem to be a clear reference to the acts of Peter and the apostles—‘disputing with anyone in the Temple or stirring up a crowd either in the synagogues or throughout the city’ (.–). Or, as he stated to Festus in response to the subsequent accusations against him, ‘I have in no way committed an offence against the law of the Jews, or against the Temple, or against the emperor’ (.). In Paul’s speeches, Luke portrays Paul as devoted to the Temple cult. For example, according to Luke, Paul points out that after being called by Jesus, he prayed in the Temple (Acts .). Moreover, Paul stressed that he came to Jerusalem ‘to bring alms to my nation and to offer sacrifices; while I was doing this, they found me in the Temple, completing the rite of purification, without any crowd or disturbance’ (.–). It seems likely that Luke was here attempting to convince the reader that the Temple charge was false—an implicit acknowledgment that the Temple was a focal point in the conflict between Paul and the Jerusalem Jews. See P. Segal, ‘The Penalty of the Warning Inscription from the Temple of Jerusalem’, IEJ () – with bibliography. Acts .–.; B. Rapske, The Book of Acts in its First-Century Setting. Vol. , The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody (Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ). Admittedly, due to his own theological interests, Luke also presents Jesus’ resurrection as a major cause of the conflict between Paul and his opponents in his speeches.
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d. Between Narrative and History From the above survey of the measures taken against the early Christian leaders emerges a certain theme: Peter and the apostles as well as Paul were all arrested and put on trial on account of their having allegedly committed forbidden actions in the Temple; so, too, was Stephen prosecuted following his supposed statement about Jesus’ destruction of the Temple. The question arises, however, whether we can trust Luke’s presentation of these events. Naturally, the answer depends on one’s position with regard to the historical credibility of Acts. Those who consider Luke a reliable historian and his sources authentic would likely answer in the affirmative. They may find support for their position in Luke’s precise geographical knowledge of the Temple: his references to ‘Solomon’s Portico’, for example, and to ‘the Beautiful Gate’, as well as his familiarity with the sacrificial rites and security arrangements practiced therein. Recently, Dunn defended the historical value of Acts, pointing to Luke’s attempt at faithful transmission of traditions following Hellenistic historical conventions (Luke .–); his use of what appear to be firsthand sources (such as the ‘we passages’); the commensurability with Paul’s letters; and Luke’s historical accuracy with regard to various small details of Roman Judaea or Greco-Roman politics and culture. Others, however, may remain more skeptical, since Luke was after all a theologian, and thus naturally shaped his narrative to convey a certain theological message. This message, critics argue, may have affected the historical accuracy of his narrative. One is therefore left to wonder whether to regard Luke’s competence as a historian as an indication of his reliability, or of his rhetorical skill.
H. J. Cadbury, The Making of Luke–Acts (repr. London: SPCK, ) esp. –; M. Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, ). Cf. G. Sterling, Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, Luke–Acts, and Apologetic Historiography (NovTSup ; Leiden: Brill, ) –, –, , , –. See G. Lüdemann, Early Christianity according to the Traditions in Acts: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) , , –, –, , –, –, regarding the first arrest of Peter, and the instances in which Stephen and Paul were involved. Bond, Caiaphas, – noted Luke’s shaping of the narrative in Acts –, but nevertheless regarded the persecutions as historical, although she did downplay the role of the high priests. M. Hengel, ‘Luke the Historian and the Geography of Palestine in the Acts of the Apostles’, Between Jesus and Paul, –; J. J. Schwartz, ‘Temple and Temple Mount in the Book of Acts: Early Christian Activity, Topography, and Halakhah’, The Beginnings of Christianity (ed. J. Pastor and M. Mor; Jerusalem: Yad Yizhak Ben-Zvi, ) –. J. D. G. Dunn, Christianity in the Making. Vol. , Beginning from Jerusalem (Grand Rapids/ Cambridge: Eerdmans, ) – and bibliography. See already M. Dibelius, ‘The First Christian Historian’, The Book of Acts: Form, Style and Theology (repr. Minneapolis: Fortress, ) –. Cf. M. Palmer Bonz, The Past as Legacy: Luke–Acts and Ancient Epic (Philadelphia: Fortress, ). For Acts’ tendentious history, see Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem, –, –. See more below.
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
Yet while the historical credibility of Acts may be called into question, there is no doubt that Luke employed narrative history in an effort to convey certain theological messages. I will therefore turn now to an analysis of those messages implied in the Temple conflicts involving Peter, Stephen, and Paul, which may add to our understanding of Luke’s general attitude toward Judaism. Later on, I will build on the results of this literary investigation in an effort to unravel the question of these events’ historical reliability. . Luke, the Priests, and the Temple: The Message of the Temple Conflicts in Acts In evaluating Luke’s intentions, we must engage in a broader analysis of his attitude toward the Temple, the priests, and the high priests as expressed in both his gospel and in the Acts of the Apostles. Undoubtedly, the Temple is the focal Jewish institution for Luke: It both opens and ends his gospel. Luke locates Jesus’ nativity and the beginning of the apostles’ ministry there (Luke .–), and describes it as the scene of the apostles’ activity as well. In his gospel, moreover, he stresses the priestly descent of the parents of John the Baptist, as well as the commitment of Jesus’ parents to the Temple, while Acts . maintains that many priests accepted the Christian faith. The ministries of John the Baptist and Jesus are acknowledged in the Temple, disclosing the divine residence there (Luke .–; .–); indeed, Jesus refers to the Temple as ‘my Father’s house’. Finally, in both Luke and Acts, Jesus and the apostles visit the Temple frequently and pray there. Many scholars have therefore concluded that in Luke–Acts, the Temple is the center of God’s worship, prayer, and sacrifice. The conventional view of Acts as being the continuation of Luke’s gospel in terms of theology and message has recently been refined by M. C. Parsons and R. I. Pervo, Rethinking the Unity of Luke and Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, ), who highlighted the differences between the two. Drawing on the third gospel to interpret the attitude towards the Temple expressed in Acts therefore requires an awareness of possible points of difference. Luke .–, ; .–. Luke . acknowledges the priestly authority, adding another passage in which Jesus cures lepers. Luke .; D. D. Sylva, ‘The Cryptic Clause en tois tou patros mou dei einai me in Luke .b’, ZAW () –. Luke .; .–; .; Acts .; .; .–. The parable about the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke .–) occurs when both figures are praying in the Temple. M. Bachmann, Jerusalem und der Tempel: Die geographisch-theologischen Elemente in der lukanischen Sicht des judischen Kultzentrums (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, ); J. Bradley Chance, Jerusalem, the Temple, and the New Age in Luke–Acts (Macon: Mercer, ); F. D. Wienert, ‘Luke, the Temple and Jesus’ Saying about Jerusalem’s Abandoned House (Luke .–)’, CBQ . () –; D. D. Sylva, ‘The Temple Curtain and Jesus’ Death in the Gospel of Luke’, JBL () –; R. L. Brawley, Luke–Acts and the Jews: Conflict, Apology and Conciliation (SBLMS ; Atlanta: Scholars, ) –; E. P. Sanders, ‘Jerusalem and its Temple in Early Christian Thought and Practice’, Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (ed. L. I. Levine; New York: Continuum,
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Other scholars, however, have observed that Luke is somewhat wary—if not outright critical—of the Temple. Some claim that the Temple lost its credibility throughout the gospel, and that, for Luke in particular, the Temple had already fulfilled its purpose before Jesus’ death. Others maintain that for Luke, the Temple’s role was superseded by that of the household as the actual sphere of God’s redemption, and that throughout Luke–Acts, the Temple is eventually unmasked as a locus of political power the essence of which is opposed to God’s people. Ostensibly, the Temple conflicts described in Acts would seem to reinforce those interpretations of an implied criticism of the Temple. After all, according to Acts, while the Temple was undoubtedly a holy place, its establishment— namely, the high priests and their associates—stands in opposition to the belief in Jesus and the mission of the apostles. Hence, the Temple is designated a negative arena of condemnation and rejection. In order to test these views, we must first examine several cases in which Luke had the opportunity to condemn the Temple and rebuke its high priests, but nonetheless declined to do so. For instance, in his rewriting of Mark’s version of the trial of Jesus, Luke omitted the charge that Jesus had threatened to demolish the Temple and rebuild another one (‘not made with hands’), as well as the crowd’s mocking of Jesus on the cross: ‘Aha! You who would destroy
) –; F. J. Matera, ‘The Death of Jesus according to Luke: A Question of Sources’, CBQ () –, . According to P. F. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke–Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –, Luke’s position is somewhat ambivalent due to Stephen’s speech and the fact that the Temple was off-limits for the non-Jews in his community. N. H. Taylor, ‘Luke–Acts and the Temple’, The Unity of Luke–Acts (ed. J. Verheyden; BHTL ; Leuven: University of Leuven and Peeters, ) –. Conzelmann, Theology of Luke, , –, acknowledged the centrality of the Temple in Luke–Acts, but in considering Stephen’s trial, concludes that it has been profaned ‘since Jesus’ occupation of the Temple’. J. B. Green, ‘The Demise of the Temple as “Cultural Center” in Luke–Acts: An Exploration of the Rending of the Temple Veil (Luke .–)’, RB . () –, argued for the neutralization of the power of the Temple to regulate socio-religious boundaries of purity and holiness, but also acknowledged Luke’s positive approach to it. J. H. Elliott, ‘Temple versus Household in Luke–Acts: A Contrast in Social Institutions’, The Social World of Luke–Acts: Models for Interpretation (ed. J. H. Neyrey; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, ) –. Elliott, ‘Temple versus Household’, –. The Temple conflicts outlined above may also be judged in light of the overall theme of persecution so central to Luke–Acts, a narrative device that serves the author’s theological message of divine providence and triumph. See Cunningham, ‘Through Many Tribulations’: The Theology of Persecution in Luke–Acts, who also regards these Temple-related persecutions in Acts as shaped by and viewed as a continuation of the persecution of Jesus. Luke .–; Mark .–. See also Matt .–; John .–.
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
the Temple and build it in three days; save yourself and come down from the cross!’ Even the account of the ‘cleansing’ of the Temple is abbreviated dramatically, absent the descriptions of the financial transactions taking place there. In sum, Luke purposely eliminated the primary attestations for Jesus’ challenging of the Temple and its leaders. In addition, Acts .– recalls a direct conflict between Paul and the high priest during the hearing before the Sanhedrin. Ananias the high priest ordered that Paul be struck on his mouth. Initially, Paul retorted hotly; once he was informed that the person he had condemned was in fact the high priest, however, he responded with words of respect: ‘For it is written, “You shall not speak evil of a leader of your people”’ (Exod .). Furthermore, Luke highlights the role of the Temple officers and the captain in the arrests and trials of Jesus, Peter, and the apostles, and the high priests’ part in the arrests and trials of Jesus, Peter, Stephen, and Paul. Significantly, however, he never accuses them either specifically or directly of unrighteousness, nor does he condemn them for hating the Christian leaders. The accusations of rejecting Christ and persecuting his followers are instead directed at the Jerusalemites and their leaders. It is therefore safe to conclude that Luke did not wish to condemn Luke .–; Mark .–. Cf. Matt .. Luke .– omitted from the Markan source (.–; cf. Matt .–) Jesus’ driving out of the buyers, the overturning of the tables of the money-changers, and his opposition to carrying anything through the Temple. He also balanced the act by noting Jesus’ daily teachings in the Temple. In so doing, Luke refrained from creating another ‘narrative chain’ or ‘redundant theme’ in which the Temple conflicts in Acts either continue or mirror those of Jesus in a manner that unifies his two volumes. For the occurrences of these narrative means, see D. Marguerat, The First Christian Historian: Writing the ‘Acts of the Apostles’ (SNTSMS ; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –, –. On the question of whether this scene could be historical in origin, and a rejection of the possibility that the passage merely expresses irony, see C. K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, /) .–. Luke ., (plural); Acts .; ., (singular). Luke ., (plural); Acts .; ., (singular). See also Acts .; ., ; .; .; ., ; .. Luke also emphasizes the chief priests’ plot against Jesus in Luke . (relating it to Jesus’ teaching in the Temple); .; .. Cf. Luke ., , . R. J. Cassidy, ‘Luke’s Audience, the Chief Priests, and the Motive for Jesus’ Death’, Political Issues in Luke–Acts (ed. R. J. Cassidy and P. J. Scharper; Maryknoll, NY; Orbis, ) –, concludes that the high priests prosecuted Jesus because they felt threatened by him. Given Luke’s positive view of the ordinary priests (see above) Luke appears to distinguish them from the high priests. Cunningham, ‘Through Many Tribulations’, concludes that although the Temple plays a role in the rejection of Christ by the Jewish leadership, Luke does not attempt to link the rejection of Christianity with the Temple. J. A. Weatherly, Jewish Responsibility for the Death of Jesus in Luke–Acts (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ). For instance, in Acts . and . all the Jewish leaders are blamed in
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the leaders of the Temple or the high priests, despite their role in the persecution of Jesus, Peter and the apostles, Stephen, and Paul. On the contrary, he confirms the credibility of the Temple in the eyes of the Christians. Significantly, towards the end of Acts, Luke contextualizes those of Paul’s speeches in which he repeatedly declares his devotion to the sacrificial cult. In so doing, he stresses that the Christians’ commitment to the Temple remains undiminished, despite the tribulations they suffered at the hands of the high priests following their visits to the Temple. Luke expresses admiration for the Temple, in keeping with his generally positive stance towards the Law. This position also accords with the view of several scholars that Jewish antagonism is met, in Luke–Acts, with conciliation, and an attempt to present Christianity as an integral part or continuation of Judaism. For despite their desire to take part in Temple worship and preserve Jewish cultic heritage, the Christians, Luke seems to be arguing, were nonetheless maltreated, and on account of baseless suspicions. In other words, in arguing that the Temple episodes in fact demonstrate that Christianity is not a dissident Jewish faction, Luke may in truth have been furthering his own, apologetic purposes. The overall message to be gleaned from the Temple conflicts in Acts is therefore one of the unjustified refusal of the Temple authorities to recognize Christians as fellow Jews, as representatives of a legitimate Jewish ‘way’. Much like the
Jesus’ death. In the mockery scene, Luke . altered ἀρχι1ρ1ῖς (Mark .//Matt .) to ἄρχοντ1ς. The high priests are also omitted in Luke ., altering Mark .–//Matt .– . Luke . includes the high priests in the plot to kill Jesus, but broadens the circle of responsibility in comparison to Mark .. Acts .; .–; ., discussed above. One of the major themes of Paul’s speeches is that the Christians have not rebelled against the Temple’s dictates. See M. Dibelius, ‘Paul in the Book of Acts’, The Book of Acts, . Indeed, Luke’s detailed presentation of Paul’s imprisonment attempts to show that the Jewish charges against the Christians are baseless. See R. Maddox, The Purpose of Luke–Acts (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, ) –. J. Jervell, ‘The Law in Luke–Acts’, Luke and the People of God: A New Look at Luke–Acts (Philadelphia: Augsburg Fortress, , repr. ) –; W. Loader, Jesus’ Attitude Towards the Law (Tübingen: Mohr–Siebeck, ) –; Esler, Community and Gospel, –. For Luke’s positive attitude towards Judaism (that is, his insistence that Christianity is a development within Judaism), see Jervell, Luke and the People of God; Brawley, Luke–Acts and the Jews; D. L. Tiede, Prophecy and History in Luke–Acts (Philadelphia: Fortress, ). In fact, there are also indications of a certain rejection of Judaism in Acts, namely, the view that Christianity has superseded Judaism. See Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, –; J. B. Tyson, Luke, Judaism and the Scholars: Critical Approaches to Luke–Acts (Columbia, SC; University of South Carolina, ). ‘The Way’ (ὁ ὁδός) is the positive Christian self-designation in Acts .–; .; .. Opponents used the negative designation αἵρ1σις (Acts ., ; .).
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
banishment of the Jewish-Christians from the synagogue, then, the nonChristian Jews were portrayed as the ones to blame for the conflict between Judaism and Christianity. a. The Historical Implications of Luke’s Message Luke’s positive attitude toward the Temple and the priesthood, as well as his message that the early Christians leaders were falsely accused of both acts and words against the Temple, shed a new light on the question of whether these Temple conflicts actually happened. Namely, they lend credence to their historical legitimacy: It is unlikely, after all, that Luke would have conjured episodes with such clear anti-Temple overtones if they were contrary to his own purposes. It is also unreasonable to argue that Luke would have introduced the Jewish (or highpriestly) conception of the early Christians as enemies of the Temple—a conception to which Luke was wholeheartedly opposed—if it was not based in historical fact. We may thus conclude that his presentation of these events is biased, but not fictitious. Indeed, it is inconceivable that Luke would have been able to describe preaching in the Temple, the prophesying of its destruction, and the entering of a gentile into it—all very different kinds of violations of the Temple cult—without some familiarity with historical fact. Moreover, several scholars have argued that Acts is in truth based on earlier sources (literary and oral), which would explain Luke’s ability to construct a detailed narrative with the proper historical setting (Roman rule, Jewish religious practices, etc.). As we shall see below, later Christian traditions about James’s martyrdom also describe conflicts in or about the Temple.
. James’ Execution and the Temple: Narrative and History
According to Josephus, in CE the Sadduceen high priest Ananus son of Ananus ‘convened a Sanhedrin of judges and brought before them a man named James, the brother of Jesus who was called the Christ, and certain others. He accused them of having acted illegally (παρανομησάντων) and delivered them up to be stoned’. And with this pithy description, Josephus leaves the question Luke .; Acts .–; .; .; John .; .; .. The closing of the Temple’s doors after Paul was dragged away by the mob (Acts .) may also be read in similar fashion. See, in addition to the studies cited in nn. – above, J. Dupont, The Sources of Acts: The Present Position (London: Darton, Longman & Todd; New York: Herder & Herder, ). Ant. .. Translation follows L. H. Feldman in the LCL edition, with the significant amendments following J. S. McLaren, ‘Ananus, James, and the Earliest Christianity: Josephus’s Account of the Death of James’, JTS () , : ‘Sanhedrin of judges’ and ‘for having acted illegally’ (Feldman translated the latter as ‘for having transgressed the law’). For the historical
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of why James was prosecuted—and ultimately executed—open to intense scholarly debate. Certain scholars have concluded that James was executed because he was the leader of a messianic/apocalyptic movement that was regarded as politically dangerous, perhaps even revolutionary. The fact that he was convicted of an illegal act has led other scholars to infer that he did not observe Jewish law strictly enough. Finally, a number of scholars have deduced from Josephus that James was executed not because of his Christian beliefs or his possible status within the nascent Christian community, but rather due to more prosaic political reasons: James’s political alliance with Ananus’s opponents (either rival high priests or common priests who were exploited by the high priesthood). This alliance may have been the result of James’s criticism of the priestly aristocracy, or his support for the poor and the needy; it may also have simply been due to a personal rivalry between himself and Ananus. All of these explanations for James’s execution are problematic for several reasons. First, James could hardly be regarded as lax with regard to the law, since he is described as strict in his observance of purity restrictions in Gal .– (see also Acts .). Second, if the mission to the Gentiles or Jews was the reason for the charge against him, the high priests would have acted much earlier than CE, probably closer to the Apostolic Council in CE. Third, deducing James’s role in the political scene based on Josephus’s account of tension
credibility of the passage, despite its reference to ‘Jesus who was called the Christ’, see J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (New York: Doubleday, ) .–. M. Hengel, ‘Jakobus der Herrenbruder—der erste Papst?’, Paulus und Jakobus: Kleine Schriften III (WUNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –; W. Pratscher, Der Herrenbruder Jakobus und die Jakobustradition (FRLANT ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ) –; R. P. Martin, James (WBC ; Waco, TX: Word, ) lxiv–xlv. Reicke, ‘Judaeo-Christianity and Jewish Establishment’, . P.-A. Bernheim, James, the Brother of Jesus (London: SCM, ) , and Martin, James, lxiii, suggested that James was held responsible for Paul’s and others’ disassociation with the law, but also mentioned the successful Christian mission as a possible motive. McLaren, ‘Ananus’, –, . S. G. F. Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, ) –, – , argued that the ordinary priests were closely linked to the zealots, who opposed Ananus and the high priests. J. Painter, Just James: The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) – inferred that James opposed the exploitation of the poorer priests (cf. Ant. .–), bearing in mind that the Jerusalem Church was designated as ‘the poor’ (Gal .), and that some priests had joined it. Cf. also Bernheim, James, . Martin, James, lxv–lxvii, pointed to the role of priests among the early Christians in Jerusalem and the socio-economic defense of the poor and needy set out in the epistle of James. G. Lüdemann, Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, ) ; McLaren, ‘Ananus’, .
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
between high and common priests, or between aristocrats and zealots, is highly hypothetical: We have no information whatsoever about James’s relations with any of these parties. That there were some priests among the Christians (Acts .), and that the Christians in Jerusalem associated themselves with the poor, is not sufficient grounds for arguing that the high priests were determined to rid themselves of James. After all, there were many other poor people and anti-aristocrats in Judaean society at the time. Furthermore, Ananus’s convening of a Sanhedrin of judges and the execution of a death sentence were extremely exceptional steps. Indeed, Josephus does not mention any other high priest who had done so. True, both Herodian rulers and Roman governors executed opponents, but these were all revolutionary Jews, charged with sedition. Never in the years preceding the Great Revolt, when political or personal conflicts turned violent, did the high priests carry out trials and executions. Thus, the present incident can hardly be regarded as ‘an excellent example of the machinations among Jews seeking public prominence’. James’s alleged offence must therefore have been graver than the ones mentioned above. Josephus thus leads us to a dead-end regarding the actual charge against James, apart from the sole hint provided by the penalty of stoning. It is significant, then, that the above-mentioned studies, in attempting to determine the offense for which James was executed, focus solely on Josephus’s account, ignoring four later Christian sources that are regarded (quite rightly) as legendary. These sources, as we will see, are critical for understanding the event in question, and even more so for how this event was understood by later Christians. With this in mind, I will now turn to an examination of these texts on two, overlapping levels: the narrative construction provided by their authors, and their possible reflection of historical reality. I will focus both on the geographical setting of the conflict between James and his opponents in the Temple and on his execution by means of stoning or having been thrown down from a great height. The initial, and probably earliest, source that depicts James’s conflict with his fellow Jews and subsequent martyrdom is that of Hegesippus, cited by Eusebius’s Hist. eccl. ..–. Hegesippus portrays James as a Nazirite ascetic, and explains that ‘he alone was allowed to enter into the Sanctuary (τὰ ἅγια)…and he used to enter alone into the Temple (1ἰς τὸν ναόν) and be kneeling and praying for forgiveness for the people’ (). The scribes and Pharisees asked James to persuade the crowds not to believe in Jesus as a messiah, and ‘to stand at the battlement McLaren, ‘Ananus’, . McLaren (pp. –) states that ‘Josephus indicates that a variety of means were used by those vying for prominence to assert their influence. Included in this list are kidnapping, robbery, bribery, physical assault and murder’ (referring to Ant. .– , –, –, ). But murder of Jews by Jews is not mentioned here; rather, it is only the execution of rebels by the Romans. Painter, Just James, ; Bernheim, James, .
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of the Temple’ (πτ1ρύγιον τοῦ ἱ1ροῦ []) so that everyone would be able to hear him. Yet, when they asked him, ‘What is the gate of Jesus?’ James replied that the Son of Man in heaven would come on clouds. They then, according to Hegesippus, threw James down and stoned him, ‘since the fall had not killed him’ (). When, this, too, proved ineffective, a certain laundryman finally beat James on the head with a club (). He was then buried ‘on a spot by the Temple (ἐπὶ τῷ τόπῳ παρὰ τῷ ναῷ), and his gravestone still remains there’ (). A somewhat similar story was presented in the second century CE in the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions .–. There, James ascends to the Temple with his congregation (including Gamliel), where he encounters a large crowd led by the high priest Caiaphas. He enters into a discussion with Caiaphas on the belief in Christ and various scriptural matters (.), a discussion that ends in bloodshed as a massacre of the Christians in the Temple ensues. The person who ordered the massacre, so it is written, entered the Temple near the altar and used an altar brand (.., ); James was then thrown from the top of the stairs, although it is not stated that he was put to death (..). A third, and even more obscure description is introduced in the Second Apocalypse of James from Nag Hammadi. There James announces, ‘Behold, I gave you your house, which you say that God has made. Did he who dwells in it promise to give you an inheritance through it? This (house) I shall doom to destruction and derision of those who are in ignorance’. Consequently, the priests said, ‘Come, let us stone the Just One’. They ‘found him standing beside the columns of the Temple beside the mighty corner stone. And they decided to throw him down from the height, and they cast him down… They seized him and [struck] him as they dragged him upon the ground. They stretched him out and placed a stone on his abdomen. They all placed their feet on him, saying “You have erred!” Again, they raised him up, since he was alive… After having covered him up to his abdomen, they stoned him in this manner’.
Translations from Eusebius follow K. Lake in the LCL edition. For dating Hegesippus to the middle of the second century, see Painter, Just James, –. For the πτ1ρύγιον (pinnacle) of the Temple and its significance in early Christian memory, see Y. Z. Eliav, ‘The Tomb of James, Brother of Jesus, as Locus Memoriae’, HTR () –. F. S. Jones, An Ancient Jewish Christian Source, Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions .– (Atlanta: Society for Biblical Literature, ) –. The mighty corner stone is identified ‘in the end of the entrance of the Temple’, in Test. Sol. .–. The Second Apocalypse of James, Nag Hammadi Coptic Gnostic Library, Codex V , –, in C. W. Hedrick and D. M. Parrott, ‘The Second Apocalypse of James (V, )’, The Nag Hammadi Library in English (ed. J. M. Robinson; Leiden: Brill, ) .
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
Finally, Eusebius quotes Clement of Alexandria as saying that ‘James the Just… was thrown down from the pinnacle of the Temple (τοῦ πτ1ρυγίου βληθ1ίς) and beaten to death with a fuller’s club’. Hegesippus, the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, Clement of Alexandria, and the Second Apocalypse of James feature both similarities and differences. For starters, they are all based, directly or indirectly, on an early second-century CE source, or at the very least on a common ancient tradition containing remnants of a Jewish one. The result, as we shall see below, is that all four narratives include two basic common features: the preaching in/about the Temple and the stoning of James. On the literary level, all these sources place the conflict between James and his opponents (be it the high priest, the priests, the scribes and Pharisees, or simply the crowd) in the Temple. James committed several forbidden acts there: Hegesippus argued that James entered into the ναός when praying for the forgiveness of the people, thus implying that he acted as a priest—which would have been a grave transgression against the Temple cult. The Second Apocalypse of James specifically mentions that James preached that the Temple is ‘doomed to destruction and derision’ while standing within it; and finally, in both Hegesippus and Recognitions, it is written that James preached about the belief in Christ in the Temple. No doubt, Hegesippus and Recognitions call to mind the preaching of Peter and the apostles in the Temple that led to their arrest and flogging in Acts –. All three sources agree, then, that the very presence of James in the Temple, along with his actions therein, are the keys to understanding the zealous measures taken against him. The Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, Hegesippus, and the Second Apocalypse of James portray the Temple as the locus of the conflict between Jews and Christians, which in turn elevates it to a symbol of the rejection of Christ. However, on the basic narrative level, it is important to note that all these Eusebius Hist. eccl. .., referring to Clement of Alexandria, Hypotyposes, th book, and repeated in ibid. ... Lüdemann, Opposition to Paul, –; Painter, Just James, –, , –, –, –, ; R. Bauckham, ‘For What Offence Was James Put to Death?’ James the Just and Christian Origins (ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans; Leiden: Brill, ) –; M. Myllykoski, ‘James the Just in History and Tradition: Perspectives on Past and Present Scholarship (Part II)’, Currents in Biblical Research . () –. Epiphanius Pan. ..– even stated that James was permitted to enter the Holy of Holies once a year (like the high priest on the Day of Atonement). Surprisingly, however, Hegesippus does not present this detail as the reason for his execution. The author of Recognitions, who stressed the authority of James (..; .) held a bold antiTemple stance, arguing for the cessation of the sacrificial cult (.) and claiming that the tearing of the Temple veil was a sign of the coming destruction (..). He also situated James’s teaching in the Temple in spite of the fact that the high priests and the lay priests had often beaten the Christians for teaching or learning about Jesus (..–).
EYAL REGEV
sources assume interest on the part of James in attending the Temple Mount. Hegesippus even describes him as acting like a (high) priest. These sources thus imply an attraction on the part of James and his followers to the Temple, either as a place of worship or as a venue for preaching, as attested to by Acts. Only the Second Apocalypse of James describes an explict anti-Temple stance by recounting James’s prophecy of its destruction as God’s punishment of the Jews for their ‘ignorance’ (of Christ). On the historical level, only a few scholars consider Hegesippus, and to a certain extent the Second Apocalypse of James, as possible keys to understanding the offense for which James was excecuted by Ananus. According to Bauckham, since James was executed by stoning, he must have been charged either with blasphemy or with leading the people to apostasy. He suggests that the charge against James was based on his Christological interpretation of ‘the gate of God’ as ‘the gate of Jesus’, and James’s preaching that Jesus is the gate of the eschatological Temple through which the righteous enter the presence of God. Evans, by contrast, did associate James’s execution directly with the Temple, although his aim was purely exegetical, and did not attempt to draw actual historical conclusions from this fact. In any event, it should be noted that Hegesippus, Clement, Recognitions, and even the Second Apocalypse of James detail James’s activities and interest in the Temple even though these authors no longer cherished the Jewish cultic system. It is therefore likely that their descriptions are based on an older tradition, rather than simply invented. One aspect of the narrative that may attest to a certain historical value in these later traditions is the means of James’s execution. In the Second Apocalypse of James the priests wanted literally to stone James, but threw him down from the height of the Temple instead, and then ‘placed a stone on his abdomen’. So, too, in Hegesippus and Clement James is thrown from the Temple, and in
Nonetheless, he also had an interest in priestly matters, purity, anointing oil, etc. (.–; ..). Eisler argued that James served as the high priest of the zealots, and his bold, discourteous entrance into the Holy of Holies led to his execution at the hands of Ananus. This idiosyncristic interpretation is based on the most unusual detail (and hence, probably the most legendary one) described in Hegesippus. On Eisler and his recent followers, cf. Myllykoski, ‘James the Just’, –. Bauckham, ‘For What Offence’, also suggests that placing James’s martyrdom in the Temple is derived from the Temple imagery attributed to James (‘rampart of the people’, ‘the gate of Jesus’). This proposal grants, to my mind, too much credibility to the exact words of James. C. A. Evans, ‘Jesus and James: Martyrs of the Temple’, James the Just and Christian Origins, –. Evans (p. ) concluded that Jesus and James might very well have advanced the same, somewhat critical, agenda against the Temple establishment.
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
Recognitions he is thrown from the top of the stairs. According to Hegesippus, afterwards he was also stoned. This type of punishment probably represents the early rabbinic version of the biblical stoning penalty: According to m. Sanh. ., someone condemned to be stoned must be pushed down from a place that is twice the height of a man. If that does not kill him, a witness must drop a large stone on his chest (as mentioned in the Second Apocalypse of James), and if that does not kill him, he must be literally stoned to death (as in Hegesippus). Thus, all four sources describe the stoning of James, which is already mentioned by Josephus! We may conclude, then, that they do provide at least a glimmer of historical truth, albeit with changes and adjustments that reflect later rabbinic law. Significantly, however, all four sources place the stoning or throwing down in the Temple, which would seem historically impossible. Clearly, then, their purpose is to relate as directly as possible the cause of James’s execution to his involvement in the Temple, although this information is conveyed by fictitious narratives. Yet both the setting of the execution and the transgressions attributed to James discussed above hint that the real reason for the stoning was in truth an illegal act on James’s part that had something to do with the Temple. I therefore suggest that the later authors transformed an original conflict related to the Temple into a dramatic and legendary confrontation inside the Temple. Indeed, the very manner in which James was put to death is connected to transgressions against the Temple: The final beating with a club described in both Hegesippus and Clement, as well as the use of an altar brand wielded by a priest described in Recognitions, is reminiscent of the ancient Jewish penalty for Temple transgressions. According to m. Sanh. ., a priest who served in a state of impurity was executed by fellow priests outside the Temple ‘by splitting his brain open with clubs’. Furthermore, in the early, non-rabbinic penal code, trespassing the Temple’s sacred domains (ascribed to James by Hegesippus) required the death penalty, which was probably practiced by stoning (perhaps even without a trial). It is possible to conclude, then, that three of these texts attest to different sorts of offences carried out either against the Temple or within it; moreover, all four of them recall sanctions taken against transgressions of the Temple’s sacredness. Cf. Bauckham, ‘For What Offence?’, –; Myllykoski ‘James’, –; I. Gruenwald, ‘Halakhic Material in Codex Gnosticus V, : The Second Apocalypse of James?’, From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, ) –. For the execution of ‘any outsider (zar) who comes near’ (Num .; ., ; .; cf. Num .), see Philo Leg. ad Gaium ; Temple Scroll .–; QDa ii –. The early rabbis, however, left such transgressions up to divine punishment (karet), and shied away from human intervention. See m. Ker. .; t. Sanh. . (ed. Zuckermandel, ); A. Shemesh, ‘The Dispute Between the Pharisees and the Sadducees on the Death Penalty’, Tarbiz () – (Hebrew).
EYAL REGEV
This common theme may point to an earlier Jewish-Christian tradition that connected James’s execution to the Temple, one that, I believe, has historical roots. I find it reasonable to assume that James preached the Christian doctrine in the Temple—much like Peter and the apostles—and perhaps said something that was interpreted as a declaration against the Temple (as Bauckham maintains) in a manner reminiscent of his more famous brother.
. Temple Sensitivities: The Historical Background of the High-Priestly Prosecutions
Much like the high-priestly prosecutions of Peter, Stephen, and Paul in Acts, the traditions on James’s execution regard the Temple as the locus and substance of the early Christians’ conflict with Jewish leaders. Clearly, this motif is crucial to understanding the early Jerusalem Church: Scenes of Christian interest and activity in the Temple, as well as sanctions against and trials of Christians carried out by the Jews (in particular the high priests), run across too many different texts and events to be regarded as merely a literary device. It must have contained some truth. Turning to the historical aspects of these narratives, I will now examine two issues that may have affected the harsh reactions of the Jews to the acts of the early Christian leaders in the Temple: one, the accusations that Jesus threatened the Temple; and two, the Sadducees’ extreme sensitivity to any violation of the Temple’s sacredness. a. Jesus’ Anti-Temple Impact Jesus was arrested by the high priests and brought before a συνέδριον led by the high priest Caiaphas. There he was charged with threatening, ‘I will destroy this Temple that is made with hands, and in three days I build another, not made with hands’ (Mark .), the content of which is repeated in the mockery of Jesus on the cross in Mark .–. This accusation is usually linked to Jesus’ slightly earlier, violent demonstration at the Temple Mount, the so-called ‘cleansing’ of the Temple in which he clashed with the buyers and sellers of sacrificial animals and the money changers (Mark .–). Many scholars have therefore concluded that Jesus was arrested (and some would Mark ., , –. Luke . added the Temple officers. Matt . and John . added Caiaphas’s name. For the historicity of the role of the high priest and its correct identification with Caiaphas, see P. Winter, On the Trial of Jesus (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, rev. ed. ) –, –. Although scholars tend to associate the ‘cleansing’ with Jesus’ concern for the Temple cult, some have suggested that Jesus opposed the behavior of the high priests. See C. A. Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple: Cleansing or Portent of Destruction?’, CBQ () –. For relating the ‘cleansing’ to Jesus’ moral stance, see E. Regev, ‘Moral Impurity and the
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
also add, crucified) because of a transgression against the Temple, be it the alleged statement foretelling its destruction and/or his offensive ‘cleansing’ of the Temple. Interestingly, the gospels attest to the reaction of the early Christians to this charge. The author of the Gospel of Thomas (), for instance, attributed to Jesus a straightforward threat to the physical existence of the Temple: ‘I will [destroy this] house, and no one will be able to build it [again]’. Unlike Thomas, however, all four evangelists felt uneasy with the allegation. Mark (., ) argued that it was false; Matthew (.) limited the scope of the charge, insisting that Jesus declared only that he was able to destroy and rebuild the Temple; Luke omitted it entirely (see above); and John (.–) omitted it from his description of the trial, placing it in the ‘cleansing’ of the Temple instead. Yet even that mention was transformed entirely in meaning as referring to ‘the Temple of his body’, namely, to Jesus’ death and subsequent resurrection. Moreover, Luke (.–) argues that the allegations that Stephen said that Jesus would destroy the Temple were false and even heinous (see above). These treatments of the Temple charge may bear witness to its originality (whether or not Jesus actually said something of this kind is irrelevant to the determination of the actual charge leveled against him). In a similar vein, the evangelists’ description of the dramatic ‘cleansing’ of the Temple is both brief and technical, and as such disregards the fact that this was Jesus’ most public, provocative, and offensive performance to date.
Temple in Early Christianity in Light of Qumranic Ideology and Ancient Greek Practice’, HTR () –, here –. Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots, –; Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, –; J. D. Crossan, Who Killed Jesus? Exposing the Roots of Anti-Semitism in the Gospel Story of the Death of Jesus (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, ) , –; Bond, Caiaphas, –. Others regard Jesus’ attitude towards the Temple as one of the main reasons for his crucifixion, e.g., R. A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence (New York: Harper & Row, ) –, ; N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) –. Translation follows Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library in English, . D. Juel, Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, ; repr. Atlanta: Scholars, ) , concluded that ‘perhaps Mark is suggesting that Jesus never made such a statement and that it is therefore false’. R. Brown, The Gospel according to Saint John I–XII (AB ; New York: Doubleday, ) –. Juel, Messiah and Temple, – comments that ‘it is astonishing that so little is made of the cleansing in Mark’. Although the evangelists claimed that due to the cleansing, the high priests and other Jewish leaders plotted to execute Jesus (Mark .; Luke .–), this is in truth merely a conventional narrative device (e.g. Mark .). Mark regarded this plot as stemming from Jesus’ influence on the masses. In both Mark and Luke, Jesus continued teaching in the Temple. Matthew (.–) extended the act of ‘cleansing’ with a scene of healing and a claim to messianism, arguing that it was the latter which offended the high priests and scribes.
EYAL REGEV
Why did the authors of the gospels downplay Jesus’ anti-Temple stance, even after the Temple had already been destroyed? Most likely they were reacting to the accusations of their Jewish contemporaries that not only Jesus, but his followers, too, were enemies of the Temple. Indeed, later traditions indicate that the JewishChristians were suspected of plotting against the Temple: According to the Gospel of Peter, for example, the apostles were accused of attempting to burn down the Temple, and a similar charge is made against Jewish heretics (minim) in early rabbinic literature. Returning to the Temple incidents described in Acts, these narratives would seem to provide a response to accusations of Jesus’ sacrilegious intentions, showing that despite the severe measures taken against Peter, Stephen, and Paul, the suspicions that they rejected the Temple cult or desired its destruction were false. To the contrary, Peter and the apostles, and Paul (and according to Hegesippus, also James) all wished to participate in the Temple rituals at any cost. Moreover, Jesus’ alleged anti-Temple stance increases the historical plausibility of the narratives of the Temple conflicts described in Acts, as well as the association of James’s execution with the Temple. Given the unsavory reputation of the Christians in the eyes of the Temple authorities, it is understandable that the high priests and their followers would regard Peter, Stephen, Paul, and James with suspicion and hostility when they entered the Temple or preached about it. b. The Attitude of the Sadducean High Priests Towards the Temple Cult In Acts, Hegesippus, Recognitions, and the Second Apocalypse of James the preaching and actions of the Christian leaders in the Temple are met with extreme sanctions by the high priests or other Jewish leaders in the Temple. The high priests are portrayed here as hard-hearted defenders of the Temple against somewhat insignificant or merely symbolic threats. I suggest in what follows that their characterization reflects a certain historical reality: the sensitivity of the Sadducean high priests to any possible violation of the sacredness of the sacrificial cult. Ananus son of Ananus, the high priest who executed James, ‘followed the school of the Sadducees’ (Ant. . ). The unnamed high priest who led the prosecution of Peter and the apostles is also associated with the Sadducees (‘the high priest and all who were with him, that is, the sect of the Sadducees’, Acts .). Most scholars have concluded from the passage that he (and not only his associates) was a Sadducee and identified him with Joseph Caiaphas, the high priest Gospel of Peter ., ed. Hennecke-Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, I (Philadelphia: Westminister, ) ; t. Sanh. . (ed. Zuckermandel, ). Fitzmyer, Acts, translated καὶ πάντ1ς οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ ‘and all his colleagues’. The identification with Caiaphas is based both on Luke’s chronology and the reference to him in the first prosecution (cf. Acts .). See Bond, Caiaphas, –, , ; Fitzmyer, Acts, ; J. Jeremias,
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
who was responsible for Jesus’ arrest, ‘trial’, and handing over to Pilate (note that Caiaphas also confronted James in Recognitions). It is more than possible that the unnamed high priest who prosecuted Stephen and Ananias son of Nedebaus—the latter of whom headed Paul’s hearing before the Sanhedrin (Acts .)—were also Sadducees. The Pharisees, by contrast, were not involved in the measures taken against the Christian leaders described in Acts (although they did take part in James’s execution in Hegesippus). In fact, Luke describes the Pharisees as defending the Christians: During the second judicial act against Peter and the apostles, when the members of the Sanhedrin expressed their willingness to execute them, Luke assigns to Gamliel ‘a Pharisee in the sunedrion’ a speech in which he calls for releasing them without penalty. Consequently, the final punishment was reduced to flogging. And in Paul’s hearing before the Sanhedrin, he declares himself a Pharisee who believes in resurrection, thus sparking a dispute between the Pharisees and the Sadducees, resulting in the following pronouncement of some pharisaic scribes: ‘We find nothing wrong with this man’. In this instance, the hearing ended without a decision (Acts .–). Indeed, the characterization of the Pharisees in Acts is always positive. However, in Luke’s gospel, the Pharisees sometimes show respect toward Jesus, and sometimes either confront him or are rebuked by him.
Jerusalem at the Time of Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, ) ; J. Le Moyne, Les Sadducéens (Paris: Gabalda, ) ; D. Flusser, ‘Caiaphas in the New Testament’, Atiqot () , . The high priest who judged Stephen may have been Caiaphas, Jonathan son of Ananus, Theophilus son of Ananus, or Simon Cantheras. See Bond, Caiaphas, – n. for references. All these priests were relatives of either Ananus son of Ananus or Caiaphas (of the family of Katros/Cantheras). For Ananias’s identification with Ananias son of Nedebaus, see Fitzmyer, Acts, . Paul’s conflict with Ananias implictly allies the latter with Paul’s opponents, and since the Pharisees defended Paul, it seems that Luke considered Ananias a Sadducee. Cf. J. Munck, The Acts of the Apostles (AB ; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, ) . In fact, it is probable that all of the high priests from Herod’s time through to CE were Sadducees. For more on the high priestly families and their identification with the Sadducees, see M. Stern, ‘Aspects of Jewish Society: The Priesthood and Other Classes’, The Jewish People in the First Century, II (ed. S. Safrai et al.; CRINT ; Assen/Amsterdam: Van Gorcum, ) –; Schwartz, Agriappa I, –; Jeremias, Jerusalem, –. Acts .–. On the question of the historical reliability of the passage, see Fitzmyer, Acts, –. Since Gamliel is not mentioned by Josephus, it is possible that Luke followed an early tradition about Gamliel’s role in this judicial procedure. As already mentioned above, in Recognitions a certain Gamliel is associated with James’s followers. J. A. Ziesler, ‘Luke and the Pharisees’, NTS () –; J. T. Carroll, ‘Luke’s Portrayal of the Pharisees’, CBQ () –; Brawley, Luke–Acts and the Jews, –. Note that in Acts some Pharisees became Christians and Paul is identified as a former Pharisee (Acts .;
EYAL REGEV
According to Josephus, James’s trial and execution by Ananus was opposed by ‘those of the inhabitants of the city who were considered the most fair-minded and who were strict in observance of the law (peri tous nomous akribeis)’. These people informed Agrippa II and Albinus of Ananus’s unacceptable deed, leading to his dismissal from the high priesthood (Ant. .–). As Baumgarten and Mason note on this point, Josephus’s wording is similar to his usual characterization of the Pharisees. Since the passage deals with a legal case led by a Sadducean high priest, many believe that Ananus’s opponents were none other than the Pharisees, and that they resisted the Sadducean law invoked by Ananus. It seems, therefore, that the Pharisees objected to the severe punishment of James for his alleged act against the Temple. Why were the Sadducees particularly hostile on the matter of the involvement of the Christian leaders in the Temple? Here the Sadducees’ major religious (or halakhic) concern undoubtedly played a significant role. The Sadducees, and especially the Sadducean high priests, were more sensitive than most to any violation of the Temple’s sacredness. In comparison to the Pharisees, for example, the Sadducees held a far stricter approach to the Temple’s ritual purity, and ascribed a greater significance to the priestly cult. They regarded both the Temple and the sacrificial cult as more sensitive and vulnerable to desecration, and in a certain sense, more sacred, than did the Pharisees. To the Sadducees, any possible violation of the cultic order, or any potential desecration of the Temple, was regarded as extremely dangerous. As such, they held that
.; .; cf. Phil .). In making this connection, Christianity is associated implicitly with authentic Judaism. A. I. Baumgarten, ‘The Name of the Pharisees’, JBL () –; S. Mason, Josephus and the New Testament (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, ) –. Cf. Mason, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees (Leiden: Brill, ) , . McLaren, ‘Ananus’, n. lists eight additional scholars who subscribed to this view, but nonetheless decides against it (pp. –). Martin, James, xliii; Bauckham, ‘For What Offence’, –. Luke also stressed the Sadducees’ disbelief in resurrection as the reason for their persecution of the Christians; so, too, he portrayed the belief in resurrection as the common ground between the Pharisees and the Christians. See Acts .; .–; .; Brawley, Luke–Acts and the Jews, –; Fitzmyer, Acts , –. This attempt, however, is historically implausible: Although the Pharisees also believed in resurrection, the conflicts between them and the Sadducees centered around the realm of Jewish law and the Temple cult. E.g., the burning of the red heifer, m. Parah .; t. Parah . (ed. Zuckermandel, ). E. Regev, The Sadducees and their Halakhah: Religion and Society in the Second Temple Period (Jerusalem: Yad Yizhak Ben-Zvi, [Hebrew]) –, –, –; Regev, ‘The Sadducees, the Pharisees and the Sacred: Meaning and Ideology in the Halakhic Controversies between the Sadducees and the Pharisees’, Review of Rabbinic Judaism () –. For example, the Sadducees opposed the Pharisaic regulation of the annual
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
the masses should be restricted from approaching the sacred. For example, the Sadducees complained about the Pharisees’ purification of the Temple candelabrum: The need to purify it, they argued, resulted only from the Pharisees’ having permitted the laity to approach it within the Temple’s sacred precinct, thus defiling it through their contact with it. Sadduceean high priests waged intense political battles to prevent what a nonSadducee would regard as a minor violation of the Temple cult. Thus, Ishmael son of Phiabi led a delegation to Nero that appealed for the preservation of a screening wall that the priests had built to prevent Agrippa II from watching the sacrificial cult from his palace. Agrippa’s observation of the priestly ritual was regarded by the Sadducees as sacrilegious, since it invaded the sacred realm. This Sadducean cultic strictness demystifies many of the Temple episodes in Acts and underscores our reconstruction of James’s execution; so, too, does it support their historical reliability. It helps to explain why the Sadducees reacted so harshly and maliciously towards the acts of Peter, Paul, and James in the Temple, and the supposed sayings of Jesus, Stephen, and James against it. It is not, therefore, the Sadducees’ rejection of the Christian belief per se that underlies these conflicts, but rather their special sensitivity to threats against the Temple and to any possible violation of its sacredness. . Implications for the Early Jerusalem Church
On the narrative level, our analysis of the relevant texts has shown that the Temple incidents described in Acts in which Peter and the apostles as well as Paul were involved, and also the one described in Hegesippus concerning James, all attest to a concern for the Temple. True, a condemnation of the Temple in second-century traditions about James is found in the Second Apocalypse of James (in Recognitions there is similar condemnation that is not attributed to James), but even the Second Apocalypse of James and Recognitions presumes a
half-shekel donation to the Temple, which would have undermined the priests’ exclusive cultic status (Regev, Sadducees and their Halakhah, –). T. Hagigah . (ed. Lieberman, ). ˙ Ant. .–. Ishmael followed the Sadducean laws of purity in t. Parah . (ed. Zuckermandel, ). See Regev, Sadducees and their Halakhah, –. On the religious objection to Agrippa’s observation of the Temple rituals, cf. D. R. Schwartz, ‘Viewing the Holy Utensils (P. Ox. V, )’, NTS () –. Unnamed high priests demanded that the high priest’s garments of the Day of Atonement be kept in the Temple instead of in the custody of the Roman governor, and succeeded in convincing Claudius to grant his support (Ant. .–). A quite different, but nevertheless relevant, case is the desperate call of the Sadducee Ananus son of Ananus for the defense of the Temple against the violent Zealots, who, he claimed, were polluting the Temple with bloodshed (War .–). Ananus also declared that he was willing to die for the sake of ‘God and the Sanctuary’ (War .).
EYAL REGEV
certain interest on the part of James in the Temple. It therefore seems that the earliest traditions concerning the early Jerusalem Church largely regarded the Temple in a favorable fashion. The Temple conflicts described in Acts and the connection between James’s actions and a certain transgression against the Temple all seem historically plausible, for several reasons: () Luke’s extraordinary appreciation of the Temple runs counter to the Temple conflicts described in his narrative, in which Stephen and Paul are accused of holding an anti-Temple stance. Since Luke’s narrative clearly aims to defy these accusations, it is virtually impossible that they were the figments of his own imagination. () The pattern of Christian attendance in the Temple leading to an arrest/trial/punishment is repeated too many times, both in Acts and in the later traditions about James, to be regarded as a merely literary device. Indeed, even if certain episodes have been reproduced or exaggerated, it is nonetheless reasonable to assume that they were based on older traditions that emerged from historical experience. () The Jewish perception of Jesus and his followers as enemies of the Temple, and () the Sadducean sensitivity to possible threats to the sacrificial cult. If we take this conclusion one step further, there is reason to believe that the actual attitude towards the Temple displayed by Peter, Paul, and James was not very different from that of their fellow Jews. Indeed, the sources discussed here do not justify the assumption that the Christian leaders’ clashes with the high priests derived from the former’s attempts to gain a measure of control over the Temple. Nor do they support the view that the Jerusalem community regarded itself as a ‘human Temple’, which could serve as a substitution for the physical one. In fact, the general picture deduced from both Acts and
C. K. Barrett, ‘Attitudes to the Temple in the Acts of the Apostles’, Templum Amicitiae: Essays on the Second Temple Presented to Ernst Bammel (ed. W. Horbury; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ) –; Schwartz, ‘Temple and Temple Mount in the Book of Acts’. The fact that James, and eventually also Peter, refrained from eating with Gentiles on account of their observance of purity laws (Gal. .–) may also imply a similar concern for the sacrificial laws. Compare J. D. G. Dunn, ‘The Incident at Antioch (Gal. .–)’, Jesus, Paul, and the Law: Studies in Mark and Galatians (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, ) –. According to J. B. Tyson, Images of Judaism in Luke-Acts (Columbia: University of South Carolina, ) : ‘The activity of Peter and the apostles in Acts – may be read, in part, as their attempt to take control of the Temple’, and Paul’s entering the Temple is ‘a final attempt to return the Temple to its proper use’. Cf. also the thesis of Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots, applied to both Jesus and James. R. Bauckham, ‘James and the Jerusalem Church’, The Book of Acts in its Palestinian Setting (ed. R. Bauckham; Carlisle: Paternoster; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) –; Bauckham, ‘For What Offence?’; C. Grappe, D’un Temple à l’autre: Pierre et l’Eglise primitive de Jérusalem (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, ) –, both inferred from the fact that Peter and James were described as ‘pillars’ and possibly other parts of the Temple structure (e.g. Gal .; Matt .) that the early Jerusalem Church understood itself as the eschatological
Temple Concerns and High-Priestly Prosecutions from Peter to James
Hegesippus corresponds with a growing scholarly recognition of the early Christian appreciation of the Temple and the sacrificial cult. It is ironic, then, that, according to Acts and the traditions about James, the early-Christian attempts to involve themselves in Temple life or to use its setting or ritual cult for their own interests resulted in clashes with Jewish leaders, and particularly the Sadducean high priests—and with tragic results. It is thus tempting to conclude that their somewhat naïve endeavor to combine Christian belief with common Jewish religious devotion was in fact what got them into trouble.
Temple. One may, however, question whether these expressions actually reflect Temple imagery or express reservations about the present Temple and the sacrificial cult. J. Klawans, ‘Interpreting the Last Supper: Sacrifice, Spiritualization, and Anti-Sacrifice’, NTS () –; A. L. A. Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple (Leuven: Peeters, ); J. Lieu, ‘Temple and Synagogue in John’, NTS () –; K. S. Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective: A Sociological, Historical, and Comparative Analysis of Temple and Social Relationships in the Gospel of John, Philo, and Qumran (NovTSup ; Leiden: Brill, ).
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990142
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth: The Administrative Rank of ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως (Rom 16.23) in an Achaean Colony JOH N K. GOODRICH Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University, Abbey House, Palace Green, Durham DH1 3RS, United Kingdom. email:
[email protected]
Erastus (Rom .) has featured prominently in the ongoing debate over the social and economic make-up of the early Pauline communities, since how one renders his title (ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως) dramatically affects the range of economic stratification represented in the Corinthian church. Relying chiefly on epigraphy, including an important new inscription from the Achaean colony of Patras, this article engages the scholarly dialogue about the Latin equivalent of Erastus’ title, rebutting the arguments in favour of arcarius and aedilis, and contends that he served as quaestor, a high-ranking municipal position exclusively occupied by the economic elite. Keywords: Erastus, Romans , economic scale, social stratification, Corinth, urban Christianity
Deciphering the administrative rank of Erastus, ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως (Rom .), has been a pursuit of great scholarly interest for many decades, not least because Erastus’ municipal position in Corinth holds the key for unlocking the extent of his influence in the Corinthian network as well as the social and
This debate has been more tenacious than any other concerning Paul’s Corinthian coworkers; cf. Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, ) . For the assumed ecclesiastical influence of Erastus, see, e.g., William Sanday and Arthur C. Headlam, Romans (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, th ed. ) : ‘Erastus…is presumably mentioned as the most influential member of the community’. More recently, John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (JSNTSup ; Sheffield: JSOT, ) : ‘By virtue of his [Erastus’] wealth and his public connections, he could well be ranked among the powerful few in the church ( Cor. .). As such, he would be able to wield more influence than most patrons in the church’. See also the suggestive title of W. D. Thomas’, ‘Erastus: The V.I.P. at Corinth’, ExpTim () –.
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
economic status of at least one segment of the earliest urban churches. This seemingly simple lexical exercise has proved surprisingly difficult, however, largely because there exists no bilingual text from a Roman colony containing the municipal title and a Latin correlative. Still, several possibilities have been proposed: arcarius (servile accountant), quaestor (treasury magistrate), and aedilis (public works magistrate). Although the advocates of each view maintain that their reading is textually supported, it is the contention of this article that the strengths of the arcarius and aedilis positions have been exaggerated in recent scholarship, while quaestor has received minimal scholarly consideration despite the significant advantages of reading Erastus’ title this way. The following study will attempt to reverse this trend by responding to the criticisms directed at the οἰκονόμος–quaestor correlation and by marshaling new and The bibliography for the social and economic stratification of the Pauline communities is now quite extensive. For a sampling of the leading contributions, see: Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (trans. John H. Schütz; Philadelphia: Fortress, ) –; Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University, ) –; Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (SNTW; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, ); Dirk Jongkind, ‘Corinth in the First Century AD: The Search for Another Class’, TynBul () –; Steven J. Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-Called New Consensus’, JSNT () –; Bruce W. Longenecker, ‘Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity’, JSNT () –. See also the review essays and their responses in JSNT volumes – (–) as well as Todd Still and David G. Horrell, eds., After the First Urban Christians: The Socio-Historical Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T. & T. Clark, ). F. M. Gillman, ‘Erastus’, ABD (ed. D. N. Freedman; New York: Doubleday, ) .. Several bilingual inscriptions demonstrate that in private contexts οἰκονόμος was rendered vilicus (CIL ..; IG –.), actor (CIL .), and dispensator (IGRR .). Vulg.; A. G. Roos, ‘De Titulo Quodam Latino Corinthi Nuper Reperto’, Mnemosyne () –; Henry J. Cadbury, ‘Erastus of Corinth’, JBL () –; P. N. Harrison, Paulines and Pastorals (London: Villiers, ) –; Justin J. Meggitt, ‘The Social Status of Erastus (Rom. :)’, NovT () –; Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies’, –. Friedrich A. Philippi, Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, ) ; Theissen, Social Setting, –; Meeks, The First Urban Christians, ; Victor P. Furnish, ‘Corinth in Paul’s Time: What Can Archaeology Tell Us?’, BAR () –, at ; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life (Oxford: Clarendon, ) –. For the duties of aediles and quaestores, see chs. and of the Lex Irnitana in Julian Gonzalez and Michael H. Crawford, ‘The Lex Irnitana: A New Copy of the Flavian Municipal Law’, JRS () –, at (Latin at ); cf. Leonard A. Curchin, The Local Magistrates of Roman Spain (Phoenix Supplementary Volume ; Toronto: University of Toronto, ) –. David W. J. Gill, ‘Erastus the Aedile’, TynBul () –; Andrew D. Clarke, ‘Another Corinthian Erastus Inscription’, TynBul () –; Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of Corinthians – (Leiden: Brill, ) –; Bruce W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) –.
JOHN K. GOODRICH
weighty evidence in its favour—a recently discovered inscription from an Achaean colony.
. Gerd Theissen’s Thesis
The first detailed argument for the equivalence of οἰκονόμος and quaestor was advanced by Gerd Theissen in his ZNW article, ‘Soziale Schichtung in der korinthische Gemeinde: Ein Beitrag zur Soziologie des hellenistischen Urchristentums’. In the impressive -page investigation of social stratification in the Corinthian church, Theissen surveyed a number of significant individuals associated with the community, including two who held public offices, Crispus and Erastus. The bulk of Theissen’s examination of Erastus came in a nine-page excursus through which he sought to pinpoint Erastus’ administrative rank. In the excursus Theissen first analysed Paul’s use of οἰκονόμος and the three appearances of the name ‘Erastus’ in the NT, only to discover that neither is sufficient for reaching any conclusions about the position of the Erastus mentioned in Rom .. Second, drawing primarily off the historical work of Peter Landvogt, Theissen examined the meaning of the title οἰκονόμος (τῆς πόλ1ως) in over thirty Greek inscriptions in order to locate the rank of οἰκονόμοι within the administrative hierarchy of a number of Graeco-Roman cities. His investigation proved to be inconclusive, however, with the evidence suggesting that municipal οἰκονόμοι could have been either high-ranking civic leaders or low-status public servants. Even so, Paul’s familiarity with the cities of Western Asia Minor convinced Theissen that the apostle adopted the linguistic conventions of the region, where during the Hellenistic period οἰκονόμος was used with some frequency for a prestigious administrative office. Therefore, in a third section Theissen analysed the municipal offices of Roman Corinth in an effort to identify which position in the colony corresponded to οἰκονόμος. After surveying the various magisterial posts within the Corinthian administrative hierarchy, Theissen suggested that Erastus the οἰκονόμος from Rom . should be identified with Erastus the aedilis mentioned in a famous inscription found on the pavement near the northeast theater in ancient Corinth (IKorinthKent ). However, based on the fact that ἀγορανόμος, not οἰκονόμος, was the Greek equivalent of aedilis and that it is improbable that Paul wrote his epistle to the Romans during the same one-year term as Erastus’ aedileship, Theissen concluded Gerd Theissen, ‘Soziale Schichtung in der korinthische Gemeinde: Ein Beitrag zur Soziologie des hellenistischen Urchristentums’, ZNW () –; in English at Theissen, Social Setting, –. Peter Landvogt, ‘Epigraphische Untersuchungen über den ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΟΣ: Ein Beitrag zum hellenistischen Beamtenwesen’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Strassburg, ).
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
that Paul’s use of οἰκονόμος in Rom . most likely referred to an office held prior to aedilis, and probably to quaestor. While Theissen’s thesis as originally argued remains quite compelling, I wish to strengthen the οἰκονόμος–quaestor correlation considerably with new evidence to be assembled in section . But first we must consider and respond to Theissen’s critics.
. Responding to Theissen’s Critics
In the thirty-five years since its original publication, Theissen’s thesis has elicited a variety of responses. Shortly after it first appeared a number of NT scholars were largely sympathetic with his proposal. Perhaps most notable among Theissen’s advocates was Wayne Meeks, who in adopted the quaestor interpretation in his highly influential essay ‘The Social Level of Pauline Christians’, in The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul. In recent years, however, two major challenges have been directed at Theissen’s reading, both of which will now be evaluated. Criticism #: Municipal Οἰκονόμοι were Normally Public Slaves The chief criticism directed against the correlation between οἰκονόμος and quaestor states that, while οἰκονόμοι were often prominent civic functionaries during the Hellenistic era, in the Roman period they were usually public accountants of servile standing. Steven Friesen, for instance, insists that during this timeframe, ‘Most of the city stewards…tended to be slaves or from servile families’. In support of this assertion Friesen has presented three inscriptions from the Roman period, each providing attestation of a public servant who bore the title οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως and probably belonged to a low economic stratum: Diodoumenos the σύνδουλος from Stobi (SEG .); Apollonides from Kyme (SEG .); and Longeinos from Thessalonica (SEG .). Moreover, in his recently published Bonn thesis on city slaves in the Roman Empire, Alexander Weiß has also demonstrated that the title referred not infrequently to enslaved public servants. Weiß admits that the duty of the οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως was not ‘völlig identisch…mit denen der servi publici Theissen, ‘Soziale Schichtung’, ; Theissen, Social Setting, : ‘In light of the (unofficial) Greek language customs of Corinth which do not exclude variations in Greek terminology, and in light of Paul’s origins in Asia Minor, it is conceivable that the office of οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως in Rom. : corresponded to that of quaestor’. Meeks, The First Urban Christians, . Friesen, ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies’, . All epigraphic references conform to the format recommended by G. H. R. Horsley and John A. L. Lee, ‘A Preliminary Checklist of Abbreviations of Greek Epigraphic Volumes’, Epigraphica () –.
JOHN K. GOODRICH
arcarii etc., wohl aber, daß sie vergleichbar waren, und zwar insofern, als auch jene wohl direkt in die öffentliche Kassen- und Buchführung involviert waren’. Weiß’s conclusions, however, are not entirely trustworthy, since he assumes the servile origin of any οἰκονόμος without a patronymic, which controls the way he reads much of the evidence. Yet the absence of a patronymic is not always determinative of legal status on its own. As Bradley McLean explains, ‘The omission of the patronymic in contexts where one is expected may indicate servile status. However, even this is not conclusive, since eminent persons are also known to have omitted their patronymic’. Henry Cadbury concurred, insisting, ‘The absence of patronymic genitive for the father does not…always exclude free birth’. Moreover, wealthy freedmen would also have excluded this filial reference, as did Gnaeus Babbius Philinus, the duovir, ex-aedilis and pontifex of Corinth (IKorinthKent ). Therefore, while some of Weiß’s readings are probably correct based on the additional evidence he provides, many are too speculative to go unquestioned. Friesen’s conclusions are also problematic, for he ignores the fact that there remains equally strong evidence demonstrating that the title οἰκονόμος was Alexander Weiß, Sklave der Stadt: Untersuchungen zur öffentlichen Sklaverei in den Städten des Römischen Reiches (Historia Einzelschriften ; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, ) . Even so, Weiß (–) identifies Erastus from Rom . with Erastus the aedilis mentioned in IKorinthKent . Bradley H. McLean, An Introduction to Greek Epigraphy of the Hellenistic and Roman Periods from Alexander the Great Down to the Reign of Constantine ( B.C.–A.D. ) (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, ) –: ‘[I]n the imperial period, the patronymic (πατρώνυμον) was frequently used. Technically speaking, a patronymic is not the “name of the father” but a “name deriving from the name of the father.” It was formed from the genitive (or an adjectival form) of the father’s name, with or without the article (e.g. Ἀλκιβιάδης ὁ Κλ1ινίου [Alkibiades, son of Kleinias])’. Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, : ‘Allerdings ist in diesen Fällen keine Sicherheit zu gewinnen. Die Annahme stützt sich vor allem…auf die fehlende Angabe eines Vatersnamens’. For more on the nomenclature of slaves in Roman inscriptions, see Sandra R. Joshel, Work, Identity, and Legal Status at Rome: A Study of the Occupational Inscriptions (Norman: University of Oklahoma, ) –; P. R. C. Weaver, Familia Caesaris: A Social Study of the Emperor’s Freedmen and Slaves (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –. McLean, Greek Epigraphy, . Cadbury, ‘Erastus of Corinth’, –. For the career of Gnaeus Babbius Philinus, see Donald Engels, Roman Corinth: An Alternative Model for the Classical City (Chicago: University of Chicago, ) –. On the role and wealth of freedmen in Corinth, see A. J. S. Spawforth, ‘Roman Corinth: The Formation of a Colonial Elite’, Roman Onomastics in the Greek East: Social and Political Aspects (ed. A. D. Rizakis; Meletemata ; Athens: Research Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity/National Hellenic Research Foundation, ) –, at : ‘[T]he numismatic sample produces a significant number—%—of wealthy and politically-successful individuals classified as probably or certainly of freedman stock. Although freedmen were not normally eligible for magistracies in Roman colonies, in Caesar’s colonies an exception was made’.
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
attributed to many Roman citizens who held magisterial posts as city treasurers. One inscription from Aphrodisias and dating to the Roman period, for instance, mentions a certain Menander, the treasurer of the βουλή (CIG ), who Peter Landvogt concludes ‘war Bürger und bekleidete ein hohes Amt, wie die weitere Inschrift lehrt’. Another inscription from Aphrodisias testifies to Euphron, the πιστότατον οἰκονόμον τῆς πόλ1ως (IAphrodMcCabe ). Even Weiß posits that Euphron was a citizen and magistrate, not a servile accountant, because ‘die χρυσοφόροι ν1ωποιοί setzen ihm die Ehreninschrift’. A number of additional inscriptions similarly feature municipal οἰκονόμοι who can confidently be identified as citizens and high ranking officials (e.g. SEG .; TAM .; ISmyrna .; .; .; IStratonikeia .). It must be conceded then by everyone contributing to the Erastus Debate that significant data exist for reading the title οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως as either a servile position or a magistracy. (For a list of inscriptions with municipal οἰκονόμοι titles, see Table ). Moreover, the legal statuses of many epigraphically attested οἰκονόμοι are too unclear for this dispute to resort to comparing the quantity of known slave οἰκονόμοι to those that were free in an effort to demonstrate numerical probability. Rather, far more consideration must be given to Erastus’ particular municipal context and to the adequacy of each strand of evidence to parallel Corinth’s colonial setting. In this vein, a new and significant inscription from Achaia will be introduced in section which more closely resembles Corinth’s political structure than any text previously considered. Criticism #: Ταμίας, not Οἰκονόμος, was the Equivalent of Quaestor A second criticism directed at the οἰκονόμος–quaestor correlation is that ταμίας, not οἰκονόμος, was the normal Latin equivalent for quaestor. Bruce Winter, for instance, contends, ‘Attempts to argue that οἰκονόμος occupied a lesser office [than aedilis], and that the Latin equivalent for it was quaestor cannot be sustained; the Greek term supplied by Mason for the latter term is καμίας [sic, ταμίας] and not οἰκονόμος’. While Winter’s semantic analysis is certainly perceptive, his reliance on Hugh Mason’s Greek–Latin lexicon in this particular debate is problematic, for two reasons. Landvogt, ‘ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΟΣ’, ; cf. Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, . Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, . Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, : ‘In fünf Städten ist dieser unbestreitbar ein Bürger. Diese sind Aphrodisias, Arkades, Iulia Gordus, Smyrna und Stratonikeia. In Aphrodisias gehört das Amt zu den hochangesehenen. Die χρυσοφόροι ν1ωποιοί setzen einem Euphron, dessen Abstammung über drei Generationen aufgeführt wird, eine Ehreninschrift und feiern ihn als πιστότατον οἰκονόμον. Der von diesem zu unterscheidende οἰκονόμος τῆς βουλῆς bekleidete gleichfalls einen hohen Rang. In Stratonikeia vertritt der οἰκονόμος die Stadt vor dem Orakel des Zeus Panamaros. Auch dort nahm er also unter den Beamten eine führende Position ein. Ebenso gehört er im Smyrna der Kaiserzeit zu den oberen Beamten’. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, .
Reference IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe IMylasa ; IMylasaMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Date
Region
Province
City
Greek Text
nd BCE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] τὸν οἰκονόμον τῆς πόλ1ως
Late nd
Asia Minor
Caria
Mylasa
[] οἰκονόμοις τῆς φυλῆς
BCE
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe
BCE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] τὸν οἰκονόμον τῆς πόλ1ως
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe
BCE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] τὸν οἰκονόμον τῆς πόλ1ως
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe
st
BCE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] τὸν οἰκονόμον | τῆς πόλ1ως
Romans .; Weiß p.
CE
Greece
Achaia
Corinth
Ἔραστος ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως
SEG .; ISmyrna ; ISmyrnaMcCabe ; Hellenica (– ) pp. –; Weiß p.
st
CE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Smyrna
[] Διόδωρος ν1ώτ1||ρος οἰκονομῶν
IMylasa ; IMylasaMcCabe ; Weiß p.
–
Asia Minor
Caria
Mylasa
[] οἰκονομικός, Μολης | [οἰκο]νομικός
CE
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Municipal Οἰκονόμοι Titles
SEG . (.); Weiß p. CIG ; ISmyrna ; ISmyrnaMcCabe ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
st–nd CE
– CE
Asia Minor
Troas
Kyme
[] Ἀπολλωνίδης οἰκονό|μος τῆς || πόλ1ως
Asia Minor
Ionia
Smyrna
[] οἰκονόμος | Πάμφιλος · ν1(ώτ1ρος)
nd
CE
Asia Minor
Lydia
Julia Gordus
[] ο[ἰ]|[κ]ονόμον πάσης πόλ1ως βουλῆ[ς] | <τ>1 μ1γίστης Φάϊνον
JÖAI (), Beibl.; MAMA Lists I(i):,; Weiß p.
nd CE
Asia Minor
Phrygia
Dorylaion
[] Εὐτύχ|ους οἰκονόμου τῆς πό|λ1ως
IG ..; Weiß p.
nd CE
Greece
Achaia
Sparta
[] Φιλοδέσποτος | οἰκονόμος
SEG .; Weiß p.
nd–rd
Greece
Macedonia
Stobi
CE
Διαδούμ1νος οἰκονόμος τῆς Στο|βαίων πόλ1ως καὶ οἱ σύνδουλοι | τὰς Νύμφας ἐποίησαν
ILeukopetra ; Weiß p.
Greece
Macedonia
Beroea
CE
[] Κοδ[ρ]ᾶτος οἰκον[όμ]ος | τῆς Β1ρ̣οια̣ίων πόλ1ως
Greece
Macedonia
Thessalonica
[] Ζώσιμος οἰκο|νόμος τῆς πό|λ1ως τὸν 1ὐ1ρ|γέτην
IG ...; Weiß p.
– rd
CE
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
TAM .; Weiß p.
Reference CIG ; IStratonikea ; IStratonikeiaMcCabe ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Date Late rd CE
Region
Province
City
Greek Text
Asia Minor
Caria
Stratonicea
[] Φιλοκάλου β΄ οἰκονόμο[υ]
CIG ; TAM .; SIG ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
rd–th
Asia Minor
Bithynia
Nicomedia
[] [Γ]άϊος [Τ]ρύφωνος οἰκον[ό]|[μ]ος
CE
IKosPH ; Isc. diCosFun EF; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Roman
Aegean
Cos
Cos
Φιλήτου | οἰκονόμου | τῆς Κῴων | πόλ1ως || οἰκον[ο]μή|σαντος ἔτη | κγʹ | ἀμέμπ[τ] < ω> ς
CIG ; IKosPH ; SIG ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt, p.
Roman
Aegean
Cos
Cos
Διονυ|σίου πό|λ1ως Κῴ|ων οἰκο||νόμου
KFF (Herzog) ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Roman
Aegean
Cos
Cos
Δημητρίου | ο[ἰκ]ονόμου | γ1̣ρ̣ουσίας | ἐτῶν – λγ
SEG .; Weiß p.
Roman
Aegean
Crete
Arkades
[] οἱ οἰκονόμοι | ἐπ1μ̣[1λήθ]ην τῶ βαλαν1[ίω ἐκ] τῶν [τᾶς] πόλ1ος… || οἰκονόμοι Σωκλῆς Πρατο|μήδους, Φίλινος Δινοκλέος
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Continued.
Roman
Asia Minor
Caria
Aphrodisias
[] [ἡ βουλὴ? Μέναν]δ̣ρο[ν βʹ?] τοῦ Μ[1νάνδρου] | υἱὸν Μ1νάν|δρου τοῦ οἰκο|νόμου αὐτῆς
TAM .; Weiß p.
Roman
Asia Minor
Lycia
Olympus
[] Διονύσιος, οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1|ως
TAM .
Roman
Asia Minor
Lycia
Olympus
[] Μακαρίῳ, οἰκονόμῳ τοῦ Λυκίων ἔθνους
IGRR .; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Roman
Asia Minor
Lydia
Philadelphia
[] τῆς ἀναστάσ1ως τοῦ τῆς | πόλ1ως οἰκονόμου | Ἀντωνίου
SEG .
Roman
Greece
Achaia
Patras
[] [τὸ]ν̣ Οἰκονόμον τ̣[ῆς] | κολων1ίας Ν1ικό [στρα]|τον
SEG .; Weiß p.
Roman
Greece
Macedonia
Thessalonica
[] Λονγ1ῖνος οἰκονόμος τῆς | πόλ1ως
CIG ; IKalkhedon ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Bithynia
Chalcedon
[] Διονύσιος οἰκονόμος Χαλχηδονίων
IAphrodMcCabe ; L. Roberts, EA, p. ; Weiß p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Caria
Aphrodisias
[] πιστότατον οἰκονόμον | τῆς πόλ1ως Εὔφρωνα
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
CIG ; IAphrodMcCabe ; IAphrodSpect ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Reference
Date
Region
Province
City
Greek Text
Crowfoot & Anderson, JHS () p. (#); Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Galatia
At-kafasi
[] Γάλλικος (ὁ) οἰκονόμος Πλομμέων
IEph
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Ephesus
[] Ἡγησίππου Ὀπι|[…..]ο̣υ οἰκονόμου τῆς Καιρήνων̣ | [κατοικί]ας
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] τὸν οἰκ[ονόμον τῆς πόλ1]|[ως]
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] οἰκονόμος τ1 γ1νόμ1νος κ̣α̣ὶ̣ ν̣1̣ω̣π̣ο̣ί̣ης τῆς
IKilikiaBM ,; Weiß p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Pamphylia
Laertes
τοῦτον ἔτ1υξ1 Κόνων αἰώνιον οἶκον ἑαυτ[ῷ] | οἰκονόμος πόλ1ως πᾶσί τ1 τοῖς ἰδίοις
IGRR .; IHierapJ ; Weiß p. ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Phrygia
Hierapolis
[] τῶν | οἰκονόμων | τῆς πόλ1ως Τατιανοῦ | καὶ Διοκλέους
CIG ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Phrygia
Unknown
[] Ἀμέριμνος οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως
πόλ1ως
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Continued.
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
First, Winter cites Mason to affirm that aedilis coloniae is an appropriate equivalent for οἰκονόμος, so that he can identify the Erastus from Rom . with Erastus the aedilis represented in IKorinthKent . But the main sources that Mason himself cited to draw this original association were none other than the same two texts. Winter’s argument is circular, then, for it rests solely on the identification of the two Erasti which he attempts to prove. Mason also cited as corroborating evidence IGRR ., ., and ., but neither do these inscriptions suggest any correlation between οἰκονόμος and aedilis. In fact, one of Cagnat’s editorial glosses contradicts this reading: ‘Oeconomi municipales…videntur auxiliati esse aedilibus’ (IGRR .). Second, Winter’s dismissal of οἰκονόμος as a correlative for quaestor, simply because ταμίας was its normal Greek equivalent, challenges the very semantic variation which he himself demands when he equates οἰκονόμος with aedilis. As Winter maintains, ‘[I]t was not unusual for an office described in Latin to be rendered by a large number of Greek terms. Any insistence on uniformity of terminology across the empire, or even in individual cities over the centuries, is therefore unreasonable’. In fact, Mason’s omission of οἰκονόμος as an equivalent for quaestor neglects the interchangeable usage of οἰκονόμος with ταμίας in many Greek cities during both the Hellenistic and Roman periods. According to the epigraphic record, the most commonly repeated statement mentioning municipal οἰκονόμοι reads as follows: τὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμα τὸ 1ἰς τὴν στήλην δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον (‘And let the οἰκονόμος pay the expense for the stele’ [OGI ]). While regularly varying in word-order and word-choice, this formula is mentioned in at least twenty-five inscriptions dated between the fourth and first centuries BCE, as well as in an additional eight inscriptions whose dates are unknown, but whose provenances suggest that they too belonged to the Hellenistic period (see Table ). Significantly, the formula resembles that which was used to authorise the purchases made by ταμίαι in many other Greek cities during this timeframe. Hugh J. Mason, Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A Lexicon and Analysis (American Studies in Papyrology ; Toronto: Hakkert, ) . It is beyond the scope of this study to draw any conclusions about the identification of the two Erasti, especially due to the difficulties of restoring the cognomen of the Corinthian aedilis (cf. Meggitt, ‘The Social Status of Erastus’, –). Each of these inscriptions mentions οἰκονόμοι, but gives no evidence for equivalence with aedilis. Moreover, it is significant that while Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, , and Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, , both cite Mason’s three examples from IGRR, neither document any interaction with the inscriptions in an effort to demonstrate how the texts support the correlation between οἰκονόμος and aedilis. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, (emphasis mine). See, e.g., Alan S. Henry, ‘Provisions for the Payment of Athenian Decrees: A Study in Formulaic Language’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik () –, esp. –. For the titular variety used in the Athenian treasury, see also Henry, ‘Polis/Acropolis, Paymasters
Reference Clara Rhodos .,; IG ...
Date Late th
Region
Province
City
Aegean
Cos
Cos
[] τὸν δὲ οἰκον[ό]||μον 1ἰς τὸ ἀνάλωμα ὑπηρ1τῆσαι… [] τὰ δὲ ψήφισμα τόδ1 ἀποστ1[ῖλαι τοὺς] | πρυτάν1ις καὶ τὸν οἰκονόμον 1ἰς Κῶ τοῖς πρ[ο]ξ[ένοις τοῖς] | [ἀ]γαγοῦσι τὰ δικαστήρια καὶ ἀξιοῦ πο[ιῆ]σα[ι αὐτοὺς πάντα] | [κα]τὰ τὰ γ1γραμμένα
BCE
Greek Text
IEph ; IEphMcCabe ; IBM ; SIG ; OGI
BCE
Asia Minor
Ionia
Ephesus
[] τοῡ δὲ ἀναλώματος τοῡ 1ἰς τὴν θυ[σίαν ἐπιμ1λ1ῑσθαι] | τ[ὸν ο]ἰκονόμον… [] τοῡ δὲ στ1φάνου ἐπιμ1[λ1ῑσθαι τὸν οἰκονόμον]
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
–
Asia
Ionia
Priene
[] [τὸ] [δὲ ἀν]άλωμα ὑπηρ1τῆσαι τὸν οἰκο[νό]|[μον]
SEG .; Preatti / ,
–
Asia Minor
Ionia
Colophon
BCE
[] τοὺς δὲ πωλητὰς | ἀποδόσθαι τὸ ἔργον, τὸ δὲ ἀργύριο[ν] | τοῦ ἔργου δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον.
OGI ; IGLSkythia .; SIG .
–
Thrace
Scythia
Olbia
[] τ[ὸ] [δὲ] ἀνάλωμα τὸ 1ἰς τὸν τ1λαμῶνα δ[οῦ]|[ναι] τοῦς οἰκονόμους ἀφ’ ὧν χ1ιρίζουσ[ιν] | [αὐτ]οί
Thrace
Thrace
Agathopolis
[] τὸ δὲ ἀν[άλωμα δοῦναι τοῦς οἰκονόμους]
Egypt
Egypt
Ptolemais Hermiou
[] τὸ δ’ 1ἰς ταῦτ’ ἀνάλωμα | δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον Σωσίβιον
SEG .
BCE
BCE
– BCE
OGI ; IGPtol ; Prose sur pierre ; CairoMus. .
– BCE
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Municipal Οἰκονόμοι Payment Formulas
SEG .; REG () ,
Asia Minor
Ionia
Colophon
[] τὸ δὲ ἔργον τῆς κατασκ1υῆς τῆς στήλης καὶ τῆς ἀναγρα||φῆς τῶμ ψηφισμάτων μισθῶσαι τὸν οἰκονόμον Κόρωνον καὶ τῶι μισθωσαμένωι δοῦναι τὴν δόσιν, συγγραφὴν δὲ τὸν ἀρχιτέκτ|ονα γράψαι· δοῦναι δὲ καὶ τῶι πρ1σβ1υτῆι τὸν οἰκονόμον Κόρωνον | ξένια τὰ ἐκ τοῦ νόμου.
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
BCE
[] τὰ δὲ ἀναλώματα τὰ γ1νόμ1να ὑπηρ1τ1ῑν τοὺς | οἰκονόμους
–
Egypt
Egypt
Ptolemais Hermiou
[] τὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμα | τὸ 1ἰς τὴν στήλην δοῡναι τὸν οἰ[κον]όμο[ν] | Σωσίβιον
– BCE
IPriene ; IPrieneMcCabe ; IBM ; OGI ; SEG .; Landvogt p. OGI ; IGPtol ; CairoMus. .; Prose sur pierre
–
BCE
BCE
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] τὸ δὲ ἐσόμ1νον ἀνάλωμ[α 1ἴς] || [τ1 τὴν στήλην] καὶ τῆν ἀναγραφήν, τῶν ἐγδόσ1ων γ1νομ[ένων,] | [δότωσαν οἱ οἰκο]νόμοι ἐκ τῶν ἐψηφισμένων πόρων ἐμ μηνὶ Ἡ[ραιῶ]| [νι]·
ILampsacus (cf. IPrieneMcCabe )
rd BCE
Asia Minor
Phrygia
Lampsacus
[] τὸ δὲ ἔργον τῆς κατασκ1υῆς τῆς | [στή]λης καὶ τῆς ἀναγραφῆς τοῦ ψηφίσματος [ἐγ]|[δ]οῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον Φανόδικ[ο]ν, καὶ τῶι μισθωσα[μέ]|νωι δο[ῦ]ναι τὴν δόσιν·
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
IMagMai .b; IMagnMcCabe ; SEG .
Reference
Date
Region
Province
City
Greek Text
SEG .
rd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμα δοῦναι] τὸν οἰκονό|| [μο]ν, μ1ρ[ίσαι] δὲ [τοὺς μ1ριστάς]… [] τὸ | [δὲ ἀνάλωμα δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμο]ν, μ1| [ρίσαι δὲ τοῦς μ1ριστάς]
IGLSkythia .
rd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] τὸ δὲ | ἀνάλωμα δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον, μ1ρίσαι δὲ τοὺς μ1ριστάς· ἀπο|στ1ῖλαι δὲ αὐτῶι καὶ ξένια τὸν οἰ|κονόμον·
IGLSkythia .
rd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τὸ δὲ ἐσόμ1νον ἀν]άλωμα δοῦναι τ[ὸν οἰκονόμον ἀπὸ τῶν προσόδων]
IGLSkythia .; SEG .
rd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τὸ] δὲ ἀνάλ[ωμα δοῦναι] | [μὲν τὸν οἰκονόμο]ν [μ1ρίσα]ι δ[ὲ τ]οὺς μ1ρ[ιστάς].
IGLSkythia .; SEG .
rd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τ]ὸ ἐσόμ1νον [ἀνάλωμα δο]|[ῦν]αι δὲ τοὺ [ς οἰκονόμους]·
IGLSkythia .; SEG .
rd–nd
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τὸ δὲ ἀνά]||[λωμα δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμο]ν, μ1|ρίσαι δ[ὲ τοὺς μ1][ριστάς·
IGBulg .()
rd–nd
Thrace
Thrace
Odessus
[] τὸ δὲ ἀνά|λωμα τὸ γινόμ1νον 1ἰς τὴν ἀναγραφὴν τῶμ προξ1|νιῶν τῆς τ1 Εὐδόξου τοῦ Ἡρακλ1ίτου καὶ τῶν δικασ|τῶν δοῦναι τοὺς οἰκονόμους Διονύσιον καὶ Σωκράτην | ἐκ ὧν χ1ιρίζουσιν.
BCE
BCE
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Continued.
BCE
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] τὸ δὲ ψήφισμα τόδ1 ἀναγρά||ψαι τοὺς οἰκονόμους 1ἰς τὸ ἱ1ρὸν τοῦ Διὸς 1ἰς τὴν παραστά|δα, ἀναλισκέτωσαν δὲ 1ἰς ταῦτα πάντα τὰ γ1γραμμένα οἱ [οἰ]|κονόμοι ἐκ τῶν πόρων ὧν ἔχουσιν 1ἰς πόλ1ως διο[ίκησιν]
IMagMai ; IG ..; IsamosMcCabe *; Landvogt p.
nd
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] [το]ὺς δὲ οί[κο]||[νόμους το]ὺς μ1τὰ Τόννιον ὑπηρ1[τῆ]σαι τὸ 1[ἰς] τὴν 1[ἰκόνα] | [ἀνήλωμα ἐκ τῶ]ν πόρων ὧν ἒχουσιν 1ἰς πόλ1ως διοίκησ[ιν]·
IGLSkythia .
nd BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] [τὸ δὲ 1ἰς ταῦτα ἐσόμ1νον] | ἀνάλωμα ὑποτ1[λ1ῖν - - - - - - - - τὸν οἰκο]|νόμον·
IGLSkythia .
nd
BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Histria
[] τὸ δ[ὲ ἀνάλωμα δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον,] | μ1ρίσαι δὲ το[ὺς μ1ριστὰς—-]
IOlbia
nd
BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Olbia
[] [τὸ δὲ 1ἰς αὐτὸν] ἐσόμ1ν̣[ον ἀνάλωμα] || [δοῦναι τοὺς οἰκονόμ]ους·
IGLSkythia II
st BCE
Thrace
Scythia
Tomis
[] τὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμ[α τὸ γ1νόμ1νον] || [δοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμ(?)]ον
IKalkhedon
Unknown
Asia Minor
Bithynia
Chalcedon
[] [τὸ δὲ ἀν]ά[λωμα δι]|[δόμ1ν τοὺς οἰκο]νόμ[ους] κὰ[τ τὸ]ν [νόμον].
IMagMai ; IMagnMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] 1ἰς δὲ | τ̣[ὴν σ]τήλην ὑπηρ1τῆσ[αι] | [τοὺς] οἰ̣κονόμους κ[α]τ̣ὰ [τὸν] || [νόμον –]
BCE
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
IMagMai ; IMagnMcCabe ; SIG ; Landvogt p.
Reference
Date
Region
Province
City
Greek Text
IMagMai ; IMagnMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] [τ]ὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμα τὸ ἐσόμ1νον 1ἴς τ1 τὴν στήλην καὶ τ[ὴν ἀναγρα]||[φ]ὴν τῶν ψηφισμάτων ὑπηρ1τῆσαι τοὺς οἰκονόμους [ἐκ τῶν πό]|[ρ]ων ὧν ἔχουσιν 1ἰς πόλ1ως διοίκησιν·
IMagMai ; IMagnMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] τὴν δὲ ἐσομένην δαπάνην | χορηγησάτωσαν οἱ οἰκονόμοι, κομισάσθωσαν δὲ ἐκ προσψη||φισθησομένων πόρων.
IMagMai ; IMagnMcCabe ; Landvogt p.
Unknown
Asia Minor
Caria
Magnesia
[] [– τὸ δὲ ἀνάλωμα – δό]|τωσαν οἱ οἰκονόμοι ἐμ[–] | τὰ ξὲνια.
IKolophonMcCabe
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Bulgurca
[] τὸ δ’ ἔργον τῆς κατασκ1υῆς τῆς στήλης καὶ τῆς || ἀναγραφῆς τοῦ ψηφίσματος καὶ τῆς ἀναθέσ1ως ἐγδοῦναι τὸν οἰκονόμον |
Ἀπολλόδοτον καὶ τῶι μισθωσαμένωι δοῦναι τὰς δόσ1ις ἀπὸ τῶν πόρων ὧν ἔχ1ι | 1ἰς τὴν διοίκησιν IEph b
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Ephesus
[] [πρὸ]ς τὴν θέσιν τῶ[ν στηλῶν] || [οἰ]κονόμου δόντος
IPriene (restored as ταμίας); IPrieneMcCabe
Unknown
Asia Minor
Ionia
Priene
[] [τὰ δ’ ἔργα τῆς κατασκ1]υῆς τῆς στήλης καὶ τῆς ἀναγραφῆς τοῦ ψηφίσματος μισθωσά[τω ὁ οἰ]|[κονόμος – καὶ] τοῖς
JOHN K. GOODRICH
Table . Continued.
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
Οἰκονόμοι were also responsible for the payments and provision of numerous gifts and crowns for ambassadors, athletes, and benefactors (IEphMcCabe ; ; ; SEG .). While a handful of inscriptions mention the cultic duties occasionally delegated to municipal οἰκονόμοι, it is evident in each case that religious oversight only accompanied the administrative responsibilities normally entrusted to them. Moreover, these cultic responsibilities demonstrate the elevated legal status and political rank of οἰκονόμοι, since ‘Ein Sklave konnte die Polis nicht vor den Göttern vertreten’. Cumulatively, these texts reveal that during the Hellenistic period municipal οἰκονόμοι were always treasurers and often the chief financial magistrates of the Greek πόλ1ις where they were appointed, having been commissioned to disburse public funds for various civic expenses. As Landvogt explains, ‘Die Hauptkompetenzen des οἰκονόμος in diesen Freistaaten bestehen in der Sorge für Aufschrift und Aufstellung von Psephismen und Statuen, in Bestreitung der Kosten für jene Besorgungen sowie für Kränze und Gastgeschenke… Kurz, das Charakteristische für die ganze Amtstätigkeit des οἰκονόμος…in dieser Periode ist, daß er lediglich als Kassen- oder Finanzbeamter fungiert’. Although Weiß deduces that in some instances οἰκονόμοι and ταμίαι held entirely different offices, even he concedes that ‘der οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως in einigen Städten den ταμίας ersetzte’. Thus, there is adequate evidence to suggest that some Greeks used the titles οἰκονόμος and ταμίας interchangeably.
and the Ten Talent Fund’, Chiron () –; Henry, ‘Athenian Financial Officials after B.C.’, Chiron () –. See, e.g., IMagnMai ; translation in S. R. F. Price, Religions of the Ancient Greeks (Key Themes in Ancient History; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) – (§). See also IEph . For comments on both inscriptions, see John Reumann, ‘“Stewards of God”: Pre-Christian Religious Application of Oikonomos in Greek’, JBL () –, at –. Notice how in both of these exceptional cases the οἰκονόμοι were required to fulfill treasury responsibilities alongside their cultic duties. Landvogt, ‘ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΟΣ’, , suggests, ‘Er fungiert als Staatsbeamter…und zwar als Finanzbeamter, dessen oberste Instanz der Rat bildet. An dem Opfer scheint er nur als Mittelbeamter zwischen der obersten Staatsbehörde und den Priestern, also etwa nur indirekt als sakraler Beamter teilzunehmen’. Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, . For the pre-eminence of οἰκονόμοι in Priene and Magnesia, see Léopold Migeotte, ‘La haute administration des finances publiques et sacrées dans les cités hellénistiques’, Chiron () –, at –. Landvogt, ‘ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΟΣ’, . While Landvogt ultimately rejects a formal equivalence between οἰκονόμοι and ταμίαι (–), he observes that their responsibilities overlapped considerably. Weiß, Sklave der Stadt, ; John Reumann, ‘The Use of “Oikonomia” and Related Terms in Greek Sources to About A.D. , as a Background for Patristic Applications’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, ) –: ‘Normally in the Greek polis [of Asia Minor], control of finances was a function of the council, but often some special official was named
JOHN K. GOODRICH
. A Municipal Οἰκονόμος in an Achaean Colony
While the Hellenistic evidence demonstrates that οἰκονόμος was equivalent to ταμίας in certain Greek cities, evidence still must be supplied which confirms the οἰκονόμος–quaestor correlation in Roman colonies. As Andrew Clarke advises, ‘No clear parallel can be drawn with Corinth unless recognition is given that the city was a colony, with a different administrative organisation than other Greek cities’. In fact, to date no one discussing Erastus’ rank has advanced any data featuring an οἰκονόμος from an early Roman colony, and certainly not a colony in Achaia. In the early s, however, an inscription from the Roman period mentioning a municipal οἰκονόμος was discovered about miles northwest of Corinth in the colony of Patras. An Augustan colony settled by native Achaeans and Roman army veterans following the Battle of Actium (Pausanias Descr. .–; Strabo Geogr. ..), Patras was a reasonably large port city and, like Corinth, a member of the Achaean League. Patras (Colonia Augusta Achaica Patrensis), being typical of Roman colonies, also closely resembled Corinth in administrative structure. The senior magistrates of Patras were the duoviri (Achaïe II ; ; ; ; ; ), followed by the aediles (Achaïe II ; ; ; ; ; ), and the quaestores (Achaïe II ; ). The inscription we will now examine definitely refers to two of these offices as it pays tribute to the οἰκονόμος Neikostratos and displays his cursus honorum (SEG .). The text (Fig. ) consists of large black uncial lettering on a white backdrop and was laid at the centre of a floor
with the public revenues as his special care. These officials might be titled tamiai, as traditionally they were from Homer on, or anataktai, the term in Miletus, or oikonomoi, as in an increasing number of places’; cf. Theissen, Social Setting, . Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, ; cf. Theissen, Social Setting, . A. D. Rizakis, Achaïe II. La cité de Patras: épigraphie et histoire (Meletemata ; Athens: Research Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity/National Hellenic Research Foundation, ) –; Rizakis, ‘Roman Colonies in the Province of Achaia: Territories, Land and Population’, The Early Roman Empire in the East (ed. Susan E. Alcock; Oxbow Monograph ; Oxford: Oxbow, ) –, at –. For the similarities between Rome and its colonies, see Aulus Gellius Noct. att. ..–a, who described them as ‘miniatures’ and ‘copies’ of the capital, and A. W. Lintott, Imperium Romanum: Politics and Administration (London: Routledge, ) , who likened them to ‘Roman islands in a more or less foreign sea’. For Patras’ resemblance to its Achaean neighbors, including Corinth, see A. D. Rizakis, ‘La colonie romaine de Petras en Achaie: le temoignage épigraphique’, The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire: Papers from the Tenth British Museum Classical Colloquium (ed. Susan Walker and Averil Cameron; BICS Supplement ; London: University of London/Institute of Classical Studies, ) –, at . Rizakis, Achaïe II, –.
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
Figure and Figure have been reproduced from ADelt , no. B’ (), Chron., pl. γ-δ, © ΣΤ‘Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities—Hellenic Ministry of Culture.
JOHN K. GOODRICH
mosaic (Fig. ) consisting of white, black, and red stones, with alternating circles and isosceles crosses. The inscription was restored to read:
[τὸ]ν̣ Οἰκονόμον τ ̣[ῆς] κολων1ίας Ν1ικό[στρα]τον τὸν δὶς Ἀγων[οθέ]την Ἀγορανομήσα[ντα] φιλοτ1ίμως δὶς Γρ[αμμ]ατ1ύσαντ[α] φιλοδόξω̣ς κατασκ1υάσαντα ἀπ[ὸ θ1]μ1λίων τὸ τρέκλ1ιν[ον] ψηφοθ1τήσαντα .[- – -] [- - – - -] 1ὐφρασίας Π[- – -] [- - – - -] – – - ΕΝ[- – -] [- - - – - - -]πρ[- – -] (Reproduced from SEG .)
‘Neikostratos, oikonomos of the colony, twice the president of the games, having generously served as agoranomos, having twice lavishly served as secretary, having built the triclinium from its foundation, having laid the mosaic… of good cheer…’
Several elements of this inscription are pertinent for our enquiry. First, it is significant that Neikostratos, perhaps a freedman, was honoured here as the οἰκονόμος of the colony after having held several prestigious posts earlier in his career. Of particular importance in Neikostratos’ cursus is his tenure as ἀγωνοθέτης (cf. Achaïe II and ). The president of the games, as Athanasios Rizakis indicates, was an office that only the wealthiest individuals of the city could afford to occupy: ‘agonothètes et munerarlii font partie de la tranche la plus riche de la société locale car ils sont appelés à faire des dépenses très élevées pour les jeux et les concours de la cité’. The adverbs φιλοτ1ίμως and φιλοδόξως also vividly describe the liberality of Neikostratos’ previous Kokkotake, ‘ΣΤ’ ΕΦΟΡΕΙΑ ΠΡΟ· Ι· ΣΤΟΡΙΚΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΚΛΑΣΙΚΩΝ ΑΡΧΑΙΟΤΗΤΩΝ: Οδός Ηφαίστου και Ηλία Μηνιάτη’, ADelt , no. B’ () –,
Nikolitsa
at . While the editors of SEG . have dated the inscription to the Roman period generally, through personal email correspondence Joyce Reynolds has suggested to me that the lettering indicates a date perhaps no earlier than the late second century CE. Nevertheless, there is no reason to believe that Roman municipal titles and their functions would have fundamentally changed during the first four centuries CE. In fact, regarding the consistency of Patras’ political structure, Rizakis, Achaïe II, , maintains, ‘Les institutions de Patras, comme le montrent les inscriptions, sont tout au long de l’époque impériale de type romain. Elles ont gardé— comparées à celle des autres colonies en Grèce—une plus grande pureté de forme, une fidélité au modèle romain et une plus grande durée dans le temps’. Rizakis, ‘La colonie romaine de Petras’, : ‘Grâce à l’épigraphie nous connaissons, aujourd’hui, l’existence des concours patréens; des textes, provenant des cités voisines de Corinthe et de Delphes mais aussi de Laodicée de Syrie, mentionnent des concours à Patras, sans toutefois préciser leur nom exacte; il en est de même d’une longue liste agonistique en latin, trouvée à Patras et qui présente un intérèt particulier en ce qui concerne l’origine ethnique des concurrents et les noms des différentes épreuves’. Rizakis, Achaïe II, .
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
administrations. They testify to the man’s high social status while highlighting how he generously gave of his own wealth, probably in the form of benefactions—like the triclinium and mosaic (κατασκ1υάσαντα ἀπὸ θ1μ1λίων τὸ τρέκλ1ινον ψηφοθ1τήσαντα)—in exchange for his offices and public admiration. As Jon Lendon explains, ‘In Greek, one of the usual terms for public benefaction was philo-timia, an act of “glory-love”. It was in honour terms that the rich man’s motivation, involving so much trouble and expense, was chiefly understood: he devoted to the city his money and effort and got honour in return—cheering in the assembly and the voting of honorific decrees and monuments’. In view of this description, it is clear that no mere slave (arcarius) or aspiring citizen could have fitted Neikostratos’ profile. Rather, as the text intimates, the office of οἰκονόμος in an Achaean colony, such as Patras, was reserved for accomplished and highly visible aristocrats, and was indicative of social, economic, and political achievement. Second, it should be observed how Neikostratos’ cursus undermines the interpretation which equates the offices of οἰκονόμος and ἀγορανόμος in Achaean colonies. Winter, for example, has proposed that Corinth’s unusual political structure permitted οἰκονόμος to be used interchangeably with ἀγορανόμος and ἀστυνόμος, two textually confirmed equivalents for aedilis. Winter explains: The term ἀγορανόμος usually involved the organisation of the games in cities in the East as well as administrative and financial duties. However, the job description of the aedile was determined by a situation peculiar to Corinth. The holder of that office would be responsible for sponsoring the games, which returned to Corinth c. B.C., soon after it was founded as a colony. Precisely when the duties of running the Games were separated from the aedileship is not unclear [sic?] but the office of ‘President of the Games’ (ἀγωνοθέτης) in Corinth was created as a separate liturgy no later than the beginning of the first century A.D. Such was their fame and the burden of private sponsorship borne by the president that the office was given precedence over any other liturgy in Corinth, including that of magistrates who normally held the most senior position. This change in the duties of the aedile in Roman Corinth meant that his function was that of chief administrative officer and city treasurer. Such duties could best be rendered descriptively by the term οἰκονόμος, a natural and entirely appropriate term.
While Winter’s argument for a ‘descriptive’ use of οἰκονόμος in Rom . is ingenious, the likelihood that οἰκονόμος might have actually been used this way in Corinth is highly improbable, since Neikostratos’ cursus in SEG . demonstrates that, even in an Achaean colony where ἀγωνοθέτης and ἀγορανόμος were J. E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford: Clarendon, ) . Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, –: ἀγορανόμος (IGRR .); ἀστυνόμος (Epictetus Diatr. ..). Cf. Mason, Greek Terms, . Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, ; cf. .
JOHN K. GOODRICH
two distinct offices, οἰκονόμος likewise referred to a magistracy altogether separate from the ἀγορανόμος. Still, the question remains: In Patras, to which magistracy did οἰκονόμος correspond? In Neikostratos’ cursus in SEG ., ἀγορανόμος (ἀγορανομέω) unquestionably corresponded to aedilis. Moreover, since in Patras the Greek equivalents for duovir were στρατηγός (Achaïe II ) and ἀρχὸς π1νταέτηρος (Achaïe II ), the use of οἰκονόμος in Neikostratos’ inscription indicates that it referred to quaestor. Furthermore, since the text was derived from an Achaean colony in close proximity to Corinth with an apparently identical political structure as Corinth, it provides the best known comparative evidence for the rank of municipal οἰκονόμοι in Roman Corinth. In light of this evidence, it is then highly probable that the Erastus from Rom . was the quaestor of Corinth. . The Role and Status of Quaestores in First-Century Corinth
Having confirmed that οἰκονόμος was used as a correlative for quaestor in a neighboring Achaean colony, we must now enquire about the role and status of quaestores in Corinth. Currently, four inscriptions from Corinth have been restored to contain the title quaestor. While it remains unclear whether the quaestorships in view were provincial or municipal offices, one of them has been dated from the end of the first to the beginning of the second centuries CE (IKorinthWest a), a second to ca. CE (IKorinthKent ), while the letter shapes of a third ‘suggest a date very early in the history of the colony’, probably from the mid to late first century BCE (IKorinthKent ); the date of the fourth is sometime before CE (IKorinthKent ). It is then quite significant for this study that at least three possible attestations of municipal quaestores have survived from Corinth within a century of the composition of Paul’s epistle to the Romans. Very little is known about Corinthian quaestores specifically. However, much can be ascertained about their duties and general profile from the remains of first-century city charters from Roman Spain. Once in office quaestores were responsible solely for the administration of public finances. As chapter of the Lex Irnitana indicates, quaestores obtained ‘the right and power of collecting, spending, keeping, administering and looking after the common funds…at the Mason, Greek Terms, , equates ἀγορανομέω with aedilis esse in a municipal context. Rizakis, Achaïe II, . For the irregularity of the placement of quaestor in the cursus honorum, see Curchin, The Local Magistrates of Roman Spain, ; contra Nicola Mackie, Local Administration in Roman Spain: A.D. – (BAR International; Oxford: BAR, ) . Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, . For the relevance of Spanish charters in the reconstruction of city constitutions across the empire, see, e.g., Curchin, The Local Magistrates of Roman Spain, ; for their relevance to Greek cities, see Andrew D. Clarke, Serve the Community of the Church: Christians as Leaders and Ministers (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) .
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
discretion of the duumviri’ (pecuniam commune…exigendi erogandi custodiendi atministrandi dispensandi arbitratu{m} IIuirorum i[us] potestasque). Even so, the quaestorship comprised of considerably less political and judicial power than the senior magistracies. Although they were given command of their share of public slaves (servi communes), nowhere do the charters suggest that quaestores possessed any decision-making authority regarding public expenditures. Budget revisions were made by the senate in consultation with the duoviri, and instructions regarding public payments apparently came through the duoviri and at their discretion (arbitratum). Quaestores, on the other hand, were simply entrusted the unenviable task of making and receiving payments on behalf of the central treasury. But, regardless of the tedious nature of their work, quaestores were always assumed to possess high social and economic status. According to chapter in the Lex Malacitana, for instance, quaestores were required to be Roman citizens and decuriones (local senators), who were generally among the wealthiest members of the city, possessing at least , sesterces. Chapter in the Lex Irnitana furthermore mandated all candidates for the quaestorship to deposit sizable ‘securities’ (praedes) for the office prior to the casting of votes on election day. Together these stipulations indicate that quaestores were prominent individuals in every Roman community, and especially Corinth. Given their high social and economic status, it is then quite perplexing how underrepresented quaestores are in the extant literary and non-literary data from Corinth. Whereas only quaestores are (possibly) attested in Roman Corinth, at Gonzalez and Crawford, ‘Lex Irnitana’, (Latin at ); W. D. Lebek, ‘Domitians Lex Lati und die Duumvirn, Aedilen und Quaestoren in Tab. Irn. Paragraph –’, ZPE () –, at –. Rizakis, Achaïe II, . For more on the powers of municipal quaestores during the empire, see Wilhelm Liebenam, Städteverwaltung im römischen Kaiserreiche (Amsterdam: Hakkert, ) –; for quaestores in Republican Rome, Andrew W. Lintott, The Constitution of the Roman Republic (Oxford: Clarendon, ) –. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, . In most Roman cities, magistrates were also required to be freeborn (cf. ch. , Lex Malacitana). Exceptions were made, however, in certain colonies (see n. ). The primary administrative concern of the senate was the embezzlement of public funds by those magistrates who had access to them. Therefore, instructions were provided mandating the provision of praedes by certain magisterial candidates prior to election. These deposits were paid for by the candidates directly, or by bondsmen if the expense was too great, and functioned as collateral on behalf of the candidates, ensuring that those magistrates who handled public funds would not steal from the treasury or flee from their responsibilities; cf. F. F. Abbott and A. C. Johnson, Municipal Administration in the Roman Empire (Princeton: Princeton University, ) . Epictetus’ list of Corinthian municipal offices (Diatr. ..), although not exhaustive, includes ἀστυνόμος, ἐφήβαρχος, στρατηγός, and ἀγωνοθέτης, yet conspicuously omits an equivalent for quaestor.
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least aediles and duoviri have been accounted for. Even so, the statistics from Corinth are relatively consistent with the paucity of quaestorships attested elsewhere in the empire, such as Roman Spain where only quaestores are attested in all of Baetica, Lusitania, and Tarraconensis, compared to aediles and duoviri. Numerous hypotheses have been advanced to explain these lopsided figures in Spain, including the possible classification of the quaestorship as a munus rather than an honor, the financial liability and unwelcome duties of the office, and the odium of being associated with tax collection. But, while the quaestorship may not have been as coveted as the ἀγωνοθ1σία, the duovirship, or the aedileship, Roman historians nonetheless agree that it was a high-ranking, honourable, and costly municipal position within the civic hierarchy. Every occupant of the municipal quaestorship, then, was one of his city’s wealthiest and most influential individuals. This would have also been characteristic of Erastus (Rom .), who, as the quaestor of Corinth, would have without question been considered one of the οὐ πολλοὶ δυνατοί ( Cor .).
. Conclusion
The administrative rank of Erastus is integral to the ongoing dispute about the social and economic composition of the early Pauline churches. In this article I have argued for the correlation between Erastus’ position as ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς πόλ1ως (Rom .) and the municipal office of quaestor, a thesis originally For a helpful prosopographical display of Corinthian magistrates, see Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, – (Appendix A), which considers both epigraphic and numismatic attestations. Curchin, The Local Magistrates of Roman Spain, (Table ). Curchin, The Local Magistrates of Roman Spain, ; Rizakis, Achaïe II, . Whereas honores/ ἀρχαί were considered formal magistracies, according to Fergus Millar, ‘Empire and City, Augustus to Julian: Obligations, Excuses and Status’, JRS () –, at , munera/ λ1ιτουργίαι were ‘personal or financial obligations imposed on individuals, without being actual offices, and performed either for the city or (directly or indirectly) for the Roman state’. There is, however, some difficulty in finding consistent definitions for honor and munus; cf. Abbott and Johnson, Municipal Administration, . The classification of the quaestorship as a munus may be supported by its absence from the earliest imperial city charters. Neither the Lex Iulia Municipalis (ILS ) nor Lex Coloniae Genetivae Iuliae—which date to BCE, the very year of Corinth’s colonisation—prescribe the duties of quaestores, as they do with duoviri and aediles. Although quite late, the fourth-century jurist Arcadius Charisius also affirmed: Et quaestura in aliqua civitate inter honores non habetur, sed personale munus est (Dig. ...). It should be noted, however, that quaestores appear in the late firstcentury Spanish municipium charters and were appointed in colonies much further east within the lifetimes of their original settlers; see, e.g., Barbara Levick, Roman Colonies in Southern Asia Minor (Oxford: Clarendon, ) n. . Mackie, Local Administration in Roman Spain, . Mackie, Local Administration in Roman Spain, .
Erastus, Quaestor of Corinth
advanced at length by Gerd Theissen some thirty-five years ago and never since given fuller defence. I have attempted both to defend this reading from its recent critics as well as to offer in its support important new data from the Achaean colony of Patras. While I make no claims about the identity of Erastus the Corinthian aedilis (IKorinthKent ), it has been my contention that the new evidence presented here is far weightier than any other comparative text bearing the title οἰκονόμος previously advanced in the Erastus Debate. Admittedly, since evidence still exists which suggests that some municipal οἰκονόμοι were public slaves (arcarii), the case that Erastus occupied the quaestorship is not certain. But, as Dale Martin explains, ‘normal historiography need not demonstrate what must be the case. It need only show what probably is the case—which is always accomplished by cumulative and complicated evidence’. Indeed, after one takes into account the colonial status of Patras, its proximity to Corinth, as well as the political and structural similarities between the two cities, preference should be given to the Neikostratos inscription (SEG .) when drawing parallels with Erastus’ office in Corinth. NT scholars should consider it highly probable, then, that Erastus served as the quaestor of Corinth and was a man of considerable wealth.
Dale B. Martin, ‘Review Essay: Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival’, JSNT () –, at (emphasis his).
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990208
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult: Ein Vergleich zwischen Philos Legatio ad Gaium und der Offenbarung des Johannes HAN S - G E O R G G R AD L Theologische Fakulta¨t Trier, Universita¨tsring 19, D—54296 Trier, Deutschland. email:
[email protected]
In face of the religious and cultic claims of the Roman emperors, Philo (Legatio ad Gaium) and Revelation develop contrasting perspectives in positioning their respective religious communities within the cultural majority of their day. The Alexandrian Jew Philo opts for critical integration and social cohabitation—a solution that is conventionally ascribed to early Christianity. John pleads strongly for the self-isolation of the Christian minority groups in the Province of Asia— a solution conventionally ascribed to Jewish self-definition in the Tannaitic period. The article illustrates this remarkable exchange of religious and social self-conceptualisations in both authors. Social rather than religious boundaries determine the framework in which the Roman Empire and its ruler are conceptualised, literary reactions are developed, and strategic alternatives are formed. Keywords: Apocalypse of John, Caligula, Imperial cult, Criticism of Power, Minorities, Philo
Unter dem Exklusivitätsanspruch eines jüdischen wie judenchristlichen Monotheismus ringen Judentum und Urchristentum im . Jahrhundert n. Chr. um Ausmaß und Inhalt einer Integration in die plurale Gesellschaft der griechisch-römischen Antike. Besondere Brisanz gewinnt die Auseinandersetzung um Möglichkeiten und Grenzen einer Teilnahme am politischen wie kultischen Leben der Mehrheitsgesellschaft angesichts des
Dazu für das Judentum: P. Wendland, Die hellenistisch-römische Kultur in ihren Beziehungen zum Judentum und Christentum (HNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, . Aufl. ) für die facettenreiche Beziehung des Judentums zum Hellenismus –, zum Kaiserkult insbesondere –; K. L. Noethlichs, Das Judentum und der römische Staat. Minderheitenpolitik im antiken Rom (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, ). Für das Urchristentum: R. M. Grant, ‘Christian Devotion to the Monarchy’, Early Christianity and Society. Seven Studies (New York: Harper & Row, ) –; B. F. Meyer/E. P. Sanders, eds., Jewish and Christian Self-Definition. Vol. . Self-Definition in the Greco-Roman World (Philadelphia: Fortress; London: SCM, ).
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religiösen Anspruchs eines Herrschers und dessen machtsymbolisch demonstrierter Ausfaltung. Die Divinisierung des Kaisers fordert Juden wie Christen zu einer theologischen Stellungnahme heraus, die in lebenspraktischer Hinsicht juridische, wirtschaftliche und soziale Konsequenzen impliziert. Die Legatio ad Gaium des Philo von Alexandria und die Offenbarung des Johannes konvergieren in dieser zentralen Thematik: Beide Werke setzen sich kritisch mit dem politischen Selbstverständnis, den religiösen Implikationen und den kultischen Ausprägungen des reichsrömischen kaiserlichen Herrschaftsanspruchs im . Jahrhundert n. Chr. auseinander.
. Alexandria und Asia minor: Hintergründe und Konfliktherde
Philo schildert—ausgehend von den antijüdischen Ausschreitungen im Jahre n. Chr. in Alexandria unter dem Statthalter Aulus Avillius Flaccus (zwischen – n. Chr. Präfekt von Ägypten)—die Auswirkungen der zunehmenden Selbstvergöttlichung und antijüdischen Amtsführung des Kaisers Caligula. Gewährleistete die römische Staatsmacht der jüdischen Bevölkerung bisher die Ausübung ihrer religiösen Praxis und den Schutz ihrer jüdischen Identität, stehen Politik und kaiserliche Herrschaftsgestaltung Caligulas konträr zur Haltung Hierzu D. L. Jones, ‘Christianity and the Roman Imperial Cult’, ANRW II/. () –. Ferner empfehlen sich zur politischen Funktionalität und rituellen Praxis der Herrscherverehrung im Römischen Reich: S. R. F. Price, Rituals and Power. The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) insbesondere zu Bildern und Opferhandlungen im Kaiserkult –; M. Clauss, Kaiser und Gott. Herrscherkult im römischen Reich (Stuttgart: Teubner, ) zu Caligula –, zu Domitian –, zur Vorstellung des Kaisers als Gottheit –, zur Praxis des Kaiserkults und zum Kultpersonal –; H. Cancik/K. Hitzl, eds., Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ). Als Einführung in das Werk und Anliegen Philos bieten sich an: P. Borgen, ‘Philo of Alexandria. A Critical and Synthetical Survey of Research since World War II’, ANRW II/ . () –; C. Kraus Reggiani, ‘I rapporti tra l’impero romano e il mondo ebraico al tempo di Caligola secondo la ‘Legatio ad Gaium’ di Filone Alessandrino’, ANRW II/. () –; P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria. An Exegete for His Time (NovTSup ; Leiden: Brill, ) insbesondere –, –; D. T. Runia, ‘Ph. von Alexandreia (Philo Judaeus)’, DNP () –; R. Deines/K.-W. Niebuhr, eds., Philo und das Neue Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. I. Internationales Symposium zum Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum .–. Mai Eisenach/Jena (WUNT ; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ). Hintergründe und Einzelheiten zur Person und Amtsführung von A. Avillius Flaccus bieten— auch im Hinblick auf die Schrift Philos ‘In Flaccum’: E. M. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule. From Pompey to Diocletian. A study in Political Relations (Leiden: Brill, ) –; D. Kienast, ‘Avillius. Flaccus’, DNP () . Dazu E. S. Gruen, Diaspora. Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University, ) .
HANS-GEORG GRADL
seiner Vorgänger. ‘Jews enjoyed productive and rewarding lives in the greatest of Hellenistic cities. Integration in the social, economic, and cultural life of Alexandria was open to them, and they took advantage of that opening’. Nach Ansicht Philos bedrohen der Divinisierungsanspruch Caligulas und die darin ersichtliche mangelnde Sensibilität gegenüber dem jüdischen Volksempfinden die Integration der jüdischen Minorität in die plurale reichsrömische Gesellschaft und setzen die Juden weiteren gewaltsamen Übergriffen schutzlos aus. Philo sucht den ‘status quo ante’ wiederherzustellen. Sein Anliegen ist apologetischer Natur: Im Modus der erzählten und philosophisch wie theologisch interpretierten Geschichte verdeutlicht er die Haltlosigkeit der kaiserlichen Ansprüche, veranschaulicht das Unrecht der antijüdischen Übergriffe und verteidigt die religiöse Selbstbestimmung der jüdischen Bevölkerung. Sein Ziel ist die abermals friedliche Symbiose von jüdischer und hellenistischer Stadtbevölkerung. Ebenso steht die Johannes-Offenbarung im Zeichen der Auseinandersetzung um den Kaiserkult. Vermutlich gegen Ende von Kaiser Domitians Regierungszeit wendet sich die Schrift an die gesellschaftlich marginalisierten Christen der reichsloyalen, kaiserkultfreudigen und prosperierenden Provinz Asia minor. Als kognitive Minderheit sehen sich die Christen dem Assimilierungsdruck der reichsrömischen Mehrheitsgesellschaft ausgesetzt. Die negative Reaktion der Christen auf kulturelle Anpassungserwartungen—die Verweigerung einer Teilnahme an pagan-religiösen Vollzügen und Opferhandlungen zugunsten des Kaisers und die Ablehnung des Verzehrs von Fleisch aus der paganen Opferpraxis—führt zur sozialen Ausgrenzung und zieht in Einzelfällen Maßnahmen der Strafjustiz—wie Folter, Haft oder Hinrichtungen (Offb .)—nach sich. Wenn auch von keiner generellen reichsweiten und systematischen Verfolgung der christlichen Minorität auszugehen ist, so inszeniert der Seher eine solche als ‘perceived crisis’ in seiner symbolischen Welt. Er interpretiert die gesellschaftliche Gegenwart als endzeitliche θλῖψις und treibt den Kontrast zwischen reichsrömischer Kultur und christlicher Gruen, Diaspora, . Gruen, Diaspora, . Zu den Argumenten für eine Datierung der Johannes-Offenbarung in die Regierungszeit Domitians im Einzelnen und als Einblick in die—jüngst mit der Studie von T. Witulski, Die Johannesoffenbarung und Kaiser Hadrian. Studien zur Datierung der neutestamentlichen Apokalypse (FRLANT ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, )—wieder entbrannte Datierungsdiskussion siehe: J. C. Wilson, ‘The Problem of the Domitianic Date of Revelation’, NTS () –; D. E. Aune, Revelation – (WBC A; Nashville: Thomas Nelson ) lvi–lxx. Vgl. B. J. Lietaert Peerbolte, ‘To Worship the Beast. The Revelation of John and the Imperial Cult in Asia Minor’, Zwischen den Reichen. Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft. Vorträge auf der Ersten Konferenz der European Association for Biblical Studies (ed. M. Labahn/J. Zangenberg; TANZ ; Tübingen: Francke, ) – (–). So A. Y. Collins, Crisis and Catharsis. The Power of the Apocalypse (Philadelphia: Westminster, ) –.
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Selbstdefinition in ein dualistisches Extrem. Unter dem Absolutheitsanspruch Gottes sieht er die christliche Minderheit in Opposition zur blasphemischen Staatsmacht und deren historischer Konkretion im Kaisertum und Kaiserkult gesetzt—religiös herausgefordert, politisch benachteiligt und wirtschaftlich übervorteilt. Die Kritik des Sehers bezieht sich zum einen auf ‘die gerade in Kleinasien einflußreichen Förderer des Kaiserkults, namentlich die regionale Priesterschaft’ und zum anderen auf ‘die konkurrierende Synagoge’. Mit ihrem eindeutig christologischen Bekenntnis verlassen die Christen zunehmend die auf dem schmalen Grad zwischen Assimilation und Unterscheidbarkeit errichteten, ‘bergenden Mauern der jüdischen Mutterreligion’. Der Seher positioniert die Christen in einem schroffen Gegenüber zur jüdischen Synagoge, die er in den eschatologisch radikalisierten Konflikt mit der römischen Staatsmacht einzeichnet. Um die Abgrenzung von der reichsrömischen Kultur, Gesellschaft und Politik deutlich zu markieren, wendet er sich gemeindeintern gegen liberale Assimilierungstendenzen. Mit der Nennung der Nikolaiten (Offb ., ), der Gefolgsleute Bileams (Offb .) und der Prophetin Isebel (Offb .) kritisiert er christliche Teilgruppen, die eine kompromisshafte Teilnahme am öffentlichen und kultischen Leben der Mehrheitsgesellschaft praktizieren, um drohenden sozialen wie ökonomischen Nachteilen zu entgehen. Dem gesellschaftlichen Anpassungsdruck setzt Johannes eine theozentrische Selbstdefinition des Christentums entgegen. Im Modus der visionären Schau entwirft er einen apokalyptischen Symbolkosmos und stellt in visionären Bildern und Zyklen das konfliktreiche Gegenüber von reichsrömischer Gesellschaft und christlichen Gemeinden dar. Als lebenspraktische Perspektive verfolgt Johannes das Ziel, als christliche Kontrastgesellschaft jedwede Teilnahme am Kaiserkult radikal zu verweigern. . Philo und Johannes: Möglichkeit und Inhalt des Vergleichs
jeweils
In der Legatio ad Gaium und der Offenbarung ziehen Philo und Johannes dezidiert anderslautende Konsequenzen aus der konfliktreichen
Dazu L. Thompson, ‘A Sociological Analysis of Tribulation in the Apocalypse of John’, Semeia () –; A. Y. Collins, ‘Gegner von außen: Rom als Prototyp des Bösen im frühen Christentum’, Concilium. Internationale Zeitschrift für Theologie () –; zu den ökonomischen Konsequenzen einer verweigerten Teilnahme am Kaiserkult siehe P. A. Harland, ‘Honouring the Emperor or Assailing the Beast: Participation in Civic Life among Associations (Jewish, Christian and Other) in Asia Minor and the Apocalypse of John’, JSNT () – (–). K. Backhaus, ‘Die Vision vom ganz Anderen. Geschichtlicher Ort und theologische Mitte der Johannes-Offenbarung’, Theologie als Vision. Studien zur Johannes-Offenbarung (SBS ; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, ) – (). Backhaus, ‘Vision’, . Dazu Backhaus, ‘Vision’, –.
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Begegnung mit dem Kaiserkult. Ihre konträren gesellschaftlichen Perspektiven und Lösungsmodelle sind religionssoziologisch auffällig und bedeutsam, denn sie durchbrechen vorschnelle Zuordnungen. Nicht der Jude Philo plädiert—wie sich erwarten ließe—aus seiner erwählungs- und bundestheologischen Überzeugung heraus und mit Blick auf die Tora als Lebensweisung für eine radikale Integrationsverweigerung und religiös ethnische Demarkation des Judentums. Es ist Johannes, der die entschiedene Selbstisolation und gesellschaftliche Abgrenzung der kleinasiatischen Christusgläubigen fordert und mit dieser ethisch-religiösen Selbstdefinition auf weit ‘jüdischerem’ Boden steht als der Diasporajude Philo. Das Werben Philos um eine kritische Inkulturation des Judentums ist ansonsten gut bezeugter Teil urchristlicher Argumentationsmuster ( Petr .–). Dagegen spiegeln sich im Identitätsbewusstsein des Sehers Johannes und in seiner radikalen Markierung politischer, religiöser und kultischer Unterschiede die Haltung und Praxis des Judentums als Volksgemeinde wider. Damit strengt Philo jene Aussöhnung mit der pagan geprägten Stadtgesellschaft an und sucht gegenüber dem kaiserlichen Herrschaftsanspruch und dessen religiös-kultischer Ausprägung nach einer loyalen Verhaltensweise, vor denen der Seher Johannes die christliche Minorität Kleinasiens gerade warnt. Immer jedoch steht eine religiöse Minderheit inmitten einer—in den Loyalitätserwartungen des römischen Staatswesens geeinten—pluralen Lebenswelt, deren vielfältige pagan-religiöse Vollzüge den Ausschließlichkeitsanspruch einer monotheistischen Grundüberzeugung herausfordern. Ein Vergleich zwischen Philo und Johannes muss von der—sie verbindenden— jüdischen Herkunft, monotheistischen Grundhaltung und dem damit vorhandenen Konfliktpotential gegenüber den Selbstvergöttlichungsansprüchen des Kaisers ausgehen. Von dieser gemeinsamen perspektivischen Basis her lassen sich die Unterschiede in der Wahrnehmung, Darstellung und Lösung der Auseinandersetzung in den Blick nehmen, religionsgeschichtlich verorten und in eine aussagekräftige Beziehung setzen. Es gilt zu bedenken, dass Philo und Johannes in zeitlicher Distanz zueinander stehen. Beide schreiben unter verschiedenen Kaisern. Ihre Schriften erwachsen unterschiedlichen kulturellen Kontexten und richten sich an jeweils andere Adressaten. Aber die gegensätzliche Für das komplexe Zueinander von Universalismus und Partikularismus, eine Präzisierung der Begrifflichkeiten ‘Selbstisolation’ und ‘Selbstaffirmation’ und die Abhängigkeit der jeweiligen gesellschaftlichen Positionierung von theologischen, sozialen und historischen Faktoren im Judentum der ersten nachchristlichen Jahrhunderte vgl. E. E. Urbach, ‘Self-Isolation or SelfAffirmation in Judaism in the First Three Centuries: Theory and Practice’, Jewish and Christian Self-Definition. II. Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period (ed. E. P. Sanders et al.; Philadelphia: Fortress/London: SCM, ) –, –. Dazu Urbach, ‘Self-Isolation’, –: ‘The acceptance of Judaism (…) continued to mean naturalization and acceptance into the Jewish nation. The ethnic religious character of Judaism was recognized by Gentiles and formalized in Roman law’.
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult
Wahrnehmung und Deutung des Kaisertums ist damit noch nicht zureichend erklärt. Die Divergenz der vorgeschlagenen gesellschaftlichen Lösungsmodelle lässt sich nicht allein auf die zeitliche oder räumliche Distanz der beiden Autoren zurückführen, denn Philo und Johannes bleiben—zumal auf dem Hintergrund einer monotheistischen Grundhaltung—in der gesellschaftlichen Marginalisierung ihrer religiösen Minorität und der thematischen Fokussierung der kaiserlichen Herrschaftsansprüche geeint. Ebenso ist die unterschiedliche Reaktion der beiden Autoren nicht allein aus der Schärfe des jeweiligen Konflikts zu erklären, denn der zwar exzeptionellen, aber doch akuten Bedrohung des Diasporajudentums in Alexandria erwächst der loyale Vorschlag Philos, während eine keineswegs akute Verfolgungssituation Johannes zur radikalen gesellschaftlichen Selbstisolation animiert. Die Unterschiede beginnen bereits in der Wahrnehmung der Krise, setzen sich in der literarischen Darstellung und Deutung fort und führen zu jeweils anderslautenden gesellschaftlichen Lösungsmodellen. Welche Faktoren bestimmen—unter Voraussetzung der skizzierten gemeinsamen Vergleichsbasis—die konträren gesellschaftspolitischen Konzepte? Von welchen gesellschaftlichen Standpunkten aus nehmen Philo und Johannes den Konflikt wahr? Welchen Einfluss hat ihre geistesgeschichtliche Beheimatung auf die verwendeten literarischen Mittel und die lebenspraktische Handlungsperspektive, die sie in ihren Schriften entwickeln? Wie lassen sich die Unterschiede in der Wahrnehmung, Darstellung und Lösung des Konflikts erklären?
. Standpunkte: ad Gaium und in insula
Öffentliches Leben und intellektuelles Schaffen Philos bewegen sich zwischen ‘der Assimilation an die griechische Kultur und einer für traditionell gehaltenen jüdischen Lebensweise’. Philo entstammt einer angesehenen jüdischen Familie in Alexandria und wurde ‘in allen Disziplinen des antiken griech.-röm. Erziehungswesens’ (ἐγκύκλια παιδ1ία) unterrichtet. Philo sucht den Ausgleich: Er ist prominenter Vertreter der jüdischen Synagoge und hat keine Berührungsängste im Umgang mit der griechisch-hellenistischen Kultur. Er berichtet von seiner Teilnahme an Banketten, Festen, Spielen und Gegenüber P. Borgen, ‘Emperor Worship and Persecution in Philo’s In Flaccum and De Legatione ad Gaium and the Revelation of John’, Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion. III. Frühes Christentum. Festschrift für Martin Hengel (ed. H. Lichtenberger et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –, bleiben gerade ein gattungskritischer Vergleich, die Beachtung der literarischen Erzählleistung und der pragmatischen Zielsetzung der beiden Schriften ein Forschungsdesiderat. M. Mach, ‘Philo von Alexandrien’, TRE () – (). G. Veltri, ‘Philo von Alexandrien’, RGG () – ().
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Theatervorführungen (Leg. .–; Ebr. ; Prob. , ). Theologisches Zentrum seiner philosophischen wie exegetischen Werke ist die Tora, deren Offenbarungsgehalt er derart weit fasst, dass in ihr bereits alles vorgezeichnet ist, was die griechische Philosophie lehrt. ‘Von Mose lernten die wirklich führenden griechischen Philosophen’. Die Bedeutung philosophischer Erkenntnis liegt für Philo im Wesen der göttlichen Offenbarung begründet. Ideen und Elemente des Mittelplatonismus, der Stoa und des Aristoteles dienen ihm als Mittel der Vernunft, das in der Tora enthaltene Naturgesetz philosophisch zu erläutern. ‘Das Ergebnis ist eine Gedankenwelt, die wie eine Synthese aus griech. und biblischem Gedankengut anmutet’ und für Philo den Charakter der göttlichen Offenbarung widerspiegelt. In der Überzeugung, dass das griechisch-philosophische Denken den Inhalt und Glauben der Tora stützt und entfaltet, entwickelt Philo jüdische Identität im selbstbewussten Dialog mit seiner Umwelt. Um das Ansinnen Caligulas, sich als Gott verehren zu lassen, ironisch zu parodieren (Legat. –), greift er auf heidnische Göttervorstellungen zurück. Unter Heranziehung griechisch-hellenistischer Ideen und der Vorstellungen des griechisch-römischen Götterhimmels deckt er den charakterlichen Widerspruch in der Selbstvergöttlichung des Gaius auf und demaskiert dessen Hybris. Der Kaiser ‘darf keinem der Götter und auch keinem der Halbgötter gleichgesetzt werden’. Er unterscheidet sich von ihnen seiner ‘Natur’, seinem ‘Wesen’ und seiner ‘Denkart’ nach (ἆρά γ1 ἤδη μ1μαθήκαμ1ν ἐκ τούτων, ὅτι οὐδ1νὶ θ1ῶν ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ ἡμιθέων ἐξομοιοῦσθαι δ1ῖ Γάιον, μήτ1 φύσ1ως μήτ1 οὐσίας ἀλλὰ μηδὲ προαιρέσ1ως τ1τυχηκότα τῆς αὐτῆς; Legat. , ebenso dazu –, –). In seiner charakterlichen Verruchtheit, die in der schonungslosen Beseitigung seiner Gegner (Legat. –), seinem ausschweifenden Lebensstil (Legat. ) oder seiner von politischen Intriganten fehlgeleiteten Politik (Legat. –, –) offensichtlich wird, lässt Caligula keine den Göttern zugeschriebenen positiven Eigenschaften erkennen. Indem Philo seine Darstellung auf mythologisches Gedankengut und im Hellenismus allgemein anerkannte ethisch-humane Werte gründet, lässt er eine ‘Einheitsfront von Juden und Heiden’ gegen den Kaiser entstehen und führt dessen Gebaren und Selbstverständnis von innen heraus ad absurdum: Hierzu mit Blick auf die einzelnen Belegstellen in den Werken Philos und deren Bewertung in der Forschungsgeschichte Borgen, ‘Survey’, –; zu Möglichkeiten und Grenzen einer Teilnahme der jüdischen Bevölkerung am gesellschaftlichen Leben der polis sei verwiesen auf: Gruen, Diaspora, –. Mach, ‘Philo’, . Vgl. R. Barraclough, ‘Philo’s Politics. Roman Rule and Hellenistic Judaism’, ANRW II/. () – (–). Runia, ‘Ph. von Alexandreia’, . Philo von Alexandria, Die Gesandtschaft an Caligula. Die Werke in deutscher Übersetzung. Band VII (ed. L. Cohn et al.; Berlin: de Gruyter, ) n. .
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult
Selbst in der Sicht der offiziellen römischen Staatsdoktrin—an die Philo hier strategisch erinnert, ohne sie als gläubiger Jude zu teilen—verdienen nur Wohltäter übermenschliche Ehre (Legat. ). Ihren kritischen Höhepunkt findet die judenfeindliche Politik im Vorhaben des Caligula, im Tempel von Jerusalem ein kaiserliches Standbild zu errichten (Legat. –). Philo sucht den friedlichen Dialog: Er erstellt eine die Leiden und Ansprüche der Juden zusammenfassende Denkschrift (Legat. ) und führt eine Delegation alexandrinischer Juden an, um die jüdischen Interessen und Rechte am römischen Kaiserhof zu vertreten (Legat. –). Philo begibt sich mehrfach in die Rolle eines Bittstellers: Er wird von Caligula abgewiesen (Legat. ), aber folgt ihm—vergeblich—von Rom nach Puteoli (Legat. ). Während einer zweiten Audienz lässt er sich vom Desinteresse des Kaisers nicht abschrecken, sondern geht ihm während einer Villenbesichtigung buchstäblich hinterher (Legat. –). Philo nimmt einen auf Loyalität gestimmten und Integration bedachten Standpunkt ein und versucht, den Kaiser aufgrund vernünftiger Darlegungen zum Einlenken zu bewegen (Legat. –). Nimmt Philo am gesellschaftlichen Leben teil und begibt sich zur Wahrung der jüdischen Interessen ins Zentrum der politischen Macht nach Rom, steht der Seher Johannes schon geographisch außerhalb der Gesellschaft und befindet sich auf der Insel Patmos (Offb .). Johannes benennt den Grund seines Aufenthaltes: διὰ τὸν λόγον τοῦ θ1οῦ καὶ τὴν μαρτυρίαν Ἰησοῦ. Seine Verkündigungstätigkeit und der Einsatz für das Wort Gottes sind für seine gesellschaftliche Randposition—womöglich sogar im Sinne einer politisch motivierten Verbannung—verantwortlich. In seiner Selbstbeschreibung verweist er auf Spannungen und Konflikte von außen (ἐν τῇ θλίψ1ι) und versteht sich—mit den kleinasiatischen Christen—als Teil einer Kontrastgesellschaft: συγκοινωνὸς ἐν τῇ θλίψ1ι καὶ βασιλ1ίᾳ. Johannes sinnt auf keine politische Lösung. Sein Ziel ist keine Integration der christlichen Gemeinden in die reichsrömische Gesellschaft, sondern eine Markierung der Unterschiede, ein Stärken der Ränder und Grenzen. Eine Lösung des Konflikts gibt es in der apokalyptischen Wirklichkeitswahrnehmung des Sehers nicht durch eine strategische Regulierung der Politik von innen, sondern nur durch ein göttliches Eingreifen von außen. Philo blickt nach Rom, um dort die politischen Ziele des Judentums durchzusetzen. Johannes blickt
Dazu A. Satake, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (KEK ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ) : ‘Die Präposition διά (m. Akk) bezeichnet in der Offb durchweg den Grund und nicht den Zweck einer Sache. Daher sind Deutungen wie die, dass Johannes zum Empfang einer Offenbarung oder zu missionarischen Zwecken dort gewesen sei, abzulehnen’. Zur Möglichkeit, den Aufenthaltsort des Sehers im Sinne einer relegatio ad insulam zu verstehen, siehe: R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John. Vol. (ICC; Edinburgh: Clark, ) –; Aune, Revelation –, –.
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zum Himmel und erwartet von dort die Durchsetzung des Königtums Gottes (ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἀπὸ τοῦ θ1οῦ, Offb .; ., ).
. Wahrnehmung: Monotheismus und Kaiserkult
Philo und Johannes beurteilen das religiös-ideelle Selbstverständnis des Herrschers und die Ausgestaltung des Kaiserkults durch Spiele, Feierlichkeiten, Prozessionen und Opferhandlungen (Legat. , , , –; Offb .; ., , , ), durch die Prägung von Münzen (Legat. ) oder durch die Errichtung von Tempeln und Statuen (Legat. , , , ; Offb .; ., ; ., ; .; ., ; .; .) aus der Warte eines strikt jüdischen bzw. judenchristlichen Monotheismus.
. Kaiser als Herrscher und Kaiser als Gott
Philo kann den Kaiser in seiner staatstragenden Funktion anerkennen und ihm die Loyalität der Juden zusichern: ‘Dem Kaiser treu zu sein, beteuern sie nicht nur, sondern sind es wirklich’ (Legat. ). Dem Kaiser als politischem Herrscher bringt Philo Ehrerbietung entgegen. Beim Anblick des Kaisers verneigt er sich mit der Gesandtschaft ‘in aller Ehrfurcht und allem Respekt tief zu Boden’ und grüßt ihn ‘mit der Anrede Augustus Imperator’ (Legat. ). Philo weiß von Opferhandlungen im Tempel beim Amtsantritt des Kaisers, nach seiner Genesung oder während kriegerischer Auseinandersetzungen (Legat. ), die aber zum Wohl des Kaisers und nicht für die Person des Kaisers als Gott dargebracht werden (Legat. ). Kritisch wird die Haltung gegenüber dem Kaiser dort, wo dessen Divinisierung den Exklusivitätsanspruch Jahwes verletzt. Philo führt Kaiser Augustus als positive Verkörperung einer kaiserlichen Herrschaftsführung an: Mit seinem expliziten Verzicht auf einen göttlichen Anspruch und eine religiöse Verehrung im Kult (Legat. ) vermied er eine Provokation des jüdischen Volkes (Legat. – ). Aufgrund seiner charakterlichen Reife und politischen Umsicht hat Augustus seiner Selbstvergöttlichung widersprochen und damit das Fundament geschaffen, dem Kaiser als Person und Herrscher Loyalität und Anerkennung entgegenzubringen (Legat. –). Dagegen prägen schwerwiegende menschliche und politische Defizite die Amtsführung Caligulas: ‘Instead of σωφροσύνη there was now ἀκρασία; instead of a yearning for the pursuits of Zu Opfern, Gebeten und Bildern im Kaiserkult und zur Kultpriesterschaft H.-J. Klauck, Die religiöse Umwelt des Urchristentums. . Herrscher- und Kaiserkult (Kohlhammer Studienbücher Theologie ; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, ) –. Zur historischen Kritik der Stilisierung des Augustus zum für Juden prototypisch positiven Herrscher Kraus Reggiani, ‘Rapporti’, –.
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult
the mind the emperor’s attention was captured by bodily pleasure, food, drink and unrestrained eating’. Philo lehnt die Selbstvergöttlichung Caligulas als anmaßenden Versuch ab, die für Juden noch tragbare politische Funktion der kaiserlichen Herrschaft bis in die göttliche Sphäre hinein auszudehnen (Legat. , , , –). Er beargwöhnt die Proskynese vor dem Kaiser als barbarische Praxis (Legat. ) und lehnt die kaiserliche Verehrung in Form von Bildern und Statuen ab, die im Widerspruch zum alttestamentlichen Bilderverbot und zur monotheistischen Grundüberzeugung des Judentums stehen (Legat. , , , , , , , , , ).
. Herrschaft Gottes und Thron des Satans
Ebenso spiegeln sich in der Visionswelt der Johannes-Offenbarung die Realia des Kaiserkults. Johannes nennt den Thron des Satans (ὁ θρόνος τοῦ σατανᾶ) in Pergamon (Offb ., ebenso Offb .; .), kaiserliche Standbilder (1ἰκών, Offb ., ; ., ; .; .; .; .; insbesondere Offb .), eine kaiserliche Priesterschaft (ἄλλο θηρίον ἀναβαῖνον ἐκ τῆς γῆς, Offb .–) und Formen der quasi-göttlichen Verehrung des Kaisers (προσκυνέω, Offb .; ., , , ; ., ; .; .; ). Anspruch und Form des Kaiserkults versteht der Seher prinzipiell als Pervertierung der allein Gott zukommenden Herrschaft. Das Hofzeremoniell des Kaisers ist nichts anderes als eine kontrastierende Parodie der exklusiven Verehrung Gottes im himmlischen Kult. Die Lästernamen auf dem Haupt (Offb .) und Körper des Tieres (Offb .) verweisen auf die kaiserlichen religiösen Ehrentitel, die diesem zugesprochen werden und den religiösen Selbstanspruch des Kaisers Barraclough, ‘Politics’, . Vgl. Borgen, ‘Emperor’, . Eine Analyse der ‘großen Zeichen’ (σημ1ῖα μ1γάλα; Offb ,) und des ‘Tierbildnisses’ (ἡ 1ἰκὼν τοῦ θηρίου; Offb ,) als funktionale Bestandteile und religiöses Objekt im Kaiserkult bietet S. J. Scherrer, ‘Signs and Wonders in the Imperial Cult: A New Look at a Roman Religious Institution in the Light of Rev :–’, JBL () –. So L. L. Thompson, Revelation (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, ) : ‘The transfer of ‘power’, ‘throne’ and ‘authority’ from the dragon to the sea beast parallels and parodies the transfer of those qualities from God to Christ (cf. :; note :; :; and :)’. So etwa die Bezeichnung des Kaisers Domitian als ‘dominus et deus’ (Suetonius, Dom. .; Dio Cassius, ..; ..; Martial ...), dazu: H.-J. Klauck, ‘Das Sendschreiben nach Pergamon und der Kaiserkult in der Johannesoffenbarung’, Bib () – (–). Die Textzeugen אC P et al. bieten—im Gegensatz zur Pluralform ὀνόματα βλασφημίας—in Offb . die Singularform ὄνομα (‘und auf seinen Köpfen ein Lästername’), die durch die Auslassung der Pluralendung τα erklärt werden kann oder als ursprüngliche Variante erst sekundär an die Pluralform der κ1φαλάς angeglichen wurde. Die singularische Zuspitzung auf nur einen Lästernamen mag die direkte Gegenüberstellung zur Titulatur Gottes akzentuieren, während die Pluralform durch die
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verdeutlichen oder die er selbst zur blasphemischen Herausforderung Gottes ausstößt (Offb .–). Johannes erkennt in seiner apokalyptischen Radikalisierung der Wirklichkeit keine positiven Beispiele einer kaiserlichen Amtsführung. Die Kaiser sind samt und sonders nur Köpfe und Hörner auf dem Haupt des Drachen (Offb ., – ), Gesichter und Anschauungen des Bösen, die mit der Deutung der sieben Köpfe des Tieres als die sieben Hügel Roms mit der Hauptstadt als ‘Mitte und Kraftzentrum des Imperiums’ verbunden werden. Zugleich inkorporiert Johannes mit der universal zu verstehenden Siebenzahl das Kaisertum an und für sich in die Sphäre der widergöttlichen Macht. Der Kaiser und—mit ihm als Repräsentant des Staates—das ganze Römische Reich sind ‘Bevollmächtigte Satans in der Geschichte’. Vom Drachen erhält das Tier aus dem Meer seine Stärke (Offb ., ); das Tier aus dem Festland (Offb .) wird vom Widersacher Gottes dazu ermächtigt (deutlich durch den inhaltlich pervertierten Gebrauch des passivum divinum ἐδόθη), den Kult des ersten Tieres zu propagieren und zu sichern. Wesen und Herkunft der kaiserlichen Macht werden—im Gegensatz zur biographischen Interpretation der Selbstvergöttlichung Caligulas bei Philo—in einer visionären Schau mythologisch erklärt. Die Bedrängnis, in der sich die kleinasiatischen Christen im Gegenüber zum Kaiserkult befinden, ist Nachhall und historische Folge eines—zugunsten der christlichen Gemeinde bereits positiv entschiedenen—kosmischen Kampfes (Offb .). Der gestürzte Drache strengt einen Kampf gegen die Christen an und überträgt dazu seine Macht und die Möglichkeit zur politischen Pression auf den Kaiser (abermals in Verkehrung des passivum divinum und in paralleler Formulierung zu Offb .: καὶ ἐδόθη αὐτῷ ποιῆσαι πόλ1μον μ1τὰ τῶν ἁγίων, Offb .).
interpretationsoffene Vielzahl und Breite der Titel die Maßlosigkeit des kaiserlichen Anspruchs hervorhebt. Dazu U. B. Müller, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (ÖTK ; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus/ Würzburg: Echter, . Aufl. ) : ‘Die Lästernamen meinen offenbar jene Titel, die im Rahmen des Kaiserkultes der Vergöttlichung des Herrschers dienen und damit eine Lästerung des einzigen und alleinigen Gottes darstellen: Augustus (der Erhabene), Divus (der Göttliche), Herr und Gott’. J. Roloff, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (ZBK ; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, . Aufl. ) . Zum motivgeschichtlichen Hintergrund und zu den verschiedenen Interpretationen der sieben Köpfe und zehn Hörner des Tiers empfiehl sich: G. R. Osborne, Revelation (Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament; Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, ) –. H. Giesen, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, ) .
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult . Politisches Selbstverständnis und Gottesbild
Philo sieht sich selbst als Teil der Gesellschaft. ‘He can (…) employ the very interesting phrase Ioudaioi politai to denote Jewish inhabitants of Greek cities generally. Evidently he reckons their position to be defined, at least in part, by reference to civic prerogatives. Jewish identity did not confine itself to religious observances’. Philo erachtet die gegenwärtige Staats- und Gesellschaftsform als geeignet, das Gemeinwohl zu gewährleisten und die Rechte der jüdischen Minderheit zu schützen. Angesichts der judenfeindlichen Gewalteskalation in Alexandria sieht er sich als prominenter Vertreter der jüdischen Synagoge zum politischen Agieren herausgefordert. Er übernimmt eine Vermittlerrolle und strebt nach einer diplomatischen Beendigung des Konflikts. Dies alles erachtet er als seine ‘Bürgerpflicht’ und ist bereit, dafür seine Interessen, sein intellektuelles Schaffen und seine philosophisch-theologischen Studien zurückzustellen (Spec. ,–). Philo und Johannes nehmen Kaisertum und Kaiserkult von einem strikten jüdischen bzw. judenchristlichen Monotheismus aus und vor dem Hintergrund der unbedingten Souveränität Gottes in den Blick. Beide wissen Gott parteiisch auf der Seite ihrer Glaubensgemeinschaft. Beide vertreten eine theozentrische Lösungsoption des Konflikts, unterscheiden sich aber in der Vorstellung eines göttlichen Eingreifens und den daraus resultierenden ethischen Handlungsoptionen. Für Philo ist der Weg zur Vervollkommnung des Menschen und auch des gesellschaftlichen Gemeinwohls von Gott durch seine Offenbarung in den mosaischen Schriften vorgezeichnet. Im Studium der Tora, in der philosophischen Reflexion, der damit verbundenen wachsenden Selbsterkenntnis und Suche nach einem tugendhaften Leben nimmt Philo seine—ihm von Gott zukommende—Verantwortung wahr. Erlösung ‘liegt für ihn letztlich in der Harmonie der Seele mit dem Kosmos’. Auch in der Auseinandersetzung mit Kaiser Caligula trachtet er nach dieser Wiederherstellung eines ursprünglich harmonischen Zustandes, den er mithilfe seines intellektuellen Vermögens, theologischen Wissens und analytischen Verstehens zu vervollkommnen sucht. Der Weg zur Erlösung ist für Johannes dagegen kein evolutives Geschehen, das sich durch den Einsatz politischer Diplomatie innerweltlich vollzieht. Die Lösung liegt für ihn in einer radikalen Umwälzung der Verhältnisse, die er von außerhalb durch einen göttlichen Eingriff erwartet. Erlösung gewährleistet und wirkt Gott durch Christus (Offb .). Johannes versteht die von Gott geschaffene Rettung als etwas wesentlich Neues: Johannes sieht einen neuen Himmel wie eine neue Erde (1ἶδον οὐρανὸν καινὸν καὶ γῆν καινήν, Offb .) und das neue Jerusalem (τὴν πόλιν τὴν ἁγίαν Ἰ1ρουσαλὴμ καινὴν 1ἶδον, Offb .); er verfolgt den göttlichen Sieg ausgedrückt in neuen Liedern (καὶ ᾄδουσιν
Gruen, Diaspora, –. Veltri, ‘Philo’, .
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ᾠδὴν καινὴν λέγοντ1ς, Offb .; ebenso Offb .) und hört die Aussage Gottes, er werde alles neu machen (ἰδοὺ καινὰ ποιῶ πάντα, Offb .). Mit der alten Welt werden Spannungen und Konflikte durch einen manifesten Eingriff von außen beseitigt (ὁ γὰρ πρῶτος οὐρανὸς καὶ ἡ πρώτη γῆ ἀπῆλθαν, Offb .). Das himmlische Jerusalem kommt von Gott herab zur Erde (καταβαίνουσαν ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἀπὸ τοῦ θ1οῦ, Offb .). Lebenspraktisch folgt aus dem Absolutheitsanspruch Gottes die radikale Abgrenzung von allen widergöttlichen Mächten.
. Darstellung: Autopsie und Apokalyptik
Während sich Philo mit seiner Legatio ad Gaium an die römischhellenistische Bevölkerung und Vertreter der staatlichen Organe wendet, um die gesellschaftliche Integrationsfähigkeit des Judentums unter Beweis zu stellen, bleibt die Offenbarung des Johannes auf den internen Adressatenkreis der kleinasiatischen Gemeinden beschränkt. Diese unterschiedliche Adressatenorientierung und die damit verbundene pragmatische Funktion der Schriften spiegeln sich in der Wahl der jeweiligen Gattung und in den literarischen Darstellungsmitteln.
. Motive und Mythen
Philo und Johannes greifen in der Zeichnung und Beurteilung des kaiserlichen Herrschaftsanspruches auf das religiöse Wissen und Motivreservoir ihrer Adressaten aus. Argumentativ nutzt Philo mythologische Göttervorstellungen des Hellenismus. Herakles, die Dioskuren, Dionysos (Legat. –), Hermes, Apollon und Ares (Legat. –) dienen ihm als Repräsentanten moralischer Tugenden, die er gegen Caligula ins Feld führt. Philo vermeidet die Frage nach der tatsächlichen Existenz heidnischer Gottheiten. Er allegorisiert die Göttergestalten auf tugendhafte Symbolfiguren hin und macht sich den Mut des Herakles, die Klugheit des Dionysos und die brüderliche Treue der Dioskuren zunutze, um über den Inhalt einzelner Göttervorstellungen der hellenistischen Bevölkerung die gemeinsame moralisch-ethische Grundüberzeugung von Juden und Heiden zu verdeutlichen. Die Johannes-Apokalypse schöpft aus dem Motivreservoir der alttestamentlichen und insbesondere apokalyptischen Literatur: Das Buch der Offenbarung ist ‘eine Collage von Bildzitaten aus den prophetischen Büchern’. Es finden sich Zur multiplen Adressatenschaft der Legatio ad Gaium und den literarisch-pragmatischen Funktionen im Einzelnen Barraclough, ‘Politics’, –. K. Backhaus, ‘Apokalyptische Bilder? Die Vernunft der Vision in der Johannes-Offenbarung’, EvT () – ().
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etwa Reflexionsanklänge an das Buch Daniel, Jesaja, Ezechiel und der Psalmen. Mit dem alttestamentlichen Motivkosmos fließen in die Schrift des Sehers den Adressaten bekannte Traditionshintergründe ein. Der Gebrauch der prophetischen Literatur verleiht der Prophetie des Sehers maßgebliche Autorität und theologische Authentizität und Dignität. Mit dem Gebrauch der alttestamentlichen Prophetie verbindet Johannes einen theologischen Wahrheitsanspruch: Die in seiner Schrift immer auch modifizierten und transformierend angewandten Motive (so in der Thronsaalvision Offb .–—Ez ; ; Jes ; ebenso Offb .–—Ez .–.; Jer .) versteht der Seher als Enthüllung, als visionär erschlossene Offenbarung.
. Gesellschaftsanalyse und religiöser Wissensvorrat
Philo gründet die Überzeugungskraft seiner Darstellung auf eine differenzierte Wahrnehmung der politischen Wirklichkeit. Seine Schilderung ist in die Form eines historischen Berichts gekleidet. Die Wirksamkeit seiner Argumentation liegt in der objektiven Konkretion, der Nennung und Bewertung einzelner historisch konkreter Fakten, die er kritisch hinterfragt. Der Aufweis der historischen Tatsachen dient ihm als Grundlage für seine theologisch normierte Urteilsfindung. Die Fakten sprechen für sich und genügen, um jene Grenzen zu benennen, die Caligula überschritten hat und die das religiöse Empfinden der Juden verletzen und ihre Loyalität gegenüber dem Herrscherhaus verunmöglichen. Die Apokalypse dagegen vermittelt ihren Adressaten einen religiösen Wissensvorrat. Das Anliegen des Johannes ist nicht die objektivierbare Darstellung geschichtlicher Tatsachen, sondern die mythologische Deutung und visionär theologische Bewertung der als Endzeit empfundenen Gegenwart. Einzelne Inhalte und Ausprägungen der kaiserlichen Machtdemonstration werden im Symbolkosmos der Apokalypse motivisch und metaphorisch transformiert und dualistisch radikalisiert. Die Argumentationskraft der Schrift besteht gerade in der drastischen Überzeichnung geschichtlicher Fakten und in der radikalen Konfrontation und Kontrastierung der politischen Wirklichkeit mit dem absoluten Herrschaftsanspruch Gottes.
. Theologisch interpretierte Geschichte
Philo schreibt—aus seinem jüdischen Glauben heraus—theologisch interpretierte Geschichte. Er überliefert historische Ereignisse: Er berichtet vom Vgl. F. G. Untergassmair, ‘Das Buch der Offenbarung (). Einführung’, BL () – (); ebenso: R. L. Thomas, Revelation –. An Exegetical Commentary (Chicago: Moody, ) –. Siehe Borgen, ‘Survey’, .
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Pogrom gegen die Juden in Alexandria, resümiert die Stadien der zunehmend judenfeindlichen Politik unter Caligula und legt das Anliegen der von ihm angeführten Delegation an den Kaiserhof dar. Philo argumentiert mit den verfügbaren Mitteln der antiken Rhetorik. Der Wechsel zwischen direkten und indirekten Reden gewährt Einblick in das Denken und Empfinden der Akteure (Legat. ) und fordert die Rezeptionsleistung des Lesers heraus. Er gebraucht plastische Vergleiche und Metaphern, um die Schärfe des antijüdischen Konflikts zu veranschaulichen und das Einfinden in die Darstellungswelt zu erleichtern. Dabei bleiben seine Ausführungen stets historisch analytisch ausgerichtet. Er sondiert und wägt alternative Modelle einer kaiserlichen Amtsführung. Er weist auf die drohende Gefahr blutiger Auseinandersetzungen hin und erinnert an die Risiken gesellschaftsinterner Konflikte für das Gemeinwohl. Philo berichtet Geschichte, um die Gegenwart umsichtig zu gestalten. Das Bemühen um eine sachliche und nüchterne Argumentation schließt nicht die empathische und emotionale Bewertung aus (deutlich in den zahlreichen Schimpfworten, Legat. , –, –), die das Anliegen Philos unterstreichen und seine persönliche Anteilnahme ausdrücken. Philo deutet die Geschichte im Licht seines jüdischen Glaubens. Der ‘unerbittliche Kampf gegen das jüdische Volk’ (Legat. ) entbrennt infolge der ‘Gesetzlosigkeit’ des Kaisers. Wegen ihrer Treue zu den väterlichen Überlieferungen werden die Juden verfolgt. Die gesellschaftliche Integration hat für Philo eine religiöse Dimension. Als Volk Gottes sind die Juden Anwalt der göttlichen Gesetze und tragen in dieser missionarischen Verantwortung zur Stabilisierung der universalen Entwicklung bei. Philo deutet die Geschichte in der Überzeugung der nachhaltigen Fürsorge und Vorsehung Gottes und wendet sich damit auch an die Angehörigen des jüdischen Glaubens. Sein Werk ist—über das apologetische Ziel hinaus, das Judentum vor der griechischrömischen Welt zu verteidigen—eine Versicherung für all jene, die an den göttlichen Fügungen und dem Glauben, ein auserwähltes Volk zu sein, zweifeln: ‘Jedoch, mögen nun manche Menschen im Glauben an eine göttliche Fürsorge für die Menschheit irre geworden sein (…), so müssten schon allein die gegenwärtige Zeitenwende und die in ihrem Verlauf gefällte Entscheidung über viele brennenden offenen Fragen genügend Überzeugungskraft für sie haben’ (Legat. ). Der Tod des Statthalters Flaccus (in stilisierter Rede von Flaccus selbst ausgesprochen, Flacc. –, ) und das Ende des Kaisers Caligula (Legat. ) werden als augenfälliger Beweis für das Eingreifen und die Parteinahme Gottes gewertet. Vgl. Borgen, Exegete, , . In dieser Hinsicht lässt sich auch die fehlende Palinodie (Legat. ) deuten, die das tragische Ende des Kaisers selbst ‘schreibt’. Im Untergang des Kaisers werden die antijüdischen Vorwürfe widerlegt und alle Unterstellungen und Beleidigungen zurückgenommen: Der
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult . Geschichtlich interpretierte Theologie
Gegenüber dieser theologisch gedeuteten Geschichtsschreibung Philos ist die Johannes-Offenbarung geschichtlich zu interpretierende Theologie. Der Seher entwirft mit seinem Werk einen Symbolkosmos, der eine theologische Wahrheit ins Bild setzt: Im Christusmysterium sind alle widergöttlichen Mächte besiegt. In diesem Glauben transformiert die Johannes-Offenbarung die Wirklichkeitswahrnehmung der Kleinasiaten und stellt gesellschaftliche Plausibilitäten infrage. Den politischen Funktionen des Kaisers werden antithetisch die überragende Macht Gottes und die Erlösungstat seines Gesalbten gegenüber gestellt: ‘Whereas in the imperial world the emperor is the savior, in John’s world, Jesus is the savior; in the imperial world the emperor is the divine warrior who has brought peace to the world; in John’s world the emperor is the beast of chaos that the true divine warrior must slay. Much of the symbolism of the Apocalypse is of this antithetical kind’. Den reichsrömischen Herrscherkult kontrastiert die Apokalypse durch die visionäre Enthüllung des himmlischen Kults um den Thron Gottes. Konsequent werden kaiserliche Titel und Ehrennamen auf Gott hin re-adressiert. Die kaiserliche Bezeichnung ‘dominus et deus noster’ wird im himmlischen Thronritual aufgegriffen und Gott zugesprochen: ὁ κύριος καὶ ὁ θ1ὸς ἡμῶν (Offb .; ebenso .; .; .; .; ., ; ., ; .; .–). Die überbietende Titulatur Gottes—angeredet als κύριος κυρίων ἐστὶν καὶ βασιλ1ὺς βασιλέων (Offb .; .) oder als ὁ παντοκράτωρ (Offb .; .; .; .; ., ; ., ; .)—ordnet die Macht des Kaisers dem göttlichen Herrschaftsbereich unter. In der Visionswelt der Offenbarung spiegelt sich der Vollzug des Kaiserkults, der aber nur als blasses und hinfälliges Gegenbild zum eigentlichen Herrscherkult Gottes erscheint. Dem ‘Thron des Satans’ (Offb .) und dem kaiserlichen Hofzeremoniell wird der Thronsaal Gottes in seiner kosmischen Dimension und Machtfülle gegenüber gestellt (Offb .–). Die Requisiten des Kaiserkults sind vor den Thron Gottes platziert: Harfen (τὰ
τέσσαρα ζῷα καὶ οἱ 1ἴκοσι τέσσαρ1ς πρ1σβύτ1ροι ἔχοντ1ς ἕκαστος κιθάραν, Offb .), goldene Schalen (φιάλας χρυσᾶς, Offb .), Räucherwerk (γ1μούσας θυμιαμάτων, Offb .; .), weiße Gewänder (π1ριβ1βλημένους ἐν ἱματίοις λ1υκοῖς, Offb .), goldene Kränze (ἐπὶ τὰς κ1φαλὰς αὐτῶν στ1φάνους χρυσοῦς, Offb .), Feuerfackeln (λαμπάδ1ς πυρὸς καιόμ1ναι, Offb .) und Edelsteine (ἶρις κυκλόθ1ν τοῦ θρόνου ὅμοιος ὁράσ1ι
Leugner Gottes wurde von der gerechten göttlichen Strafe getroffen. Vgl. Borgen, ‘Emperor’, –. D. L. Barr, ‘The Lamb Who Looks Like a Dragon? Characterizing Jesus in John’s Apocalypse’, The Reality of Apocalypse. Rhetoric and Politics in the Book of Revelation (ed. D. L. Barr; SBLSymS ; Atlanta: SBL, ) – ().
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σμαραγδίνῳ, Offb .). Teil des himmlischen Kults ist Gesang (Offb .; .; .), der gerade auf Erden verstummt (Offb .). Vor dem Thron Gottes erklingen Hymnen (Offb .–; .–; .; .–; .–), Bitten (Offb .; .) und kniefällige Zeichen der Verehrung sind angebracht (Offb .; .; .; .; .; .; ., ; .). Während sich der Untergang irdischer Gewalten sukzessiv vollzieht (Offb .–), wird die himmlische Gegenwelt von aufwendigem Schmuck, in schillernden Farben leuchtend beschrieben (Offb .–) und dem Leser schließlich förmlich vermessen (Offb .–). Damit depotenziert die Apokalypse die politische Macht und den Anspruch des römischen Kaisers und prägt ein neues Systemzentrum aus. Die Christen sind Teil der himmlischen Bürgerschaft, als deren Glieder sie jede Teilnahme am Kaiserkult radikal verweigern. Während Philo mit den Mitteln der antiken Rhetorik und der griechischen Philosophie argumentiert und an die Vernunft sowie das strategische Denken seiner Leser appelliert, nutzt die Johannes-Offenbarung im Erschaffen eines großflächigen apokalyptischen Szenariums die überbordende Beschreibung und kontrastierende Zeichnung von Bildern und Metaphern. ‘Thus while John draws his images from the traditional apocalyptic stock and a central symbol is the myth of cosmic combat, his experience of Jesus has led him to radically transvalue these symbols in order to express the conviction that faithful witness brings both salvation and judgment. But this conviction is not argued, or even stated; it is portrayed. It is enacted in a story’. Lenkt Philo das Empfinden seiner Adressaten durch Reden und die Schilderung historischer Ereignisse, modifiziert die Apokalypse Erkennen und Erleben ihrer Leser im Durchwandern und Durchleiden ihrer Bilderwelten: ‘Nicht erklärt wird hier, was Erlösung bedeutet, sondern gezeigt und gesehen. Nicht darauf also sind die Visionen angelegt, entschlüsselt, sondern durchlebt zu werden’. Philo überliefert und berichtet als Zeitzeuge Geschichte, die er vor dem Hintergrund seines jüdischen Glaubens theologisch deutet. Johannes tritt als Gottes Zeuge gegen seine Zeit auf und inszeniert Theologie, die er in der reichsrömischen Lebenswelt verankert und mit der Marginalisierung der kleinasiatischen Christen historisch deutet.
. Perspektiven: Loyale Integration und liminaler Prozess
Der Kaiserkult ist für Philo und Johannes Anlass zur kritischen Reflexion. Beide lehnen den gottgleichen Anspruch des Kaisers ab. Doch verfolgen beide angesichts des schwelenden Konflikts eine jeweils anderslautende gesellschaftliche Perspektive: Philo strebt die Aussöhnung mit der D. L. Barr, ‘The Apocalypse as a Symbolic Transformation of the World: A Literary Analysis’, Int () – (); ebenso Backhaus, ‘Apokalyptische Bilder’, –. Backhaus, ‘Apokalyptische Bilder’, .
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reichsrömischen Kultur und Zivilisation an, Johannes fordert eine gesellschaftliche Verweigerung der kleinasiatischen Christen.
. Widerstand und Martyrium
Die untragbare Forderung, den Kaiser wie einen Gott zu verehren, veranlasst Philo und Johannes zum Widerstand, der bis zum Martyrium reicht. Im Sendschreiben nach Pergamon verweist Johannes auf die Tötung des ‘treuen Zeugen Antipas’ (Offb .). Unklar bleibt, ‘ob Antipas einem regulären Gerichtsverfahren zum Opfer fiel oder nur einem Ausbruch von Lynchjustiz einer aufgebrachten Volksmenge’. Lokal und inhaltlich ist sein Tod mit dem Thron Satans (ὁ θρόνος τοῦ σατανᾶ) verbunden und damit vor einen eindeutig politischen Hintergrund gesetzt. Das Bekenntnis zu Christus (κρατ1ῖς τὸ ὄνομά μου) oder die Weigerung, die religiösen Ansprüche des Kaisers im kultischen Vollzug anzuerkennen (οὐκ ἠρνήσω τὴν πίστιν μου), zieht Anfeindungen und Gefahren für Leib und Leben nach sich. Mit Übergriffen der Staatsmacht rechnet der Seher im Schreiben nach Smyrna. Trotz Gefängnis oder Verfolgung bis zum Tod sind die Christen aufgefordert, am eindeutigen Bekenntnis zu Christus festzuhalten (Offb .). Die Christen befinden sich in einer Situation der Versuchung (π1ιρασμός, Offb .) und Erprobung (ἵνα π1ιρασθῆτ1, Offb .; π1ιράσαι, Offb .), in der das Festhalten (τηρέω) am Inhalt der Offenbarung (Offb .; ., ), an den Werken (Offb .), der Lehre (Offb .), am Wort (Offb .) und an den Geboten Christi (Offb .) wie Gottes (Offb .; .) entscheidend ist. Mit einem Ausharren in Geduld (ὑπομονή, Offb ., , ; .; .; .), der Verweigerung der Anbetung (μὴ προσκυνήσωσιν, .; .) und der Ablehnung innergemeindlicher Assimilierungsversuche fordert der Seher eine entschiedene Haltung der Christen. Das Schicksal der Märtyrer macht die mögliche Folge der kompromisslosen Haltung und des Zeugnisses für Christus deutlich (Offb .; .). Mit der großen Zahl der Blutzeugen steht den Christen im visionären Hauptteil ein Bild des Sieges vor Augen (Offb .; ebenso Offb .–). Als erlöste Symbolgestalt richtet die große Schar aus allen Völkern und Nationen (Offb .) den Blick der Kleinasiaten konsequent auf den Thronsaal Gottes als ureigenen Ort der Macht und Raum der Anbetung. Der Ausgang des Kampfes ist im Bild der erlösten Märtyrer vorweggenommen (Offb .) und lebenspraktisch mit der Motivation zu einem furchtlosen Bekenntnis verbunden (in den Überwindersprüchen der Sendschreiben: Ὁ νικῶν οὐ μὴ ἀδικηθῇ ἐκ τοῦ θανάτου τοῦ δ1υτέρου Offb .; ebenso Offb ., , ; ., , ). Auch Philo sieht das kompromisslose Festhalten am Bekenntnis zu Jahwe vom Martyrium bedroht: ‘So sei es denn, wir werden sterben. Denn ein ruhmvoller Müller, Offenbarung, .
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Tod für die Verteidigung der Gesetze ist eine Art Leben’ (Legat. , ähnlich , –, , , , ). Doch ist für Philo das Martyrium kein erstrebenswertes Ziel, sondern erst nach dem Ausschöpfen aller diplomatischen Mittel die letzte gebotene Möglichkeit und erscheint in seiner Schrift eher als rhetorisch funktionaler Topos. Philo sucht nach gangbaren Wegen, die zu einer friedlichen Lösung des Konflikts führen (Legat. ). Die Willenskundgabe, den Tempel im gewaltsamen Widerstand zu verteidigen (Legat. , , ), ist eine emotional anrührende Warnung und nicht eine provokative Aufforderung zur blutigen Auseinandersetzung. Die strategische Funktion des Martyriumsmotivs wird in der Petition der Juden vor Petronius deutlich: Die Willensbekundung, selbst den Tod zu ertragen, ist in den Kontext der Bitte um die nochmalige Prüfung der jüdischen Ansprüche und das Einlenken der politisch Verantwortlichen gesetzt (Legat. –). Philo hebt die Bereitschaft zum Martyrium hervor, um das schreiende Unrecht an den Juden darzustellen, ihre Wehrlosigkeit auszudrücken und ihre—bis zuletzt—friedliebende Haltung zu betonen (καὶ τὰς φύσ1ις ἐσμὲν 1ἰρηνικοὶ καὶ τὴν προαίρ1σιν, Legat. ). Gleichzeitig bewegt Philo damit die Adressaten seiner Schrift zum Mitleid mit den ungerecht angeklagten und verfolgten Juden (Legat. ). Ähnlich soll die Andeutung eines möglichen Selbstmords (Legat. ) die Bestürzung und Hilflosigkeit der entsetzten Juden demonstrieren, das Anliegen der Delegation verdeutlichen und die ernsthafte Suche nach einer gewaltfreien Lösung fördern. Demgegenüber erscheint das Martyrium in der Johannes-Offenbarung nicht als lediglich rhetorisch-funktionales Mittel, um emotionale Rührung hervorzurufen oder die politischen Instanzen zum Einlenken zu bewegen. In apokalyptischer Dramatisierung illustriert das Martyrium den unbedingten Beweis eines entschiedenen Bekenntnisses, schließt damit aber auch alle weiteren Verweigerungshandlungen ein: neben ökonomischen Konsequenzen, dem Meiden kultisch-paganer Zeremonien und dem Ertragen der gesellschaftlichen Marginalisierung überhaupt fordert der Seher die Bereitschaft, auch vor der letzten Konsequenz einer möglichen Verfolgung nicht zurückzuschrecken. Der freigewählte Tod ist in der Johannes-Offenbarung keine Option. Ein Suizid würde den Konflikt mit der römischen Staatsmacht meiden und vor der Gewalt der Gottesfeinde zurückschrecken. Nur im erduldeten Tod und nicht in der Selbsttötung geben die Christen Zeugnis vom endzeitlichen Sieg des Lammes. Als ‘Könige und Priester für Gott’ (Offb .) besitzen sie Würde und aufrechten Stand und sind zur Treue in der Bedrängnis aufgerufen (Offb .).
. Politisches Handeln und gesellschaftliche Anerkennung
Philos Werk prägt eine statische Sicht der Geschichte. Er rechnet mit keinem Umsturz der gesellschaftlichen oder politischen Verhältnisse, sondern
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sucht nach konstruktiven Möglichkeiten, um den Konflikt zu lösen. Die Vergangenheit zeigt, dass sich jüdisches Leben mit dem Leben der polis verbinden lässt. ‘Jews (…) were not intrinsically alien bodies within homogeneous poleis (…). And we know that, with the exception of overt participation in emperor worship, Jews could and did involve themselves in the life of their cities—even, in some cases, with the theatre and the gymnasium’. Philo lehnt das Römische Reich und das Kaisertum nicht an und für sich ab, sondern erkennt die einende und stabilisierende Funktion des Herrscheramts auch in seinem positiven Beitrag zur Integration der Juden in das Reich. Er fordert Modifikationen der kaiserlichen Amtsführung ein, die notwendig sind, um die Auseinandersetzung zu entschärfen. Doch lässt Philo keinen Zweifel daran, dass er sich selbst als ein Teil der reichsrömischen Gesellschaft versteht. Er ist von der besonderen gesellschaftlichen Relevanz des Judentums überzeugt. Als Diasporajude hofft er, dass die sittlich ehrbare und humane Lebensführung der jüdischen Bevölkerung missionarisch wirkt und Werte wie Lebensführung der Mehrheitsgesellschaft positiv prägt (Mos. ,). Nicht zuletzt deshalb ist sein Ziel nicht der Rückzug von der Gesellschaft. ‘Philo’s texts refer repeatedly to a Jewish politeia or to Jewish dikaia politika (…) Philo definitely refers to political privileges, as well as to religious rights’. Mit seiner apologetischen Präsentation des Judentums wirbt er um diese—durch das Pogrom und die Haltung Caligulas gefährdete—gesellschaftliche Akzeptanz und Integration und bemüht sich selbstbewusst um die Anerkennung jüdischer Rechte.
. Radikale Verweigerung und gesellschaftliches Abseits
Johannes geht nicht von stabilen Koordinaten der gesellschaftlichen und politischen Ordnung aus, sondern rechnet mit einer radikalen Umwälzung der Verhältnisse. Die Durchsetzung und historische Manifestation des Königtums Gottes steht für ihn unmittelbar bevor. Entsprechend häufig werden das Verb ‘kommen’ und das Adverb ‘bald’ verwendet: Christus wird präsentisch als der Kommende, der unmittelbar Bevorstehende beschrieben (ὁ ἐρχόμ1νος, als Teil der Dreizeitenformel Offb ., ; .; ebenso Offb .; .; .); bereits gekommen ist der Tag des Zorns und Gerichts Gottes (Offb .; .; .); die Visionen enden mit der wiederholten Zusage des baldigen Kommens Jesu (Offb ., , ) und der für die Adressaten vorformulierten Bestätigung und Bitte: Ἀμήν, ἔρχου κύρι1 Ἰησοῦ (Offb .). Im himmlischen Kult und den Hymnen wird der Sieg Gottes bereits gefeiert. Die Macht des Drachen, sein T. Rajak, ‘Was there a Roman Charter for the Jews’, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome. Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (AGJU ; Leiden: Brill, ) – (–). Dazu Borgen, ‘Emperor’, –. Gruen, Diaspora, ; ebenso Rajak, ‘Roman Charter’, .
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Einfluss auf Wirtschaft und Politik und seine Verehrung im Kaiserkult sind dem Untergang geweiht. Entsprechend radikal ist der handlungsrelevante Aufruf des Sehers, die Stadt als politische, wirtschaftliche, soziale und kulturelle Größe zu verlassen (ἐξέλθατ1 ὁ λαός μου, Offb .). Die für Johannes theologisch verantwortbare und soziologisch mögliche Konsequenz im Gegenüber zum Kaisertum und Kaiserkult ist der entschiedene gesellschaftliche Exodus. Mit dem Ziel einer Stabilisierung der christlichen Identität strengt die Apokalypse einen ‘liminalen Prozess’ an, dessen Ziel das—von Philo gerade gefürchtete und mittels seiner Schrift argumentativ bekämpfte—gesellschaftliche Abseits ist.
. Auf der Suche nach Identität: Konzepte, Einwirkungen und Faktoren
Der Vorschlag des Sehers, die eigene Identität durch die radikale Abgrenzung von der Gesellschaft und die Verweigerung jedweder Teilnahme am reichsrömischen Herrscherkult zu schützen, stellt binnenchristlich eine Minderheitenmeinung innerhalb eines breiten Spektrums verschiedener gesellschaftspolitischer Standpunkte und Lösungskonzepte dar. Das die Folgezeit bestimmende Verhältnis zur Gesellschaft fasst konzeptionell eher der Entwurf des . Petrusbriefes zusammen, der—etwa zeitgleich zur Offenbarung und mit Blick auf Kleinasien—‘die Außenseiter-Rolle theologisch als königlichpriesterlichen Adel und pragmatisch als Missionschance’ begreift. Wie die Johannes-Offenbarung weiß Petr von der Bedrängnis und Herausforderung der Christen durch den Götzenkult (Petr .–), von Beschimpfungen durch die nichtchristliche Mehrheitsgesellschaft ( Petr .), von Prüfungen (Petr .; .) und Leiden wegen eines eindeutig christlichen Bekenntnisses ( Petr .–; ., ; .; .). Die Marginalisierung deutet und löst Petr anders als die Offenbarung und setzt—wie Philo—nicht auf den gesellschaftlichen Rückzug, sondern die Strahlkraft eines furchtlosen Bekenntnisses ( Petr .; ., ; .). Die Christen werden innerhalb der Gesellschaft positioniert (ἐν τοῖς ἔθν1σιν; Petr .) und aufgerufen, dort jede sich bietende Gelegenheit zum werbend missionarischen Zeugnis zu nutzen. Ebenso baut Petr gegenüber der Staatsgewalt auf eine loyale Haltung: διὰ τὸν κύριον ( Petr .) gilt es, sich den politisch Verantwortlichen unterzuordnen und so das christliche Bekenntnis gegenüber staatlichen Organen zu verteidigen. Hierzu M. Karrer, Der Brief an die Hebräer (ÖTK ; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus/ Würzburg: Echter, ) –. So Harland, ‘Honouring the Emperor’, . Backhaus, ‘Vision’, ; ebenso Klauck, ‘Sendschreiben’, –; C. G. Müller, ‘Diaspora— Herausforderung und Chance. Anmerkungen zum Glaubensprofil der Adressaten des . Petrusbriefs’, SNTSU.A () –.
Kaisertum und Kaiserkult
Auf jüdischer Seite ist es zur Abfassungszeit der Johannes-Offenbarung Josephus Flavius, der für eine friedliche Integration des Judentums ins Römerreich plädiert. Das Grundmovens seiner schriftstellerischen Tätigkeit ist, der heidnisch-hellenistischen Welt die Geschichte, den Glauben, die kulturelle Bedeutung und die friedfertige Gesinnung des jüdischen Volkes zu veranschaulichen. Wie für Philo stehen für Josephus Opfer zum Wohl des Kaisers und die respektvolle Anerkennung seiner politischen Autorität nicht dem Exklusivitätsanspruch Gottes entgegen (B.J. .; C. Ap. .–). Die Selbstvergöttlichung Caligulas bewertet auch Josephus als frevelhafte Anmaßung und despotische Willkür (A.J. .–; .–). Der Tod Caligulas ist Ausdruck der Fürsorge Gottes und fordert die politischen Machthaber auf, den Glauben und die Praxis des Judentums zu respektieren (A.J. .–). Josephus will die—in seiner Person als römischen Geschichtsschreiber jüdischen Glaubens exemplarisch gefundene—Integration des jüdischen Volkes durch die empathische Vermittlung der jüdischen Geschichte und Identität schützen. Dagegen teilen die frühjüdischen Apokalypsen die radikale politische Kritik und gesellschaftliche Verweigerungshaltung des Sehers Johannes. Die römische Staatsmacht wird durchwegs negativ bewertet ( Ezra .–.; Bar. .–.). Entwicklung und Schutz der jüdischen Identität werden nicht durch eine loyal gestimmte Integrationshaltung zu erreichen versucht. Gott vollzieht die Vergeltung und schafft Gerechtigkeit (Sib. Or. .–; .–). Das römische Reich erscheint als direkter Gegenspieler Gottes (Sib. Or. .–) und ist dem Untergang geweiht. Abermals ist die Stabilisierung und Bewahrung jüdischer Identität nur durch die scharfe Abgrenzung von der Gesellschaft zu erreichen, die sich im Glauben an die von Gott herbeigeführte eschatologische Wende vollzieht. Der Vergleich macht die komplex kontextuelle Abhängigkeit der jeweils konträren gesellschaftlichen Lösungsvorschläge deutlich: Die Deutung der gesellschaftlichen Marginalisierung und die Haltung gegenüber dem Kaiserkult ist nicht allein durch den religiösen Bekenntnishintergrund determiniert. Über die Glaubenszugehörigkeit hinaus prägen der soziale Standpunkt und die geistesgeschichtliche Beheimatung des jeweiligen Verfassers die Wahrnehmung der gesellschaftlichen und politischen Konfliktherde, bestimmen die literarischen Darstellungsmittel und beeinflussen die lebenspraktische Antwort. So ist auch im Fall des Diasporajuden Philo und des frühchristlichen Apokalyptikers Johannes die Suche nach Identität—quer zu den religiösen Linien—vom sozialen Hintergrund, dem politischen Selbstverständnis, dem theologisch und philosophisch verankerten und akzentuierten Gottes- und Menschenbild und nicht zuletzt von der individuellen Situation, der charakterlichen Prägung und menschlichen Haltung des Einzelnen bedingt. Insbesondere sind im Falle der Legatio ad Gaium und der Offenbarung des Johannes die soziale Milieuzugehörigkeit und geistesgeschichtliche Prägung in Rechnung zu stellen: Dem intellektuellen römischen, auf die Integration des
HANS-GEORG GRADL
jüdischen Volkes bedachten Diasporajuden steht ein charismatischer Wanderprediger gegenüber, der fest in der jüdisch-apokalyptischen Tradition verwurzelt ist und von daher die Konfliktherde dramatischer und facettenreicher wahrnimmt. Die Apokalyptik als ‘akute Entzündung der jüdischen Hoffnungsorgane’ bedingt die dualistisch radikalisierte Wirklichkeitswahrnehmung und den daraus folgenden handlungsrelevanten Aufruf zum gesellschaftlichen Exodus. Eine historische Anregungsfrequenz mag die apokalyptische Radikalisierung der Wirklichkeit zum einen in der Erfahrung der doppelten Unbehaustheit gefunden haben: Mit dem Glauben an Jesus als Heilsträger sieht Johannes die Christen in doppelte Opposition zur paganen Religion der griechisch-römischen Antike und zum Judentum gesetzt. Einen loyalen Weg zur integrativen Aussöhnung mit der Gesellschaft lehnt er der eindeutigen Unterscheidbarkeit wegen ab. Zum anderen blickt Johannes gegenüber Philo im zeitlichen Abstand eines halben Jahrhunderts auf vergangene antijüdische Konflikte und die Erfahrungen der Ausgrenzung und Verfolgung zurück. So ist die Visionswelt der Offenbarung von der Erinnerung an Kaiser Nero geprägt. Die Zahl des Tiers (Offb .) erlaubt die gematrische Deutung auf Nero. Mit der Legende von Nero redivivus (Offb .–) und der Stilisierung des Kaisers zum mythologischen Gegenspieler Gottes greift Johannes die traumatische und nachhaltig gegenwärtige Verfolgung unter Nero auf und liest die Vergangenheit in die Wahrnehmung seiner Gegenwart hinein. Mit dieser Erinnerung und in der Erfahrung der zweifachen Unbehaustheit bündelt Johannes das Gefahrenpotential und überzeichnet—ob als Grund oder Folge—in apokalyptischer Radikalisierung die tatsächlich vorhandene Bedrohung der Christen. Bleibend tragfähig ist sein Glaube an eine im Himmel schon grundgelegte Rettung. Die im Sieg des Lammes verbürgte Erlösung ist der theologische Kontrapunkt zur gesellschaftlichen Marginalisierung der Christen. Damit fordert die Apokalypse nicht nur zum Widerstand gegenüber der reichsrömischen Gesellschaft auf, sondern bietet sich selbst als Lebensraum an. Die Offenbarung verweist nicht nur auf eine himmlische Welt, sondern macht diese zur erfahrbaren Realität in der lesenden und hörenden Inszenierung der Schrift. ‘Auf diese Neuschöpfung zielen all die bewegten Bilder und zielt nach Gottes Absicht die Niederschrift des Johannes, denn genau dort ist diese neue Welt schon betretbar, ‘es ist geschehen’—für den, der liest und sieht und bewahrt’. P. Lapide, ‘Apokalypse als Hoffnungstheologie’, Apokalypse. Ein Prinzip Hoffnung? Ernst Bloch zum . Geburtstag. Ausstellungskatalog des Wilhelm-Hack-Museums Ludwigshafen (ed. R. W. Gassen/B. Holeczek; Heidelberg: Braus, ) – (). Dazu Borgen, ‘Emperor’, : ‘If such memories of the events under Gaius Caligula are reflected in John’s Revelation, then it is understandable that a concrete picture of emperor worship and persecution is given, although the book does not report on an actual situation in which such systematic persecution already had taken place’. Backhaus, ‘Apokalyptische Bilder’, .
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990221
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith* F. G E RAL D D OW N I N G Centre for Biblical Studies, University of Manchester, and 33 Westhoughton Rd, Adlington, Chorley, Lancashire, PR7 4EU, UK. email:
[email protected]
While allowing for polysemy, scholars seem mostly averse to ambiguity, as in the πίστις Χριστοῦ debate; but, it would seem, without engaging with ancient semantic theory. There the model of ‘naming’ and so of evoking an otherwise unspecified mental impression, predominates. Meaning is taken to lie in the mind, not in the word or words that are hoped to evoke it, as is also shown in ancient discussions of metaphor, allegory, and paraphrase. Connotations of individual words are rarely distinguished, rarely if ever purged. We are not justified in expecting verbal precision where our ancient authors will neither have attempted it nor will their hearers have expected it; nor, indeed, do modern psycholinguists appear to find space for it. Keywords: Ambiguity, polysemy, imprecision, πίστις Χριστοῦ, ancient semantic theory, ‘naming’, μ1ταφορά, translatio, psycholinguistics . Ambiguity
It is hard to find a contemporary scholar actually approving sustained ambiguity in the interpretation of ancient texts, especially in the πίστις Χριστοῦ debate. However, just one, and that quite recently, comes to mind: Robert Jewett, discussing ‘faith of’ or ‘faith in’ Christ at Rom ., argues: Both the subjective or [sic] objective theories as currently presented have loopholes… It may be that a simple association between ‘faith’ and ‘Jesus’…may have been intended…and neither of the strict construals matches what the original audience would have understood. I wonder whether the ambiguity may have been intentional on Paul’s part, so as to encompass the variety of tenement and house churches in Rome that may well have been using the formula of πίστις Χριστοῦ with a variety of connotations. * This essay is dedicated to Christopher F. Evans on the occasion of his one hundredth birthday, albeit appearing after the event. I am grateful to the editor and to reviewers for constructive comments received. R. Jewett, Romans (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, ) –. In what follows ‘ambiguity’ is used, as Jewett does here, for any imprecision, not just uncertainty between two meanings (each possibly precise).
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However, Jewett cites no one in support of hearing two or even more senses together, and on the whole, the guild of biblical scholars would appear to dislike ambiguity, should it appear, or seem to, in the ancient texts, and especially in the πίστις Χριστοῦ debate. It is ‘unfortunate’ (Morna Hooker), ‘dangerous’ (Paul Achtemeier), and needs to be ‘disambiguated’ (Barry Matlock): in each instance the genitive is either objective or subjective, certainly not both. There is no enquiry into any possible relevance of ancient semantic theory and practice. To be sure, in narrative (e.g. in the Fourth Gospel) ambiguity may regularly be allowed as intentional and admissible; yet, once two clear senses of a lexeme are recognised, confusion for discerning readers is happily dispelled. Apart from John, Lauri Thurén has discerned a persuasive ambiguity in Peter’s combination of exhortation and encouragement (‘become what you are’). Mark D. Given has argued (and cogently) for a deliberate employment of ambiguity by the Lukan Paul of Acts , and by the authorial Paul of the Corinthian and Roman letters. (In passing, Given glanced at what is the main theme of this paper, pervasive polysemity, rather than deliberate and even precise ‘two-sense’ ambiguity, but did not pursue it.) We return to Given below. Todd Still might seem recently to have come fairly close to Jewett’s position, in illustrating something of the semantic richness in Hebrews of πίστις, πιστ1ύω, and π1ίθω. Jesus is portrayed as one who ‘trusts’ God and acknowledges his ‘belief’ and ‘confidence’ in God, as well as being himself ‘trustworthy’, ‘firm’, ‘reliable’. The terms are ‘polyvalent’, they display ‘lexical flexibility’, although most often the specific ‘valence’ ‘trustworthy’ is stronger. Thus the overall drift of the argument remains in favour of one or other sense at a time. Earlier, Richard Hays urged that both distinct ‘objective’ and ‘subjective’ senses of M. D. Hooker, ‘ΠΙΣΤΙΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥ’, NTS . () –, citing ; P. J. Achtemeier, ‘Faith in or of Jesus Christ’, Pauline Theology IV: Looking Back, Looking Forward (ed. E. E. Johnson and D. M. May; Atlanta: Scholars, ) –, citing ; B. Matlock, ‘The Rhetoric of πίστις in Paul: Galatians ., ., Romans ., and Philippians .’, JSNT () –, citing , , . A. T. Lincoln, The Gospel According to St. John (BNTC; London: T. & T. Clark, ) –. C. M. Conway, ‘Speaking through Ambiguity: Minor Characters in the Fourth Gospel’, Bib Int () –, argues cogently for deliberate and sustained ambiguity in elements of John’s narrative; if also, now Raimo Hakola, ‘The Burden of Ambiguity: Nicodemus and the Social Identity of the Johannine Christians’ NTS () –. Lauri Thurén, Argument and Theology in Peter: The Origins of Christian Paraenesis (JSNTSup ; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ). Mark D. Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric: Ambiguity, Cunning and Deception in Greece and Rome (ESEC ; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity, ); and n. . I am grateful to a reviewer for a note of this book. Todd D. Still, ‘Christos as Pistos: The Faith(fulness) of Jesus in the Epistle to the Hebrews’, CBQ () –; cf. also Michael F. Bird and Michael R. Whitenton, ‘The faithfulness of Jesus Christ in Hippolytus’ De Christo et Antichristo: Overlooking the Patristic Evidence in the πίστις Χριστοῦ Debate’, NTS () –.
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith
πίστις Χριστοῦ be taken as intended at Gal .. Just at this point Hays came close to proposing the flexibility of language that, it is here to be argued, obtained in general in the world of the NT: uses of ‘faithfulness’ throughout Paul, he insisted, are themselves ‘analogically related’, ‘not [all] identical’. Paul Achtemeier, for one, has remained highly sceptical. Obviously scholars have long been aware of verbal polyvalence, or polysemity: our dictionaries number on occasion half-a-dozen or more distinguishable senses for lexemes, although, and oddly, ‘polysemous’ itself seems to be taken as unquestionably ‘monosemous’: users of such terms as ‘polyvalence’ assume they can only designate distinct ‘senses’ (‘semes’ or, better, ‘uses’) as discriminated, as enumeratable, in the lexicons. That usages may merge, unbounded, may flow into one another, implicate one another, seems mostly not to be considered; or if considered, is rejected (‘polysemiophobia’). One further recent partial exception has been K. F. Ulrichs’s cogent syntactical argument that in Paul’s use of πίστις Χριστοῦ, both objective and subjective valences evoke one another, complementing each other, as occurs in analogous constructions. However, he dismisses previous discussions of the wide semantic field of πίστwords as problematic, and that still without reference to ancient semantics as such. It seems it can simply be assumed that Paul would have made distinct senses clear: ‘ein genitivus subjectivus eingefürt, erklärt oder jedenfalls gekennzeichnet hätte werden müssen’. More widely yet, a preference for distinct senses seems generally prevalent in literate circles today, readily found in a standard modern textbook on language. Any ‘crude’ enumeration of senses will certainly be rejected, and more nuanced terms such as ‘facets’ and ‘micro-senses’ will be introduced. But there still R. B. Hays, ‘ΠΙΣΤΙΣ and Pauline Theology’, Pauline Theology IV (ed. Johnson and May) – , citing , strongly supported, more recently, by David J. Southall, Rediscovering Righteousness in Romans: Personified dikaiosunê within Metaphoric and Narratorial Settings (WUNT /; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ); Achtemeier, ‘Faith in or of Jesus Christ’, . ‘Polyvalence’ (better, ‘multivalence’) may even more strongly suggest distinct ‘valences’, if the metaphor from atomic physics is pressed. D. Geeraerts, ‘Polysemization and Humboldt’s Principle’, La Polysémie: Lexicographie et Cognition (ed. R. Jongen; Louvain-la-Neuve: Cabay, ) –; R. B. Matlock, ‘Detheologizing the ΠΙΣΤΙΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥ Debate: Cautionary Remarks from a Lexical Semantic Perspective’, NovT () –, argues against an ‘amoebic sort of sense that could ooze’, p. . K. F. Ulrichs, Christusglaube. Studien zum Syntagma pistis Christou und zum paulinischen Verständnis von Glaube und Rechtfertigung (WUNT /; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) –. I am grateful to a reviewer for this reference. Ulrichs, Christusglaube, –, –. Ulrichs, Christusglaube, ; cf. , ‘hätte Paulus diesen nicht deutlich(er) markieren müssen?’; , ‘die (den Paulus nicht kennenden und dem Paulus unbekannten) Adressaten diese kaum hätte erschließen können’.
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seems to remain the ‘modernist’ expectation that the context will make these specific facets clear and distinct. A problem that as a result confronts this present discussion is the reader’s likely tacit assumption that phrases such as ‘the idea of…’ or ‘a meaning of…’ necessarily imply that some precise and definable sense is in question; yet these are the only terms available with which to counter that very assumption. The reader is asked to be patient with ‘scare quotes’ when such terms as ‘meaning’ and ‘idea’ are used. Our use of ‘ambiguous’ is itself also imprecise. Its etymology may suggest (as indicated above) an expression with two distinct senses, or an expression that is simply unclear, in practice polysemous: the latter, however, is the more likely, according to my dictionaries. The topic mainly to be discussed here is whether our widespread contemporary expectation of and insistence on clarity in the use of words is justified—is at all justified—in our interpretation of texts from the ancient Graeco-Roman world, bearing in mind available contrary indications in ancient commonplaces on words and ideas, on translation, metaphor, and allegory. It is certainly striking that in none of the discussion among NT scholars noted so far does there seem to be any suggestion that a consideration of ancient understanding(s) of semantics might be relevant or can and has been shown not to be. Nor does any such possibility appear to have been considered over the years in a number of monographs on biblical semantics: not in those by James Barr, Anders Nygren, nor Arthur Gibson; nor, indeed, more recently by Anthony Thiselton, nor by others. Two very recent titles that might seem to suggest concern with these issues also fail to engage with ancient theory. Scholars today are accustomed to consulting elaborate dictionaries, monolingual and bilingual, where different spellings and senses (or uses) of lexemes are, as just noted, carefully discriminated, even enumerated for us. Such lexicons E.g., A. Cruse, Meaning in Language: An Introduction to Semantics and Pragmatics (Oxford: Oxford University, nd ed. ) –, referring to , –. J. Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (Oxford: Oxford University, ); A. Nygren, Meaning and Method: Prolegomena to a Scientific Philosophy of Religion and a Scientific Theology (London: Epworth, ); A. C. Thiselton, ‘Semantics and New Testament Interpretation’, New Testament Interpretation (ed. I. H. Marshall; Exeter: Paternoster, ) –; A. Gibson, Biblical Semantic Logic (Oxford: Blackwell, ); J. P. Louw, Semantics of New Testament Greek (Philadelphia: Fortress; Chico, CA: Scholars, ); K. Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning in this Text? The Bible, the Reader and the Morality of Literary Knowledge (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, ); I. Boxall, New Testament Interpretation (London: SCM, ). C. Helmer, ed., The Multivalence of Biblical Texts and their Theological Meanings (SBLSymS ; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, ); P. Spitaler, ‘Διακρίν1σθαι in Mt. :, Mk :, Acts :, Rom. :, :, Jas : and Jude : The “Semantic Shift” That Went Unnoticed by Patristic Authors’, NovT () –. Cf. Matlock, ‘Detheologizing’, –; and Ulrichs, Christusglaube, –.
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only began to appear in Europe in the eighteenth century. In the ancient Graeco-Roman world individuals compiled word-lists, be it of difficult words in Homer, with suggested current equivalents, or of synonyms and homophones in contemporary use, and speculated on etymologies. But none of even such simple tools as these were in wide circulation. This already constitutes a very significant difference between authors and hearers/readers then and those of us engaged in literary and kindred scholarship today. There were occasional attempts to distinguish between the denotations of a general term such as ‘ζῷον’, so a human might be defined as a ‘rational animal’ (ζῷον λογικόν, Aristotle, Chrysippus) or a ‘featherless biped animal’ (ζῷον δίπουν ἄπτ1ρον, ascribed to Plato). Cicero or Quintilian may explain (with examples) what terms such as ‘paraphrase’ amount to (see further below). They may discuss the limitations presented to a translator by the overlapping usages of Greek and of Latin words. An individual word in either language is taken to ‘name’ various things or activities, as will be discussed shortly. But there seems to have been no general attempt to distinguish and define (let alone then exclude) possible or apparent connotations of individual words in ordinary discourse—possible senses of ‘human’, for instance. It is important to recognise that in the ancient Graeco-Roman world only Aristotle earlier seems to have been seriously concerned in general with possible ambiguities that may indeed occur in individual words spoken, heard, written, read. At Topica ..– (a), for instance, Aristotle distinguishes uses of δικαίως and also of ὑγι1ινῶς, with the latter anticipating (or prompting?) my dictionary: ‘denoting health, conducive to health, preserving health’ (compare Poetics .–, a). But nowhere in his Rhetoric does this sort of analysis recur; nor does it seem to be taken up by later rhetoricians who cite him. In Topica ., Aristotle then notes that ὀξύ can be used as ‘sharp’ is in modern English, in quite different senses in respective contexts of knives and of music. In each context there is now, no suggestion of ambiguity. In fact, he himself at Poetics discusses similar instances in terms of metaphor, the transfer of names (to which, as said, we turn in a moment). R. L. Collison, A History of Foreign Language Dictionaries (London: Deutsch, ) Chapter , ‘Emulation and Achievement’, –, citing Jean Baptiste de La Curne de Sainte-Palaye, who ‘allowed for a far greater amount of information about each word than any dictionary had so far supplied’, p. ; cf. also, J. Green, Chasing the Sun: Dictionary-makers and the Dictionaries They Made (London: Cape, ) – and –, esp. and . Collinson, History, –. Diogenes Laertius Lives .. E.g., Quintilian Inst. ., in discussion with Cicero and Caecilius; see further below. Nor is any hard denotation/connotation disjunction here implied. On Aristotle, J. Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, Current Trends in Linguistics, : Historiography of Linguistics (ed. T. A. Sebeok; The Hague: Mouton, ) –, here
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For Aristotle and for later writers ἀμφιβολία, ambiguitas, is to be mainly discerned in a lexeme such as ΟΥ enunciated with rough or smooth breathing, or a faulty construction, or uncertain breaks between words that leave the performer and/or the hearers unsure, or allow for puns: but ambiguity is not at all said to be found in individual words in contexts seen as normal. In context, different applications are usually assumed to be unmisleading. Otherwise, it seems that none but the Stoics as a school took deliberate pains to coin or to define their terms so as to obviate particular ambiguities, and they did that for their own distinct philosophical purposes. Roughly speaking, to live rightly you had to have and articulate comprehensively correct impressions of things. Critics, including the present author, have discerned Stoic influence among early Christian writers; but there is no sign of the latter adopting an extensive Stoic technical vocabulary, essential to any comprehensive assimilation. Otherwise, only Galen, in the second century CE, as an individual philosophically minded physician sought precise clinical terminology. Philo does suggest that contemporary sophists ‘wear out the ears of any audience they happen to have with disquisitions on minutiae, unravelling phrases that are ambiguous and can bear two meanings (τὰς διπλᾶς καὶ ἀμφιβόλους λέξ1ις ἀναπτύσσων)’. It is to this kind of practice that Mark Given draws attention, explaining how the divergent readings of modern commentators may well represent kinds of double sense that Luke and Paul could have deliberately deployed, with a Socratic transformative irony. However, this is still to discern distinct senses in words such as δ1ισιδαιμον1στέρους, ἀγνοοῦντ1ς, ὑπ1ριδών, and τ1λός: and that may seem not to go far enough. For there is no indication that such sophistry (or sophistic anti-sophistry) involved a pervasive attention to individual word usage, nor that such as Philo
referring to and ; C. Atherton, The Stoics on Ambiguity (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –. Aristotle Top. ..–; Poet. .– (a); Rhet. ..; Demetrius On Style .; Ad Herrenium .; Quintilian Inst. ..–; ..–; Theon Progymnasmata –, . (cf. Diogenes Laertius Lives ., .). E.g. Epictetus Diss. .. and Diogenes Laertius Lives .; and cf. Atherton, The Stoics on Ambiguity, passim, but esp. –, –, –; and the classifications in Galen On Linguistic Sophisms [Gabler, .–.] and Theon Progymnasmata .–., in Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata (ed. and trans. M. Patillon and G. Bolognesi; Paris: Belles Lettres, ). Cf. R. J. Hankinson, ‘Usage and Abusage: Galen on Language’, Language (ed. S. Everson; Companions to Ancient Thought ; Oxford: Oxford University, ) –. Philo De agr. , LCL; cf. Dio Discourse .–; Quintilian Inst. ..; .–. Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric. Given’s ancient references are mainly to Plato and Aristotle, but he also engages with recent discussions of discernible Socratic motifs in Acts and in Paul, and I have adduced the first-century CE passages in the previous note in support.
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or Quintilian were drawn in response to pre-empt what they took sophists to be doing for display. Rather did authors (including writers) rely on ordinary words in discursive context to evoke without any ‘disambiguation’ the sort of response sought, as did Stoics themselves for much of the time. Only in passing does Quintilian tell us ‘in the opinion of certain philosophers, there is not a single word which does not signal many things’ (nullum videatur esse verbum quod non plura significet). Chrysippus, according to Aulus Gellius, took it that ‘every word is by nature ambiguous, since from the same [word] two or even more things can be understood’ (duo vel plura accipi possunt). Quintilian gives the suggestion no further attention. And ancient practice suggests that no such general concern arose. Thus when Plato’s Socrates discusses topics such as piety, or naming, or knowledge, eros, temperance, manliness, friendship, there seems to be a clear conviction that the discussion is worthwhile, it has a topic, and positions are articulated: but no ‘definition’ of individual terms, their possible nuances, connotations, emerges. A present-day commentator on Plato concludes, ‘To learn the truth we have to go behind words altogether’. ‘Each thing is to be understood through a full, lively awareness of its similarities and differences in relation to other things’. A first-century BCE Platonist offered a very similar observation: Speaking with multiple voices is characteristic of Plato, and even the subject of the telos is expressed by him in several ways. He uses a variety of expressions because of his lofty eloquence, but he is contributing to a single concordant item of doctrine. That doctrine is that we should live in accordance with virtue. (Τὸ δ1 πολύφωνον τοῦ Πλάτωνος. Εἴρηται δὲ καὶ τὰ π1ρὶ τοῦ τέλους αὐτῷ πολλαχῶς. Καὶ τὴν μὲν ποιχιλίαν τῆς φράσ1ως ἔχ1ι διὰ τὸ λόγιον καὶ μ1γαλήγορον, 1ἰς δὲ ταὐτὸ καὶ σύμφωνον τοῦ δόγματος συντ1λ1ῖ. Τοῦτο δ’ἐστὶ τὸ κατ’ ἀρ1τὴν ζῆν.)
We find much the same in writing in and around the first century. All our authors have read or heard others evoking ‘the idea’ each wishes to evoke in each one’s own way: shorter, longer, better illustrated, more elegantly expressed, more One may compare Musonius and Epictetus in their practice; cf. Atherton, The Stoics on Ambiguity, ; Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, . Quintilian Inst. .. Aulus Gellius noct. att. .., as presented in Atherton, The Stoics, –, suggesting ὄνομα as Chrysippus’s likely original; see further below, and cf. Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric, n. ; but, as noted, he does not pursue this line. J. M. Cooper, ‘Cratylus’, Plato: Complete Works (ed. J. M. Cooper and D. S. Hutchinson; Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett, ) –, citing ; and in ‘Sophist’, –, citing . Eudorus in Stobaeus (ed. C. Wachsmuth and O. Hense), Anthologium (Berlin: Weidmannos, ) –, cited and translated by G. H. van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology in Context, the Image of God, Assimilation to God, and Tripartite Man in Ancient Judaism, Ancient Philosophy and Early Christianity (WUNT /; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ) .
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or less persuasive, effective: the ‘same’ idea, or near enough for current purposes. But each and every one of these is itself an evocation of, say, ‘the idea’ (‘the “ideal” idea’) of tranquillity, which remains still undefined and undefinable, and with it words such as tranquillitas or 1ὐθυμία. When Seneca discourses on tranquillity, providence, constancy, anger, clemency; or Plutarch on education, tranquillity, friendship, fortune, virtue and vice, marriage; or Dio of Prusa on kingship, tyranny, virtue, usefulness, or faith (ΠΕΡΙ ΠΙΣΤΕΩΣ), no word and no set of words ‘encapsulates’ let alone itself defines ‘the idea’. It is always outside and beyond the words; and, a fortiori, there is no attempt to discriminate—let alone then to prioritise and exclude—various possible senses, connotations, of the various individual terms deployed, nor does there seem to be on any other topic. (If exceptions there turn out to be to this present claimed absence of connotative definition and exclusion, they would assuredly seem to be rare.) There certainly is no sign of any appetite for precise definitions in early Christian writings. When Paul in Corinthians discourses on ἀγάπη he lists a range of ideas the term brings to his mind; however, he does not, for instance, bother to exclude the patriarchal, patronising usage available to the writer of Eph .. Indeed, we may usefully recall how many centuries it took for Christian intellectuals to agree in stipulating distinct and exclusive uses for terms such as οὐσία and ὑπόστασις; and even then not all were willing to accept the precisions. Precision, and any exclusion of overtones, had to be argued for, if wanted; unargued, they were presumably neither expected nor required. To read ancient authors as though they ‘must’ have shared the concern evinced by some among us for connotative precision risks making a category mistake, a mistake in the genre of verbal articulation deployed. It is to a more detailed discussion of ancient semantics, and the freedom that they (unawares) may seem to have encouraged that we now turn.
. Semantic Richness in Ancient Theory and Practice
What follows surveys some ancient authors’ discussions of how words are held to work as ‘names’ (ὀνόματα, nomina), ‘names’ that are expected to evoke in hearers’ minds shared impressions of people and events and things, and shared ideas, generalities, abstract concepts. Evidence will be offered to show that, For a detailed example, F. G. Downing, ‘On Avoiding Bothersome Busyness: Q/Lk .– in its Graeco-Roman Context’, God with Everything: The Divine in the Discourse of the First Christian Century (SWBA /; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, ) –, discussing Seneca and Plutarch and others on tranquillity. At Rom .–, in his exegesis, Paul might just possibly be thought to be stipulatively defining λογίζομαι when deployed in the absence of overt reference to ‘work’ as specifically denoting an act of grace.
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith
with the common acceptance of this model of ‘naming’, there is, as already noted, little call for ‘disambiguation’, but considerable scope for creative imprecision. In brief, and for example, ‘Diogenes’, ‘the Cynic’, ‘the Sinopean’, and ‘the philosopher’ are all held readily to call to mind the same person (however differently perceived by friend or foe); if others are also called Diogenes, an additional ‘name’ can readily distinguish them, still retaining, undefined, much they have in common (they are Greek males born into Greek culture with its complex and varied talk of Gods and of continuity between Gods and humans…). And in a similar way a ‘name’ or a short or lengthy sequence of ‘names’ can be expected freely to evoke ‘the same’ but undefined thing or ‘the same’ idea (‘the same “ideal” idea’), be it of friendship, virtue, kingship, variously expounded, in hearers’ minds. There can also be a ‘transfer’ (μ1ταφορά, translatio) of a name or names from one person or thing or idea to another, expecting a similar evocation without precise definition. In practice, it will be argued, as already indicated, that the corollary is a fluid semantic freedom and richness. a. ‘Names’ ὀνόματα, Nomina This understanding of words as ‘names’ arises in all our ancient Greek and Roman discussions of rhetoric, at least in discussions of metaphor, yet seems not to be touched on in the (otherwise very thorough and useful) surveys of ancient rhetoric that have appeared of late. One of the briefest and most telling accounts available, however, is not in a discussion of rhetoric as such, but in a much-admired example of its practice, the Olympikos of the eclectic Stoic (and occasional Cynic) Dio of Prusa: The human race has left unuttered and undesignated no single thing that reaches our sense perception, but straightway puts upon what the mind perceives [τῷ νοηθέντι] the unmistakable seal of a name [σφραγῖδα ὀνόματος], and often several vocal signs for one item [πλ1ίους φωνὰς ἑνὸς πράγματος] so that when anyone gives utterance to any one of them, they convey an impression not much less distinct than does the actual matter in question. Encountering ‘polysemiophobia’ one is tempted to suspect a heritage of late mediaeval nominalism in modern theological unease with connotations, suggesting the tacit assumption that nothing in common should be taken to be indicated by a shared term other than the sharing of the term itself. The reader may work with a sense/reference dichotomy, where names have reference, not sense. In this terminology, the ancient view is concerned with ‘the sense’ to which the ‘name’ (word) refers. G. A. Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, ); H. Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric (ed. D. E. Orton and R. D. Anderson; Leiden/ Boston: Brill, [German original, München: Hüber, ]); S. E. Porter, ed., Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period (Leiden/Boston: Brill, ); but see also F. G. Downing, ‘Words and Meanings’, Doing Things with Words in the First Christian Century (JSNTSup ; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ) –.
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Very great indeed is the ability and power [ἐξουσία καὶ δύναμις] of humans to indicate [ἐνδ1ίξασθαι] with words whatever occurs [τὸ παραστάν].
In Greek this model for the way words may be taken to work goes back, we gather, to before Plato, and is happily taken up by him and by Aristotle after him, and by their successors. Plato is able to make a distinction between noun and verb, significantly (re-)using ὄνομα for subject (or noun), with ῥῆμα for predicate (or verb). Aristotle introduces further distinctions (for sentences and connectors), and yet more distinctions follow over the centuries. There are also discussions, as in Plato’s Cratylus, as to whether words originate naturally, perhaps by resemblances of sounds (what we still term onomatapoia); or whether, as most agreed, they are, or are for the most part, arbitrary. There are also discussions of homonyms and homophones, as already noted. However, the unquestioned model remains the same throughout. I quote Jan Pinborg’s conclusions: The semantic conception involved in [Aristotle’s] definitions and their context is rather primitive. The written symbols are arbitrary signs of the spoken symbols, which are in turn arbitrary signs of the mental concepts which in turn are natural ‘likenesses’ of the things themselves. This conception presupposes a theory of natural ‘forms’ according to which the forms embodied in the things and giving them their nature is grasped directly by the intellect.
To quote Aristotle himself, as an example of the common view, Words spoken are symbols or signs of affections or impressions [παθημάτων σύμβολα] in the soul; written words are the signs of words spoken. As in writing, so also is speech not the same for all peoples. But the mental affections themselves, of which these words are primarily signs, are the same for all Dio Chrysostom Discourse . (LCL, lightly adapted); cf. ., and brief comment in H.-J. Klauck and B. Bäbler, Dion von Prusa, Olympischer Rede (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, ) n. ; and cf. S. Inowlocki, ‘“Neither Adding nor Omitting Anything”: Josephus’ Promise not to Modify the Scriptures in Greek and Latin Context’, JJS () –. See, e.g., D. Bostock, ‘Plato on Understanding Language’, in Language (ed. Everson) –; and D. Charles, ‘Aristotle on Names and their Signification’, in Language (ed. Everson) –, and other articles in Evason, ed., Language; and Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, –. Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, –, citing Plato Soph. A, and Aristotle Int. – but cf. also Rhet. ..; and cf. Bostock, ‘Plato’, and Charles, ‘Aristotle’; but also Quintilian Inst. ..–. Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, . More recently J. Barnes has noted, ‘no ancient text hints at an answer’ as to how ‘names and the like signify’ λ1κτά, and can himself only ‘guess’: in D. M. Schenkefeld and J. Barnes, ‘Language’, The Cambridge History of Ancient Philosophy (ed. K. Algra et al.; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –, citing .
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith [ταὐτὰ πᾶσι], as are also the objects of which these affections are representations or likenesses, images, copies [ὁμοιώματα].
Significant is the clear conviction that all humans will share the same mental impressions. As already discussed, Aristotle and his contemporaries and their successors were aware of ambiguity in practice, and others’ actions, including ‘inappropriate’ verbal responses, would show whether words had failed to evoke near enough ‘the same’ impression. To ensure success, to allow words their full ‘power to evoke’, speakers (and writers) might use a lot of words, of expansions and paraphrases (and gesture, body-language), to ensure that the intended response was effectively evoked. But ‘meaning’ is in the mind, not in individual words; and quite different sets of words may be expected to evoke ‘the meaning’ intended but not otherwise defined. Failure leads to more discourse; not in most instances, it seems, to individual words’ uses being discriminated. It is worth comparing the passage from Dio with Paul in Cor .–, for its similar terminology (including awareness of other languages), for its treatment of ambiguity, and for its stress at the end on the ‘power’ (τὴν δύναμιν) of the word. It is the word’s ‘power’ to evoke that is at issue, not its ‘meaning’ ( pace modern English translators): …if the trumpet sound is uncertain [ἄδηλον], who will prepare for battle? In the same way, if what you say in tongues produces no clear utterance [1ὔσημον λόγον], how can anyone tell what has been spoken [τὸ λαλούμ1νον]? You will be talking into the air. There happen to be any number of soundsystems [γένη φωνῶν] in our world, and nowhere are such lacking. If I do not perceive the force of the sound [τὴν δύναμιν τῆς φωνῆς], I shall be a barbarian babbler to the speaker and the speaker to me.
Later, for instance, among the Stoics, ὄνομα comes to be confined in some contexts to proper nouns, denoting named individuals or named things. However, the model remains the same, as one may see, for instance, in Philo: Who does not know that every language, and Greek especially, abounds in terms [ὀνομάτων], and that the same thought [ταὐτὸν ἐνθύμημα] can be put in many shapes [σχηματίσαι πολλαχῶς] more or less freely [μ1ταφράζοντα καὶ παραφράζοντα], suiting the expression to the occasion? Aristotle Int. .–, in H. P. Cooke and H. Tredennick, ed. and trans., Aristotle: Categories, On Interpretation, Prior Analytics (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University; London: Heinemann, ) adapted. Philo Mos. ., F. H. Colson, ed. and trans. (LCL; Cambridge MA/London: Harvard University /Heinemann, ) adapted, using Colson’s alternative rendering. The ‘idea’ of each and every thing can potentially be evoked by name; only God can not: God permits address, but remains incomprehensible, inconceivable, and so (alone) not in a proper sense ‘nameable’ at all: De mut. nom. –.
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What for present purposes is most significant is the Stoic insistence that what an assertion asserts, τὸ λ1κτόν, is something ‘immaterial, objective, and something which others can grasp’. A word in common use, and used recognisably, may be hoped, expected to evoke an appropriate notion in any (Greek) hearer’s mind. For most purposes, even among Stoics, there is no need for prior or further definition of individual words, for any restrictions or qualifications to their sense. In practice, speakers in the ancient Mediterranean world, as already noted, learned to use all kinds of amplification and paraphrase in attempting to persuade others to see things nearly enough as the speaker expected. But such amplification, to which we shall return, did not usually include any pruning of semantic riches; if anything, it amounted to further enrichment. Of course, if you were sure you had something quite new and different to say, you would have to define some of your terms, as the Stoics did for their philosophical reflections, and as Galen later did for clinical reasons; but for ordinary purposes both, like everyone else, relied on ordinary language to work as well as they took it for granted it must. Yet, as all the modern authors on ancient semantics cited so far agree, there is in fact no such facility in words to evoke a precise common thought, idea, impression in all users of the language in question. The ‘naming’ model is ‘primitive’ (Pinborg) and unsustainable (Wittgenstein). ‘Woman’, ‘father’, ‘dog’, ‘freedom’, can be shown to evoke very different ideas and mental images in varying contexts among current speakers of the language. It is worth quoting a later writer, Augustine (criticised by Wittgenstein), for his awareness of this openness: To be sure, all of us readers try to discern and grasp what the author wished [quod voluit ille quem legimus]. [Yet] what harm is there to me if these words can be understood in different ways, so long as these ways are true? [express divine truth]…even if it is not what the author meant [etiamsi non hoc sensit ille]?… So, when one says, ‘Moses’ thought is mine’, and another, ‘not at all, it’s mine’, I think it more faithful [religiosius] to say, ‘Why one more than the other, if both are true? Or if someone sees a third or a fourth, or some truth quite different in these words [si quid omnino aliud verum quispiam in his verbis videt] why may it not be trusted that Moses saw them all [illa omnia vidisse credatur]?’
Moses can be taken to intend to evoke ‘an idea’ or a plurality of ideas, but neither is ‘in’, nor expected to be ‘in’ the words; words only evoke ideas. A. A. Long, ‘Language and Thought in Stoicism’, Problems in Stoicism (ed. A. A. Long; London: Athlone, ) –, citing ; also quoted by Pinborg, ‘Classical Antiquity: Greece’, . Cf. also Diogenes Laertius Lives .–. L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (Oxford: Blackwell, ) – et passim. Augustine Conf. .. and ..; from M. Skutella (Teubner), in A. Solignac et al., Les Confessions VIII–XIII (Brussels: Desclée de Brouwer, ).
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Neither author nor reader is reprimanded for, nor defended against, any charge of verbal imprecision. There seems to be no thought of engaging in a more precise definition of the terms deployed. b. Metaphor and Allegory Ancient talk of metaphor and allegory emphasises the practical imprecision and semantic freedom the ‘naming’ model encouraged. In discussing μ1ταφορά, translatio, Quintilian in effect summarises some of the foregoing and prompts further reflection. He explains that μ1ταφορά, translatio adds to the copiousness of language by the interchange of words and by borrowing, and finally succeeds in accomplishing the supremely difficult task of providing a name (nomen) for everything. A noun (nomen [sic]) or verb (verbum) is transferred from the place to which it properly belongs to another where either a proper one (proprium) is lacking or the transferred is better than the proper one. We do this either because it is necessary or because it is more indicative (significantius), or more acceptable (melius).
Obviously, Quintilian, too, took the model of ‘naming’ for granted. Although he could use nomen to distinguish subject from predicate (verbum), ‘metaphor’ was still in both cases the provision of a new ‘name’ (and the examples that follow include proper nouns and verbs). Just as ‘Cynic’ may be substituted for Diogenes to make the reference clear (my example), so crops may be said to thirst. Significantly, another ‘name’ may do as well or better; but no fresh definition, no clarifying precision is called for. That is not to suggest that ancient authors lacked concern for clarity, lucidity, or effective persuasion and detailed agreement in practice. What is being argued is that the desired clarity was not sought by defining the nuances of even the key terms deployed. ‘Clarity involves the employment of current words, and words bound together’, avers Demetrius. Only, in agreement with Quintilian, and very significantly: ‘Some things are, however, expressed with greater clearness and precision by means of metaphors’. This ‘transference of names’ model itself goes back at least to Aristotle (Poetics and Rhetoric), and appears in Cicero, and in the Ad Herrenium. And it does warrant more reflection than it seems to have received, not least among exegetes of the Judaeo-Christian Scriptures. Janet Martin Soskice, a few years back, argued persuasively that ‘metaphor is that figure of speech whereby we speak about one Quintilian Inst. ..–. Demetrius On Style .–; Theon Progymnasmata .–, .–; Quintilian Inst. .., , ..–, . Demetrius On Style ., LCL. Aristotle Poet. – and Rhet. ..–, .. (of ones of which he disapproves), and ..; Cicero, e.g., Orator .–; .–; Ad Herrenium ..
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thing in terms suggestive of another’, and as such it is open and ‘irreducible’ (and many have seemed persuaded). In a more recent general survey of metaphor Katrin Kohl affirms, ‘Deutlich wird vor allem ihre Kraft, unser Denken, unsere Emotionen, unsere imaginativen Fähigkeiten und unsere Sprache produktiv interagieren zu lassen, sowie auch ihr Potenzial, unsere innersten Gefühlen und abenteuerlichsten Vorstellungen eine Struktur und einen kommunizierbaren Sinn zu verleihen’. Much recent research in combined psycholinguistics and philosophy of language including pragmatics further confirms such conclusions, and strongly suggests that the use of language with this sort of freedom has been ‘hard wired’ in human brains for many millennia more than the two that separate us from the first century CE. That is how we for the most part make words work (allow words to work); it is only in some areas of scholarship that verbal precision is sought—or imposed. (On the issue of psycholinguistics, see further the final paragraphs of this essay.) However, and just because the ancients were convinced that their words could name and rename and so evoke appropriate ideas in others’ minds, they will have been particularly free, within the limits of ‘good Greek’ or ‘correct Latin’, to elaborate and innovate expansively. And we have therefore no warrant for reduction in our interpretation of them. For the model of transferred naming used to explain what we still call ‘metaphor’ is logically symmetrical, reversible. If names are seen as exchangeable, and the transferred one likely as evocative as (or better than) the common one, there is nothing ‘in’ a name that affords precision; precision (if any) lies in the ineffable λ1κτόν evoked. And then, of course, if we, per contra, take it there is no such λ1κτόν or ‘form’, there is nothing precise to be named, renamed, evoked, we now have to accept
J. M. Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon, ) and –; compare the more recent discussion in B. Kuschnerus, Die Gemeinde als Brief Christi. Die kommunikative Funktion der Metapher bei Paulus am Beispiel von Kor – (FRLANT ; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, ). Although both Quintilian and Aristotle on the ‘transfer of names’ are cited by Kuschnerus (, , ), the wider implications of ‘naming’ are neglected. Katrin Kohl, Metapher (Sammlung Metzler B. ; Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, ) –. Extensive attention is accorded to Cicero, Quintilian, and Aristotle. Although noting in Quintilian the idea of words as ‘naming’, unfortunately this is overlooked in the discussion of Aristotle (–), where ὄνομα is rendered by ‘Wort’, just as it is, conventionally, by ‘word’ in modernising English translations, and, arguably, the full force of Aristotle’s account is therefore also missed. On ‘hard-wiring’, P. Carruthers, ‘Thinking in Language: Evolution and a Modularist Possibility’, Language and Thought: Interdisciplinary Themes (ed. P. Carruthers and J. Boucher; Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –; and cf. Mind and Language / (June ), the whole issue devoted to metaphor and psycholinguistics. Cf. Quintilian Inst. ..–; and Pr. –; Plutarch Quomodo adolescens, Mor. F–B; Philo Congr. , ; Lucian Mistaken Critic –; Teacher of Rhetoric –.
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that in practice ancient verbal communication was as open and imprecise as postmodernists have of late argued all language is, but was perhaps even freer because unworried by fears of verbal imprecision. (Inappropriate some words might be judged to be; that some might be imprecise in normal, non-sophistic use, seems to have been of no general concern.) Further reinforcement for this argument is afforded by discussions of allegory. After a brief note on catachresis, the use of a term that is quite unexpected, albeit pleasing or otherwise appropriate, Cicero says: ‘When there is a continuous stream of metaphors, a quite distinct style of speech is produced, and so the Greeks give it the term ἀλληγορία. They are right as to the name, but from the point of view of classification Aristotle does better in calling it all metaphors’. The author of Ad Herrenium uses the Latin term permutatio for allegory, but in much the same way explains, ‘It operates through a comparison when a number of metaphors originating in a similarity in the mode of expression are set together, as follows: “For when dogs act the part of wolves, to what guardians, pray, are we to entrust our herds of cattle?” ’ Quintilian offers a kindred account, but judges the device often tedious, even no better than a riddle. Stoics and others had long-sought indications in Homer and Hesiod of how the world is. Allegory in Philo works rather differently, but shares the same underlying sense for how words work. So ‘pruning’ (Lev .) can be taken horticulturally, and then as betokening God’s generous creative care; but also for ridding ourselves of self-conceit, or doing away with pretence; various possible punctuations suggest yet further possibilities, and Philo interprets the two that most appeal to him: teaching that purifies, or eternal self-evident truth. Much the same account of the way words work appears to be articulated in QHa .–. Here ‘the mysteries’ to which words refer rest not in them but in the divine mind. Much the same is implied in Rabbinic midrash.
I refer to Jacques Derrida’s concern over endlessly ‘deferred meaning’, which I would counter with Wittgenstein’s confident pointer to the fact that language actually works because it is open; J. Derrida, L’écriture et la différence (Paris: Seuil, ); and, Of Grammatology (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, ); Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations. Cicero Orator ., LCL lightly adapted. Ad Herrenium ... Quintilian Inst. .., – Philo Virt. –; Leg. .; Plant. –; cf. A. A. Long, ‘Allegory in Philo and Etymology in Stoicism’, StudPhilAnn () –; cf. Cicero Nat. D. .–; .–; Plutarch Iside et Osiride, Mor. D, C; Diogenes Laertius Lives ., . As translated by C. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran (STDJ ; Leiden/Boston: Brill, ) . See J. Neusner, What is Midrash? (Philadelphia: Fortress, ); P. S. Alexander, ‘Midrash and Gospels’, Synoptic Studies (ed. C. M. Tuckett Sheffield; Sheffield Academic, ) –; and cf. Downing, ‘Words and Meanings’, –.
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However, all these examples are drawn from ancient academic discussions and from highly literate and educated authors. It is worth giving the argument a base in common and widespread practice. c. Paraphrase, Précis, Elaboration, and Amplification A practical expression of the ‘naming’ model is to be found in the important part that paraphrasing played in learning to read and write. Children learned to retell ‘the same’ story from varying points of view, for various purposes, in varying styles, freely, first orally then in writing, as we are told by Quintilian, and by Theon and others. Pupils should learn to recount Aesop’s fables, the natural successors of the fairy stories of the nursery, in simple and restrained language and subsequently to set down this version in writing with the same simplicity of style: they should begin by analysing each verse, then giving its meaning in different language, and finally proceed to a freer paraphrase in which they will be permitted now to abridge and now to embellish the original so far as this may preserve the poet’s sense (tum paraphrasi audacius vertere, qua et breviare quaedam et exornare salvo modo poetae sensu permittitur).
The practice and theory together encourage and warrant the use of metaphor (transferring a name from one idea to another), and so also of allegory. There is no sign of instruction on defining your terms. To repeat, this is not to suggest that the choice of words was a matter of indifference or simply one of style and elegance. Speakers would have been able to tell from verbal and wider feedback whether ‘the idea’ (simple or complex) intended had been evoked, and had learned to paraphrase with great care. In recent jargon, speakers cared about the ‘pragmatics’ of utterance, their ‘illocutionary force’ and ‘perlocutionary effect(s)’. This ancient practice was not all that different from that of some postmodernists: you discoursed at length, with paraphrases, examples, illustrations, positive and negative comparisons, but in the hope of Quintilian Inst. .., LCL, lightly adapted; cf. ..; Theon Progymnasmata . (Walz p. , –); cf. B. L. Mack, ‘Elaboration of the Chreia in the Hellenistic School’, B. L. Mack and V. K. Robbins, Patterns of Persuasion in the Gospels (Sunoma, CA: Polebridge, ) –, and especially –, on Theon. There is a fine example in Philostatus Lives of the Sophists , where a rhetor (Alexander) is said to have recast a whole speech ‘with different words and different rhythms’ and without any apparent repetition (cited in van Kooten, Paul’s Anthropology, ). See, of course, J. L. Austin, How to do Things with Words (Oxford: Clarendon, ); and, e.g., P. J. Hartin and J. H. Petzer eds., Text and Interpretation: New Approaches in the Criticism of the New Testament (Leiden/Boston: Brill, ); R. Carston, Thoughts and Utterances: The Pragmatics of Explicit Communication (Oxford: Blackwell, ); F. G. Downing, ‘Words as Deeds and Deeds as Words’, Doing Things with Words, –; Cruse, Meaning in Language, –.
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attaining an effective resonance and evocation of ‘the idea’ you trusted was somehow ‘out there’ to be evoked. You could make the evocation, the reception of the idea more vivid, more effective, with all sorts of elaboration, just because you could be sure that ‘it’ itself could well be evoked intact.
d. The ‘Intentional Fallacy’? It might seem that ‘ideas in the mind’ land us back with a version of what was termed last century ‘the intentional fallacy’: the romantic impression that meaning indeed lay inexpressibly in the mind of the author or artist. The ancient conviction that ‘meaning’ was ‘out there’, in what the Stoics termed τὸ λ1κτόν, ready to be evoked in people’s minds, is not the same, but it is equally fallacious, as the commentators cited agree. However, two counters are available. The first is an increased (or renewed) current interest in genre, Gattung. A choice of genre is not a matter of some inner intent. And what it is hoped has been shown in the foregoing is that there is from the ancient Graeco-Roman world no sign of a genre of fine lexical precision, and no sub-genre constituting overtly distinguished connotations for individual terms. To read a first-century Mediterranean document as though it deployed any such sub-genre is a category mistake, a serious anachronism. Secondly, we are not left with translation and interpretation as purely arbitrary, words meaning just anything in a Quinean or Derridean way. Recent studies in pragmatics show that overt (not hidden) ‘intention’ is inescapably integral to meaning, and ensures that some interpretations are more persuasive than others, even though the pragmatics of ancient communication evidenced in texts rather than as originally performed are, of course, harder to discern than are current ones. However, the pragmatics of ancient rhetoric was discursive. It shows no sign of normally relying, let alone normally insisting on fine distinctions of meaning. What is ruled out, then, it is here argued, is any hard precision, any clear lines between possible connotations of particular words, the kinds of ‘nice’ distinctions desired in some theological or ideological discourse. In interpreting sympathetically See, e.g., W. Charlton, Aesthetics (London: Hutchinson, ) –, referring to W. K. Wimsatt and M. C. Beardsley. Significant markers would be H. D. Betz, Galatians (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, ); K. Berger, Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, ) with his more recent Formen und Gattungen im Neuen Testament (UTB ; Tübingen: Francke, ); on earlier discussions, D. Dortmeyer, The New Testament among the Writings of Antiquity (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, ; German original Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, ) –. W. V. O Quine, From a Logical Point of View (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, ); and Word and Object (Cambridge MA: MIT, ), argued for the possibility of systematically coherent but distinct interpretations as a real possibility; from a different starting point, J. Derrida, L’écriture et la différence, and Of Grammatology, again.
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our ancient texts it will, rather and almost inevitably, be a matter of discerning family resemblances among uses of particular lexemes. For an important illustration of the implications of the foregoing we return to the ‘family’ of terms with which we began: Faith, belief, faithfulness, trust, trustworthiness.
. Faith, Belief, Faithfulness, Trust, Trustworthiness…
The semantic richness of πίστις and cognate terms (including π1ίθω) is widely acknowledged, and the wealth of usage is already made clear in the standard dictionaries, whether Liddell and Scott (with Jones and Mackenzie), Bauer (Arndt Gingrich Danker: BAGD), or TDNT (R. Bultmann). I begin with one specialised context for the use of πίστις, one for which I can find no obvious foregrounded instance in Paul, but an example of which nonetheless helps to set the scene. The lexeme was used by Plato (and by others before him), and again by Aristotle, and then by their rhetorician successors, of endeavours to persuade in court; the conventional but unhelpful translation is ‘proof’. This usage remains in (UK) English legal jargon in the phrase ‘proofs of evidence’; but the usual modern use of ‘proof’ for a convincingly successful demonstration, ‘evidence sufficing or helping to establish’ as fact (OED) is rather different from an attempt to convince. It is for an attempt to convince, to persuade hearers to trust evidence presented and/or interpreted, that Aristotle uses the term: Rhetoric may be defined as the ability to discover possible means of persuasion (πιθανόν)… As for ‘persuasions’ (πίστ1ις), some we do not have to construct [evidence from free or forced testimony, contracts, etc.], others we do, by our own [argumentative] efforts… There are three kinds of these. The first depends on the moral character of the speaker, the second on putting the hearer into a certain frame of mind, the third upon the speech itself, in so far as it demonstrates a conclusion, or at least seems to (διὰ τοῦ δ1ικνύναι ἢ φαίν1σθαι δ1ικνύναι). The orator persuades by moral character when his speech is delivered in such a manner as to render him worthy of confidence (worthy of trust, ἀξιόπιστον); for we feel confidence (we trust, πιστ1ύομ1ν) in a greater degree and more readily in persons of worth. On ‘family resemblance’, Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, e. R. Bultmann, πιστ1ύω etc., TDNT .–, in particular illustrates amply the semantic richness, while insisting that numerous distinct meanings (suiting his own Lutheran take on Martin Heidegger’s existentialism) are nonetheless discernible. On semantic richness, see again Still, ‘Christos as Pistos’. Much is made of this usage by J. L. Kinneavy, Greek Rhetorical Origins of Christian Faith: An Inquiry (Oxford: Oxford University, ). Aristotle Rhet. ..– (b–a) LCL, adapted; ‘in so far as it demonstrates, or at least seems to’ substantiates my point that ‘proof ’, absolute, is not an appropriate contemporary translation.
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith
To believe in someone and so in what they argue is, unsurprisingly, to trust them as trustworthy, be persuaded, convinced that she or he is faithful, and respond trustingly. Thus the passive and middle of π1ίθω (cf. πιθανόν, above), ‘being persuaded’, ‘being convinced’, is tantamount to believing; indeed the pluperfect passive can be used with the dative or with ϵἰς or ἐπί for trust, rely on (cf. Wis ., quoted below). The ideas merge into one another. This complex of belief in, of trust, of trustworthiness, and of persuasion by one trusted, recurs in Ad Herennium, and in Cicero. Again, in the first century CE, Quintilian notes, ‘All these forms of argument the Greeks name πίστ1ις, a term that, though properly we may render it fides (warrant), is better translated by probatio (proving, testing)’. And he, too, insists, that to persuade and gain trust a man must at least appear trustworthy: Finally, ἦθος in all its forms requires the speaker to be a man of good character and courtesy. It is most important that he should himself possess or be believed to possess those virtues for whose possession it is his duty to commend his client, while the excellence of his own character will make his own pleading all the more trustworthy and will be of service to his cases (Sic proderit plurimum causis, quibus ex sua bonitate faciet fidem).
Philo is in agreement, as is clear in his appraisal of Abraham: It is stated that he ‘trusted in God’ (ἐπίστ1υσ1 τῷ θ1ῷ). Now that is a little thing if measured in words, but a very great thing if made good in action. For in what else should one trust? High office, fame, honours, abundant wealth, noble birth, senses, strength, bodily beauty?… [All are] precarious. Faith in God, then, is the one sure and infallible good…in him who is the cause of all things and can do all things yet only wills the best… [Such active faith/faithfulness means you] press onward to God by visions of virtue, walking upon a path which is safe and unshaken… God, marvelling at Abraham’s faith in him, repaid him with faithfulness (τῆς πρὸς αὐτὸν πίστ1ως ἀγάμ1νος…πίστιν ἀντιδίδωσιν αὐτῷ) by confirming with an oath the gifts which he had promised.
It is noteworthy that Liddell and Scott find far fewer instances of ‘believer’ for πιστός than do BAGD. One such in the latter is Wis ., clearly a mistaken For Paul’s usage, often making explicit the trustworthy persuader who has convinced, see Rom . (God, Christ, .–), . (the Lord Jesus), .; Cor . (God, implicit), . (his addressees themselves), . (the Lord to back the attempt to persuade), .; Gal ., not by ordinary human means; ., human, not God, ., the Lord; Phil ., God (implicit), ., Paul’s example, ., his sense of divine mission, ., the Lord, .–, Christ, not humans; Thess ., the Lord. Ad Herennium ..; ..; Cicero Orator ..; ..–. Quintilian Inst. .., again. Quintilian Inst. ..; cf. all of ..–. Philo Abr. –, LCL, present writer’s emphasis.
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choice, but itself significant: ‘Those who have put their trust in him [God] (οἱ π1ποιθότ1ς ἐπ’ αὐτῷ) will understand that he is true, and the faithful will attend upon him in love’ (οἱ πιστοὶ ἐν ἀγάπῃ προσμ1νοῦσιν αὐτῷ). What is at stake in context, especially in Wis .–, is trust in the trustworthy God, a trust lived out faithfully in love: and to lose the latter strand, faithful living, here picked out by πιστóς, is to misrepresent the text. Precisely the same, really rather obvious logic is clear in earlier Jewish tradition. The temple furnishers are trusted because they are trustworthy ( Kgs .). There are no grounds for trust in untrustworthy Pharaoh king of Egypt ( Kgs .). To proclaim your trust in God is to proclaim his trustworthiness, or at least to attempt to reawaken it (e.g. Pss []; []). Although it is possible to imagine someone loyally trusting someone known to be untrustworthy, by and large trust is elicited by trustworthiness, and implies it. Paul’s usage includes at various points at least the range just outlined. He certainly deploys πιστός of the faithfulness, trustworthiness of God ( Cor ., .; Cor .; Thess .; of Christ, Thess .). Paul hopes that he himself will be found trustworthy by God ( Cor .–) just as he has himself found Timothy faithful, and hopes that Timothy will remind the hearers of Paul’s own faithful way of life ( Cor . with .): and clearly, in context, this faithfulness constitutes a life of lived faith, lived trust. The manner of Paul’s lived trust in God as enabler of growth ( Cor .), ensurer of life ( Cor .), granter of just commendation ( Cor .), sustainer in hardship ( Cor .–), power in pastoral care ( Cor .), all display the trustworthiness Paul hopes will ultimately be acknowledged by God (cf. also Cor .). His faith, belief, trust, and his faithfulness and trustworthiness cannot be separated. When Paul speaks of ‘faithful Abraham’ (Gal .), perhaps H. D. Betz and others are right to prefer ‘Abraham the believer’, despite noting that ‘faithful Abraham’ is a commonplace, for here it clearly is ‘active faith’ that is in focus. Much the same, a lived trust in the trustworthy, is true of other passages from Hellenistic Jewish and early Christian writings cited in BAGD, such as Sir ., Ps ., Herm. Man. . On the other hand, at John ., belief and trust are indeed the focus of ‘μὴ γίνου ἄπιστος ἀλλα πιστός’ even though ‘my Lord and my God’ then constitutes a commitment to renewed faithfulness (cf. John .). It is intriguing to find that the LXX in the Psalms prefers ἐλπίζω for בטח, where English translators prefer ‘trust’ etc. God inspires (or should inspire) hopeful confidence, not just faithful commitment. Although the LXX does not support the AV translation of Job ., ‘Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him’, it was so interpreted before the AV, as in m. Sot. .. However, this is explicitly exceptional: trust normally presupposes trustworthiness. H. D. Betz, Galatians (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, ) ; cf. R. N. Longenecker, Galatians (WBC; Dallas, TX: Word, ) . J. D. G. Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, ) , allows ‘faithful’ while evincing some surprise at Paul’s ‘boldness’.
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith
But it is perhaps also worth noting for comparison that in Matthew’s version of Jesus’ parable, the ‘unfaithful’ slave is the one who distrusted his master (Matt .–; cf. Luke .–). Trust and faithful obedience run together. A firstcentury hearer with any awareness of Abraham in Jewish tradition would most likely understand that faithful Abraham was being commended by Paul, here, for making explicit the trust in God implicit in his (Abraham’s) unfailing faithfulness. In faithfully trusting God’s promise Abraham displays a crucial aspect of his faithfulness, with still no payment due: thus πιστός as ‘faithful’ in no way contradicts the trust/grace nexus that Paul will clarify later in Romans. But the gospel parable may prompt consideration of yet another strand in this rich (and unbounded) semantic field. The slave owner entrusted responsibilities to all three slaves: that is, he trusted them. Paul is convinced that God trusts him: that is, God believes in Paul ( Cor .). God has ‘entrusted’ a ministry to Paul ( Cor .; Thess .), as he had earlier entrusted his oracles to the Jewish people (Rom .). But, of course, the same is said in other words much more widely. God entrusts gifts to us, entrusts others’ burdens to us, entrusts love for one another to us. God’s faith in us is an integral part of his faithfulness, his entrusting to us responsibilities and gifts meant for sharing. (And that may, on reflection, seem rather obvious; it is much easier to trust when trusted, hard in common experience to trust one who does not trust you.) Clearly, at Cor .–, we are obliged to translate ἄπιστος as ‘unbeliever’, for here no ‘unfaithful’ outcomes of unbelief are at stake; and perhaps at Cor . Paul also talks of believer and unbeliever (as commentators seem to prefer), even though it would afford more consistency with the former passage if separation were here ordered for unfaithful behaviour (cf. Cor .), not for the ‘unbelief’ that earlier ( Cor .–) was said to constitute no reason for parting. Further, ‘unbelief’ cannot be foremost in mind at Rom ., where human ἀπιστία is contrasted with the πίστις, the faithfulness of God. At Rom .–, Paul insists that faithful Abraham’s faithful trust in God’s trustworthiness gratuitously met with ‘justification’ by God. To clear every use he made of πίστις, πιστ1ύω of overtones of faithfulness, faithful trust lived out in faithful behaviour, would have been nigh on impossible. The terms in ancient use were too rich, the ideas they would evoke too readily elicited together. It is not appropriate for us to impoverish in Paul’s writing something his text sees fit to retain in its ordinary richness. It may well be argued that in Pauline usage at least πίστις ‘names’ specific inner-Christian issues and attitudes not covered in more general usage; but that would not mean that for insiders the term was clear of its common connotations. There is no sign (for instance, in Romans) that earlier hearers had forced Paul to On ‘entrust’ and ‘trusting’, being trusted, trustworthiness, see Dio Chrysostom On Trust, Discourse .
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include clear contextual discriminations of this or any other often-recurring set of terms. No such demand figures among the ‘objections’ he tries to forestall. In his article noted earlier, Barry Matlock examines four passages in which a duplication of πίστις has suggested to some a deliberate attempt by Paul to include the distinct ‘objective’ and distinct ‘subjective’ sense alongside one another: both our faith in Christ and Christ’s faith[fullness], respectively. Matlock may well convince others (as he has persuaded the present writer) that it is indeed our ‘trust’ or ‘believing’ that are to the fore in these passages. But Matlock also hopes to have helped to ‘disambiguate’ the usage. However, what it is hoped has been shown here is that in Paul’s world, trust in someone was itself founded in, and displayed and presupposed belief in their trustworthiness (as well as, most likely, their willingness to trust you): faith in Jesus would necessarily imply (unless explicitly denied) at the least a trust in his faithfulness. Ancient expectations of words have them carry much of their semantic baggage with them, whatever part of their range appears in context to be foregrounded; that is, unless some elements of their range have been specifically discarded. Taking into account ancient understandings of how language works, and noting ancient usage of the key vocabulary, and failing any explicit exclusions from the semantic field of πίστις, the faithfulness of the one trusted is inevitably also there, in the picture, albeit in softer focus.
. General Exegetical Conclusion
What all this does mean is that we can never justifiably assume that an author in this Greek and Roman culture has intended his or her individual words themselves to contain a precise ‘meaning’, let alone a clear and readily shareable distinct meaning. ‘Names’ are just not expected to function like that. They contain nothing; rather may they summon up, evoke ideas. Ideas of such topics as ‘faith’ or ‘virtue’ or ‘justice’ or ‘freedom’ or ‘law’, it is hoped, are coherent and shared or shareable to some worthwhile degree, but can only be named and more or less elaborately evoked, not in any other way conveyed. And then no author can be claimed to have used a disambiguated connotation of a lexeme Given, Paul’s True Rhetoric, –, sketches possible alternative ‘readings’ of Romans, Jewish-Christian and Marcionite. Paul shows no awareness of any likelihood of having to face such analytic ‘deconstruction’. Given’s Paul, I suggest, could have slipped between usages because neither his hearers nor he expected verbal precision. Matlock, ‘Rhetoric of πίστις’. Particularly noteworthy, on ‘freedom’ is W. Coppins’s recent The Interpretation of Freedom in the Letters of Paul—with Special Reference to the ‘German’ Tradition (WUNT /; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ), arguing that Paul evinces for us no coherent ‘concept’ of freedom (although he may provoke us to articulations for which we have then to accept our own responsibility).
Ambiguity, Ancient Semantics, and Faith
unless or until she or he has made that disambiguation fully explicit. And such disambiguation seems very unlikely in terms of what the ancients said about words and metaphor and translation. If you could trust that a common, even complex idea was already ‘out there’ to be evoked by one among perhaps many common names or sequences of names for it, there was no need to define further the names themselves; indeed, their rich ability in common usage to evoke varied impressions might well be part of, even integral to their power to evoke the particular idea(s) assumed to be on call. Words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, spoken and heard, written and read worked then (as they work now), but only by being free to flex and adapt in shared use in life lived together, free to adapt, and not ossified, hardened, made brittle. Sequences of words in our Christian scriptures where we in English (by μ1ταφορά, translatio) use ‘faith’, ‘believing’, ‘trust’ words, as with many other such clusters (‘love’, ‘justify’, ‘kingdom’, ‘knowledge’), should be allowed much the same free semantic wealth and varying emphasis as their Greek counterparts enjoyed in the passages we study. This is, again, not to suggest that the ancients’ brains worked differently. It is very unlikely that any major genetic change has occurred over just two millennia. The human language function then was surely just as complex as it is today, as complex as is taken for granted in current debates over psycholinguistics. Rather would it seem likely that ‘[h]umans behave like jugglers when they use the mental lexicon, in that they have to deal with semantic, syntactic and phonological information at the same time’. In current discussion there seems to be no suggestion that in the midst of this juggling, between initial inchoate thought and final articulation, there is included a process of checking the range of connotations of each word—or even each leading word—and then preparing to ensure a context (itself also comprehensively scrutinised) that should implicitly preclude every undesired or potentially distracting sense for each term judged important. For sure, we are able to monitor and explicitly to correct our speech just prior to utterance, or soon after; and our writing more readily still, especially with the help of computers. But there seems to be no empirical evidence for any prior weeding-out of nuances of words as a part of natural language production, today, or, a fortiori, back then. Granted, some scholarly communicators today do monitor some or most of their own and others’ written and some at least of their This is to allow that ‘language’ includes more than words and sequences of words spoken/ heard, written/read . For a wide survey of the field, R. Dietrich, Psycholinguistik. . actualisierte und erweitere Auflage (Sammlung Metzler ; Weimar: J. B. Metzler, ); or D. Crystal, How Language Works (London: Penguin, ). Jean Aitcheson, Words in the Mind: An Introduction to the Mental Lexicon (Oxford: Blackwell, ) . Dietrich, Psycholinguistik, esp. ., ‘Das mentale Lexikon’, –, and ..–, –, on the mental lexicon and self-monitoring and self-correction.
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own oral performance and explicitly adjust it to match the norms discerned and announced by lexicographic colleagues—and then try to impose these or other such distinctions on the writings of forbears innocent of any such nicety. That, it has been argued, is a mistake. Rather do words, then as today, work precisely because their connotations allow them to be used in many settings, and to seem to speakers and hearers to sit comfortably and ‘at home’ where the speaker has settled them, with the context likely foregrounding some connotation(s), but mostly without that speaker feeling any need or desire either to purge or to impoverish the utterance by explicitly exiling others.
This paper has focused attention on the Graeco-Roman period. It belatedly occurs to me that a very similar understanding of how words work is evinced in Hebrew (and other) ‘poetic parallelism’: see, e.g., Adele Berlin, The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism. Revised and Expanded (Grand Rapids MI and Cambridge, UK; and Dearborn MI: Eerdmans and Dove Booksellers, ), especially –, ‘Disambiguation and Ambiguity’. Relevant to the main thrust of this paper is also Jane Heath, ‘Absent presences of Paul and Christ: Enargeia in Thessalonians –’, JSNT . (), –: ‘Paul formulates things vaguely and suggestively rather than precisely’ (), to evoke an image, a sense of presence expected to be clear and vivid. In Christopher Evans posed the factual-and-evaluative question, ‘What kind of certainty does it [Christianity] have and what kind of ambiguity?’ and left the question open. Perhaps this present essay may contribute something towards at least keeping the issue open; C. F. Evans, concluding the title Chapter , in his Is ‘Holy Scripture’ Christian? (London: SCM, ) –, citing .
New Test. Stud. , pp. –. © Cambridge University Press, doi:10.1017/S0028688509990154
Short Study
Δικαιωθῆναι διὰ τῆς ἐκ Χριστοῦ πίστ1ως: Notes on a Neglected Greek Construction1 G. W. P ET E R M AN Moody Bible Institute 820 N. LaSalle Blvd Chicago IL 60610 USA email:
[email protected]
Keywords: Pistis Christou, faith, genitive
In the debate concerning the faithfulness of Christ one finds, correctly, reference to three types of Greek constructions. First is πίστις Χριστοῦ, the very subject of the debate. As most agree, its ambiguity calls the exegete to search for arguments beyond mere syntax in order to establish the nuance of the phrase. Second are examples of πίστις with αὐτῶν, ἡμῶν, ὑμῶν or σοῦ. Typically these are not up for debate, being cited to demonstrate the extensive use of the subjective genitive with πίστις. Third, one finds reference to πιστ1ύω/πίστις with preposition (ἐν, 1ἰς, πρός, or ἐπί). For the sake of this Thanks are due to Professor Michael Vanlaningham for commenting on a version of this work and also to the staff of the Feehan Memorial Library (University of Saint Mary of the Lake, Mundelein, IL, USA) for library privileges graciously granted the author during the sabbatical year –. ‘[B]oth the substantive meaning of πίστις and the force of the genitive are ambiguous’, according to Greer Taylor, ‘The Function of ΠΙΣΤΙΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥ in Galatians’, JBL () – (). See also Sigve Tonstad, ‘Πίστις Χριστοῦ: Reading Paul in a New Paradigm’, Andrews University Seminary Studies () – (); Robert Jewett, Romans (Minneapolis: Fortress, ) –. Exceptions include Arland J. Hultgren, who claims that the subjective genitive is excluded on the basis of syntax alone (‘The Pistis Christou Formulation in Paul’, NT [] –). Similarly Gerhard Kittel concludes regarding πίστις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ in Romans that ‘die Übersetzung “Glaube Jesu Christi” nicht nur zulässt, sondern geradezu fordert’ (‘Πίστις Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ bei Paulus’, Theologischen Studien und Kritiken [] – []). E.g. Matt .; Mark .; Luke .; .; Rom .; .; Cor .; .; Phil .; Col .; Thess .; Thess .; Phlm . George Howard, ‘Notes and Observations on the “Faith of Christ”’, HTR () – (); Ian G. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ in Early Christian Traditions (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) .
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discussion these present no real difficulty, being taken as explicit if not virtually synonymous. Our contribution entails bringing into discussion another construction, going beyond Paul to the whole NT. The construction appears in two forms. An example of the first is Acts .: ὁ Φῆλιξ … μ1τ1πέμψατο τὸν Παῦλον καὶ ἤκουσ1ν αὐτοῦ π1ρὶ τῆς 1ἰς Χριστὸν Ἰησοῦν πίστ1ως. Here the object of πίστις is clarified, not by an objective genitive, but by an adjectival prepositional phrase in the attributive position (AAPP). Similar is the redundant Col .: …βλέπων ὑμῶν τὴν τάξιν καὶ τὸ στ1ρέωμα τῆς 1ἰς Χριστὸν πίστ1ως ὑμῶν. The 1ἰς-phrase unambiguously clarifies the object of the verbal noun πίστις. Various forms of this construction are common in early Christianity. The second form is the converse of the first, appearing in Acts ., though without πίστις. While in Roman custody, the son of Paul’s sister learns of a group plotting his demise. Hoping to protect the apostle from the scheme, the young man informs the centurion, saying: σὺ οὖν μὴ π1ισθῇς αὐτοῖς· ἐν1δρ1ύουσιν γὰρ αὐτὸν ἐξ αὐτῶν ἄνδρ1ς πλ1ίους τ1σσ1ράκοντα, οἵτιν1ς ἀν1θ1μάτισαν ἑαυτοὺς μήτ1 ϕαγ1ῖν μήτ1 πι1ῖν ἕως οὗ ἀνέλωσιν αὐτόν, καὶ νῦν 1ἰσιν ἕτοιμοι προσδ1χόμ1νοι τὴν ἀπὸ σοῦ ἐπαγγ1λίαν. Our concern is the AAPP ἀπὸ σοῦ, which clarifies the subject or source of the verbal noun ἐπαγγ1λία. Further, this type of AAPP can appear as ἐκ θ1οῦ, as figures in Phil For Williams they diverge. God is the object of πίστις for Paul, while Christ is the object of πιστ1ύω. To believe in (πιστ1ύ1ιν 1ἰς) Christ is to confess truths of the gospel (Sam K. Williams, ‘Again Pistis Christou’, CBQ [] – [–]). Contrast the more nuanced discussion of K. F. Ulrichs (Christusglaube: Studien zum Syntagma πίστις Χριστοῦ and zum paulinischen Verständnis von Glaube und Rechtfertigung [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, ] –). This is the most likely force for the uncommon πίστις 1ἰς + person (Acts .; .; Col .; Pet .) even if, as asserted by C. K. Barrett, Luke’s πίστις does not have typical Pauline content (Acts – [London: T. & T. Clark, ] ). As is done elsewhere with πρός. So, at Abr. ., Philo refers to faith in God (ἡ πρὸς θ1ὸν πίστις) as the only good (cf. Mut. .; Praem. .; Her. .; Somn. .); cf. Macc. .: because of her faith in God (διὰ τὴν πρὸς θ1ὸν πίστιν); Josephus AJ .: some Jews worthy of favor because of their faithfulness to the Romans (διὰ τὴν πρὸς Ῥωμαίους πίστιν). Πρός marks the object with other verbal nouns as well. E.g. Acts .: the promise made to our ancestors (τὴν πρὸς τοὺς πατέρας ἐπαγγ1λίαν γ1νομένην); .: the defense I make to you (ἀκούσατέ μου τῆς πρὸς ὑμᾶς νυνὶ ἀπολογίας); .: the promise given to our ancestors (τῆς 1ἰς τοὺς πατέρας ἡμῶν ἐπαγγ1λίας γ1νομένης); Pet .: the prophets who spoke of the grace given to you (προϕῆται οἱ π1ρὶ τῆς 1ἰς ὑμᾶς χάριτος προϕητ1ύσαντ1ς). E.g. Clement of Alexandria Strom. ...: ἡ 1ἰς χριστὸν πίστις; Justin Martyr Fragmenta operum deperditorum .: τῆς 1ἰς χριστὸν πίστ1ως; Irenaeus Fragmenta operum deperditorum .: τὴν 1ἰς χριστὸν πίστιν; Athanasius Contra gentes .: τὴν 1ἰς χριστὸν πίστιν; Origen Cels. Prooemium .–: τῆς 1ἰς χριστὸν πίστ1ως; cf. Clem .: ἡ ἐν Χριστῷ πίστις.
Δικαιωθῆναι διὰ τῆς ἐκ Χριστοῦ πίστ1ως .: τὴν ἐκ θ1οῦ δικαιοσύνην ἐπὶ τῇ πίστ1ι. Such ‘righteousness has God as its source’. NT examples of such adjectival phrases with ἐκ/ἀπό/παρά + person are rare. Outside the NT, one can cite numerous examples of which the following are merely representative. Jeremiah . (LXX)
In light of evil schemes planned against him, the prophet cries: ‘Lord, you are the one who judges rightly and who tests hearts and minds. May I see your vengeance against them’ (ἴδοιμι τὴν παρὰ σοῦ ἐκδίκησιν ἐξ αὐτῶν). Παρά marks σοῦ, that is κυρίου, as subject. Prayer of Manasseh :
The writer laments having more sins than the sand of the sea (v. ) and being weighed down by God’s wrath (v. ). Then comes the statement, ‘Now I bend the knee of my heart asking for your kindness’ (καὶ νῦν κλίνω γόνυ καρδίας δ1όμ1νος τῆς παρὰ σοῦ χρηστότητος). Παρά marks σοῦ, that is θ1οῦ, as subject. Josephus
AJ .: After David took Bathsheba as a wife, God appeared to the prophet Nathan and faulted the king (ἐμέμϕ1το τὸν βασιλέα). But since Veronica Koperski, ‘The Meaning of Pistis Christou in Philippians :’, Louvain Studies () – (), followed by Ulrichs, Christusglaube, –; likewise Peter T. O’Brien, The Epistle to the Philippians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, ) . E.g. Mark .: Jesus knew power went from him (τὴν ἐξ αὐτοῦ δύναμιν ἐξ1λθοῦσαν); Mark .: what comes out of a person defiles (τὸ ἐκ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκπορ1υόμ1νον, ἐκ1ῖνο κοινοῖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον); Rom .: my covenant (ἡ παρʼ ἐμοῦ διαθήκη); Cor .: our love which is among you (τῇ ἐξ ἡμῶν ἐν ὑμῖν ἀγάπῃ); cf Mark .: what is resurrection from the dead (τί ἐστιν τὸ ἐκ ν1κρῶν ἀναστῆναι); Rom .: righteousness from faith speaks this way (ἡ δὲ ἐκ πίστ1ως δικαιοσύνη οὕτως λέγ1ι). Included could be Wis .: the wisdom that comes from you (τῆς ἀπὸ σοῦ σοϕίας ἀπούσης); Thuc. ...: fearing help given by Athenians (ϕοβούμ1νοι τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων βοήθ1ιαν); cf ..., ...; Xen. Hell. ..: rather consider yourselves ignorant of the necessities of God (ἀντὶ δὲ τῶν ἐκ θ1οῦ ἀναγκαίων ἀγνωμον1ῖν δόξητ1); Plut. Agesilaus .: relatives from his mother’s side (τοὺς ἀπὸ μητρὸς οἰκ1ίους). Examples of non-person adjectival prepositional phrases are numerous. E.g., Plut. Sulla .: glory gained in battle (τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν πολ1μικῶν δόξαν); Xen Hell ...: blood poured from the body (ἐρρύη τὸ ἐκ τοῦ σώματος αἷμα). Rarely the AAPP can designate both source and object. Thus Cyrus was delighted when he saw the fear that the Greeks caused in the barbarians (Xen. Anab. ..: Κῦρος δὲ ᾕσθη τὸν ἐκ Ἑλλήνων 1ἰς τοὺς βαρβάρους ϕόβον ἰδών). All translations are the author’s own. With Jer . compare the nearly identical Jer ., containing τὴν παρὰ σοῦ ἐκδίκησιν ἐν αὐτοῖς. In both cases τὴν παρὰ σοῦ ἐκδίκησιν translates נקמתך.
G. W. PETERMAN
Nathan was astute, he kept God’s threats (τὰς μὲν παρὰ τοῦ θ1οῦ γ1γ1νημένας ἀπ1ιλάς) to himself and decided to come to David with a pleasant message. Here παρὰ θ1οῦ may designate source or it may be the virtual equivalent of ὑπὸ θ1οῦ, marking θ1ός as subject. AJ .: The king of Assyria writes a threatening letter to Hezekiah, saying it is foolish to think Israel will escape Assyria’s power. According to Josephus, Hezekiah is not intimidated, and despised the letter ‘because of God-given confidence’ (ταῦτʼ ἀναγνοὺς καταϕρον1ῖ διὰ τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ θ1οῦ π1ποίθησιν). Source is marked by ἀπὸ τοῦ θ1οῦ. AJ .: Josephus holds the view that, long before the events, Daniel predicted the suffering under Antiochus Epiphanes and Israel’s desolation by Rome. Those who read (τοὺς ἀναγινώσκοντας) the prophecies will be amazed by how God honored Daniel (θαυμάζ1ιν ἐπὶ τῇ παρὰ θ1οῦ τιμῇ τὸν Δανίηλον). Παρά marks θ1οῦ as subject of the verbal noun τιμή, which takes τὸν Δανίηλον as its direct object.
Philo
Virt. .: The Hebrews, with few or no casualties, have defeated armies far greater than theirs. Such events are proof of God fighting together with them (πίστις δὲ τῆς ἐκ θ1οῦ συμμαχίας). Source is marked by ἐκ θ1οῦ. Flacc. : At times Flaccus would see the beauty of the night sky and cry out, ‘King of gods and men! You are not indifferent to the nation of the Jews, nor do they falsely tell of your providence’ (οὐδʼ ἐπιψ1ύδονται τὴν ἐκ σοῦ πρόνοιαν). Although Philo makes frequent use of προνοία, only here does it figure with an AAPP, the preposition ἐκ clearly marking θ1οῦ as subject (cf. Mos. .). Legatio ad Gaium .: Here we find the rhetorical question: ‘Certainly Asia and Europe can hold the gifts which you have given, can’t they?’ (Ἀσία καὶ A similar case could be made for the preposition marking the subject in AJ .: rejoicing in how things have worked out in the sovereignty of God (χαίροντ1ς οὖν ἐπὶ τοῖς ἐκ θ1οῦ γ1γ1νημένοις); .: the immediate death of the child she bore to you (τ1θνήξ1σθαι δὲ καὶ τὸν παῖδά σοι παραχρῆμα τὸν ἐξ αὐτῆς γ1γ1νημένον); .: Ezra urged them to cast out foreign wives and the children they bore (ἐκβαλ1ῖν αὐτὰς καὶ τὰ ἐξ αὐτῶν γ1γ1νημένα); cf. .; JW .. Cf. Thuc. ...: having allies from the Peleponnese (ἔχων τοὺς ἀπὸ Π1λοποννήσου συμμάχους); Jos JW .: to wait on help from God (προσμέν1ιν τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ θ1οῦ βοήθ1ιαν); AJ .: your [God’s] help given to all men in common (ἀλλὰ πᾶσι κοινὴν τὴν ἀπὸ σοῦ βοήθ1ιαν). For Josephus, προνοία as divine providence is distinguished from προνοία as forethought. The former is ἡ τοῦ θ1οῦ προνοία (AJ .; .; .; .; .; ., ). At Legatio ad Gaium . likewise ἐκ clearly marks the subject: Augustus ended wars that came about because of attacks by bandits (διὰ τὰς ἐκ λῃστῶν ἐπιθέσ1ις).
Δικαιωθῆναι διὰ τῆς ἐκ Χριστοῦ πίστ1ως
Εὐρώπη τὰς ἐκ σοῦ γ1γ1νημένας δωρ1ὰς οὐ χωρ1ῖ;). Similar to AJ ., ἐκ σοῦ may designate source or it may be the virtual equivalent of ὑπὸ σοῦ, marking σοῦ as subject/agent. Certainly it is well established in NT usage that both ἐκ and ἀπό can be used causally or instrumentally with the passive. Mostly importantly, although they are rare, forms of ἡ ἔκ τινος πίστις can be found. According to Polybius ..., when returning to Macedonia Demetrius claimed that the Romans had shown him much favor and trust (οἱ Ῥωμαῖοι πᾶσαν τὴν ἐξ αὐτῶν χάριν καὶ πίστιν 1ἰς τὸν Δημήτριον ἀπηρ1ίδοντο). Very similar is ..., where, in preparations for war with Rome, Philip expelled from cities all politically powerful families, replacing them with Thracians and barbarians whose loyalty to him would be more reliable in times of crisis (ὡς
β1βαιοτέρας αὐτῷ τῆς ἐκ τούτων πίστ1ως ὑπαρξούσης κατὰ τὰς π1ριστάσ1ις).
As these examples demonstrate, the AAPP is good Greek, being found in a variety of sources. Certainly the AAPP has its own ambiguities. Since only two examples of ἡ ἔκ τινος πίστις have been found, we cannot make a compelling case that ἐκ always marks the subject. With other verbal nouns ἐκ, ἀπό, or παρά can mark the subject; at other times it clarifies the source. Nevertheless, in all cases the genitive as object is clearly excluded. Furthermore, a variety of sources shows that ἐκ/ἀπὸ/παρὰ θ1οῦ is an acceptable modifier. Presumably, ἐκ/ἀπὸ/παρὰ Χριστοῦ would also be acceptable. But in Paul’s extensive discussions of δικαιοσύνη, πίστις, and Χριστός there is one construction he neglects to supply: the unambiguously non-objective ἡ ἐκ/ἀπὸ/παρὰ Χριστοῦ πίστις. This is, admittedly, an argument from silence. Nevertheless, since this debate is so well-traveled, others make arguments from silence asking why Paul did not Cf. Virt. .: freedom given by birth (τῆς ἐκ γένους ἐλ1υθ1ρίας); Mos .: God’s unconquerable help (τὴν ἀήττητον ἐκ θ1οῦ βοήθ1ιαν). C. F. D. Moule, An Idiom Book of New Testament Greek (Cambridge: Cambridge University, ) –. Moule cites, amongst others, Luke .; .; Acts .; .. See also Jas . (μηδ1ὶς π1ιραζόμ1νος λ1γέτω ὅτι ἀπὸ θ1οῦ π1ιράζομαι) where in א, , , and ὑπό is substituted for ἀπό. Ἀπό designates the agent in the AAPP of Jude : the garment dirtied by the flesh (τὸν ἀπὸ τῆς σαρκὸς ἐσπιλωμένον χιτῶνα). Similar constructions include Philo Joseph .: without proofs given by me (ἄν1υ τῶν παρʼ ἐμοῦ πίστ1ων); Diodorus Siculus ...: the trust that had been given by the kings (τὴν δ1δομένην ὑπὸ τῶν βασιλέων πίστιν); ...: the trust that had been given by Antigonus and Demetrius (τὴν δ1δομένην ὑπ’ Ἀντιγόνου καὶ Δημητρίου πίστιν); Josephus JW .: Ptolemy seemed to be important because of the trust Herod placed in him (Πτολ1μαῖον ῥοπὴν 1ἶναι δοκοῦντα διὰ τὴν παρὰ Ἡρώδῃ πίστιν). When Philip followed the advice of Aratus, he guarded his loyalty to the Messenians (δι1ϕύλαξ1 τὴν πρὸς Μ1σσηνίους πίστιν, Polybius ..); but when he followed the advice of Demetrius, he lost the loyalty of the other Greeks (τὴν παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν ἀπέβαλ1 πίστιν, ..). At other times the expression is partitive. E.g. Job . (LXX): who can rescue [someone] from your hands? (τίς ἐστιν ὁ ἐκ τῶν χ1ιρῶν σου ἐξαιρούμ1νος;).
G. W. PETERMAN
use πίστις followed by Χριστῷ or by 1ἰς Χριστόν if he wanted to speak of faith in Christ or why he did not use πιστ1ύω with Jesus as subject if he wanted to speak of Christ’s belief/faithfulness. These are reasonable questions, as is this: If, in Gal . for instance, Paul had wanted to speak, not of faith in Christ, but rather of Christ’s faithfulness, why did he not say καὶ ἡμ1ῖς 1ἰς Χριστὸν Ἰησοῦν ἐπιστ1ύσαμ1ν, ἵνα δικαιωθῶμ1ν διὰ τῆς ἐκ Χριστοῦ πίστ1ως? Such wording would spark debate as to whether ἐκ Χριστοῦ indicates the subject of πίστις or its source, but Christ as object of πίστις in Gal . would be excluded from consideration.
The former is asked by Wallis (The Faith of Jesus Christ, ), the latter by Ulrichs (Christusglaube, n. ). Or perhaps even δικαιωθῶμ1ν διὰ τῆς ἐκ Χριστοῦ 1ἰς τὸν ἴδιον πατέρα πίστ1ως (cf. τέλ1ιος δ’, οἶμαι, καθαρισμὸς ἡ διὰ νόμου καὶ προϕητῶν 1ἰς τὸ 1ὐαγγέλιον πίστις in Clement Strom ..).
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volume 56 | number 2 | April 2010
NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES Manabu Tsuji (Higashi-Hiroshima, Japan) Persönliche Korrespondenz des Andreas Lindemann (Bielefeld-Bethel, Paulus: Zur Strategie der Pastoralbriefe Germany) als Pseudepigrapha (Eph 6.4): Kinder in [253–272] der Welt des frühen Christentums [169–190]
Articles
Short Study
Peter-Ben Smit (Amsterdam, The Netherlands) Something about Mary? Remarks about the Five Women in the Matthean Genealogy [191–207] Samuel Vollenweider (Zürich, Switzerland) Hymnus, Enkomion oder Psalm? Schattengefechte in der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft [208–231] Paula Fredriksen (Boston, Massachusetts, USA) Judaizing the Nations: The Ritual Demands of Paul’s Gospel [232–252]
Cambridge Journals Online For further information about this journal please go to the journal website at:
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Juan Hernández Jr (St. Paul, Minnesota, USA) A Scribal Solution to a Problematic Measurement in the Apocalypse [273–278] Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas: The Sixty-Fourth General Meeting [279–283] Officers and Committee Members, 2009–2010 [284] Membership List, 2010 [285–311]
