Collected Essays on the Gospel According to Mark (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161615887, 9783161615894, 3161615883

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor

Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors

Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) · James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) · Janet Spittler (Charlottesville, VA) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

497

Adela Yarbo Collins

The Gospel According to Mark Collected Essays

Mohr Siebeck

Adela Yarbro Collins, 1975 PhD from Harvard University; full time positions at McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, Illinois, the University of Notre Dame, the University of Chicago Divinity School, and the Yale University Divinity School; currently Buckingham Professor of New Testament Emerita of Yale University Divinity School.

ISBN 978-3-16-161588-7 / eISBN 978-3-16-161589-4 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-161589-4 ISSN 0512-1604 / eISSN 2568-7476 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen T ­ estament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2022  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany.  www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen using Minion typeface, printed on nonaging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Table of Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

A. The Genre of Mark: Its Production and Models  1. Composition and Performance in Mark 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17  2. Genre and the Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

B. The Characterization of Jesus in Mark: Identity and Deeds  3. “Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water (Mark 6:45–52)” . . . . . 47  4. Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64  5. Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans . . 80  6. Jesus’s Action in Herod’s Temple . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96  7. Messianic Secret and the Gospel of Mark: Secrecy in Jewish Apocalypticism, the Hellenistic Mystery Religions, and Magic . . . . . . . . 113  8. What Sort of Jew is the Jesus of Mark? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128

C. The Passion Narrative  9. The Genre of the Passion Narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 10. The Flight of the Naked Young Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 11. From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197

D. The Death of Jesus 12. Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 13. The Signification of Mark 10:45 among Gentile Christians . . . . . . . . . . . 242

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E. The Empty Tomb and Its Significance 14. The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 15. Ancient Notions of Transferral and Apotheosisin Relation to the Empty Tomb Story in Mark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 Index of Ancient Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321 Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 340

Introduction In the early part of my professional life, beginning with the dissertation, I focused on the book of Revelation. In the late 1980s, I was invited to join the New Testament editorial board of the Hermeneia commentary series. The board planned to discuss potential authors for the commentary on Mark at the first meeting in which I took part. I brought a list of names and, when called upon, went through them indicating the strengths of each one as a potential author. When I finished, Helmut Koester, the chair of the New Testament board, asked me whether I would like to write the commentary on Mark. I thought about it for a few seconds then agreed to do so. My thinking was, “Mark is an apocalyptic Gospel – I think I can do that!” After being commissioned to write the Hermeneia commentary on Mark, I decided that I would focus on that Gospel when I gave invited lectures or was asked to write for multi-authored volumes. My first published essay with a focus on Mark was “Narrative, History, and Gospel,” which appeared in volume 43 of the journal Semeia, published in 1988. The volume, edited by Mary Gerhart and James Williams, was dedicated to the themes of genre, narrativity, and theology. In this essay I addressed for the first time the question of the genre of Mark. It is clear that the Gospel is in the narrative mode, but what kind of narrative is it? I suggested that the author of Mark intended to write history, even though the work contains elements that many modern interpreters would call mythic.1 With regard to the genre biography, I argued that, analogously to Sallust’s Cataline, the aim of Mark is not to set forth the character of Jesus but to narrate events with which he was associated. Furthermore, the Gospel was written to provide a historical framework for the elements of the Jesus tradition, a framework characterized by apocalyptic eschatology. The apocalyptic-historical vision of Mark shapes this foundation document, which attempts to embrace the universe as God’s creation with a history and a destiny. The next two essays on Mark were probes into major themes of the narrative between the introductory section and the passion narrative.2 When I was invited to give a paper at the Theology Institute of Villanova University in 1989, I decided to write on the tension between the power of Jesus to heal, exorcise, and con1  See now M. David Litwa’s argument that the evangelist used historical tropes to shape myths about Jesus into historical discourse to maximize the Gospel’s credibility for ancient audiences: How the Gospels Became History: Jesus and Mediterranean Myth (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019). 2  Mark 1:1–15 introduces the rest of the narrative; the passion narrative consists of 14:1–16:8.

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Introduction

trol the powers of nature, on the one hand, and the divine will that the Son of Man suffer and die, on the other.3 The first section of the paper deals with the history of scholarship on the problem posed by the miracle stories for Christian faith in the modern period. The second section puts the miracles of Jesus in the context of exorcism and healing in antiquity. The essay then turns to the question how much of the miracle tradition can be taken as historical. It concludes that the historical Jesus did engage in healing and exorcising activity. Discussion then turned to the import of that activity and concluded that Jewish members of the audience would have understood the miracle stories as authorizing Jesus as a wonder-working prophet and as Messiah. For gentile readers and hearers they are part of the portrayal of a Hellenistic hero or divine man. After discussing the suffering of Jesus and the disciples in Mark, the essay concludes that Mark’s solution to the problem of theodicy is a narrative one. All things are possible for God, but God allows evil to be part of the cosmic drama in which every creature has a role to play. God not only allows what seems to us to be evil or a disvalue (suffering), but even wills it in order to accomplish a greater purpose, the redemption of all creation. “The Eschatological Discourse of Mark 13” was my first published interpretation of that important chapter of the Gospel.4 This article focused on the “little apocalypse theory,” a scholarly hypothesis originating in the nineteenth century and arguing that the narrative part of the discourse was copied from a source written by a Jewish author. In this article, by means of an exegetical survey and a critical assessment of the arguments in favor of such a source, I argued that the theory was a tendentious effort to save Jesus and Mark from the alleged fanaticism of apocalyptic tradition. Alternatively, I argued that the discourse provided a framework of meaning for its audience in a difficult situation. An invitation to contribute an article to the Sewanee Theological Review gave me the opportunity to begin research on the passion narrative, focusing especially on the question of the evangelist’s use of a written source for this portion of the Gospel.5 I began with a review of scholarship from Karl Ludwig Schmidt to Joel Green. I then assessed the scholarly arguments in light of the evidence, starting with the form critics and pointing out their enduring contributions to this sub3  Adela Yarbro Collins, “‘Remove This Cup’: Suffering and Healing in the Gospel of Mark,” in Suffering and Healing in Our Day, ed. Francis A. Eigo (Villanova, PA: Villanova University Press, 1990), 29–61. 4  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Eschatological Discourse of Mark 13,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck, 3 vols., ed. Frans Van Segbroeck, Christopher M. Tuckett, Gerald Van Belle, and Jos Verheyden, BETL 100 (Gembloux: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1992), 2.1125–40. 5 Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Composition of the Passion Narrative in Mark,” Sewanee Theological Review 36 (1992): 57–77; reprinted under the title “The Passion Narrative of Mark” in an early collection of my articles on Mark, The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 92–118.

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ject. Next I discussed Mark 14:1–15:39, section by section, discussing the evidence for the use of a source and for Markan redaction. I concluded that it was likely that Mark used a pre-existing passion narrative in composing his own, expanded version. I argued that Mark’s source ended with the death of Jesus and his vindication (15:37–38). The earlier passion narrative was composed in order to be read at the annual commemoration of Jesus’s death in connection with Passover or at the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. This liturgical work was also useful for missionary and catechetical activity. My first attempt to interpret Mark 16:1–8 resulted in an article on the empty tomb and resurrection in Mark.6 This essay includes an analysis of 1 Corinthians 15, a brief discussion of the reports of appearances of the risen Jesus and how they relate to the empty tomb story, a study of the literary history of 16:1–8, and an argument that the passage is a unified composition. An important part of the contribution of this study is the discussion of the ancient notion of translation (transferral from ordinary life on earth to another form of existence in a normally inaccessible realm) and the comparison of texts about such transferrals to the account of the disappearance of Jesus in Mark 16. The discussion of transferral begins with the oldest texts that describe or presuppose it from the ancient Near East. It continues with examples from the Hebrew Bible (Enoch and Elijah), and the oldest relevant Greek texts (from the Iliad and the Odyssey). All of these texts involve the deification and immortalization of living human beings. The texts in which the human being in question dies first and then is made immortal are especially comparable to the case of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. These examples include Memnon, Achilles, and Herakles. I then show briefly that these traditions of translation and deification were widespread during the Hellenistic and early Roman periods, discussing Berossus, Josephus, and Pseudo-Phocylides. The section on the resurrection of Jesus in Mark argues that, according to Mark, Jesus was translated directly from the grave to heaven. There was no time during which the risen Jesus walked the earth and met with his disciples. Appearances are implied (14:28, 16:7), but they are spiritual, like the apocalyptic visions of heavenly beings. This narrative pattern involving Jesus’s death, burial, and translation to heaven, was a culturally shaped way for an author living in the first century to narrate the resurrection of Jesus. I returned to the question of genre on a smaller scale in an article published in 1993. In it I addressed the question of the genre of the passion narrative, both with regard to chapters 14–16 of Mark and to the pre-Markan passion narrative 6 Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark,” in Beginning of the Gospel, 110–48; reprinted under the title “The Empty Tomb in the Gospel according to Mark,” in Eleonore Stump and Thomas P. Flint, eds., Hermes and Athena: Biblical Exegesis and Philosophical Theology (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993), 107–40. It is included in this volume under the original title.

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as I have reconstructed it.7 The essay begins by noting that the generic label “passion narrative” belongs to the history of the reception of these texts, not to their production. It has its roots in the accounts of early Christian martyrdoms. The essay continues with a summary of scholarship on this topic by Lothar Ruppert, George Nickelsburg, and Detlev Dormeyer, followed by a critical assessment of their work. The essay then argues that the genre of the alleged model of the passion narrative is not (the motif of ) the suffering of a just person (Ruppert), nor “the story of the persecution and vindication of the righteous person” (Nickelsburg), nor the Jewish martyrdom (Dormeyer) but rather “the story of the death of a famous man.” An example appears in 2 Chronicles, probably under the influence of Persian or Greek historiography.8 The Greeks called such accounts τελευταί, and the Romans referred to them as exitus illustrium virorum. In the accounts of Socrates’s death, the genre “death of a famous man,” was combined with the concept of the noble death and thus transformed. A noble death was particularly interesting and praiseworthy. Nevertheless, interest in the death of a famous person of whatever kind continued, for example, in the work of Diogenes Laertius. The accounts of the deaths of Eleazar and the seven brothers in 2 and 4 Maccabees are creative adaptations of the “noble death” type rather than the first instances of a new genre, “martyrdom.” The essay then addresses the question whether the genre applies to the preMarkan passion narrative since Jesus, in the first century, was an obscure person rather than a prominent one. Subtypes of the genre τελευτή can be defined according to the social role of the protagonists: rulers, rebellious subjects, and philosophers. Jesus is presented in the pre-Markan passion narrative as the Messiah, recognized as such by his followers. His opponents construe this as his claim to be “king of the Jews.” In this way his prominence is thematized and disputed. The Markan passion narrative alters the genre τελευτή in several ways. The most striking is the addition of the accounts of the burial of Jesus and the empty tomb, which implies his disappearance. As I argued in the essay on the empty tomb in Mark, disappearance stories, implying the protagonist’s translation to heaven, belong to a familiar genre in Greek and Roman literature. Mark’s additions bring out the vindication of Jesus more clearly than the earlier passion narrative, in which the rending of the veil of the temple obscurely represents Jesus’s vindication. Mark’s passion narrative affirms the claim that the death of 7  Adela Yarbro Collins,“The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” Studia Theologica 47 (1993): 3–28. This essay is included in the present volume. 8  The death of Zechariah, son of the priest Jehoiada (2 Chr 24:20–22). On the interest of Persian and Greek historiography in the deaths of famous men, see Arnaldo Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971), 28–36.

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Jesus was that of a prominent person and develops the genre of the τελευτή in keeping with its own logic. Like the essay on suffering and healing in Mark (“Remove this cup”), the next article I published focused on the portion of the narrative between the introduction and the passion narrative, in this case on a particular mighty deed of Jesus, his walking on water.9 Discussion of the genre and themes of the preMarkan form of the story opens the discussion. This story is complex and has three major themes: the performance of a superhuman or divine deed (walking on the surface of the water), Jesus assists the disciples by overcoming a contrary wind, and the epiphany of Jesus in the presence of the disciples. The discussion then moves to the context of the superhuman or divine deed of walking on water in the history of religions.10 The larger theme of the control of the sea plays a major role in the portrayal of God in the Hebrew Bible. The ability to walk on the surface of sea is attributed only to God. In Greek and Roman texts, this ability is not only typical of the god of the sea (Poseidon and Neptune respectively) but was also attributed to human or semi-divine beings. Poseidon granted the power to walk on the sea to his sons, Euphemus and Orion. Hercules (Herakles) was also reputed to be able to cross over seas by foot. Power over the sea was also associated with rulers and kings. The ability to walk upon the sea was attributed to Xerxes and Alexander the Great. This ability became proverbial for the humanly impossible and for the arrogance of the ruler aspiring to empire. Second Maccabees characterizes Antiochus Epiphanes in this way.11 The motif also occurs in magical texts and accounts of dreams. The audience of the pre-Markan story of Jesus walking on water probably included both Jews and gentiles who associated the account with the traditions familiar to them. These traditions may have been fused by the affirmation of Jesus as the Messiah. In Jewish apocalyptic tradition, the messiah was expected to assume some of the functions normally reserved to God. Such assimilation of the messiah to God would facilitate the attribution to Jesus of God’s portrayal as one able to walk upon the sea. The association of the ability to walk on water with rulers in Greek and Roman tradition would make the presentation of Jesus as Messiah intelligible to a Hellenized or Romanized audience. The essay concludes with a discussion of how the evangelist edited the story to integrate it into the Gospel as a whole and the likely intertextual relation of Mark 6:52 with Job 9:11. This relation helps explain why Mark omitted the acclamation with which

 9 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water (Mark 6:45–52),” in Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World: Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi, ed. Lukas Bormann, Kelly Del Tredici, and Angela Standhartinger, NovTSup 74 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 207–27. This essay is included in the present volume. 10  On the use of the plural “religions,” see n. 1 in the essay under discussion here. 11  2 Macc 5:21.

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the pre-Markan story probably ended and replaced it with a saying that emphasizes the difficulty of perceiving a divine epiphany. In the essay on “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” I emphasized the similarities between the passion narrative of Mark and the death-stories in Greek and Roman literature. Inspired by a discussion of that essay at an academic retreat of the faculty of the University of Chicago Divinity School, I took a different approach in the article “From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah.”12 In the latter I emphasized the differences, especially from the point of view of production. The use of Scripture in the composition of the passion narrative is a major difference, and its purpose was to give meaning to the appalling fact that the Messiah was crucified at the order of a Roman magistrate. The unknown author of the pre-Markan passion narrative and the author of Mark together have created an entirely new kind of death-story. There is nothing really similar to it in either Jewish or Greco-Roman literature. The invitation to contribute an essay to a Festschrift for Lars Hartman provided the opportunity to look seriously at one important textual variant in the manuscripts of the Gospel according to Mark.13 This variant involves the presence or absence of the phrase υιου θεου at the end of the incipit or introductory titular sentence (1:1). I concluded that the evidence was almost evenly divided, but that there was a slightly stronger probability that the phrase was added than that it was original. In other words, I argued that the earliest recoverable form of Mark 1:1 lacked the phrase “Son of God.” It was probably added to undercut the conclusion that some ancient readers of Mark had reached, namely, that Jesus only became Son of God at the time of his baptism. Another invitation, to speak as a panelist at the International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Leuven in 1994, provided an opportunity to assess Richard Burridge’s book What Are the Gospels? and to reflect once again on the genre of Mark. Burridge defines an ancient “life” or bios as a text in which a single person is very often named in the work or frequently constitutes the explicit or implied subject of a verb. This definition overlooks the fact that there are historical monographs from antiquity that focus on one person in the same way but to different effect and for a different purpose, that is, because that person was a key agent in the events being narrated. Another problem is that none of the four evangelists defines his work as a “life” of Jesus. Justin Martyr refers to the memoirs of the apostles, which are called gospels14 but does not call them “lives” (bioi) of Jesus. I argue in my review essay of Burridge’s book that the narrative of 12 Adela Yarbro Collins, “From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah,” NTS 40 (1994): 481–503. This essay is included in the present volume. 13  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Establishing the Text: Mark 1:1,” in Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts: Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman, ed. Tord Fornberg and David Hellholm (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 111–27. 14  Justin Martyr, First Apology 66.3.

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Mark focuses on Jesus because of his decisive role in the historical unfolding of the fulfillment of the divine promises.15 One of the most important passages in Mark for understanding the evangelist’s Christology and his interpretation of the death of Jesus is 10:45 – “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a λύτρον for many.” The interpretation of the latter part of this saying is difficult because of its ambiguity. Does the “ransom” involve release from captivity, slavery, or something else? What is the metaphorical significance of this release? One of the problems in the interpretation of this verse is the lack of a clear cultural context to assist in determining its meaning. When I was invited to present a paper at a one-day conference in honor of Helmut Koester’s seventieth birthday in the fall of 1997, I decided to tackle this problem. I proposed a particular cultural context in which there was sufficient evidence to infer what meaning those who participated in that context would attribute to it. This context is that revealed by the so-called confessional inscriptions from western Asia Minor, which relate to the cult of the god Men and other similar cults. These inscriptions date from the first few centuries ce and use the word λύτρον and its cognates to mean propitiation. They indicate that some individual or small group has suffered misfortune and has inferred that the misfortune is divine punishment for an offense. Those suffering may be aware of committing an offense or not, but in either case perform a ritual act that secures their release from the effects of deliberate and unwitting sins. The ritual act may involve the payment of money to representatives of the god Men or financing and setting up a stele may be the propitiating compensation for their sins. I argued that readers and hearers of Mark familiar with the ritual acts described in the confessional inscriptions would interpret 10:45 in terms of a metaphorical ritual act, that is, they would understand that the death of Jesus was an act that won God’s favor for the many by compensating for their offenses.16 When I was invited to give a lecture in the Faculty Lecture Series of the University of Chicago Divinity School in 1996, I decided to have another look at the death of Jesus according to Mark from three points of view: Jesus’s death as a sacrifice; the relation of Mark’s account of Jesus’s death to Greek and Roman traditions about an “effective death”; and the relation of the plot of Mark to the typical plot of the hero’s life, which appears in the popular lives of the ancient poets.17 In the first section of this essay I argue that the saying over the cup in 15 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Genre and the Gospels: A Review Article on Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography,” JR 75 (1995): 239–46. This article is included in the present volume. 16  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Signification of Mark 10:45 among Gentile Christians,” HTR 90 (1997): 371–82. This essay is included in the present volume. 17  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus,” JR 78 (1998): 175–96. This essay is included in the present volume.

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14:24 makes use of sacrificial language in the statement that Jesus’s blood is “poured out.” The phrase “for many,” however, is not sacrificial. Rather it is borrowed from the poem in Isaiah 53, which says that the servant “bore the sin of many.” This image comes from the scapegoat ritual. So sacrificial and scapegoat imagery are combined in Mark 14:24. Mark 10:45, as discussed above, also implies that Jesus’s death was effective in a powerful way that benefited others. In the second section of the essay, I discuss rituals of substitution and how they are sometimes connected with an effective death. The most important is a Greek example in which a human being, referred to as a φαρμακός (“pharmakós”) was driven out of the city with twigs of a wild fig tree. The idea is that the ritual substitute took on all the defilement, sin, or misfortune of the residents of the city and carried it far from them. In ordinary rituals, the pharmakós was driven out but not killed. The tradition that he was killed probably derived from mythic and literary texts in which someone had to die in order to avert a crisis. There are striking similarities between the pharmakós ritual and the scene in which soldiers mock Jesus (15:16–20). In the context of Mark as a whole, the execution of Jesus as a criminal is an atonement or purification for many, as the pharmakós saved or purified his community. In the third section of the essay, I discuss the typical plot in the lives of the poets: a divine commission early in life; mistreatment or even death at the hands of ungrateful men; vindication after death. The lives of Aesop, Hesiod, Homer, and Archilochus reflect this basic plot, and the Gospel of Mark portrays Jesus in a similar way as I try to show. The pattern is adapted in Mark to an apocalyptic framework in that the vindication of Jesus takes the form of resurrection and exaltation and, of course, in the expectation of his imminent return. In 1997 I was invited to give a paper at a conference entitled “Rending the Veil: Concealment and Revelation of Secrets in the History of Religions” at New York University. This invitation provided an opportunity to articulate my understanding of the messianic secret in Mark. I did so by placing the secrecy theme in Mark in the context of the use of secrecy in Jewish apocalypses, the Hellenistic mystery cults, and magical papyri.18 The essay begins with the origin of the term and concept of the “messianic secret” in Mark and continues with the history of scholarship. It then turns to the theme of secrecy in Jewish apocalypticism, focusing on the Book of the Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36), Daniel, the Similitudes of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71), and 4 Ezra. The discussion then shifts to the Hellenistic mystery religions, including reflections on the purpose of secrecy by ancient authors. It then turns to the Greek Magical Papyri, which only sometimes involve secrecy. 18 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Messianic Secret and the Gospel of Mark: Secrecy in Jewish Apocalypticism, the Hellenistic Mystery Religions, and Magic,” in Rending the Veil: Concealment and Secrecy in the History of Religions, ed. Elliot R. Wolfson, New York University Annual Conference in the History of Religions (New York/London: Seven Bridges Press, 1999), 11–30. This essay is included in the present volume.

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In the discussion of Mark, I argue that the various themes of secrecy are literary devices, some of which, like the Jewish apocalypses, reveal secrets only in a veiled and partial way. Others, like the mystery cults, surround the miracles of Jesus and his teaching about suffering with secrecy because they are manifestations of the divine and need to be presented with the proper solemnity. As I had struggled with the ambiguity of the Greek term λύτρον as an interpretation of the death of Jesus in Mark 10:45, I also found the honorific title “Son of God” in Mark to be highly ambiguous. The narrative of Mark does not present this term in contexts that make clear what it means. To solve this problem I took as a premise that different ancient audiences would understand the relevant passages differently, depending on their previous experiences with the idea of divine sonship. So I wrote two articles to show how this assumption works in practice. The first considers how readers and listeners from a Jewish cultural context would understand the phrase, and the second does the same for those from Greek and Roman cultural contexts.19 I concluded that the epithet “Son of God” in Mark, read from a Jewish perspective, is a royal designation in general and a messianic affirmation in particular. Further, Mark portrays Jesus, when he takes on the role of Messiah, as a cosmic ruler, a heavenly being who mediates the blessing and rule of God to all creation. With regard to Mark’s Greek and Roman readers and listeners, I argued that the account of the transfiguration might have created the impression that Jesus walked the earth as a pre-existent, divine being. There is, however, no explicit attribution of pre-existence and no virginal conception in Mark. Greeks and Romans would have associated the elements of the narrative portrayal of Jesus with their understanding of divine men: philosophers and other wise men; inspired diviners; benefactors, especially Herakles; and those who died a noble or effective death. They might have associated Jesus with Augustus and other praiseworthy emperors, who were regularly addressed as “son of god” in inscriptions and the imperial cults.20 Jesus’s action in the temple (Mark 15:15–17) is a key passage that had received a lot of scholarly attention, but I disagreed with some of the treatments of it. My contribution to a volume in honor of Hans Dieter Betz provided an opportunity to present my views on the subject.21 A summary and critical assessment 19  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” HTR 92 (1999): 393–408; “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans,” HTR 93 (2000): 85–100. Both of these essays are included in this volume. 20  See also my essay “The Worship of Jesus and the Imperial Cult,” in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus, ed. Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis, JSJSup 63 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 234–57. 21 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’s Action in Herod’s Temple,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy Presented to Hans Dieter Betz, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 45–61. This essay is included in the present volume.

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Introduction

of previous scholarship on the passage led to the conclusion that the motivation of the historical Jesus for his action on the Temple Mount was probably not primarily economic or concern for social justice. Rather the protest of Jesus had something to do with Herod’s remodeling of the Temple Mount. A brief discussion follows of the architectural history of the temple and the views of Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll concerning the temple. This discussion highlights the ambiguous character of the outer court: it is sacred space but also civic space open to Jew and gentile, clean and unclean. Further, Herod’s plan for the Temple Mount as a whole resembled a specific type of enclosure with porticoes used extensively in the ruler and imperial cults. The essay suggests that Jesus shared the view expressed by Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll that the outer court should be treated seriously as sacred space: the holiness of the inner court should be extended to the whole Temple Mount, including the outer court. This is why it was inappropriate in his view for doves to be sold and coins to be changed there. When I was invited to contribute to a Festschrift for Cardinal Albert Vanhoye, S. J., I decided to write on the enigmatic passage about the young man who ran away naked. The word “revisited” in the original title referred to the fact that Vanhoye had previously written on that passage.22 I began the essay with a discussion of the exegetical problems involved in the interpretation of the passage. I then turned to the history of scholarship. Earlier I had been strongly attracted to the argument that the incident was symbolic, for example, that it was a subtle reference to the empty tomb. Vanhoye had taken this position in his article. In researching and writing the article for Vanhoye’s Festschrift, however, I changed my mind and came to agree with Harry Fleddermann that this young man “is in contrast to Jesus who accepts the passion as God’s will (14:36).”23 I came to see this passage as involving a narrative synkrisis, a rhetorical contrast between two characters, the young man and Jesus. There are several such comparisons in Mark.24 As shown above, the essay on “The Empty Tomb in the Gospel according to Mark” discusses the ancient notion of transferral with reference to the earliest texts reflecting this idea, which are from the ancient Near East. I also treated passages of this type from the Hebrew Bible and from the oldest relevant Greek texts. Finally, I briefly analyzed passages from Berossus, Josephus, and 22  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Flight of the Naked Young Man Revisited,” in “Il Verbo di Dio è vivo”: Studi sul Nuovo Testamento in onore del Cardinale Albert Vanhoye, S. J., ed. José Enrique Aguilar Chiu et al., AnBib 165 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2007), 123–37; this article is included in the present volume without the word “Revisited” in the title. See also Albert Vanhoye, “La fuite du jeune homme nu (Mc 14,51–52),” Bib 52 (1971): 401–5. 23  Harry Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man (Mark 15:51–52),” CBQ 41 (1979): 412–18; quotation from 416. 24 Another example is the presentation of Peter as lying to the servant girl and others in the courtyard, presumably out of fear, while at the same time, inside the house of the high priest, Jesus testified truthfully, overcoming his fear of death (Mark 14:61–72).

Introduction

11

Pseudo-Phocylides. I returned to the topic of transferral while participating in a collaborative research project. Turid Karlsen Seim received a grant from the Norwegian Academy of Science and Letters for the academic year 2006–2007 to fund research by a team of scholars on bodily transformation and transformative practices. The work of the team ended with a conference on these topics in June 2007. My contribution to the conference and the published volume of papers focuses on ancient notions of transferral and apotheosis and complements my study of the empty tomb story in Mark by treating the Roman material more fully, namely, the traditions about Romulus and the imperial cults.25 The essay argues that the portrayal of the divinization of Jesus in Mark has two primary models: the story of Elijah in 1–2 Kings and the complex of traditions related to the apotheosis of the Roman emperor. The latter topic involves the living Julius Caesar; his deification after death; traditions about Romulus as precedents for deifying deceased emperors; imperial cults in the eastern empire, including Palestine; and the deification of Augustus. All these traditions are compared and sometimes contrasted with the divinization of Jesus in Mark. As pointed out above, my essay “The Eschatological Discourse of Mark 13” focused on the “little apocalypse theory”; that is, on the question whether the author of Mark used a written source for the narrative parts of this speech attributed to Jesus. When I was invited to contribute an essay to a Festschrift for Sean Freyne, I returned to Mark 13, this time from the point of view of orality, literacy, and textualization.26 The first part of the essay deals with the history of scholarship with regard to the role of orality in the works that became part of the New Testament. A brief discussion follows of the author of Mark, his education, methods of composition, and possible assistants. Next is a presentation of the three major options for understanding how Mark composed this speech, indicating at least one scholar who holds each of these. Then my criticism of the little apocalypse theory follows, emphasizing the interpretation of the aside to the reader in 13:14. In a discussion of the evangelist as a compiler of traditions, I argue that there is pre-Markan tradition in 13:24–27, tradition that is also preserved in 1 Thess 4:13–18. In a section on the evangelist as composer of Mark 13, I interpret vv. 5b–6 as a reference to those who claimed to be the χριστός, the eschatological king of Is25  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Ancient Notions of Transferral and Apotheosis in Relation to the Empty Tomb Story in Mark,” in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body, and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, ed. Turid Karlsen Seim and Jorunn Økland, Ekstasis: Religious Experience from Antiquity to the Middle Ages 1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 41–57. This study is included in the present volume. 26 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Composition and Performance in Mark 13,” in A Wandering Galilean: Essays in Honour of Sean Freyne, ed. Zuleika Rodgers with Margaret Daly-Denton and Anne Fitzpatrick McKinley, JSJSup 132 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 539–60. This article is included in the present volume.

12

Introduction

rael, especially Menahem and Simon, son of Gioras. In the same section, I argue that the “sacrilege” or “abomination” of 13:14 was inspired by the living memory of Caligula’s attempt to install a statue of himself in the temple. It provides a model for the veiled prediction of what the Romans would do when they had gained control of the temple. This sacrilege would trigger the final tribulation, namely, divine destruction of Jerusalem and the temple as Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed. The organizers of a conference in Berlin on Torah, temple, and land, to take place October 8–10, 2018, invited me to give a paper on “What Sort of Jew is the Jesus of Mark?”27 Although I had regularly interpreted Jesus in the context of Second Temple Jewish texts, I had not reflected systematically on that particular question and was intrigued by the opportunity to do so. Fortuitously, at the time I was reading chapters sent to me by Menahem Kister of a book in progress with the working title Midrashic Studies in the New Testament. These chapters helped me see, more clearly than before, halakic reasoning in the Synoptic Gospels. The essay investigates the social roles Jesus is depicted as playing in Mark and his relation to the Jewish parties described by Josephus. The first section, on the social roles of Jesus in Mark, discusses his role as Messiah, as prophet, as teacher, herald, and as one who practices the spiritual discipline of prayer. In the section on the Jewish parties, the essay argues that the Markan Jesus is unlike the Sadducees in his defense of the resurrection of the dead.28 His relation to the Pharisees is more complex. The rabbis taught that the Sabbath could be broken to save a life. It is likely that the Pharisees taught the same principle. Jesus expanded it to include assuaging hunger, even if a life is not at stake (Mark 2:23– 28). Similarly, the Markan Jesus extends the principle to include the healing of a sick or disabled person even when there is no danger of death (3:1–6). In the dispute with the Pharisees in Mark 7:1–23, Jesus accuses the Pharisees of abandoning the commandments of God and keeping the tradition of human beings. This saying attacks a major aspect of Pharisaic teaching, which allows a considerable human role in determining legitimate practices. In this attitude Jesus was more similar to the community of the Dead Sea Scrolls than to the Pharisees.29 The Jesus of Mark is also more like the Essenes, thought to be the group who composed the sectarian scrolls, than the Pharisees in his rejection of the prohibitive vow.30 The saying in 7:15 is compatible with the commandments 27  Adela Yarbro Collins, “What Sort of Jew is the Jesus of Mark?” in Torah, Temple, Land: Constructions of Judaism in Antiquity, ed. Markus Witte, Jens Schröter, and Verena M. Lepper, TSAJ 184 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 197–227. This essay is included in the present volume. See also Adela Yarbro Collins, “Polemic against the Pharisees in Matthew 23,” in The Pharisees, ed. Joseph Sievers and Amy-Jill Levine (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2021), 148–69. 28  Mark 12:18–27. 29  Compare Mark 7:8 with 1QHa 12:9–11. 30  Compare Mark 7:9–13 with CD 16:7–9.

Introduction

13

of the Torah when it is interpreted as referring to kosher food and as making the rhetorical point that the Pharisees put their emphasis in the wrong place, on ritual purity rather than on morality. Mark 7:18–19, however, rejects the regulations of the Torah and the tradition of the elders (held by the Pharisees) that understand food and drink as communicating impurity. It is noteworthy that this saying is the part of Mark 7 most likely to be the redaction of the evangelist. The essay goes on to argue that the Jesus of Mark has much more in common with the Essenes. One example is that they both accept divorce but forbid remarriage as long as the first spouse is living. From a Pharisaic and rabbinic point of view, the purpose of a divorce is to make a second marriage possible. Jesus and the Essenes also share many aspects of eschatology. The Temple Scroll and the book of Jubilees (both read by the community at Qumran) shed light on the theme of the temple in Mark and support the conclusion that neither the Markan Jesus nor the evangelist were anti-temple. The essay concludes that, although the Markan Jesus was distinctive in some ways, he may be seen in all but one case as fitting well into one context or another of the Jewish groups of his time. My way with the Gospel of Mark has been long, challenging, and enjoyable. I hope these essays will contribute to positive experiences with Mark for my readers.

A. The Genre of Mark: Its Production and Models

Composition and Performance in Mark 13 Introduction The task of this paper is to discuss the production of Mark 13 and the manner in which it was conveyed to its audience, with attention to social context and questions of orality, literacy, and textualization. A brief discussion of the role of orality in New Testament scholarship is in order at the start. The pioneering form critics of the New Testament, Martin Dibelius, Karl Ludwig Schmidt, and Rudolf Bultmann, presupposed the understanding of orality characteristic of the study of folklore in the nineteenth century. Bultmann especially articulated laws of transmission and made use of an evolutionary theoretical framework. These proposed laws and the evolutionary framework were criticized by E. P. Sanders, Werner Kelber, and others. Kelber, however, was overly influenced by the view of Albert Lord and Milman Parry that there is a clear-cut distinction between oral and written utterances.1 The work of Ruth Finnegan and Jan Vansina implies that a model of co-existence and interaction fits the Hellenistic and the early Roman imperial cultures better than the thesis that an oral phase was followed by a textual phase.2 Further, Vansina has shown that the only marked difference between oral and written compositions is that repetition is more common in oral texts.3 An enduring contribution of Parry and Lord, however, is the conclusion that it is impossible to establish an original text. As Barry Henaut has argued, this insight, along with an appreciation for the changeability of oral communication and its close link to particular social contexts, means that it is impossible to trace the history of a particular tradition through the oral phase of its transmission.4 Furthermore, the similarities between ancient oral and written utterances makes it much more difficult than is usually acknowledged to prove that oral tradition lies behind any particular text.5 1  Werner H. Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 14–15, 32–34. See the critiques by Barry W. Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels: The Problem of Mark 4, JSNTSup 82 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 75–99, and Paul J. Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” JBL 109 (1990): 3–27; here 27, n. 156. 2 Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels, 96, 117, 302. 3  Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels, 75. 4  Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels, 14–15. 5  Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels, 305.

18

A. The Genre of Mark

In his presidential address to the Society of Biblical Literature in 1989, Paul Achtemeier emphasized that ancient written texts had an oral character in several different ways. With regard to production, many ancient texts were dictated to a scribe; in the case of the wealthy, to a slave. Even authors who wrote in their own hands dictated aloud to themselves as they wrote.6 Similarly, reading was almost universally accomplished by reading aloud. Often, a work was read aloud to a group, but even a person reading alone would vocalize the text.7 Finally, ancient manuscripts had few visual indications of structure, such as the separation of words and paragraphs and marks of punctuation. Thus, to aid both the reader and the listener of a text, authors would use oral indications of structure in the written text, such as the repetition of individual points, sometimes in formal parallelism. Other such techniques included the introduction of a theme with subsequent development and inclusio or ring composition, accomplished by repeating a similar formula at the beginning and end of a unit. All such signals would be directed to the ear and not to the eye.8 Three further observations made by Achtemeier are relevant to the study of Mark 13: 1) oral signals of organization are even more necessary in written speeches than in written narratives; 2) discrepancies or inconsistencies may result from the need to give oral or aural clues to the listeners and thus not be indications of the use of sources; and 3) because of the physical character of ancient manuscripts, references to other works, for example, quotations and allusions, were much more likely to have been made from memory than copied from a source.9

The Author of Mark Although I cannot discuss these issues in detail in this context, it seems worthwhile to indicate next my working hypotheses concerning the author of the Gospel according to Mark. With regard to his specific identity, I agree with Martin Hengel that the widely accepted hypothesis that the four eventually canonical Gospels circulated anonymously until some point in the second century is too problematic to be accepted. So the attribution to someone named “Mark” is likely to be reliable.10 If this historical person is not the same as the  Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 12–13, 15.  Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 15–17.  8 Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 17–19; on the use of oral techniques in written works, see also Joanna Dewey, “Oral Methods of Structuring Narrative in Mark,” Interpretation 43 (1989): 32–44.  9  Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 21, 26–27. 10 Martin Hengel, Die Evangelienüberschriften, SHAW.PH 1984, 3 (Heidelberg: Carl Winter/ Universitätsverlag, 1984), 11–12; ET: Studies in the Gospel of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 66–67; compare Graham Stanton, “The Fourfold Gospel,” NTS 43 (1997): 317–46; here 332–34.  6  7

Composition and Performance in Mark 13

19

“John Mark” of Acts 12:12, the actual author was probably someone like him. His two names indicate his tri-cultural status. The name “John” is probably a Hellenized form of the Semitic personal name “Johanan.” “Mark” goes back to the Roman praenomen “Marcus,” which was in common use among Greekspeaking peoples from the Augustan age onward.11 The Semitic name suggests a Jewish cultural and religious origin. The name “Mark” indicates at least a minimal openness to Hellenistic culture. In light of the evidence discussed by Achtemeier, we may imagine Mark either dictating or writing his Gospel in his own hand. If he dictated it, he may have made preliminary notes or drafts of portions of the work in his own hand. He may have been wealthy enough to own a slave who could write or to hire a scribe. Another possibility is that a believer with scribal skills volunteered to write the manuscript by taking dictation. In any case, the author of such a work was likely to be literate. He may have learned his Greek at a gymnasium, at a synagogue school, or from a tutor employed by his parents.

The Composition of Mark 13 After these preliminary remarks, we may turn now to the composition of Mark 13. With regard to the use of sources, there are three main options: 1) Mark used a substantial, coherent written source; 2) Mark joined together a variety of materials, in oral or written form; 3) Mark took a more active role in composing the discourse, making use of Scripture and other sources in written and oral form. An advocate of the first option is Rudolf Pesch, who argued that vv. 1–2 belonged to the pre-Markan passion narrative and most of vv. 3–31 represents a preMarkan, Christian apocalypse written during the Jewish War. Mark added v. 6 to warn against parousia-enthusiasts, v. 10 to indicate that the Gentile mission will take place before the end, vv. 23 and 32 to dampen imminent expectation, and vv. 33–37 to urge watchfulness in light of the parousia.12 Another advocate of the first option is Egon Brandenburger, according to whom the basis of Mark 13 is a Christian apocalyptic text written after the beginning of the Jewish War. He assigned less material to this source than Pesch, however, including mainly the narrative portions of the speech in the source: vv. 7–8, 14–20, and 24–27. He argued that vv. 1b–2, most of vv. 9–13, vv. 21–22, 30– 32, and 34–36 come from oral tradition. The rest is Markan redaction, although 11  Henry Barclay Swete, The Gospel according to Mark (London: Macmillan, 1913); reprinted as Commentary on Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes and Indexes (Grand Rapids: Kregel Publications, 1977), xiii. 12  Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium II. Teil: Kommentar zu Kap. 8,27–16,20, HTK 2.2 (Freiburg: Herder, 1977; 4th ed. 1991), 266–67.

20

A. The Genre of Mark

some of the relevant verses may also be from oral tradition.13 Lars Hartman argued that “the nucleus of the eschatological discourse consisted of a ‘midrash’ on Dan (2,31–35), 7,7–27, 8,9–26, 9,24–27 and 11,21–12,4(13).”14 As far as I could tell, he does not argue that this “midrash” was written but speaks about both its “solidity and plasticity.”15 This source is represented by Mark 13:5b–8, 12–16, 19– 22, and 24–27. He expressed some doubt about vv. 8b and 15a. He concluded that “the original ‘midrash’ originated in the teaching of Jesus.”16 An article published by G. R. Beasley-Murray in 1983 is a good example of the second option.17 He argued that the discourse was composed by “welding” together four groups of sayings and individual logia into a whole as a response to the Jewish War, either before or after 70 ce. The social context in which the groups of sayings were formed, separately, was early Christian catechesis, the instruction of new converts. One group of sayings concerned “the tribulation of Israel” and is now represented by Mark 13:14–20. Another related to “the tribulation of the disciples of Jesus,” now found in vv. 9–13. The core of this group consists of two sayings (vv. 9, 11) related to the Q-saying that appears in Luke 12:11– 12. A third group treated the theme “false messiahs and the true Messiah” and constitutes vv. 21–27. The fourth expressed the theme “parousia and watchfulness” and consists of vv. 33–37.18 In his book on The Kingdom in Mark, Kelber followed earlier scholars in assuming that Mark used a source in composing chapter 13. His own approach to the passage, however, was the method of “composition criticism,” and his aim was to interpret the discourse in the context of Mark as a whole. Because of its methodological focus, this book may serve as an example of the third option.19 He argued that the introduction to the speech, 13:1–4, is “a redactional product throughout.”20 Following others, he interpreted vv. 5b–6 and 21–22 as doublets that deal with the issue of deception and together serve as a framing device. These framing units “exercise a controlling influence upon the material they embrace.” In other words, this large section of the speech must be interpreted in terms of false prophecy. He concluded further that this first main part of the speech was organized with the purpose of refuting a false viewpoint. In fact, the main purpose of the discourse as a whole, in his view, was to correct 13  Egon Brandenburger, Markus 13 und die Apokalyptik (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 41–42, 166–67. 14 Lars Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted: The Formation of Some Jewish Apocalyptic Texts and of the Eschatological Discourse Mark 13 Par., ConBNT 1 (Lund: Gleerup, 1966), 235. 15  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 251. 16  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 247. 17  G. R. Beasley-Murray, “Second Thoughts on the Composition of Mark 13,” NTS 29 (1983): 414–20. 18  Beasley-Murray, “Second Thoughts,” 416–17. 19  Werner Kelber, The Kingdom in Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 109–10. 20  Kelber, Kingdom, 111.

Composition and Performance in Mark 13

21

“an erroneously conceived realized eschatology.”21 He argued that “in Judea” in 13:14 is redactional; the phrase was added to signal, in symbolic fashion, that the audience should flee to Galilee: “The flight of the Judean Christians is an eschatological exodus out of the land of Satan into the promised land of the Kingdom.”22 In his analysis, the second and central part of the discourse consists of vv. 24–27. This section reaffirms the parousia as a future event. The third section, vv. 28–37, answers the question of the timing of the parousia and how it relates to the “experienced destruction of the temple.”23 Jan Lambrecht’s work on Mark 13 acknowledges the use of sources, but emphasizes the freedom with which “the final editor” shaped the material.24

The Little Apocalypse Theory Although it is likely that Mark used one or more written sources in composing this chapter, it is unlikely, in my view, that he used an extensive, coherent written source. One of the most influential arguments for the use of such a source is that the aside to the reader in v. 14 comes from the source and is not an aside directed by the evangelist to his audience. This parenthetical remark, “Let the reader understand,” is open to a variety of interpretations.25 One of the oldest of these argues that the object of understanding is the text of Daniel. As Morna Hooker has pointed out, this theory probably arose as an attempt to explain why Jesus, in speaking to the four disciples, would refer to a “reader.”26 From the point of view of this theory, the eschatological discourse is basically authentic.

 Kelber, Kingdom, 114–15. Kingdom, 121. 23  Kelber, Kingdom, 122, 124. 24  Jan Lambrecht, “Die Logia-Quellen von Markus 13,” Biblica 47 (1966): 321–60; Die Redaktion der Markus-Apocalypse: Literarische Analyse und Strukturuntersuchung, AnBib 28 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1967). 25  The fullest list of possible interpretations of which I am aware is that of Robert M. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 83–87. 26  Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel according to St. Mark, BNTC 2 (London: A & C Black; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991), 314. Representatives of the position that the object of understanding is Daniel include C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark, CGTC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959; rev. ed. 1977), commentary on this verse; Rudolf Bultmann (with a question mark and in combination with the little apocalypse theory), ἀναγινώσκω, ἀνάγνωσις, TDNT 1 (1964), 343–44; Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, WBC 34B (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), commentary on this verse. Scholars who accept this argument, but only as a partial explanation or as one of two or more reasonable explanations, include Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes, 2d ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1966), 511–12; Robert H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 742. 21

22 Kelber,

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The authenticity of the discourse was challenged by Timothy Colani in 1864. He argued that the aside was part of the text of a Jewish-Christian apocalypse, which was equivalent to the divine revelation instructing the members of the Christian community in Jerusalem to leave that city on account of persecutions and to flee to Pella before the Jewish War with Rome had begun.27 In 1933, G. Hölscher argued that “the little apocalypse” was a Jewish text written around 40 ce in the context of the crisis evoked by Caligula’s attempt to install his statue in the temple in Jerusalem.28 Some advocates of the “little apocalypse” theory suggested that this text circulated in Judea in the form of an apocalyptic flier.29 Gerd Theissen has recently argued in favor of an apocalyptic flier circulating around 40 ce.30 Those who use the expression “Let the reader understand” as evidence for a written source must conclude that the evangelist reproduced these words without realizing the absurdity of attributing this expression to Jesus in the context of a speech to four disciples.31 It is much more likely that the aside is a literary device to indicate that the preceding allusion to the “abomination of desolation” is a cryptic saying that requires interpretation. This literary device belongs to ancient practical apocalyptic hermeneutics. Compare the exhortation to one with understanding to calculate the number of the beast in Rev 13:18.32 An equally, if not more, interesting question for our purposes is who the “reader” is who is exhorted to understand. Most of the commentators who do not accept the “little apocalypse” theory argue or assume that the individual “reader” of Mark’s Gospel is meant.33 A problem for this interpretation is the likelihood 27  See the summary of Colani’s interpretation in G. R. Beasley-Murray, Jesus and the Last Days: The Interpretation of the Olivet Discourse (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993), 17; compare Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.5. Pesch’s interpretation has been influenced, directly or indirectly, by Colani’s (Pesch, Das Markusevangelium, 2.292). 28 See the summary by Beasley-Murray, Jesus and the Last Days, 72–73. 29 Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark, 498. 30  Gerd Theissen, Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, NTOA 8 (Freiburg, Schweiz: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 145–76; ET The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 136–65. 31  Hooker, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 314. 32  Brandenburger, Markus 13 und die Apokalyptik, 50; compare also Rev 17:9. The juxtaposition of the statement that those who are wise will understand with the two calculations of the end in Dan 12:10–12 is also analogous. Those who follow this line of interpretation include Hooker, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 315; Larry W. Hurtado, Mark, NIBCNT (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1983), 220; Sherman E. Johnson, A Commentary on the Gospel according to St. Mark, HNTC (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1960), 216; William L. Lane, The Gospel according to Mark, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 467; Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark, 511–12. 33 Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark, 403; John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington describe this as the most common view; they themselves allow that “the reader” could also be the one who read the Gospel to the assembly: The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina 2 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 372; Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 320; Fowler, Let the

Composition and Performance in Mark 13

23

that the Gospel was composed to be read aloud to an assembled audience.34 It would thus be odd for the evangelist to address both an “individual” (note the use of the singular here) and a member of the audience as a “reader.” Ernest Best has argued that the phrase “let the reader understand” was a private note to the public reader, the person who read the Gospel aloud for an assembled group. It was not meant to be read aloud. It was intended to draw attention to the “grammatical solecism,” the fact that the neuter βδέλυγμα (“abomination” or “sacrilege”) is followed by a masculine participle ἑστηκώς (“standing”). This shift in grammatical gender is important for interpretation. The private reader would have time to note it and reflect upon it, but the public reader would not have that leisure and needed to be warned not to perceive the incongruity as a mistake and correct it orally. To clarify his point, Best puts the verse into a modern idiom as follows: “But when you see that thing, the abomination of desolation, standing where he [sic] should not then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains.”35 This theory is ingenious and attractive, but I see several problems with it. One is that public readers most likely did not read texts like Mark’s Gospel to an assembled audience “cold,” so to speak. Such readers had no doubt read the Gospel privately in advance, even studied it, and thus would not be taken by surprise by the shift in grammatical gender. Best himself admits that the “gloss” was very early, since Matthew evidently read it in the text of Mark that he used. He also points out that “So long then as a living tradition of the way a text was read still existed punctuation was unnecessary.”36 If no punctuation was necessary, then this alleged gloss would not have been necessary either. Another problem is that the gender shift is not strictly speaking a solecism, since constructio ad sensum was widespread in Greek from early times. Elsewhere in Mark a masculine participle is used with a neuter noun, when the noun represents a personal being.37 So, ingenious as this hypothesis is, it should not be adopted. Like Best, Julius Wellhausen, following Carl Weizsäcker, argued that the aside is addressed to the person entrusted with the reading of the Gospel to the community. He defined the purpose, however, as alerting the reader and the listening audience to the fact that this public reader would be able to explain the allusion to Reader Understand, 87 (he uses the term “narratee,” rather than “reader”); Ezra P. Gould, Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Mark, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1896), 246–47; Gundry, Mark, 742 (he lists this as the first of two possibilities); Hooker, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 314–15; Hurtado, Mark, 220; Lane, The Gospel according to Mark, 467, n. 77. 34  So, among others, Fowler, Let the Reader Understand, 84. 35  Ernest Best, “The Gospel of Mark: Who was the Reader?,” Irish Biblical Studies 11 (1989): 124–32; here 128–30; my attention was brought to this article by Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 372. 36  Best, “The Gospel of Mark,” 130. 37  Mark 9:20, 26; BDF § 134 (3); § 282 (4); § 296.

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the “abomination of desolation.”38 It has been argued against this interpretation that “understand” does not mean “interpret.”39 In the literary and social context, however, the two are closely related. Literate members of the community were likely to be leaders and teachers as well.40 Wellhausen also pointed out that, in the prologue to Sirach, ὁ ἀναγινώσκων is one who is learned in the scriptures.41 The relevant part of the prologue reads, “Now those who read the scriptures must not only themselves understand them, but must also as lovers of learning be able through the spoken and written word to help the outsiders.”42 The outsiders (οἱ ἐκτός) are those outside the scribal or wisdom schools, who are unable to read the scriptures.43 The situation was analogous in the early church. Most of the members of the local communities were probably illiterate, and copies of the Gospels were expensive and rare. So public reading by an individual before a local assembly was the rule.44 Although it was probably written considerably later than Mark, the first letter to Timothy provides a notable analogy to the probable social setting of the parenthetical comment in Mark. The alleged author of the letter, Paul, instructs his representative, Timothy, to devote himself to “public reading, exhortation, and teaching.”45 Here, as in Mark 13:14, it is implied that the ability to read a text aloud before an assembly of fellow believers is connected with the authority to exhort and to teach the members of such an assembly.46 The evidence supports the conclusion that it is more likely that the “reader” in the phrase “Let the reader understand” is the one who actually reads the text to the audience, rather than the individual member of the audience.47 If the author wished to address such 38  Julius Wellhausen, Das Evangelium Marci übersetzt und erklärt, 2nd ed. (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1909; 1st ed. 1903), 103. 39  Theissen, Lokalkolorit, 137; ET The Gospels in Context, 128–29. Theissen contrasts the νοείτω (“understand”) of Mark 13:14 with the διερμηνευέτω (“interpret” or “translate”) in 1 Cor 14:27, but the latter passage comes from an entirely different context. 40  Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 5, 8–9. 41  Wellhausen, Das Evangelium Marci, 103. 42  Sir prol. 4–6; trans. NRSV (Rahlfs’s numbering used here). 43  Compare Ezra 7:11; Neh 8:1–4; cited by Patrick W. Skehan and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira, AB 39 (New York: Doubleday, 1987), 133; see also Bultmann, “ἀναγινώσκω, ἀνάγνωσις,” 344. The social setting of Jewish scribes seems more relevant than the role of the professional reader discussed by Fowler, who also acknowledges the relevance of the Jewish practice of the public reading of Scripture (Let the Reader Understand, 84). 44  1 Thess 5:27; Col 4:16; Rev 1:3; Bultmann, “ἀναγινώσκω, ἀνάγνωσις,” 343; Fowler, Let the Reader Understand, 84. 45  1 Tim 4:13. 46  Gordon D. Fee argues that the three activities are basically the same, “and as such are to be Timothy’s positive way of counteracting the erroneous teachings (cf. 2 Tim 3:14–17)”: 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus, NIBCNT (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1984), 107–8. 47  Note that Josephus refers occasionally to his readers in the plural, but never in the singular: J. W. 7.455; Ant. 1.18, 24; Ant. 11.68; Ant. 14.218; Ant. 14.265; Vita 6.27.

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individuals directly, he probably would have used a formula like “Let anyone who has ears to hear, hear!”48 In any case, the social setting of the expression “Let the reader understand” was both oral and scribal. It is oral in the sense that the Gospel was publicly read aloud and probably interpreted and applied as well. It is scribal in the sense that the Gospel was a written text, which the public reader had probably read privately and studied. But this private reading and study itself was most likely rooted in an oral context of teaching and handing on the tradition. As I have argued elsewhere, the other arguments for the use of an extensive written source are equally weak.49 While the use of such a source cannot be ruled out with certainty, the evidence is insufficient to demonstrate its use.

The Evangelist as Compiler of Traditions It is clear that Mark 13 is composed of a variety of materials.50 Scholars differ, however, on whether the emphasis should be placed upon Mark as a compiler of traditions or upon Mark as an author who had mastery of his materials. An underlying issue is the degree to which any of the material can be said to originate with the historical Jesus. A further issue is the significance of the presence of typical traditional motifs and structures. Hartman studied “certain structures in Jewish apocalyptic texts whose contents resemble that of ” Mark 13 and the part that Scripture played “in the building of those structures.” He defined these structures as “patterns of thought or conceptual frameworks which seem to have played a part in the formation of individual portions of text.”51 Henaut cited David Stern to the effect that “the parablist ‘was able to draw upon a kind of ideal thesaurus of stereotyped traditional elements’ in order to improvise a parable under spontaneous conditions.” But, as Henaut pointed out, “This thesaurus [of common-place plots and characterizations] would have been equally available to the evangelists and the authors of any literary sources they inherited.”52 The same holds true for Hartman’s “structures.” The issue that I would like to focus on in this part of the essay is whether preMarkan tradition can be discerned in the description of the coming of the Son of Man in 13:24–27. Alfred Resch argued that Paul’s description of the parousia in 1 Thess 4:13–18 is dependent on sayings of Jesus that are also found in the Syn48  Mark 4:9; all translations of Mark are my own; compare Rev 2:7, 11, 17; Theissen, Lokalkolorit, 137; ET The Gospels in Context, 128–29. 49  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark 13: An Apocalyptic Discourse,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 73–91. 50  See, e. g., the list in Brandenburger, Markus 13 und die Apokalyptik, 13. 51  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 13–14. 52  Henaut, Oral Tradition and the Gospels, 78.

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optic Gospels. He interpreted the reference to a λόγος κυρίου in v. 15 to mean that Paul knew some sayings attributed to the historical Jesus. He proposed that ἁρπαγησόμεθα (“we will be taken up”) in v. 17 is related to ἐπισυνάξει τοὺς ἐκλεκτούς in Mark 13:27 and that ἐν νεφέλαις (“in clouds” or “on clouds”) in 1 Thess 4:17 is related to the same Greek phrase in Mark 13:26.53 Béda Rigaux concluded that the λόγος κυρίου in 1 Thess 4:15 refers to the same apocalyptic revelation attributed to Jesus that is recorded in Mark 13 and its parallels. In his view, there is a relationship between 1 Thess 4:16–17 and the synoptic eschatological discourse.54 David Wenham interpreted the λόγος κυρίου as signifying “the traditional description of the Parousia.”55 He argued further that Paul did not quote the tradition verbatim, but expounded it freely. If Paul’s treatment of the tradition is related to a Synoptic saying, then Mark 13:27 would be a good candidate, since ἄξει σὺν αὐτῷ in 1 Thess 4:14 is similar and perhaps related to ἐπισυνάξει τοὺς ἐκλεκτούς in that Markan verse.56 He concluded that the link is indirect through “the eschatological parenesis of the Greek-speaking church.”57 Hartman argued that the word λόγος in the phrase λόγος κυρίου in 1 Thess 4:15 does not necessarily mean an individual saying. It can also refer to a “discourse” or part of one. The phrase could thus be translated “a teaching of the Lord” or “an instruction of the Lord.”58 He argued further that, in this verse, Paul is not repeating a tradition the way he does in 1 Corinthians 11 and 15. Here Paul refers to a teaching of the Lord and “interprets and supplements [it] for his own purpose.”59 Hartman concluded that Paul knew the “midrash” on Daniel on which Mark 13 is based.60 Other scholars, however, have argued that the phrase λόγος κυρίου here refers to a saying of the risen Lord received by Paul as a prophet, which he then com53  1 Thess 1:10 also refers to the parousia; Alfred Resch, Der Paulinismus und die Logia Jesu, TU n.f. 12 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1904), 38, 339. Traugott Holtz also concluded that the λόγος κυρίου in 1 Thess 4:15 is “a designation of a received saying of Jesus”: “Paul and the Oral Gospel Tradition,” in Henry Wansbrough, ed., Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition, JSNTSup 64 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 380–93; quotation from 385. 54  Béda Rigaux, Saint Paul: Les Epitres aux Thessaloniciens, EB (Paris: Gabalda, 1956), 96– 104, 539. 55  David Wenham, “Paul and the Synoptic Apocalypse,” in Gospel Perspectives: Studies of History and Tradition in the Four Gospels, ed. R. T. France and David Wenham, Gospel Perspectives 2 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981), 345–75; quotation from 367, n. 17. I. Howard Marshall takes a similar position: 1 and 2 Thessalonians, New Century Bible Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1983), 126. 56  Wenham, “Paul and the Synoptic Apocalypse,” 348 (g); 368, n. 17. He notes that the motifs of clouds and archangel/angels link the Pauline passage to Mark 13:26–27; 348 (c) and (d); 353. 57  Wenham, “Paul and the Synoptic Apocalypse,” 349, 353. 58  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 182. 59  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 188. 60 Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 188–90; he is followed by Charles A. Wanamaker, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, New Century Bible Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1983), 171.

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municated to the Thessalonians.61 The similarities between 1 Thessalonians 4 and the eschatological discourse of the Synoptics make this hypothesis unnecessary.62 The connection between 1 Thessalonians 4 and Mark 13 has also been called into question by the argument that the so-called “rapture,” the idea that “we will be taken up” (ἁρπαγησόμεθα) in 1 Thess 4:17, is peculiar to Paul.63 I would argue, on the contrary, that the description of the Son of Man sending out the angels to gather the elect from the four winds in Mark 13:27 presupposes an event similar to the one that Paul describes. Granted, the Markan passage does not specify where the elect will be taken once they are gathered, but the involvement of angels suggests that they are taken to heaven. In light of the variability of oral tradition and its constant adaptation to new situations, the connection between Mark 13:26–27 and 1 Thess 4:15–17 could be explained by positing that each text has resulted from the textualization of a different version of the oral tradition about the parousia. Such a conclusion, however, must remain tentative, since it is equally possible that each text results from its respective author’s adaptation and actualization of an earlier written text, which involved rewriting the text in his own words.64 Mark describes the event primarily in visual terms, whereas Paul emphasizes what will be heard.65 As noted earlier, a primary concern of those who present Mark as a compiler of traditions is to show that at least some of those traditions go back to the historical Jesus. Now it may be that some of the traditions in Mark 13 do indeed go back to the historical Jesus. The description of the coming of the Son of Man on or in clouds in v. 27 may well go back to him. As I have argued elsewhere, the hypothesis that best explains the Synoptic evidence concerning the Son of Man sayings is that the historical Jesus, alluding to Daniel 7:13, spoke about a heavenly Son of Man figure to come in the future.66 But, for a variety of reasons, not 61 E. g., Abraham J. Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians, AB 32B (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 268–69; he puts weight on the phrase λέγομεν ἐν λόγῳ κυρίου as a “prophetic claim.” See also Bartholomäus Henneken, Verkündigung und Prophetie im Ersten Thessalonicherbrief, SBS 29 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1969), 88–91. For other scholars who take this position, see Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians, 268–69; Henneken, Verkündigung, 82, n. 28, and Wanamaker, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 170. 62  These similarities are recognized by Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians, 274, 276– 77. 63  Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 130. 64  Vernon K. Robbins categorizes the latter procedure as “Recitation of a saying using words different from the authoritative source.” As an example, he mentions Paul’s version (in 1 Cor 9:14) of the Synoptic saying “for laborers deserve their food” (Matt 10:10//Luke 10:7): Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996), 42. 65  Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel, 143–44. 66 Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Influence of Daniel on the New Testament,” in John J. Collins, Daniel, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 92–96; “The Apocalyptic Son of Man Sayings,” in The Future of Early Christianity: Essays in Honor of Helmut Koester, ed. Birger A. Pearson et al. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 220–28; “Daniel 7 and the Historical Jesus,” in Of Scribes

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least among them the use of oral techniques in the composition of Mark 13, it is not possible to reconstruct earlier oral or even written traditions used by the evangelist in this chapter with a reasonable degree of certainty.

The Evangelist as Composer of Mark 13 In terms of genre, Mark 13 consists of two scholastic dialogues. In the first, vv. 1–2, the dialogue provides a setting for a prophetic saying of Jesus that may be traditional. In an analogous way, the second dialogue, vv. 3–37, provides a setting for an apocalyptic discourse attributed to Jesus. When the two are viewed together, it is clear that the whole reflects the typically Markan construction in which Jesus’s public teaching is followed by private explanation to a smaller group.67 As Hartman and others have pointed out, allusions to Daniel play a significant role in Mark 13. The question of the disciples in 13:4 alludes to, or at least echoes, Dan 12:7.68 It is generally recognized that Dan 7:13 plays a major role in the tradition concerning the parousia of Jesus. The rhetorical exigence that led the evangelist to write chapter 13, and perhaps the Gospel as a whole, was the appearance of messianic pretenders during the first Jewish War with Rome.69 A passage in Daniel that may have inspired the attempt to correlate the prophecies of Daniel with the events of the evangelist’s time is Dan 9:26–27: After the sixty-two weeks, an anointed one shall be cut off and shall have nothing, and the troops of the prince who is to come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary. Its end shall come with a flood, and to the end there shall be war. Desolations are decreed. He shall make a strong covenant with many for one week, and for half of the week he shall make sacrifice and offering cease; and in their place shall be an abomination that desolates, until the decreed end is poured out upon the desolator.70

Mark may have associated the “anointed one” with Jesus and the “prince who is to come” with the Roman emperor or his general who would destroy the city of Jerusalem and the temple. The expression “to the end there shall be war” evoked or reinforced the understanding that the events of the Jewish War with Rome and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins, ed. Harold W. Attridge et al., College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5 (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1990), 187–93; “The Origin of the Designation of Jesus as Son of Man,” HTR 80 (1987): 391–407. 67  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Apocalyptic Rhetoric of Mark 13 in Historical Context,” Biblical Research 41 (1996): 5–36; here 8–10. 68  The Old Greek version of Daniel, Theodotion, and Mark 13:4 share a form of συντελεῖσθαι and the words ταῦτα and πάντα; compare Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 145. 69  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 5–36. 70  Trans. NRSV. Compare Beasley-Murray, “Second Thoughts,” 416.

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constituted an immediate prelude to the end, and the context of this passage in Daniel associated that war with the “abomination that desolates.” As Hartman has shown, the discourse alludes to other texts alongside Daniel, some from the books of Moses and others from the prophets.71 Although Mark may have had predecessors with regard to his line of interpretation and technique, much of this work of using older texts to explain the contemporary situation may be his own contribution. It is likely that he used these older texts, consciously or unconsciously, from memory.72 Daniel, however, is clearly the main inspiration for the construction of the discourse.73 Vv. 5b–6 constitutes the first statement of the discourse that replies to the question of the four disciples. This opening statement, by virtue of its position, is highly important for interpreting the discourse as a whole, but this remark is far from easy to interpret. Wilhelm Heitmüller, who did an extensive study on Greek expressions related to an activity “in the name of Jesus,” argued that the phrase ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματί μου here reflects an idiom that appears in ancient literary texts that means “under the name of ” a person or thing.74 The text that he took to be most similar to Mark 13:6 is a passage from Lucian’s work The Dead Come to Life or The Fisherman: Ὁρᾶτε μὴ οὐ Φιλοσοφίαν οὗτός γε ἀλλὰ γόητας ἄνδρας ἐπὶ τῷ ἡμετέρῳ ὀνόματι πολλὰ καὶ μιαρὰ πράττοντας ἠγόρευεν κακῶς (“Careful! Perhaps his abuse was not directed against Philosophy, but against imposters who do much that is vile in our name”).75

Heitmüller cited a group of texts in which this idiom appears and argued that, in these texts, the formula “indicates the title, the category, the basis (or the pretext) under which or with reference to which this or that occurs.” He infers that this usage involves the idea that an activity takes place in connection with the name of this or that person, that is, it occurs under the actual naming of that person or with reference to the name of the person.76 He argues then that Mark 13:6 implies “the naming or the utilization” of “my name.”77 It is not entirely clear, however, that the “name” in question is “Jesus.” It could equally well be “Christ.” In the story about the exorcist who was not following Jesus and his disciples, John says to Jesus, “‘Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name and we prohibited him (from doing so), because he was 71  See, e. g., Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 147–48. One need not agree with every alleged allusion to accept the general point. 72  Compare Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 139. 73  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 145. 74 Wilhelm Heitmüller, “Im Namen Jesu”: Eine sprach- und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Neuen Testament, speziell zur altchristlichen Taufe, FRLANT 1.2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1903), 50, 63. 75 Lucian, Revivescentes sive Picator 15 (Harmon, LCL). 76  Heitmüller, “Im Namen Jesu”, 50. 77  Heitmüller, “Im Namen Jesu”, 63.

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not following us.’ Jesus, however, said, ‘Do not prohibit him; for there is no one who will do a powerful work in my name and be able soon afterward to revile me.’”78 In the saying that is loosely attached to this story, Jesus says: “For whoever gives you a cup of water on the ground that you belong to Christ,79 truly I say to you, he will surely not lose his reward.”80 The phrase “on the ground that you belong to Christ” is an idiomatic translation of the Greek ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε, which is roughly parallel to ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί σου in v. 38 and to ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματί μου in v. 39. The fact that the evangelist attached the saying of v. 41 to this story suggests that, when Jesus speaks, “in my name” could mean “in the name of Christ,” as well as “in the name of Jesus.” On the basis of this evidence, I would argue that “those who come in my name” in 13:6 refers to those who claimed to be the χριστός, the eschatological king of Israel. From Mark’s point of view, these men were claiming a “name,” “messiah,” that belonged to Jesus alone. Just as the speaker in Lucian’s text distinguished between those who were legitimately called “philosophers” and those who were philosophical imposters, so Mark distinguishes between Jesus as the genuine “Christ” or “Messiah” and those who falsely claimed the name. Josephus gives evidence for such pretenders, most importantly Menahem and Simon son of Gioras, who emerged as messianic leaders in the Jewish revolt.81 Vv. 7–8 consists of prophetic and apocalyptic commonplaces, whose function here is to place the appearance of the messianic deceivers in the context of the last days. Given the prominence of allusions to Daniel, it is noteworthy that the phrase δεῖ γενέσθαι in v. 7c alludes to Dan 2:28–29. Hartman argued that the admonition in 13:9a, “take heed to yourselves,” involves a change of perspective in the speech. The preceding verses deal with widespread disruptive events, whereas v. 9 turns to the personal situation of the addressees.82 It is true that the perspective shifts dramatically from v. 8 to v. 9, but such is not sufficient evidence that vv. 9–11 constitute an insertion. Just as the Markan Jesus admonished his audience in v. 5b, he turns again here to indicate what the role of the addressees will be during the period of political, social, and natural chaos. Hartman also pointed out that vv. 9–11 are not as closely associated with Scripture as the surrounding verses.83 This variation, however, is explicable in terms of the evangelist’s aims and techniques.  Mark 9:38–39.  The earliest recoverable reading is probably ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι Χριστοῦ ἐστε (“on the ground that you belong to Christ”), attested by 2‫ א‬A B C* et al. In this context, ἐν ὀνόματι ὅτι (“on the ground that”) is a standard Greek idiom; see C. F. D. Moule, An Idiom Book of New Testament Greek, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960), 79; BDF, § 397 (3); Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark, the commentary on this passage. 80  Mark 9:41. 81  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 14–18. 82  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 176. 83  Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted, 176. 78 79

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Others have argued that the reference to the proclamation of the gospel to all nations in v. 10 is an insertion by the evangelist into a pre-Markan context.84 But this verse is closely linked to its context. The temporal designation “first” in v. 10 is related to the statement in v. 7 that “the end is not yet.” The odd placement of v. 10 may be due to the style of the author and a rather successful attempt to create dramatic effect. The audience is told that deceivers and wars will come, but the end is not yet. Yet greater upheavals will occur, and even these are just the beginning of the birth pains. Their own pains are described in terms of being “handed over,” as Jesus was, to councils and others for his sake. These threatening events are interpreted as an occasion for “witness” or “testimony” to the interrogators.85 This positive perspective then leads into the generalizing statement about the gospel being proclaimed to all nations. It is backed up with the promise of support through the Holy Spirit. The divisive events of brother handing brother over to death and so forth are followed by the promise that all who endure to the end will be saved. Thus the “first” of v. 10 both looks back to the remark in v. 7 that “the end is not yet” and forward to the promise that those who endure “to the end” will be saved. In this passage, the author adopts Christian language86 in order to indicate that, during the period of upheaval, the task of the followers of Jesus will be the proclamation of the good news. Only after this task is accomplished will the divine intervention occur.87 As noted earlier, the allusion to the desolating sacrilege in v. 14 uses the masculine participle ἑστηκώς (“standing”) with the neuter noun βδέλυγμα (“sacrilege”). In the LXX, the term “sacrilege” or “abomination” is used occasionally to refer to the image of a foreign god. It is significant for the interpretation of Mark 13:14 that the term could designate either the image or the deity it represents. In addition, the Greek term for an image or statue used by Philo and Josephus in describing Caligula’s attempt to install his image in the temple in Jerusalem is the masculine noun ἀνδριάς.88 The masculine participle thus represents both the statue and the emperor of Mark’s time. It is likely that Caligula’s unsuccessful attempt was still a living memory at the time that Mark wrote. It provided a model for the veiled Markan prediction of what the Romans would do once they 84  Joel Marcus, “The Jewish War and the Sitz im Leben of Mark,” JBL 111 (1992): 441–62; here 447 and n. 31. Hartman argued that v. 10 was interpolated into a pre-Markan collection of sayings by someone prior to the evangelist: Prophecy Interpreted, 241. 85 Hartman is probably right that μαρτύριον in 13:9 has its usual objective sense of “testimony,” but nothing requires the further conclusion that this testimony is negative (“against them”) (Prophecy Interpreted, 217). On the contrary, if v. 10 is not a later insertion, it is evidence for the positive sense. 86  Compare Mark 13:9–11/12 with Luke 12:11–12/53, a Q-passage; Lambrecht, “Die LogiaQuellen von Markus 13,” 358–59; James M. Robinson et al., eds., The Critical Edition of Q, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 312–17, 384–87. 87  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 20–21. 88  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 23 and n. 76.

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achieved control of the temple. This sacrilege would then initiate the final tribulation by provoking a divine intervention to destroy Jerusalem and the temple as Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed.89 As many have pointed out, vv. 21–22 are similar to vv. 5b–6. Kelber and Lambrecht have even referred to the two passages as doublets. The later passage may be taken as a reprise of the theme introduced by the earlier, namely, the contrast between the one true Messiah and the many false messiahs and their henchmen, false prophets.90 The emphatic warning and the statement “I have told you all things beforehand” in v. 23 do not imply that everything up to this point is prophecy ex eventu. The latter statement is a kind of consolation: nothing has happened or will happen that Jesus did not foresee and that is not part of the divine plan. The emphatic warning introducing this summary statement is related to the issue of messianic pretenders, the rhetorical exigence mentioned earlier. The audience should not be tempted to acknowledge Simon, son of Gioras, as the messiah or any claimant other than Jesus. They should also not be discouraged that so many others are accepting these other claims. Rather, they should endure and continue to proclaim the gospel. The parousia of Jesus as Son of Man, which has already been discussed, forms the dramatic climax to the speech. This narrative climax is followed by a parable concerning a fig tree. In this case, “parable” means an argumentative illustration or comparison.91 The argument is: Just as you know that summer is near when you see the leaves appear on a fig tree, so will you know that the Son of Man is at the gates when you see these things happening. “These things” probably refers to the events narrated in vv. 5b–23, especially those in vv. 14–23.92 In the two sayings of vv. 30–31, the speech moves back from the argumentative mode to the mode of authoritative revelation employed in vv. 5b–27. The saying of v. 30 confirms imminent expectation of the return of the Son of Man in a way analogous to the statement in 9:1 that “some standing here will surely not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power.” In the saying of v. 31, the Markan Jesus legitimates his own words and affirms their eternal validity.93 There is no need to interpret these sayings as reactions to a perceived “delay of the parousia” or to the views of false teachers. They may be understood in keeping with the discourse as a whole as consolation to those who are experiencing the hardships described in vv. 9–13. The illustration of the fig tree and the sayings in vv. 30–31 have already addressed the question of when the Son of Man will come. The unit in vv. 32–36 89 Yarbro

Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 26–27.  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 15–18, 27–28. 91  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 30–31. 92  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 31–32. 93  Compare Rev 21:5b; 22:6a; Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 32. 90

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takes up the further question of exactly when he would come. Some supporters of the theory that Mark used a written source in composing chapter 13 have argued that there is a contradiction between v. 30 and v. 32. In v. 30 Jesus claims to know that the end will come during the lives of the current generation. In v. 32, he professes ignorance about the time of the end. The tension between the two sayings is insufficient to warrant the conclusion that the evangelist used a written source. In v. 32, Jesus does not profess an absolute ignorance about the timing of the end, but only a relative one.94 Others have argued that the saying of v. 32 is “anti-apocalyptic” or that its purpose is to dampen imminent expectation. It would be strange if the evangelist wished to dampen imminent expectation, yet included the saying of v. 30. In any case, the purpose of v. 32 is to oppose the activity of calculating the exact date of the end, an activity visible in Dan 12:11–12. Such opposition is not “antiapocalyptic,” but is characteristic of some forms of apocalypticism. 4 Ezra expresses a similar attitude.95 Such an attitude expresses the view that there are limits to apocalyptic revelation. V. 33 does two things. It recapitulates the warnings expressed earlier in the speech.96 It also serves to introduce the parable of vv. 34–36. This parable has affinities with other elements of early Christian eschatological tradition.97 These affinities, however, do not imply that it is a traditional parable. It is likely that Mark composed it to conclude the apocalyptic discourse, using the “thesaurus” of early Christian parabolic themes and characters.98 With this parable, Mark returns to the argumentative mode, making the point that it is necessary for the followers of Jesus to remain alert, just as the doorkeeper must stay awake in the absence of his master. The saying of v. 37, “Now what I say to you, I say to all: keep awake,” rounds off both the last section of the speech and the speech as a whole.99 Like v. 14, this saying breaks through the fictional setting in which Jesus is speaking to the four disciples on the Mount of Olives. Whereas v. 14 addressed the public reader of the text directly and the listening audience indirectly, this saying addresses the listening audience directly.

 Yarbro Collins, “Mark 13,” 79–80.  4 Ezra 4:52; compare 4:21; Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric of Mark 13,” 33. 96  Mark 13:5b, 9a, 23a. 97  1 Thess 5:1–6; Luke 12:35–46 and 19:12–17; on the connection with 1 Thessalonians 5, see Beasley-Murray, “Second Thoughts,” 415; 419, n. 8; on the connection with Luke/Q, see Lambrecht, “Die Logia-Quellen von Markus 13,” 358–59. 98  Lambrecht argued that Mark created a new parable, the Doorkeeper, out of four traditional parables: “Die Logia-Quellen von Markus 13,” 355. 99  Yarbro Collins, “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 35. 94 95

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Conclusion The author of the Gospel according to Mark was indeed someone named Mark, of Jewish origin, literate, and knowledgeable in the Scriptures. He probably used both written and oral sources in composing chapter 13, but the evidence does not support the conclusion that he used an extensive “little apocalypse.” It is likely that he alluded to Scripture from memory. In his preliminary work of composition, he may have collected materials, made his own notes, and written drafts of portions of the Gospel. He may have dictated the final copy or written it with his own hand. In either case, the text was written for the ear and not for the eye. The exigence that evoked the utterance attributed to Jesus in Mark 13 was the appearance of popular prophets and claimants to messianic status during the first Jewish War with Rome and the recognition granted them by a large portion of the Jewish population of Judea and Galilee. The “sign” about which the disciples ask is the “desolating sacrilege,” the statue of the divine emperor that Mark expected the Romans to set up once they had seized control of the temple. The eschatological scenario of the speech envisages two divine interventions, one to judge Jerusalem and the other to gather the elect. During the time of the “birth pains” and then the “tribulation,” the task of the audience is to continue to proclaim the good news that Jesus is the true Messiah (v. 10) and to continue in their assigned tasks (vv. 32–36). The image of the doorkeeper suggests that some followers of Jesus have the task of guarding the community against false pretentions to prophetic or messianic status by unmasking them, issuing the correct interpretation of eschatological tradition and events, and exhorting the community. The concluding saying advocates watchfulness among all the followers of Jesus.100 The parenthetical remark in v. 14, “Let the reader understand,” was directed to the public readers of the Gospel in assemblies of followers of Jesus. Since this aside was most likely read aloud, the audience would overhear it. It was a signal to the audience that the phrase βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως (“abomination of desolation” or “desolating sacrilege”) is a highly significant phrase, but one that needs interpretation. The reference to the “reader” also informed the audience that the literate public reader was sufficiently informed about this phrase to be able to explain it to them when the reading was completed. Since the manuscripts that these public readers were reading aloud most likely lacked divisions of words and paragraphs and had little, if any, punctuation, the manuscript may have served primarily to remind the public reader of the wording of the text. The public reading was thus at least partially from memory and thus relatively lively. There does not, however, seem to be evidence that such public readings were dramatic performances similar to the recitatio of the profes Yarbro Collins, “Mark 13,” 86; “Apocalyptic Rhetoric,” 20, 34–36.

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sional reader. It is more likely, at least in the first century or two, that the model for public reading among followers of Jesus was the reading of Scripture in the synagogues, rather than the public performances of professional readers and rhetors. The public readers of Christian texts were likely to be leaders of their communities, perhaps teachers, who transmitted early Christian proclamation and teaching, modeled early Christian hermeneutics, and preserved the living memory of the meaning of the text of Mark.

Genre and the Gospels The genre of the Gospels has been a disputed issue in biblical scholarship since the Enlightenment, beginning with the studies of Hermann Samuel Reimarus and Gotthold Ephraim Lessing.1 The debate is perennial because the issue is not merely a question of labeling but of interpretation as well. The decision to define the Gospels as representing an original Christian genre, a type of biblical or Jewish historiography, or a kind of Hellenistic biography has enormous implications for the choice of the primary cultural context in which to interpret the texts, as well as the perception of the aims of these documents. The purpose of Richard Burridge’s book is either to give the biographical hypothesis a scholarly footing or to expose it as a false trail.2 His starting point is twentieth-century genre criticism and literary theory. He agrees with René Wellek and Austin Warren that genre should be conceived as a regulative concept, an underlying pattern or convention that is effective in molding the writing of concrete works.3 He agrees further with Alastair Fowler that genre should be taken, not as an instrument of classification or prescription, but as one of meaning.4 In considering how this convention functions, he follows E. D. Hirsch5 and Jonathan Culler6 in speaking of a system or sets of expectations and Heather Dubrow in positing a generic contract between author and reader.7 Burridge defines genre as “a group of literary works sharing certain ‘family resemblances’ operating at a level between Universals [Aristotle’s genres of epic, lyric, and drama] and actual texts and between modes and specific subgroups, and functioning as a set of expectations to guide interpretation.”8 In his discussion of genre analysis among classicists, Burridge concludes that the last centuries bce and the first century ce constitute a period of flexible genres. Referring to 1  See Detlev Dormeyer, Evangelium als literarische und theologische Gattung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989). 2 Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 3  René Wellek and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature, 3rd ed. (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1956). 4  Alastair Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982). 5  E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967). 6  Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics: Structuralism, Linguistics, and the Study of Literature (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1975). 7  Heather Dubrow, Genre (London: Metheun, 1982). 8  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 42.

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Joseph Geiger,9 he notes that the genres of prose were never as clearly fixed as those of poetry. This conclusion is related to his criticism of Charles Talbert, who divided GrecoRoman biography into five types based on their social functions.10 Burridge argues that Talbert’s approach is too rigid and that many bioi (“lives”) actually had several purposes.11

Burridge acknowledges the lack of clear ancient criteria for defining a bios by attempting to define the genre inductively, using a list of generic features derived from modern literary criticism. He has chosen generic features that are likely to reveal the particular pattern for each genre that constitutes the “contract” between author and reader. These include opening features (title, opening words, prologue, or preface), subject (that is, subject matter or content), external features (mode of representation, meter, size or length, structure or sequence, scale, sources, methods of characterization), and internal features (setting, topics, style, tone, mood, attitude, values, quality of characterization, social setting, occasion of writing, author’s intention or purpose).12 Then he applies this model to groups of ancient bioi, one of which predates the Gospels, the other being later. The first group includes the Evagoras by Isocrates, the Agesilaus of Xenophon (these are encomia, but it is generally agreed that they overlap with the genre bios), the fragmentary Euripides by Satyrus, the Atticus by Nepos, and Philo’s Moses.13 The second group includes Tacitus’s Agricola, Plutarch’s Cato Minor, Suetonius’s Lives of the Caesars, Lucian’s Demonax, and Philostratus’s Apollonius of Tyana.14 He concludes that these works exhibit a similar range of generic features within a flexible pattern. The final step involves the analysis of the four canonical Gospels according to the same model. Burridge concludes that there is a high degree of correlation between the Greco-Roman bioi and the Gospels and that therefore the genre of the Gospels is bios. They may constitute their own subgenre because of their shared content, but the bioi comprise the “family” to which they belong.15 The differences are not sufficiently marked or significant to prevent the Gospels from belonging to the genre bios.16 Burridge is surely correct in taking the position that the last centuries bce and the first century ce was a time of flexible genres. But if our goal is the interpretation of texts, it is not helpful to stay at that level of generality. Although it is a necessary corrective to an unrealistically rigid notion of genre as a set  9 Joseph Geiger, Cornelius Nepos and Ancient Political Biography (Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, 1985), 62; compare 58. 10 Charles Talbert, What Is a Gospel? (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). 11  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 85. 12 Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 111. 13  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 128. 14  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 155–60. 15  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 218–19, 238–39. 16  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 243.

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of pigeonholes, an emphasis on flexible boundaries and “crossings” between genres and overlapping circles of genera proxima does not illuminate what is distinctive about particular genres. It is appropriate to recognize that bios overlaps with moral philosophy, religious or philosophical teaching, encomium, the novel, political beliefs, polemic, and history (although only some of these qualify as genres). Yet it is equally important to define what constitutes the heart of the circle labeled “bios” in a genre map, but Burridge does not attempt to do so. Among the generic features investigated by Burridge, the ones that are most promising for defining the heart of that circle arc “subject” and “purpose.” He begins by defining “subject” in terms of subject matter or tone but then redefines it as the grammatical subject of a sentence or verbal form. This shift from broad literary categories to linguistic ones has the apparent advantage of objectivity, but the latter is not guaranteed. While counting the number of times a person’s name appears in a text or constitutes the explicit or implied subject of a verb clarifies the focus of a text in a striking way, linguistic focus may not exhaust the significance of the broader literary notion of subject matter. Text-linguistic procedures must be complemented by inferences based on sensitivity to literary and historical context. The point is not just how often an individual is named, but to what effect; for example, one must ask whether the focus is on the character or achievement of this person for its own sake, or as a model to be imitated, or on his or her role in a larger historical context. This is a serious issue since Burridge concludes from his survey of ten ancient biographical works that the major determining feature is the subject: all these works concentrate on one individual, and this is the major thing that they have in common. Although he admits that this feature alone cannot “prove” that a text is a biography, he uses it to distinguish bios from historical monograph, arguing that the bios differs from the monograph in that it focuses on one person, whereas the monograph concentrates on a particular situation, war, or period. He does not address the question of whether a historical monograph necessarily has more than one main actor. Like the argument about the overlapping of genera proxima, the case for the conclusion that ancient bioi and the four canonical Gospels had numerous purposes is persuasive, but not especially helpful. It would be more helpful to attempt to distinguish a primary purpose, related to the definition of the genre, which may need to be stated at a high level of generality, from secondary, particular purposes of specific works. Burridge’s case for defining the Gospels as bioi appears strong in large part because he did not seriously consider any alternative. The very brief review of scholarship under the heading “The Jewish Background” does not constitute a serious consideration of the relevant genres of Jewish literature.17 It is certainly essential to interpret the Gospels in light of Greek and Roman literature. But it  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 19–21.

17

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is equally essential to interpret them in light of Jewish literature. The fact that the Dead Sea Scrolls and rabbinic literature pay far less attention to individuals does not free us from that responsibility. Philo’s Life of Moses is included by Burridge as an example of a Jewish bios, but biblical and post-biblical Jewish historiography is not taken seriously as a possible generic model for the Gospels. Whether it is necessary to take the latter genre into account depends in large part on one’s answer to the question of whether there was a pre-Hellenistic biblical or Jewish genre that could be labeled “bios” or “biography.” The book of Nehemiah has an autobiographical character and may have been inspired by Persian models, as Arnaldo Momigliano has suggested.18 But there was a much older biographical and autobiographical tradition in the ancient Near East. For example, the oldest type of Egyptian autobiographical text is a kind of funerary inscription, consisting primarily of a catalog of virtues practiced and wrongs not committed, which Egyptologists call the “ideal biography.” It is ideal in the sense that the shortcomings of the subject and the ephemera of his life are not recorded; in fact, the same catalog may be used for many individuals. This genre took shape in the Fifth Dynasty of the Old Kingdom. In the Sixth Dynasty, truly autobiographical inscriptions were created, in the sense that they recorded specific information about a person’s life that applied only to that person. Egyptian autobiographical fiction emerged already in the Middle Kingdom with the Story of Sinuhe. Both genres continued to flourish in the New Kingdom. As Eberhard Otto has shown, the tradition of autobiographical inscriptions flourished throughout the Late Period and on into the Greek and Roman periods of Egyptian history.19 With reference to this Egyptian material, Klaus Baltzer argued that there are now materials in the Hebrew Bible that can be called “biographies,” that these once had an independent existence apart from their present contexts, and that they have been secondarily incorporated into larger contexts, often as sourcematerial for historiography.20 Although Burridge does not discuss Baltzer’s work in detail, he cites it approvingly, and it has influenced other New Testament scholars as well. Baltzer takes “The Last Words of David” in 2 Samuel 23 as an example of an “ideal biography.” Unlike the Egyptologists, he does not use this term to designate a text that could apply to various subjects. Rather, it signifies 18  Arnaldo Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971), 35–37. 19  I am grateful to Professor Edward Wente of the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago for guidance in approaching the Egyptian material. For the texts in English translation with introduction and notes, see Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings, vols. 1–2 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973, 1976). For the Late Period, see Eberhard Otto, Die biographischen Inschriften der ägyptischen Spätzeit: Ihre geistesgeschichtliche und literarische Bedeutung (Leiden: Brill, 1954). 20  Klaus Baltzer, Die Biographie der Propheten (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1975).

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in his usage a summary of a life as opposed to the recounting of particular events and the instructional or exemplary character of the summary. David is presented as an example for those who come after, that is, the kings who succeed him. In Judges 6–8, the story of Gideon, Baltzer finds an example of narrative biography. Following Wolfgang Richter, he argues that this passage is a unified composition, created by editing older, originally independent traditions. Baltzer assumed that this unified composition was also originally independent of its present context, but it is not at all clear that this assumption is justified. It may just as well have been composed precisely for its present context. Similarly, it is not obvious that the books of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel incorporate originally independent, extended narrative biographies of these prophets. Thus, with the possible exceptions of Nehemiah and the Joseph story, it is not clear that we are justified in speaking of biography as a pre-Hellenistic biblical genre. It seems more appropriate to speak of the use of biographical elements in other biblical genres. For example, the book of Judges and 1 and 2 Samuel may be interpreted as historical fiction or historiography that centers on the activities of certain charismatic leaders. The books of Kings and Chronicles may be seen as annalistic historiography that focuses on the deeds of kings. The genre of the prophetic books is more difficult to articulate, but they should probably not be defined as biographies. Given the Gospels’ obvious conceptual and literary connection with Scripture, the fact that the latter includes no clear example of the genre biography raises a question about the thesis that the Gospels should be defined as bioi. If, as Burridge argues, the authors of Matthew and Luke recognized that Mark is a bios and, in their own works, brought the Gospel genre closer to Greco-Roman bioi, why did they not describe their works as such, as Philo did, rather than as a βίβλος (“book”) in the case of Matthew and a διήγησις πραγμάτων (“an account of events”) in the case of Luke? Burridge is right that the Greek titles of the Gospels in the earliest manuscripts show that the Gospels were seen as a literary group together. That this group was connected with the genre bios, however, is doubtful, especially since the second-century Christian writer Justin Martyr refers to the Gospels as ἀπομνημονεύματα (trustworthy notes of speeches and events), and not as bioi. Burridge seems to agree with Dormeyer that the words “[The] beginning of the gospel” in Mark 1:1 refer to the whole account contained in Mark and that this narrative may be called a biography of Jesus. Dormeyer has made a strong case for the literary meaning of εὐαγγέλιον (“gospel” or “good news”) in Mark 1:1 and for the conclusion that it has a rich, multilayered metaphorical meaning.21 21 Detlev Dormeyer, “Die Kompositionsmetapher ‘Evangelium Jesu Christi, des Sohnes Gottes’ Mk 1.1: Ihre theologische und literarische Aufgabe in der Jesus-Biographie des Markus,” NTS 33 (1987): 452–68.

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But alongside his use of the term biography, Dormeyer speaks about the grounding of this metaphor in historical events. In addition, as Hubert Frankemölle has shown, the concept εὐαγγέλιον (the early Christian message as “good news”) is best seen as an early Christian creation, related to the use of the verb εὐαγγελίζεσθαι (“to announce good news”) in the book of Isaiah,22 whose prophecies Mark, like other early Christians, believed were fulfilled in the activity of Jesus and what was done to him. I would agree with Dormeyer that the author of Mark deliberately chose a narrative genre rather than one like the “sayings of the wise.” But I believe that the genre “historical monograph” has as good a claim as the ancient bios to be recognized as the genre chosen by Mark. Albrecht Dihle expressed this alternative well in his remark that each of the Gospels may be regarded as “a decisive segment of a salvation history which began in the remote past and continues in the future.”23 The “good news” of Mark 1:1 is closely associated with the fulfillment of Scripture and the identification of Jesus as the messiah. The events centering on Jesus, as recounted in Mark, presuppose a larger narrative involving a divine plan for history. This plan was revealed in a prophetic manner in Scripture and its fulfillment began with the activity of John the Baptist. The final eschatological events are predicted by Jesus in Mark’s narrative, but their actualization is to occur beyond the end of the narrative itself. Thus, the narrative of Mark focuses on the life of Jesus, not because of his exemplary character or cultural achievement, but because of his decisive role in the historical unfolding of the fulfillment of the divine promises. Thus, Burridge has made a significant contribution to the study of the Gospels, but his book tells only half the story. In his essays on the genre of Mark, Hubert Cancik suggested that we need to address the question of genre from the point of view of different types of readers.24 Those whose primary point of reference was Jewish Scripture recognized Mark as a prophetic book. Those more oriented toward Greek and Latin literature perceived it as a bios. The current emphasis on the perspective and cultural world of the reader should not lead to the abandonment of the perspective and cultural world of the author. Consideration of the circumstances of the production of a work is as important for interpretation as those of reception. There are numerous indications that the evangelists modeled their works on Jewish Scripture. This perception is all the more significant 22 Hubert Frankemölle, Evangelium – Begriff und Gattung: Ein Forschungsbericht (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1988), 92. 23 Albrecht Dihle, “The Gospels and Greek Biography,” in The Gospel and the Gospels, ed. Peter Stuhlmacher (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 361–86; quotation is from 380. 24 Hubert Cancik, “Bios und Logos: Formgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Lukians’ Demonax” and “Die Gattung Evangelium: Das Evangelium des Markus im Rahmen der antiken Historiographie,” in Markus-Philologie: Historische, literargeschichtliche und stilistische Untersuchungen zum zweiten Evangelium, ed. Hubert Cancik (Tübingen: Mohr, 1984).

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if doubts can legitimately be raised about the familiarity of these authors with Greek and Latin bioi. If they received a normal Hellenistic education, as opposed to an education in a synagogue or Christian school, it is highly likely that they encountered brief literary genres with a biographical character. But such study is not the same thing as acquaintance with extended prose works focusing on the life of an individual and its cultural importance. Burridge concludes that the evangelists would have read some bioi because they had reached the upper levels of secondary school education. This conclusion is dubious. As Abraham Malherbe has pointed out, the classical writers were read relatively rarely in their entirety.25 In secondary schools, handbooks, anthologies, and summaries were used. Although poetry dominated the curriculum, there was a place for prose. The prose authors studied were mainly historians. Rhetorical studies at the third level, and perhaps already in the upper levels of the second, included intensive exercises with the genre encomium. But the genre bios does not seem to have been part of the curriculum at any level.26 If early Christian writers had a conception of Jesus’s bios and were aware that Greek and Roman bioi existed, they may have sought out such works as literary models. But we cannot simply assume that they were well known and available to the evangelists. It should also be noted that familiarity with oral biographical stories is quite different from knowledge and use of written bioi. The evangelists, including the relatively highly educated author of Luke-Acts, are more likely to have been familiar with Greek historiography than with βίοι. It is certainly true that the Gospels eventually came to be read as lives of Jesus, but such readings should be seen as an understandable, but significant, departure from the authors’ primary intentions. The significance of Burridge’s conclusion that the Gospels are bioi is limited by his admission that “the narrower the genre proposed for the gospels, the harder it is to prove the case, but the more useful the hermeneutical implications; whereas the wider the genre, the easier it is to demonstrate that the gospels belong to it, but the less helpful the result.”27 His argument that the Gospels belong to the genre bios is relatively strong, but the genre is very wide. In spite of Burridge’s criticisms of Talbert and Dihle,28 it does seem that they were right (or at least more helpful and interesting) in their attempts to articulate a primary or typical function of the genre bios (or its subgenres). The exemplary purpose of bioi and their focus on character (ἦθος) as a matter of virtue (ἀρετή) 25  Abraham Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977), 43. 26  On the curricula in the various levels of ancient education, see H. I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity (London: Sheed & Ward, 1956). 27  Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 255. 28  Talbert, What Is a Gospel? and Albrecht Dihle, Studien zur griechischen Biographie, 2nd rev. ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1970).

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and vice (κακία) is a significant theme in Burridge’s treatment of Greco-Roman biography29 and may well qualify as the most distinctive purpose of the genre bios. In spite of Burridge’s attempt to find something analogous in the Gospels, it is clear that their portrayal of Jesus’s “character” and “virtues” belongs to a different cultural context and has a purpose beyond the exemplary. Nevertheless, Burridge has made an important contribution in verifying the intuitive definition of the Gospels as “lives of Jesus.” Since this definition tends to obscure the differences between the Gospels and the bioi and to mask the similarities between the Gospels and Jewish historical and apocalyptic works, future study should explore the question of whether the Gospels constitute a hybrid or mixed genre, rather than fitting neatly and entirely in the “family” of bioi.

 Burridge, What Are the Gospels, 63, 67, 76, 136, 145, 150, 176, 252.

29

B. The Characterization of Jesus in Mark: Identity and Deeds

“Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water (Mark 6:45–52)” My intention in writing this essay is to clarify the role of Christology in early Christian propaganda by means of a study of the early tradition history of one miracle story and its context in the history of religions.1 I hope to demonstrate that the origin of the story of Jesus walking on the water is seen best in the formation of Christian oral tradition within a pluralistic cultural and religious context. Both Jewish and Greek traditions contributed to the formation and adaptation of the story, although the Jewish tradition contributed most to the expression and adaptation of the epiphany theme whereas the Greek was more influential with regard to the motif of walking on water. Finally, the distinction between tradition and redaction sheds light on the Markan understanding and use of the passage.

The Pre-Markan Form of the Story Paul Achtemeier has made a persuasive case for the hypothesis that the story about Jesus walking on the water was the first narrative in a pre-Markan catena of miracle stories2 and that originally it was followed by the healing of the blind man of Bethsaida.3 He and many others have attempted to reconstruct the preMarkan form of the narrative itself. It begins with the remark, “And immediately he compelled his disciples to get into the boat and to go ahead (of him) to the other side, to Bethsaida, while he himself dismissed the crowd.”4 The last clause of this sentence (ἕως αὐτὸς ἀπολύει τὸν ὄχλον) was added by the evangelist to connect the story with the previous one; a great crowd is mentioned in v. 34, and the disciples had suggested dismissing the crowd prematurely in v. 36.5 This con1  The first part of the German term Religionsgeschichte is not a plural, since it refers to the history of religion in which the peak and fulfillment of the process is Christianity. The “s” expresses something like the possessive: Religion’s history. I use the plural “religions” in the phrase “history of religions” because I want to preserve and develop what is helpful in the “history of religion” approach without accepting the idea of a single religion with an evolutionary history. 2  A catena (lit. “chain”) is a series of connected texts. 3  Paul Achtemeier, “Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan Miracle Catenae,” JBL 89 (1970): 265–91; here 281–84. 4  Mark 6:45; all translations are by the author unless otherwise noted. 5  Achtemeier, “Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan Miracle Catenae,” 283.

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clusion is supported by the observation that the separation of Jesus from the disciples is doubly motivated: (1) he stayed behind to dismiss the crowd and (2) he wanted to be alone to pray (v. 46). The latter motive is probably original, since the presence of the disciples would not be a problem for the dismissal of the crowd by Jesus.6 Furthermore, ἀποταξάμενος is more appropriate to leave-taking than to dismissal. It derives from the source and referred originally to Jesus saying farewell to the disciples (αὐτοῖς). The other compelling case for redactional activity relates to the conclusion of the story, “For they did not understand with regard to the loaves; on the contrary their hearts were hardened” (v. 52). The reference to the “loaves” is redactional and represents Mark’s attempt to link the story about the walking on the water with the feeding of the 5,000 (6:33–44) in terms of his own conception of the role of the disciples.7 Although many suggestions have been made in this regard, there is no compelling evidence of editorial activity in vv. 46–51. The remark that the wind abated (καὶ ἐκόπασεν ὁ ἄνεμος; v. 51b) is identical in wording to a statement in the story about the stilling of the storm (4:39c) and thus far has been interpreted as an addition by the evangelist in order to assimilate this story to the Stilling of the Storm. But the wind is necessary to motivate Jesus’s walk upon the water, as v. 48 makes clear. V. 51b is thus better construed as an integral part of the preMarkan story.

Genre and Themes in the Pre-Markan Story As is well known Martin Dibelius defined the story of Jesus walking on the sea as a “tale” (Novelle).8 The function of the tales is to manifest the divine power of the divine wonderworker; this function gives them the character of epiphanies. He interprets the remark in v. 48 (καὶ ἤθελεν παρελθεῖν αὐτούς; “and he wanted to pass by them”) to mean that Jesus did not wish to enter the boat, but rather by walking on the sea to reveal his nature to the disciples.9 The problem with the latter point is, of course, that the first two parts of that verse imply that Jesus’s intention was to assist the disciples in their struggle with the wind (“and when he saw them impeded in their progress, for the wind was against them”; v. 48ab). Dibelius meets this objection by arguing that the underlying story was originally about Jesus intervening helpfully in a difficulty caused by winds and waves. This story was then extended by the addition of the motif of Jesus passing by, which transformed it into an epiphany. This particular epiphany, however, was unlike 6  Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, trans. John Marsh, rev. ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), 216. 7  Achtemeier, “Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan Miracle Catenae,” 282–83. 8  Martin Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel (New York: Scribner, 1935), 71. 9  Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel, 94–95.

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the Gospels and probably arose under some non-Christian influence.10 Matthew then counteracted this secularization by adding the episode in which Peter walks on the water to Jesus. In that scene, the sea represents the mythological waters of death.11 Bultmann classified Mark 6:45–52 as a “nature miracle.” He argued that the original motif for the story is the walking on the water, and the storm motif has been added to it (from Mark 4:37–41) as a secondary feature.12 He argued that the (secondary) introduction has made unintelligible the obviously original comment about Jesus wanting to pass by the disciples. He also argued that the supplementary motivation of v. 50 (for Jesus’s speech or for his decision to enter the boat, i. e., that they all saw him and were terrified) conflicts with v. 49 (“Now when they saw him walking on the sea, they thought that he was a ghost, and they cried out”). Bultmann considered the evidence insufficient to determine whether the addition of the storm motif was effected by Mark or by a pre-Markan editor. Achtemeier’s argument that the Stilling of the Storm and the Walking on the Water belonged to two previously independent catenae of miracle stories makes it unlikely that a pre-Markan editor conflated the two stories. But the verses involving the storm motif in the Walking on the Water show none of the typical signs of Markan redaction. Bultmann also noted that some had argued that this story was originally an Easter story brought back into the life of Jesus, but concluded that certainty on this point was unobtainable.13 Gerd Theissen defined this pericope as a “soteriological epiphany” in his synchronic catalogue of themes.14 He stated that the typical motifs constituting this theme are the extraordinary visual phenomenon, the φάντασμα; the withdrawal of the god (παρελθεῖν); the word of revelation, “It is I”; and the numinous amazement of the disciples. The main problem with Theissen’s definition is the relevance of the motif involving an extraordinary visual phenomenon. The narrator states that when they saw him walking on the sea, they thought he was a ghost (φάντασμα; v. 49). There is no mention of light, of the brightness or whiteness of the clothing of Jesus, or any such visual phenomenon. The point seems to be rather that, since no human being could walk on water, the entity they see doing so must be a ghost. The presence of an extraordinary visual phenomenon is not essential to the genre epiphany,15 so the definition could stand in  Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel, 100.  Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel, 277. 12  Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, 216. 13  Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, 230. 14  Gerd Theissen, The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, trans. Francis McDonagh, ed. John Riches (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 97. 15 Elpidius Pax, ΕΠΙΦΑΝΕΙΑ: Ein religionsgeschichtlicher Beitrag zur biblischen Theologie (Münchener Theologische Studien, I. Historische Abteilung 10, Munich: Karl Zink Verlag, 1955), 39. 10 11

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spite of this lack. In his diachronic analysis of the narrative, Theissen, following Bultmann and others, concluded that an epiphany on the water might have attracted motifs from a rescue story.16 He also suggested, on the basis of a comparison of Matthew, Mark, and John, that originally there was an appearance story in which Jesus did actually pass by. He did not clarify, however, whether he intended “appearance story” to be synonymous with “epiphany,” or whether he was entertaining the possibility that the narrative originated as an account of the appearance of the risen Lord. The evidence seems to be insufficient to determine whether the story in Mark 6:45–52 was originally an epiphany, to which a storm motif was added, or a rescue story that was transformed into an epiphany. It seems best to say that, once the clearly Markan editorial changes are identified, the pre-Markan story that emerges is a complex one with more that one important theme whose diachronic development cannot be reconstructed. The overall genre may be defined as miracle story or “tale,” but it is difficult to say which of its three major themes is dominant. One of these is Jesus’s performance of a superhuman or divine deed: walking on the surface of the sea. Another is the assistance afforded by Jesus to the disciples by overcoming the contrary wind. Although this theme is not identical with the theme or motif of the storm, in which the lives of the recipients of the miracle are in danger, it is similar to it and has some of the same connotations. One could say that there is an affinity between this theme and that of the storm.17 The third theme is the epiphany, which resonates with or has an affinity with the resurrection-appearance story. These three (or five) themes are woven together to create the deceptively simple narrative that the evangelist found in one of his sources.

Context in the History of Religions18 Although it seems impossible to reconstruct the literary history of the preMarkan narrative and to determine an original, “pure” story based on a single theme, it can be said that the most distinctive and characteristic theme of the story is the extraordinary deed of walking on the sea. The source or model of this theme has been debated. One important issue is whether the process was oral or literary. In addition, the question has often been framed in terms of a biblical or Jewish context versus a Hellenistic or Roman milieu. If the form-critical 16 Theissen,

The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, 186.  Theissen, following G. Ortutay, argued that related or similar types exert an attraction on each other and thus create new variants (The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, 19– 20). Theissen suggested that an affinity between epiphanies and rescue miracles was operative in the formation of Mark 6:45–52 (185–86). 18  On the use of the plural “religions” here, see n. 1 above. 17

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hypothesis is correct, that miracle stories were created as a means of attracting interest in Jesus and recruiting followers, it is likely that the narrative originated in an oral context. But literary factors probably came into play when such stories were collected and written down, and of course when such collections were incorporated into the Gospel of Mark. The warning against a dichotomy between “Jewish” or “Palestinian” and “Hellenistic” has often been repeated but seldom heeded. A distinction, if not a dichotomy, is to some degree justified when the texts under consideration were written in Hebrew or Aramaic. But in the analysis of Christian or Jewish texts written in Greek, the interpreter must be sensitive to the possibility of dual influence or even of a confluence or merging of traditions. The motif of walking on water may be seen as part of the larger theme of control of the sea. The ability to control the sea is an important element in the portrayal of the God of Israel in both prose and poetry in the Hebrew Bible. For example, in a context alluding to creation, God is described in Job 9:8 as the one who “trampled the back of the sea dragon” (or “trampled the waves of the Sea”).19 This text, like Ps 74:12–17, associates the activity of God as creator with the ancient myth of combat between the king of the gods and the deity or monster associated with the sea, a theme that is prominent in the Babylonian creation epic, the Enuma Elish, in which Marduk battles Tiamat, and appears also in the mythic texts from Ugarit concerning the storm-god Baal.20 In Isa 51:9–11 the mythic image first evokes creation, then is applied to the Exodus, and finally reinterpreted as an eschatological motif.21 All of these texts are poetic. In the poetry presented as God’s first speech from the whirlwind in Job, the confinement of the sea to its allotted place, like laying the foundations of the earth, is one of God’s acts in creation. In this context God asks Job, “Have you entered into the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?”22 Here the poet speaks of God’s activity in anthropomorphic language, but as a deed impossible for a human being to perform. In Ps 77:16, the fear of the waters before God and the trembling of the deep evoke the combat myth and resonate with theophanic poetry. Like Isa 51:10, the psalm then links this creation-motif with the Exodus in vv. 19–20, “Your way was through the sea, your path, through the mighty waters; yet your footprints were unseen. You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.” Verse 19 expresses a conviction similar to 19 The latter translation is given in the text of the NRSV; the former in a note. Translations from here onward from the Hebrew Bible are from the NRSV. Wendy Cotter cites Job 9:6–11 in Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity: A Sourcebook (London: Routledge, 1999), 149–50. 20 Two recent studies of this tradition are John Day, God’s Conflict with the Dragon and the Sea: Echoes of a Canaanite Myth in the Old Testament, University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 35 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Bernard F. Batto, Slaying the Dragon: Mythmaking in the Biblical Tradition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992). 21  Cotter cites Isa 43:16–17; 51:9–10 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 150). 22  Job 38:16; in the LXX the word translated “walked” is περιπατεῖν; compare Mark 6:48–49.

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that of some Greeks in the Hellenistic period who interpreted military victories as epiphanies of Apollo or Zeus: the presence of the deity is affirmed, but in the events and their outcome, not in a visual appearance.23 Like Isa 51:9–11, the oracle in Isa 43:16–21 associates the Exodus with eschatological salvation, but here the emphasis is on the future: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing” (vv. 18–19). The “way in the sea,” the “path in the mighty waters” (v. 16) seems to refer here more to the dry ground on which Israel walked through the sea (compare vv. 19b–21) and less to the divine presence itself. In contrast, the theophany of Habakkuk 3 is more visually oriented, emphasizing the glory, brightness, and radiance of God (vv. 3b–4). The poem is a call for God to be active once again in the present; in this context the Exodus is remembered in language reminiscent of the combat myth: “Was your wrath against River, O Lord? Or your anger against River, or rage against Sea, when you drove your horses, your chariots to victory?” (v. 8).24 The image of the Divine Warrior shines through also in the lines, “You trampled the sea with your horses, churning the mighty waters” (v. 15).25 In a more everyday sense, the power of God over the sea is manifested by the hurling of a great wind upon the sea to punish the reluctant prophet Jonah and the provision of a large sea-creature to swallow him (Jonah 1–2).26 The portrayal of God in the Hebrew Bible is complex in part because, in a monotheistic context, the one and only God had to assume all the characteristics that would have been distributed among a number of deities in a polytheistic context.27 The one God is creator, savior, and redeemer in all sorts of ways and contexts. In Greek religion the god of the sea was Poseidon. He was the god of the sea rather than its mythic opponent. But like the God of Israel, to him was attributed control of the sea. He is portrayed in classical poetry as traveling in his chariot along the surface of the sea. Homer, for example, describes Poseidon’s journey to his glorious house in Aigai as follows: [he] climbed up into his chariot and drove it across the waves. And about him the sea beasts came up from their deep places and played in his path, and acknowledged their master, and the sea stood apart before him, rejoicing. The horses winged on delicately, and the bronze axle beneath was not wetted.28

23  Pax, ΕΠΙΦΑΝΕΙΑ, 36–37, 39. Cotter cites Ps 77:19–20 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 150). 24  The translation is in accordance with the notes in the NRSV; the text has “the rivers” instead of “River” and the sea in place of “Sea.” 25  Hab 3:12–15 is cited by Cotter, Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 149. 26  Cotter cites Jonah 1:4–17 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 139–40). 27  See the discussion of the Hebrew Bible in relation to the polytheistic religions of ancient Mesopotamia by Tikva Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth (New York: Macmillan, 1992). 28  Homer, Iliad 13.26–30; trans. by Richmond Lattimore, The Iliad of Homer (Chicago: Uni-

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The Roman picture of Neptune is similar. Virgil has him say to Venus, when she asks him to keep the remnant of Troy safe, “I have earned this trust, for I have often checked the frenzy and great anger of the sea and sky.”29 The poet describes Neptune’s departure after he has reassured the goddess, “Upon his azure chariot he lightly glides across the waters’ surface. Beneath his thundering axletree the swollen waves of the sea are smoothed, the cloud banks flee the vast sky.”30 We see then that Jewish, Greek, and Roman tradition shared the notion of a deity controlling wind and sea and the image of that deity making a path in the sea. In both the Jewish and the Greek traditions, the deity is said to grant power over the sea or rivers to certain human beings.31 The best known passage is, of course, the prose account in Exod 14:21–29, according to which the Lord divided the sea through Moses so that the people of Israel could cross over and escape from the Egyptians.32 The narrative of Joshua 3:7–4:18 relates how God divided the Jordan River by means of the ark, carried by priests, together with the leadership of Joshua over the people, so that they would know that Joshua was the successor of Moses.33 The power of Elijah is described in more autonomous terms: he split the Jordan simply by rolling up his mantle and striking the river with it (2 Kings 2:8).34 Much of Elisha’s wonder working is described as autonomous also, but in this case, he struck the river with Elijah’s mantle, but also called out, “Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” (v. 14). This question, as well as the act that imitates Elijah, is meant to make the point that Elisha is the successor of Elijah as the mighty prophet or man of God.35 These gifts of divine power over the sea have their analogues in Greek tradition.36 It was said that Poseidon gave as a gift to the hero Euphemus, who was his son, the ability to travel over the sea unharmed, as over the land (τὴν θάλασσαν ἀπημάντως διαπορεύεσθαι ὡς διὰ γῆς). This tradition is attributed to Asclepiades.37 If the Asclepiades in question is Asclepiades of Tragilus, the

versity of Chicago Press, 1951), 272. For the Greek text see Murray, LCL. Cotter cites Il. 13.27–19 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 149). 29  Virgil, Aeneid 5.1057–1059; trans. by Allen Mandelbaum, The Aeneid of Virgil (Toronto: Bantam Books, 1971), 130. 30  Virgil, Aen. 5.1081–1085; Mandelbaum, The Aeneid of Virgil, 131. 31  In the Wisdom tradition this power is exercised by Wisdom as an aspect of God or as a being intermediate between God and human beings; see Sir 24:5–6; Wis 10:18–19; 14:3. 32  Cotter cites Exod 14:15–18, 21–22, 23–29 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 152–53). 33  Cotter cites Josh 3:1, 7–11, 15–16 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 153–54). 34  Cotter cites 2 Kgs 2:6–8 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 154). 35 Cotter cites 2 Kgs 2:13–15 (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 155). 36  See the discussion by Barry Blackburn, Theios Aner and the Markan Miracle Traditions, WUNT 2.40 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1991), 145–47. 37  Greek text from A. B. Drachmann, ed. Scholia Vetera in Pindari Carmina, vol. 2, Scholia in Pythionicas (Leipzig: Teubner, 1910; reprinted Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1967), 106. The same tradition with almost identical wording is cited by Tzetzes (twelfth century) and attributed to

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tradition could be as old as the fourth century bce.38 If he is Asclepiades of Myrleia in Bithynia, it could be dated to the first century bce.39 In any case, a very similar tradition is attested already in the third century bce by Apollonius of Rhodes. He lists Euphemus of Taenarum, whom Europa bore to Poseidon, among the heroes who went in quest of the Golden Fleece. He characterized this hero as follows: He was wont to skim the swell of the grey sea (κεῖνος ἀνὴρ καὶ πόντου ἐπὶ γλαυκοῖο θέεσκεν οἴδματος), and wetted not his swift feet, but just dipping the tips of his toes was borne on the watery path (οὐδὲ θοοὺς βάπτεν πόδας, ἀλλ’ ὅσον ἄκροις ἴχνεσι τεγγόμενος διερῇ πεφόρητο κελεύθῳ).40

In the first or second century ce, a tradition is attested that Orion was Poseidon’s son and was granted by his father the power of striding across the sea (διαβαίνειν τὴν θάλασσαν).41 A work attributed to Eratosthenes states that: Hesiod says that [Orion] was the son of Euryale, the daughter of Minos, and of Poseidon, and that there was given to him as a gift the power of walking upon the waves as though upon land (δοθῆναι δὲ αὐτῷ δωρεὰν ὤστε ἐπὶ τῶν κυμάτων πορεύεσθαι καθάπερ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς).42

In the third century Porphyry recorded a tradition about Abaris, the Hyperborean and legendary servant or priest of Apollo, who was known as “‘air-walking’ because, riding on the arrow given him by the Hyperborean Apollo, he crossed rivers and seas and impassible places, somehow walking on the air.”43 Later in Asclepiades in a scholium on Lycophron’s Alexandra 886; see Eduard Scheer, ed. Lycophronis Alexandra, vol. 2, Scholia continens (Berlin: Weidmann, 1908), 287. 38  On Asclepiades of Tragilus, see “Asclepiades (1),” OCD, 2nd ed., 129. 39  On Asclepiades of Myrleia, see “Asclepiades (4),” OCD, 129. 40  Apollonius Rhodius, The Argonautica 1.179–184 (Seaton, LCL). See also Hyginus, Fabulae 14.15, which lists Euphemus among the Argonauts as “the son of Neptune and Europa, the daughter of Tityus; from Taenarium; he is said to have run on top of water without wetting his feet” (Euphemus Neptuni et Europes Tityi filiae filius, Taenarius; hic super aquas sicco pede cucurrisse dicitur; text from H. J. Rose, ed. Hygini Fabulae [Leiden: Sythoff, 1933], 17). This work probably dates to the second century ce; so C. J. Fordyce, “Hyginus (3), OCD, 2nd ed., 1970, 533–34. 41 Apollodorus, The Library 1.4.3 (Frazer, LCL). 42 Pseudo-Eratosthenes, Catasterismi 32; Greek text from Alexander Olivieri, ed., PseudoEratosthenis Catasterismi, vol. 3, fasc. 1 of Mythographi Graeci (Leipzig: Teubner, 1897), 37–38; trans. from Hesiod: The Homeric Hymns and Homerica (Evelyn-White, LCL). The latter scholar assigns this fragment to a work entitled Astronomy (or Astrology, as Plutarch referred to it), but does not necessarily conclude that it was actually written by Hesiod (xi–xii, xix–xx). The same tradition is also attributed to Hesiod by the scholiast on Nicander’s Theriaca 15; see Heinrich Keil, Scholia in Nicandri Theriaca, p. 3, lines 26–28; this work is bound with Otto Schneider, ed., Nicandrea: Theriaca et Alexipharmaca (Leipzig: Teubner, 1856) and by Hyginus, De astronomia 2.34; see Ghislaine Viré, ed., Hygini De Astronomia (Leipzig: Teubner, 1992), 80. 43 Porphyry, Life of Pythagoras 29; for the Greek text see Édouard des Places, Porphyre: Vie de Pythagore, Lettre à Marcella, Collection des Universités de France (Paris: Société D’Édition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1982), 49. Trans. from Moses Hadas and Morton Smith, Heroes and Gods: Spiritual Biographies in Antiquity, Essay Index Reprint Series (Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries

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the same century or early in the fourth, Iamblichus recorded the same tradition.44 This tradition may have been known already to Herodotus. In his History 4.36, he says, “Thus far have I spoken of the Hyperboreans, and let it suffice; for I do not tell the story of that Abaris, alleged to be a Hyperborean, who carried the arrow over the whole world, fasting the while.”45 Here Herodotus seems to hesitate to tell an incredible story, but his mention of the arrow and of Abaris’s travels throughout the world indicates that the tradition he knew was similar to the one recorded by Porphyry and Iamblichus. The traditions about Euphemus and Orion are more precisely parallel to the motif of Jesus walking on the water, but those concerning Abaris are analogous in the implied exception to what came to be called the law of gravity.46 The more autonomous power of Elijah has its analogue in late traditions about Heracles. Seneca preserves a tradition that, when shipwrecked off the African coast, Hercules “crossed over seas on foot” (maria superavit pedes).47 The emperor Julian wrote in the fourth century in his oration to the Cynic Heracleios, speaking of Heracles: “and then there is his journey over the sea itself in a golden cup, but my belief is that he himself walked on the sea as though it were dry land (βαδίσαι δὲ αὐτὸν ὡς ἐπὶ ξηρᾶς τῆς θαλάττης). For what was impossible for Heracles?”48 The Jewish traditions in which a human being is granted power over the sea involve cultural heroes in the broad sense (Moses and Joshua), who later often were described as prophets, as well as the prophets Elijah and Elisha. The Greek and Roman traditions discussed so far involve a hero (Euphemus) and legendary or mythological characters (Orion, Abaris, and Heracles). It should be noted that, at least by the fifth century bce, power over the sea began to be associated with rulers and kings.49 In book 7.33–57 of his History, Herodotus tells the awesome story of the crossing by Xerxes and his army of the Hellespont. Although the crossing was more of an achievement of technology than a miracle, mythic elements emerge in the story as well. No sooner was the Press, 1970), 117. For discussion of the motifs of flying in the air and translation to another place, see Hans Dieter Betz, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: religionsgeschichtliche und paränetische Parallelen, Corpus Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti, TU 76 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1961), 167–69. 44 Iamblichus, On the Pythagorean Way of Life 136; see John Dillon and Jackson Hershbell, Iamblichus: On the Pythagorean Way of Life: Text, Translation, and Notes, SBLTT 29 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 156–57. 45  Herodotus, History 4.36 (Godley, LCL); Cotter cites Herodotus 4.32, 36 and also infers the historian’s reluctance to tell such a fanciful story (Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 151). 46  On the relation between miracle-working and science, see Robert M. Grant, Miracles and Natural Law in Graeco-Roman and Early Christian Thought (Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing, 1952). 47  Seneca, Hercules furens 322–324 (Miller, LCL). 48 Julian, Oration 7.219D (Wright, LCL). 49  See also the discussion in Wendy J. Cotter, “The Markan Sea Miracles: Their History, Formation, and Function” (Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 1991), 298–322.

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strait bridged for the first time, than a great storm occurred and destroyed the work. When Xerxes heard the news, he was angry and commanded: That the Hellespont be scourged with three hundred lashes (ἐκέλευσε τριηκοσίας μάστιγι πληγάς), and a pair of fetters be thrown into the sea (καὶ κατεῖναι ἐς τὸ πέλαγος πεδέων ζεῦγος). [He] sent branders with the rest to brand the Hellespont (στιγέας ἅμα τούτοισι ἀπέπεμψε στίξοντας τὸν Ἑλλήσποντον). [He] charged them while they scourged to utter words outlandish and presumptuous (ἐνετέλλετο δὲ ὦν ῥαπίζοντας λέγειν Βάρβαρά τε καὶ ἀτάσθαλα): “Thou bitter water,” they should say, “our master thus punishes you, because you did him wrong although he had done none to you. Yes, Xerxes the king will pass over you (διαβήσεται), whether you want or not; it is but just that no man offers you sacrifice, for you are a turbid and a briny river.” Thus he commanded that the sea should be punished, and they who had been overseers of the bridging of the Hellespont should be beheaded.50

The second attempt was successful and the eventual crossing required seven days and seven nights: There is a tale that, when Xerxes had now crossed the Hellespont, a man of the Hellespont cried, “O Zeus, why have you taken the likeness of a Persian man and changed your name to Xerxes, leading the whole world with you to remove Hellas from its place? For you could have done so without these means.”51

A passage from Dio Chrysostom’s third discourse on kingship, probably delivered before Trajan in 104 ce, shows that Xerxes’s feat had been mythicized further and was well known during the period of Roman rule in the East. Dio sets forth the views of Socrates, using a dialogue form, and has his interrogator say: you know perfectly well that of all men under the sun that man is most powerful and in might no whit inferior to the gods themselves who is able to accomplish the impossible – if it should be his will, to have men walk dryshod over the sea (πεζεύεσθαι μὲν τὴν θάλατταν), … – or have you not heard that Xerxes, the king of the Persians, … led his infantry through the sea, riding upon a chariot just like Poseidon in Homer’s description? (διὰ δὲ τῆς θάλαττης τὸν πεζὸν στρατὸν ἄγων ἤλαυνεν ἐφ’ ἅρματος, ὥσπερ τὸν Ποσειδῶνα φησὶν Ὅμερος;).52

Although Dio, through a speech attributed to Socrates, rejects this point of view, the text provides evidence that it was held by a sufficient number of people to warrant refutation. Similar power was attributed to Alexander the Great.53 Menander, the Attic poet of the New Comedy, wrote toward the end of the fourth century bce: How very Alexander-like is this now: “If I require someone’s presence, of his own accord he will appear! And if, of course, I need to pass along some path through the sea, it will be  Herodotus, History 7.35 (Godley, LCL; trans. modified).  Herodotus, History 7.35 (Godley, LCL; trans. modified). 52  Dio Chrysostom, 3.30–31 (Cohoon, LCL). 53  See the evidence cited by Cotter, “The Markan Sea Miracles,” 303–9. 50 51

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passable for me” (ὡς Ἀλεξανδρῶδες ἤδη τοῦτο· κἂν ζητῶ τινα, αὐτόματος οὗτος παρέσται· κἄν διελθεῖν δηλαδὴ διὰ θαλάττης δῇ πόρον τιν’, οὗτος ἔσται μοι βατός).54

The poet satirizes the attitude, but his target is surely those who are willing to attribute such powers to the ruler, as well as the ruler himself.55 These passages show that the motif of walking on water had become proverbial for the (humanly) impossible and for the arrogance of the ruler aspiring to empire.56 The motif appears in this form in 2 Maccabees, a Hellenistic Jewish text that dates to the early first century bce, as a characterization of Antiochus IV Epiphanes: So Antiochus carried off eighteen hundred talents from the temple, and hurried away to Antioch, thinking in his arrogance that he could sail on the land and walk on the sea, because his mind was elated (Ὁ γοῦν Ἀντίοχος ὀκτακόσια πρὸς τοῖς χιλίοις ἀπενεγκάμενος ἐκ τοῦ ἱεροῦ τάλαντα θᾶττον εἰς τὴν Ἀντιόχειαν ἐχωρίσθη οἰόμενος ἀπὸ τῆς ὑπερηφανίας τὴν μὲν γῆν πλωτὴν καὶ τὸ πέλαγος πορευτὸν θέσθαι διὰ τὸν μετεωρισμὸν τῆς καρδίας).57

Although the extraordinary deeds are not actually performed and the expectation of such performance is condemned, the figure of speech expresses proverbial impossibility and implies that human beings who claimed divinity, or to whom divinity was attributed, especially kings, were associated with such feats within the cultural context of this work. In striking contrast to, and probably in deliberate defiance of, the popularity of the motif as expressive of the proverbially impossible, walking on water appears in magical and related texts as something that the properly trained or instructed person can accomplish. A text included in the magical papyri, but which may be a fragment of a novel, contains the following statement: [the sun] will stand still; and should I order the moon, it will come down; and should I wish to delay the day, the night will remain for me; and should we in turn ask for day, the light will not depart; and should I wish to sail the sea, I do not need a ship; and should I wish to go through the air, I will be lifted up. It is only an erotic drug that I do not find, not one that can cause, not one that can stop love. For the earth, in fear of the god, does not produce one (emphasis added).58

 Menander, frg. 924K (Allinson, LCL; trans. modified).  Compare Lucian, How To Write History 40. 56  See further the discussion by Cotter of Roman rulers in the first century ce (“The Markan Sea Miracles,” 312–22). 57  2 Macc 5:21; trans. from NRSV; Greek text from LXX ed. Rahlfs. 58  PGM XXXIV.1–24; trans. by E. N. O’Neil from Hans Dieter Betz, ed., The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 267–68. Compare Apuleius, Metamorphoses 1.3. 54 55

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The text dates to the second or third century ce.59 A Jewish text entitled the Sword of Moses contains a spell for walking on water.60 It reads: To walk on the waters of the sea take the wooden helve of an axe, bore a hole through it, pass a red thread through it, and tie it on your heel, then repeat the words of the “Sword,” and then you may go in and out in peace.61

The matter-of-fact tone of the spell is noteworthy. The motif of walking on water also occurs in connection with dreams. It appears in Dio Chrysostom’s eleventh discourse, a sophistic argument that Troy was not captured by the Greeks. After giving a list of reported, but improbable events, Dio asks: Does not all this in reality remind one of dreams (ἐνυπνίοις) and wild fiction (ἀπιθάνοις ψεύσμασιν)? In the book Dreams (Ὀνείρασιν) by Horus people have such experiences (οἱ ἄνθρωποι τοιαύτας ὄψεις ὁρῶσι), imagining at one time that they are being killed and their bodies stripped of arms and that they rise to their feet again and fight unarmed, at other times imagining they are chasing somebody or holding converse with the gods (τοῖς θεοῖς διαλέγεσθαι) or committing suicide without any cause for the act, and at times, possibly, flying offhand or walking on the sea (καὶ οὕτως, εἰ τύχοι ποτέ, πέτεσθαι καὶ βαδίζειν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάττης). For this reason one might well call Homer’s poetry a kind of dream (ἐνύπνιον), obscure and vague at that (καὶ τοῦτο ἄκριτον καὶ ἀσαφές).62

Here the motif represents, not only that which is humanly impossible, but the wild and unrealistic type of thing that one sometimes dreams. The motif also appears in a serious study of the interpretation of dreams by Artemidorus of Daldis in Lydia, who lived in the second century ce. In his work, Artemidorus divides dreams into two types: the ἐνύπνιον, which indicates a present state of affairs, and the ὄνειρος, which indicates a future state of affairs.63 In the former,  See also PGM I.119–21.  On the character, date, and provenance of this text, see Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, rev. ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, and Martin Goodman, 3 vols. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1973–1987), 3.1 (1986), 350–52. 61 Trans. (slightly modified) from Moses Gaster, Studies and Texts in Folklore, Magic, Mediaeval Romance, Hebrew Apocrypha, and Samaritan Archaeology, 3 vols. (New York: Ktav, 1971), 1.331. This text is from Codex Oxford 1531.6 (Gaster’s Sword of Moses, recension B). For the Hebrew text, see Gaster, Studies and Texts, 3.90. See also the text and trans. in Peter Schäfer, ed., Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur, TSAJ 2 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1981), § 609 01531, p. 235 and Peter Schäfer, ed., Übersetzung der Hekhalot-Literatur IV: §§ 598–985 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1991), § 609 01531, p. 11. There is a related spell in Codex Gaster 178 (Gaster’s Sword of Moses, recension A), which reads, “To walk upon the water without wetting the feet, take a leaden plate and write upon it [name] No. 125 and place it in your girdle, and then you can walk” (Gaster, Studies and Texts, 1.328, trans. slightly modified; Hebrew text, 3.87). 62  Dio Chrysostom 11.129 (Cohoon, LCL). 63 Artemidorus, Oneirocritica 1.1; for the Greek text, see Robert A. Pack, Artemidori Daldiani Onirocriticon Libri V (Leipzig: Teubner, 1963); for an English trans. and commentary, see Robert J. White, The Interpretation of Dreams: Oneirocritica by Artemidorus (Park Ridge, NJ: Noyes Press, 1975). 59 60

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certain experiences, such as love, fear, hunger, and thirst, cause manifestations in sleep. The latter, however, call the dreamer’s attention to a prediction of future events just as the vision (ὅραμα) and the oracular response do (1.2). Only those dreams that are unexpected reveal the future. If the dreamer has been anxiously concerned about something and dreams about it, the dream belongs to the ἐνύπνιον-class and is non-significative (1.6). Artemidorus also divides dreams into the theorematic (direct) and the allegorical (1.2). The meaning of an unexpected and allegorical dream about walking on the sea depends on the gender, legal and social status, and particular circumstances of the dreamer.64 The most interesting interpretation for our purposes, in light of the association of walking on water with rulers, is the last: “On the other hand, for all those who earn their living from crowds, for statesmen, and popular leaders, it prophesies extraordinary gain together with great fame. For the sea also resembles a crowd because of its instability.” This passage reinforces the traditional link of the motif to the ruler and suggests that, in such a context, the deed symbolizes the power of the ruler.65

The Significance and Function of the Pre-Markan Story According to the rationalist and satirist Lucian of Samosata, the ability to walk on water is something invented by the poet or the (bad) philosopher or historian. He writes: In the case of [poetry], liberty is absolute and there is one law – the will of the poet. Inspired and possessed by the Muses as he is, even if he wants to harness winged horses to a chariot, even if he sets others to run over water or the tops of flowers, nobody gets annoyed.66

He likewise wrote A True Story in which everything “is more or less comical parody of one or another of the poets, historians, and philosophers of old, who have written much that smacks of miracles and fables.”67 One of the topics that he parodies is the notion of a human being walking on water; he presents people who are able to do so because their feet are made of cork.68 Apart from the satirical intention and effect, Lucian’s point is well taken and may be applied to the early Christians who created the oral form of this narrative. It was an act of mythopoiesis, the imaginative construction of an incident in the 64  Compare the passage on dreams about walking on the sea (3.16) with the theoretical discussions in 1.3, 5, 7–8. 65  Artemidorus, Oneirocritica 3.16; trans. from White, The Interpretation of Dreams, 162. For a different interpretation of the passage, see Cotter, “The Markan Sea Miracles,” 336–40. Cotter cites 3.16 fully in Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity, 163. 66  Lucian, How To Write History 8 (Kilburn, LCL). The allusion is to Homer, Iliad 20.215–229. 67  Lucian, A True Story 1.2 (Harmon, LCL). 68  Lucian, A True Story 2.4; for discussion, see Betz, Lukian von Samosata, 166–67.

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life of Jesus that was intended to honor him and to win adherents to his cause. Whether the story was originally intended as an account of an actual event (analogous to Artemidorus’s theorematic dream) or as a symbolic or allegorical narrative (corresponding to Artemidorus’s allegorical dream) is impossible to say. It is probable, however, that the story was understood by some tradents and by some in the audience in the former manner and by others in the latter. It is also likely that the audience included both Jews and gentiles, and that the tradents included followers of Jesus from both backgrounds. The flexibility of the symbolic narrative (or the account of an event open to a symbolic or allegorical reading) allowed for various interpretations. Such flexibility implies that members of the audience familiar with Jewish tradition were likely to perceive this story as resonating with the biblical accounts of the power of God and the delegated power of the Jewish cultural heroes and prophets. The fact that it is God alone in the Hebrew Bible who is said to walk on water and the presence of theophanic elements in the story imply a relatively “high” Christology. This observation has led some to emphasize the Hellenistic analogies to the narrative. But a relatively high Christology is not impossible in Jewish Christian circles.69 Yet the fact that the motif of a human or semi-divine being walking on water is considerably more widespread in Greek and Roman tradition makes it likely that members of the audience familiar with such tradition would be inclined to associate the story with instances of it, even if they had been instructed in the Jewish analogies to the story in the biblical writings or in oral tradition. The most probable focal point for a fusion of traditions is the messianic character of (or attributed to) Jesus. In certain strands of Judaism, especially those characterized as apocalyptic, the messiah is expected to assume some of the functions normally reserved for God.70 Such assimilation of the messiah to God would facilitate the attribution to Jesus of God’s portrayal as one able to walk upon the sea. As noted above, the power to walk on water frequently was associated in Greek and Roman tradition with rulers, especially those to whom divinity was attributed. This tradition would make the presentation of Jesus as the Messiah (king of Israel or of all creation) intelligible to a Hellenized or Romanized audience. The philosophical discussions about true kingship would prepare such an audience for the attribution of kingship to someone without literal political power. The likelihood of the messianic significance of this story would be enhanced if the other narratives in the catena to which it belonged, as reconstructed by Achtemeier, could be shown to have messianic implications as well. The ex69  See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The ‘Son of Man’ Tradition and the Book of Revelation,” in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 536–68; Blackburn, Theios Aner, 145–82. 70  See John J. Collins, “Introduction: History of Interpretation, Jewish,” Daniel, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 72–89; Blackburn, Theois Aner, 171–73.

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ploration of this issue must be reserved for another occasion, but the feeding of the four thousand (preserved in Mark 8:1–10) may be understood as a symbolic representation or a foreshadowing of the messianic banquet. Similarly, the healings of the man who could not see (8:22–26) and the man who could not hear or speak clearly (7:32–37) may be understood messianically if they can be shown to allude to passages of Scripture that were interpreted messianically.

The Adaptation of the Story by Mark As noted previously, only two elements in the story can be established with a high degree of probability as Markan redactional elements. The first is the addition of the clause “while he himself dismissed the crowd” (ἕως αὐτὸς ἀπολύει τὸν ὄχλον) at the end of verse 45. This addition serves to link the story of the walking on the water, which was the first in a catena of miracle stories adapted by the evangelist, with the narrative about the feeding of the five thousand, the last unit in another catena.71 The second feature is the composition and addition of the conclusion to the story, “For they did not understand with regard to the loaves; on the contrary their hearts were hardened” (v. 52). It is likely that this Markan conclusion replaced an acclamation like the one that appears in the parallel in Matthew (14:33): “Truly, you are the Son of God.” The acclamation is a typical concluding element in the Christian miracle story, which has analogies in the ancient world, especially in Egyptian and Roman tradition.72 Mark most probably replaced the acclamation that was in his source, not because he wished to negate the implications of the story for the identity of Jesus, but because he wished to integrate them into his narrative as a whole and thus into a more complex picture of Jesus’s identity. Matthew’s restoration of the typical acclamation does not undercut the hypothesis of Matthean dependence on Mark. Matthew’s redactional change was based either on his knowledge of another form of the story, possibly from oral tradition, which had the acclamation, or upon his own sense of the genre. He restored the typical ending because he wished to reduce in importance the Markan theme of the disciples’ lack of understanding. The reference to the “loaves” in the conclusion, like the addition of v. 45, links this story to the one about the feeding of the five thousand (6:30–44). The disciples fail to understand the significance of the walking on water and the rescueepiphany because they had previously failed to understand the multiplication of the loaves. Similarly, the remark that their hearts were hardened assimilates them  Achtemeier, “Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan Miracle Catenae,” 265–66, 281–91.  See Theissen (who in part follows E. Peterson), The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, 71–72, 74, 152–73. See also Dieter Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 170. 71 72

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to the opponents of Jesus in 3:5, where the context also involves a miraculous deed (compare also 8:17). The story about the stilling of the storm is similar in topic to the one about walking on water and, as noted above, there is verbal similarity as well; compare the remark that the wind abated (καὶ ἐκόπασεν ὁ ἄνεμος) in 4:39c with 6:51b. Yet the former story ends with an acclamation,73 whereas the latter does not. This state of affairs supports the idea that Mark is not adverse to the propagandistic function of the miracle stories but subordinates that function in the case of the latter story to the theme of the mystery of Jesus’s identity. The choice of the second story for this purpose may be explained by the relation of the story, as Mark found it in his source, to Scripture. As noted earlier, the picture of Jesus walking on the sea in Mark 6:48 (περιπατῶν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης) resonates with the portrayal of God in Job 9:8 as the one who “trampled the back of the sea dragon” (περιπατεῖν … ἐπὶ θαλάσσης in the LXX).74 Jesus’s intention to “pass by” the disciples (παρελθεῖν αὐτούς) in the same verse of Mark resonates with yet another verse of Job in the same context, “Look, he passes by me, and I do not see him; he moves on, but I do not perceive him.”75 Ernst Lohmeyer argued that the term “pass by” (παρελθεῖν) belongs to the motif of the divine epiphany in the Old Testament, more strongly in the LXX than in the MT.76 But in Job 9:11 the term does not describe God’s appearance in an epiphany.77 In fact, one could argue that this verse in Job is an anti-epiphany; it calls into question the very possibility of such an event: even if God were to pass directly by me (a mere human being), I would not be capable of perceiving or comprehending the divine presence. As mentioned earlier, Mark 6:45–52 combines the motif of walking on the sea with the epiphany-theme. The hypothesis that Mark associated the motif of Jesus walking on the sea with Job 9:8 as a prototype and the epiphany-theme with Job 9:11 is an attractive one. The negative perspective of the latter verse was congenial to Mark’s theme of the lack of understanding on the part of the disciples, so it in See also Theissen, The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, 71.  Bultmann (The History of the Synoptic Tradition, 230) was correct in doubting that the Job passage could have been the sole model for the creation of the story of Jesus walking on the water, particularly if the latter arose in an oral context. But once the story was written down, and especially when the tradents of the written tradition were educated in Scripture, as Mark probably was, the influence of such passages was likely to come into play. 75  Job 9:11; the LXX reads, Ἐὰν ὑπερβῇ με, οὐ μὴ ἴδω· ἐὰν παρέλθῃ με, οὐδ’ ὡς ἔγνων. 76  Ernst Lohmeyer, “Und Jesus ging vorüber,” Nieuw Theologisch Tijdschrift 23 (1934): 206ff; reprinted in Ernst Lohmeyer, Urchristliche Mystik: Neutestamentliche Studien (Darmstadt: Hermann Gentner Verlag, 1956), 57–79. He discussed the appearance of the motif in the LXX of Genesis, Exodus, 2 Kings, 3 Kings, and Daniel. See also John Paul Heil, Jesus Walking on the Sea: Meaning and Gospel Functions of Matt 14:22–33, Mark 6:45–52, and John 6:15b–21, AnBib 87 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1981), 69–72. 77  Heil notes this fact (Jesus Walking on the Sea, 71 n. 98) but does not draw out its implications for Job or for Mark. 73 74

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spired him to replace the concluding acclamation of the source with the negative conclusion in v. 52: “For they did not understand (οὐ γὰρ συνῆκαν) with regard to the loaves; on the contrary their hearts were hardened” (emphasis added). If this hypothesis is cogent, it implies that Mark, in this context at least, wished to say something about the difficulty of perceiving the divinity of Jesus, rather than engage in polemics against the historical disciples or those who subsequently claimed their authority for their own views and practices.

Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews First, a few remarks about the Gospel according to Mark. This study is based on the premise that Mark was read aloud in gatherings of Christians in the late first and early second centuries that were not necessarily liturgical in a narrow sense.1 Further, those who listened were not all equally committed to the Christian faith and probably assimilated and interpreted the instruction that they received in various ways.2 Some in the audience, even if they were familiar with the Pauline understanding of Jesus as the Son of God, may have preferred to define Jesus’s divine sonship in another, more traditionally Jewish way, to be discussed below. Finally, even if the Gospel was written primarily for insiders, it is likely that copies were available to interested or critical outsiders. Celsus’s knowledge of the Gospels shows that this happened at least by the second half of the second century.3 Now I turn to the specific subject of this essay. The meaning of the expression “Son of God” among Jews of the late Second Temple period is disputed today. Joseph A. Fitzmyer takes the position that there is nothing in the Old Testament or in the pre-Christian Palestinian Jewish tradition that we know of to show that “Son of God” had a messianic nuance before it was applied to Jesus.4 William Horbury argues that there was a long-term continuity in mythical aspects from the Davidic king as God’s son to later Jewish expectation of a messiah.5 I intend to address this question by inferring how those members of Mark’s audience who were knowledgeable about and preferred Jewish traditions would have understood his portrayal of Jesus as God’s son. The received text of the Gospel according to Mark opens with the words, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, Son of God.”6 It is likely that the 1  Harry Y. Gamble, in his otherwise excellent book, seems to project a later liturgical reading into the earlier period: Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), ch. 5, “The Uses of Early Christian Books,” 203–41. 2  On the mixed character of the audience, see David E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment, LEC (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 59–60. 3  For the evidence, see Gamble, Books and Readers, 103, 286 n. 70. 4 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “4Q246: The ‘Son of God’ Document from Qumran,” Biblica 74 (1993): 153–74; here 170–74. 5  William Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ (London: SCM, 1998), 23, 113. On p. 113, Horbury cites 1 Sam 7:14; 4Q174 (Florilegium) line 11; Ps 89:26–27 and especially Ps 2:7. In an endnote to that passage, he also cites Pss. Sol. 17:23–24; Ps 110; 1 Esdr. 13:6–7, 32, 35–38; and 1QSa=1Q28 ii 11–12 in n. 13 on p. 195. 6  All translations from the Greek New Testament are my own.

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words “Son of God” were not part of the earliest form of this verse.7 But a little further on, Jesus is portrayed narratively as the Son of God when, as he is coming out of the water after his baptism, the voice from heaven declares, “You are my beloved son; I take delight in you” (Mark 1:11). The divine declaration evokes two passages from Israel’s Scripture, Ps 2:7, in which God says to the king of Israel, “You are my son,” and Isa 42:1, in which God says, “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights.”8 As is well known, the address of the king as God’s son in Psalm 2 was part of the ancient Israelite royal ideology.9 Despite the differences between Israelite notions and institutions related to kingship and those of other nations of the ancient Near East, evidence survives that the fundamental and central concept of Israelite royal ideology was that the king of Israel was a superhuman, divine being. He is not only Yahweh’s son, as in Ps 2:7, but he himself is an elohim, a god, according to Ps 45:7 (45:6 in the RSV ). According to Ps 110:3, God says to the king, “On holy mountains, from the womb of the rosy dawn, have I begotten you like the dew.”10 This mythological language has a range of potential meanings. In Egypt such language had a metaphysical sense.11 But in Babylonian texts the idea that the king was “born” of a certain goddess or is the “son” of a certain god is a mythic expression of the idea of election and of the close relationship between the king and the god that election establishes.12 The Canaanite and Israelite notions of kingship were more similar to the Mesopotamian than to the Egyptian.13 Nathan’s oracle contains similar language in which, concerning the offspring that will come forth from David’s body, God promises: “I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me” (2 Sam 7:14). It is not implied that the child will be God’s son in any physical or metaphysical sense. Rather, the text implies that God will adopt David’s son. The model from which the language was drawn was the grant of land or a “house” made by a king or a lord to a loyal vassal. Such grants were permanently established by making them patrimonial: that is, the vassal was adopted legally by the lord. Here the establishment of a “house” for David is legitimated in the same way. It is suggested that Israel is the patrimonial estate  7  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Establishing the Text: Mark 1:1,” in Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts: Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman, ed. Tord Fornberg and David Hellholm (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 111–27.  8  See the discussion in Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 50–53. All translations from the Hebrew Bible are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.  9 See also Ps 89:26–27. 10  Trans. from Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150: A Commentary, trans. Hilton C. Oswald (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989), 344; for discussion, see 350. 11 Sigmund Mowinckel, He That Cometh (New York: Abingdon, 1955), 28–29. 12  Mowinckel, He That Cometh, 36. 13  See P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., II Samuel, AB 9 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 207.

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of David’s family.14 Another passage in 2 Samuel suggests that God’s adoption of David’s child also involved a close relationship. When Bathsheba bore a son she named him Solomon, “But Yahweh loved him and sent instructions through Nathan the prophet that he was to be called Jedidiah,”15 which means “beloved one of Yahweh.”16 The Greek translation of Ps 110:3 implies that the king (or in later interpretation, the messiah) is pre-existent and angel-like.17 The Gospel of Mark, however, does not imply pre-existence. The implications of the Markan text are similar to the adoptive and relational connotations of the texts about Solomon in 2 Samuel. The allusion in Mark 1:11 to Isa 42:1, “I take delight in you,” interprets the allusion to Ps 2:7, “You are my son,” by placing the emphasis on the relationship of Jesus to God, presumably one of election. Similarly, the addition of the word “beloved” supports a relational interpretation. This line of reasoning was taken to an extreme by Hermann Samuel Reimarus, who attacked the traditional dogmas of Christian faith, in the form of the Protestant orthodoxy of his day, from the rationalist perspective of the German Enlightenment and English Deism. As is well known, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing published fragments of Reimarus’s major work, An Apology for the Rational Worshippers of God, from 1774 to 1778.18 Alluding to the story concerning the birth of Solomon (2 Sam 12:25), Reimarus claimed that among the Hebrews the expression “son of God” meant nothing more than “beloved of God (Jedidiah).”19 He also quoted four biblical passages in which it is Israel as a whole that is described as God’s son and argued that mere human beings are called son of God “because God loves them, has pleasure in them, shows them his graciousness, and protects them.”20 The last of these passages is especially interesting for our purposes, since it was written relatively close in time to the date of the composition of Mark. In the Wisdom of Solomon, the wicked are portrayed as saying, “Let us oppress the righteous poor man.”21 They propose to lie in wait for him because he opposes, reproaches, and accuses them. They seem to be offended at the fact that the righteous poor man claims to have knowledge of God and calls himself a παῖς κυρίου, which can be translated either as a “child of the Lord” or a “servant  McCarter, II Samuel, 207.  2 Sam 12:24–25; trans. from McCarter, II Samuel, 293. 16  McCarter, II Samuel, 303. 17 Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ, 95–96. 18  The work as a whole has been published by Gerhard Alexander, ed., Apologie oder Schutzschrift für die vernünftigen Verehrer Gottes, 2 vols. (Frankfurt am Main: Insel Verlag, 1972); for an English trans. of the fragments published by Lessing with an introduction and notes, see Reimarus: Fragments, ed. Charles H. Talbert, Lives of Jesus series (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985). 19  Talbert, Reimarus, 76–77. 20  Exod 4:22–23; Deut 1:31; Jer 31:9, 20; Wis 2:10, 12–13, 17, 18, 20; Talbert, Reimarus, 77–78. 21  Wis 2:10. 14 15

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of the Lord” (Wis 2:13). Most importantly for our purposes, the wicked protest that the righteous boasts that God is his father.22 This passage suggests that by the first century ce it was typical for religious Jews to understand themselves as children of God and to address God as Father. Philo, however, restricts the epithet to those who are good, outstanding, and wise.23 That this usage goes back at least to the second century bce is confirmed by Ecclesiasticus or the Wisdom of Jesus, the son of Sirach. This work includes a prayer for self-control in which the speaker addresses God as “Father and Ruler of my life” and “Father and God of my life.”24 The address of God as Father is further attested by a fragmentary Hebrew narrative from Qumran that was composed in the first century bce at the latest. This text portrays the patriarch Joseph praying, “My Father and my God, do not abandon me to the hands of the nations.”25 But there are elements of the account of Jesus’s baptism in Mark that indicate that he is not simply a righteous man favored by God. When Jesus comes out of the water he not only hears a voice from heaven, he also sees the spirit like a dove coming down to him from heaven (Mark 1:10). This endowment with the spirit has prophetic connotations. In the story of how Elisha succeeded Elijah, endowment with the spirit of God signifies installation into the prophetic office.26 A similar idea is expressed in Isa 42:1, a passage to which the divine voice in Mark 1:11 alludes, as I have already noted. In Isa 42:1, after speaking of the servant as God’s chosen in whom God takes delight, God then says, “I have put my spirit upon him.” In the Septuagint, the servant is explicitly identified with Jacob and Israel in this verse. It is not certain that the author of Mark was familiar with this reading, or, if he was, how he interpreted it. It is clear from Isa 44:1–2 that the servant was conceived originally as the people of Israel taken collectively. But the servant of the poems can also be read as an anonymous prophetic figure.27 The poem of Isa 61:1–11 portrays an anonymous prophet who is endowed with the spirit of the Lord God.28 In any case, the descent of the spirit may be understood in light of Jewish tradition as the initiation of Jesus’s activity  ἀλαζονεύεται πάτερα θεόν (Wis 2:16; see also 14:3).  See Eduard Schweizer, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία, C. I.3. Philo,” TDNT 8 (1972): 355–56. 24  Sir 22:27–23:6; citations from 23:1, 4. 25  4Q371–372; trans. from Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (New York: Allen Lane/Penguin, 1997), 530. See also 1QHa 17:35–36; 3 Macc 6:3, 8; Tob 13:4. For further references and discussion, see Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Theology in Mark and Q: Abba and ‘Father’ in Context,” HTR 85 (1992): 149–74; here 151–56. 26 2 Kgs 2:9, 15; compare 1 Kgs 19:16. 27 See the discussion and the literature cited in Christopher R. Seitz, “How Is the Prophet Isaiah Present in the Latter Half of the Book? The Logic of Chapters 40–66 within the Book of Isaiah,” JBL 115 (1996): 219–40; here 238–39. 28 A fragmentary text from Qumran (4Q521) refers to an anointed one, alludes to Isa 61:1, and states that the spirit of God will hover over the poor. The anointed figure in this text may be the eschatological prophet. See John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 117–22. 22 23

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as a prophet.29 It is by the spirit of the Lord that the prophet is able to speak the truth regarding the present and the future.30 The descent of the spirit upon Jesus on the occasion of his baptism also has messianic connotations. By the time Mark was written, some Jews understood Isa 11:1–5 messianically. A passage in the Rule of the Community from Qumran expresses the expectation of an eschatological prophet and messiahs of Aaron and Israel.31 This messiah of Israel is probably the eschatological Davidic king whose arrival is predicted in other texts from Qumran. For example, a commentary on the book of Isaiah contains a description of the shoot of Jesse, the messiah of the Davidic line, based on Isa 11:1–3. Although the text is fragmentary, it is clear that the author interpreted the passage from Isaiah eschatologically and with reference to the Qumran community. There is reference to “the end of days” and to a battle with the Kittim, the eschatological enemy of the community.32 The name “Kittim” probably refers here to the Romans.33 The association of the royal messiah with a battle against the Romans suggests that the conquest of Judah by the Roman general Pompey in 63 bce provided an impetus to the revival of hope for the restoration of the Davidic monarchy. This text speaks of the Davidic messiah in terms taken from Isa 11:2, “And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord.”34 The Psalms of Solomon, which date to the first century bce, also cite Isa 11 in describing the Davidic messiah: “And he will not weaken in his days, (relying upon his God), for God made him powerful in the Holy Spirit and wise in the counsel of understanding, with strength and righteousness.”35 Those in the audience of Mark who read this passage as messianic prophecy may have interpreted the account of the spirit descending upon Jesus in its terms.36 Any ex29  On the account of Jesus’s baptism in Mark as his installation into the prophetic office, see Klaus Baltzer, Die Biographie der Propheten (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1975), 185–86. 30  1 Kgs 22:24. 31  1QS 9:10–11. 32  4QpIsaa; for text, trans., and notes, see Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books, CBQMS 8 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979), 70–86. Pss. Sol. 17:21–24 combines Isa 11:4 and Ps 2:9 in describing the activity of the expected Davidic messiah. 33  Collins, Scepter and the Star, 57–58. 34 Trans. from Vermes, Complete Dead Sea Scrolls, 467. 35  Pss. Sol. 17:37; trans. by R. B. Wright, “Psalms of Solomon,” in OTP, 2.639–70; citation from 668. 36 See also the Similitudes or Parables of 1 Enoch, in which the messiah is described with language taken from Isa 11:2–4. 1 En. 49:3, alluding to Isa 11:3, speaks about the spirit of righteousness dwelling in the Chosen One; 1 En. 62:2 incorporates two ideas from Isa 11:2–4, that the spirit of righteousness is poured out upon the Chosen One (the spirit of the Lord rests upon the shoot of the stump of Jesse) and that sinners are slain by the word of his mouth (Jesse’s descendant judges in righteousness, smites the earth with the rod of his mouth, and slays the

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pectation of a warrior-messiah who would restore the kingdom of Israel in a military and political sense, however, is frustrated by the rest of the narrative of Mark. It is possible that Mark presents Jesus as the royal messiah designate, who will carry out the expected activities upon his return as Son of Man. I will return to this question. The next passage that presents Jesus as the Son of God is the summary in Mark 3:7–12. A great multitude is following Jesus because he had healed many people, and all who had diseases pressed upon him to touch him. “And the unclean spirits, whenever they saw him, would fall down before him and cry out, saying, ‘You are the Son of God!’” (Mark 3:11). The reference to ‘unclean spirits’ is a Jewish formulation that may be related to the story of the fallen angels.37 In 1 Enoch God instructs Enoch to rebuke the fallen angels, the Watchers, and to ask them: “Why have you left the high, holy, and eternal heaven, and lain with the women and become unclean with the daughters of men … ? And you were spiritual, holy, living an eternal life, but you became unclean upon the women.”38 Similarly, the book of Jubilees states that one of the three causes of the flood was fornication, “that the Watchers had illicit intercourse – apart from the mandate of their authority – with women. When they married of them whomever they chose they committed the first (acts) of uncleanness.”39 Thus, Jubilees can refer generally to “impure demons.”40 The expression “evil spirits” also occurs in Jewish literature of the Second Temple period.41 The motif that the unclean spirits fall down before Jesus recalls the legends that depict Solomon having control over and being served by many demons.42 wicked according to Isa 11:4). For further discussion, see Leslie W. Walck, “The Son of Man in Matthew and the Similitudes of Enoch” (Ph.D. diss., University of Notre Dame, 1999), 168–70. 37  Gen 6:1–4; 1 En. 6–11. 38  1 En. 15:3–4. 39  Jub. 7:21; trans. from James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, CSCO 511, Scriptores aethiopici 88 (Louvain: Peeters, 1989), 47. 40  Jub. 10:1; VanderKam, Book of Jubilees, 58. See also the Gospel of Philip from Nag Hammadi, which speaks of “male spirits that have sexual intercourse with souls who conduct their lives within a female shape, and female ones that mingle promiscuously with those within a male shape” (65.1–8; trans. from Bentley Layton, ed., The Gnostic Scriptures [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1987], 340). These are the same as, or at least included among, the “unclean spirits” mentioned a little further on in the text: “For if they possessed the holy spirit, no unclean spirit could attach itself to them” (66.2–4; Layton, Gnostic Scriptures, 340). There is also a spell for driving out demons that shows Jewish influence and includes the words “until you drive away this unclean daimon Satan (ἀκάθαρτος δαίμων Σατανᾶς), who is in him”; trans. by Marvin W. Meyer in Hans Dieter Betz, ed., The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation Including the Demotic Spells, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 62. 41 E. g., “But now the giants who were born from (the union of ) the spirits and the flesh shall be called evil spirits upon the earth” (1 En. 15:8; trans. [modified] from Michael A. Knibb, “1 Enoch,” in AOT, 204). 42 According to the Testament of Solomon, a great number and variety of demons were forced by Solomon to assist in building the temple; see also Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, 6 vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1909–1925), 4.150–54; 6.292–93

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The words of the spirits and the rebuke of Jesus “in order that they not make him known” suggest that they have special knowledge, concealed from the human beings who surround Jesus. This special knowledge is analogous to the knowledge of the future that the demons are said to have in the Testament of Solomon.43 One of these demons, Ornias by name, explains this knowledge as follows: “We demons go up to the firmament of heaven, fly around among the stars and hear the decisions that issue from God concerning the lives of men.”44 The allusion to the special knowledge of the unclean spirits, the acclamation of Jesus as “the Son of God,” and his rebuke of the spirits are related to an important theme in the Gospel of Mark, the question of the identity of Jesus, which is usually described as the “messianic secret.” The first time that Jesus is described as Son of God in Mark, at his baptism, Jesus is the only character within the narrative who hears the divine voice. In this scene, it is only the unclean spirits who know Jesus’s identity. These features of the narrative call the attention of the audience to Jesus’s identity as Son of God and lead them to ponder its meaning. Those who link the expression “Son of God” with the Davidic messiah, inspired by Psalm 2 and related passages, may assume that Jesus is keeping his identity secret until the appropriate time, to be revealed perhaps by some divine signal. Those who hold that all religious Jews are children of God are led by this passage to recognize that Jesus is God’s son in some special sense. In Mark 5:7 the demon-possessed man addresses Jesus, “What have I to do with you, Jesus, son of the most high God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.” This unclean spirit, or rather the legion of unclean spirits possessing the man, also knows who Jesus is and reveals that identity. Nevertheless, the narrative function of the revelation is quite different here. By pronouncing the name of Jesus and identifying him, the unclean spirit attempts to get control over Jesus and to prevent Jesus from driving him out of the man. The interchange is similar to that between Jesus and the unclean spirit in the synagogue at Capernaum. That spirit also names Jesus and identifies him as “the Holy One of God” (Mark 1:24). There also the spirit is attempting to ward off the power of Jesus. It is only in the account of the transfiguration of Jesus, however, that the scene rivals that of the baptism in terms of its significance. The turning point of the nn. 54–56. According to the Sefer Noah 150–160, Solomon learned how to master demons from a heavenly book that was originally given to Noah by God through Raphael; see Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 1.157; 6.177 n. 23. See also Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 4.142, 144, 149, 175; 6.289 n. 38; 291 n. 49; 296–97 n. 69. 43  Test. Sol. 5.5; 20.1–21. See also b. Hag. 16a (a female demon states that she heard a statement in heaven regarding Hanina ben Dosa) and b. Git. 68a (Asmodeus predicts the fate of a bride and groom). 44  Test. Sol. 20.12; text from Chester C. McCown, ed., The Testament of Solomon (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1922), 62; trans. from Duling, OTP, 1.983.

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narrative of Mark comes in Mark 8:27–30, just before the transfiguration, in a private dialogue between Jesus and his disciples in which it becomes clear that Peter has come to know that Jesus is the messiah. Immediately following Peter’s acclamation, Jesus explains to his disciples that he must suffer much, be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the experts in the law, be killed, and after three days rise (Mark 8:31) and that his followers must be prepared to suffer the same fate (Mark 8:34–9:1). Then Jesus takes Peter, James, and John to a high mountain where they can be alone. In their presence he is transformed, and his clothes become very white and shining (Mark 9:2–3). The motif of white, shining clothing recalls the depiction of heavenly beings in Jewish and early Christian texts.45 At that moment, the three disciples saw Elijah and Moses conversing with Jesus. Peter suggests that he and the other two disciples make three tents, one for Jesus, one for Moses, and one for Elijah, but the narrator hints that this is an inappropriate suggestion. Then a cloud covers them, presumably Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, and a voice speaks from the cloud, “This is my beloved son; listen to him” (Mark 9:7). The first part of the heavenly statement, “This is my beloved son,” repeats the first part of what the heavenly voice had said at Jesus’s baptism. At that time, as I have noted, only Jesus heard the voice. The second part of the statement at the transfiguration connects with the new context: “listen to him.” On this occasion, both the vision and the heavenly voice are experienced by the three disciples and are intended for them. The presence of Moses, together with the second part of the statement, evokes the words of Moses to the people in Deut 18:15, “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brethren; listen to him.”46 This passage was interpreted eschatologically in late Second Temple Jewish texts.47 The parallel statement in v. 18 inspired the expectation of an eschatological prophet reflected in the Dead Sea Scrolls.48 This line of interpretation suggests that Elijah is present in the vision because of the expectation that he would return in the last days.49 The rhetoric of the scene seems to make the point that in Jesus all the expectations related to the prophet like Moses and Elijah’s return are fulfilled. The motif of secrecy is implicit here, as in the summary of Mark 3:7–12, because Jesus has allowed only three disciples to share in this experience. Once again the idea that Jesus is the Son of God is shrouded in secrecy. The context suggests a reason for that. The messiahship of Jesus has just been affirmed, again 45  The ancient of days in Dan 7:9 and the angel in Matt 28:3 have clothing white as snow (compare Mark 16:5; John 20:12; Acts 1:10; Rev 4:4); angels are clothed in clean or pure white linen according to Rev 15:6; 19:14; the two “men” (angels) in Luke 24:4 have shining apparel. 46  Marcus, Way of the Lord, 81. 47  See the literature cited by Marcus, Way of the Lord, 81–82 n. 4. 48  Deut 18:18–19 is cited in the Testimonia (4Q175) lines 5–8; compare CD 6:11. For discussion see Collins, Scepter and the Star, 112–14, 116–17. 49  See Mal 3:23–24 (4:5–6 RSV ).

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secretly, to the disciples only. This affirmation has been followed by a prediction of the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus. The whole complex from Mark 8:27 to the end of the transfiguration suggests that the heart of Jesus’s teaching, the message to which the disciples should listen, is that the Messiah, the Son of God, must suffer. The teaching of Jesus in Mark 8:31–9:1 does not imply simply that he is a righteous poor man who is vulnerable to the persecution of the wicked and who will be vindicated, a pattern that occurs in the Wisdom of Solomon 1–5. Rather, it is the Son of Man who is to suffer. By this time, among some of the followers of Jesus, the “one like a son of man” in Daniel 7 was interpreted as the messiah and identified with Jesus. Furthermore, he does not just happen to suffer, but he must suffer. This motif suggests a divine plan that must be fulfilled, a plan revealed in Scripture, properly interpreted. A number of scholars have suggested that the narrative of the transfiguration was originally an account of an appearance of the risen Jesus. This unprovable hypothesis rests on the observation that the portrait of the transfigured Jesus is similar to those of exalted or resurrected human beings in Jewish and early Christian literature.50 In this regard, it is noteworthy that, according to Josephus, neither Moses nor Elijah had died but had been taken to heaven alive and made immortal.51 For those in the audience familiar with this tradition, the transfiguration is a kind of preview of the resurrection and exaltation of Jesus.52 This reading is confirmed by Jesus’s instruction to the three disciples on the way down from the mountain that they should tell no one what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. In the context of the controversies between Jesus and the chief priests, together with the elders and the scribes, Jesus tells the parable of the vineyard (Mark 12:1–12). The story of a man planting a vineyard, setting a hedge around it, and so forth, recalls the poem about God and his vineyard in Isa 5:1–7. According to Isaiah, “the vineyard is the house of Israel” (v. 7). In the allegory attributed to Jesus, the owner, who represents God, lets the vineyard out to tenants and then sends servants to collect the fruit. Finally, he sends his beloved son. The expression “beloved son” calls to mind the words of the heavenly voice in the scenes of baptism and transfiguration. According to Isaiah, God looked for justice and righteousness from his vineyard but found only bloodshed and a cry (Isa 5:7). In the allegory of Jesus, the servants are analogous to the prophets who called 50 According to Rev 3:4, those who conquer will walk with the risen Jesus, wearing white garments; see also 6:11; 7:9, 13. According to Dan 12:3, when the righteous rise from the dead, they will shine like the brightness of the firmament; compare Matt 13:43. 51  Josephus, Ant. 9.28; see also Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 142–43. This essay is also included in the present volume. 52  See also Marcus, Way of the Lord, 87–90.

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for justice. The beloved son clearly has a status higher and greater than that of the prophets. The trope in which the vineyard is the “house of Israel” suggests that Jesus, like Solomon, the son of David, beloved by God, is a king of the line of David, whose patrimony is the house of Israel. The oddity of the story is due to the reinterpretation of kingship in Mark, so that the king does not go to collect his property by force but allows himself to be killed. The subordination of the Son to the Father is thematized in the eschatological discourse of chapter 13. Although Jesus, like any true prophet, is able to speak authoritatively about the future, he speaks in veiled, ambiguous terms and is not able to reveal the day and the hour of any of the events of the last days, including the arrival of the Son of Man. That is because this knowledge is possessed by the Father alone; not even his beloved Son shares all of the divine knowledge (Mark 13:32). Like the true prophet, Jesus instructs his disciples on how to live rightly in the present in light of the impending future. They are to be truthful and loyal in persecution (vv. 9–13) and to busy themselves with the work to which they have been assigned (vv. 34–36). Not long afterward, the Markan Jesus is arrested and interrogated by the high priest. The climax of this scene is the high priest’s question and Jesus’s answer. The high priest asks Jesus whether he is the messiah, the son of the Blessed. In this question “messiah” most likely refers to the eschatological king who is called the son of David in the Psalms of Solomon and the messiah of Israel in the Dead Sea Scrolls.53 The messiah, like the Israelite king, is assumed to be “the son of the Blessed,” that is, the Son of God. When Jesus answers the question affirmatively, the high priest accuses him of blasphemy. A likely explanation for the accusation is that some Jews in the early Roman period avoided the expression “son of God” for rulers, including the messiah, because of the connotation of divinity. Alexander the Great and his successors, the Seleucids and the Ptolemies, claimed to be divine and were so honored by many of their subjects. Alexander was said to be the son of Zeus, and this claim seemed to many to have physical and metaphysical implications. It is noteworthy that the Psalms of Solomon avoid referring to the messiah as Son of God. Instead the text says that “He will gather a holy people whom he will lead in righteousness … For he shall know them that they are all children of their God.”54 The Qumran community, however, does not seem to have avoided language describing the messiah of Israel as the Son of God. In the Florilegium, the words of God from 2 Sam 7:14 are cited, “[I will be] a father to him; and he shall be a son to me.” The text goes on to say, “He is the Branch of David who will arise with

 Pss. Sol. 17:21; 1QS 9:11; CD 12:23–13:1; 14:19; 19:10–11; 20:1.  Pss. Sol. 17:26–27; trans. from Wright, “Psalms of Solomon,” OTP, 2.667. See also the discussion in Marcus, Way of the Lord, 77–79. 53 54

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the Interpreter of the Law [to rule] in Zion [at the end] of time.”55 It is true that the title “Son of God” is not used here, but there is no indication that the community was avoiding the title or the idea associated with it.56 The expression “Son of God” also occurs in a fragmentary Aramaic apocalypse from Qumran (4Q246). The first surviving column lacks one third to one half of each line, but certain aspects of the setting are clear. Someone falls before a throne and seems to be interpreting the king’s dream. Thus, the scene is similar to the stories about Daniel and foreign kings. The first column also describes affliction on earth and carnage among cities. Column 2 opens with the statement, “‘Son of God’ he shall be called, and they will name him ‘Son of the Most High.’”57 The text goes on to describe an oppressive kingdom that will rule until the people of God arises. Because the description of the oppressive kingdom follows immediately after the statement concerning the Son of God, some scholars have concluded that this title is claimed by the ruler of the oppressive kingdom but not recognized by the author of the text. These scholars conclude that the figure is a foreign king or even the Antichrist. In contemporary Jewish texts, however, foreign kings who claim to be divine and eschatological adversaries are described with negative language; their own claims to divinity are not repeated without comment.58 Furthermore, apocalyptic texts do not necessarily describe events in a simple chronological sequence. Thus, the description of the oppressive kingdom in column 2 may be resuming a theme introduced in the first column.59 After the allusion to the people of God rising up, there is a description of a peaceful kingdom brought into being by God. Scholars differ on the question of whether the text speaks about the people of God collectively as the agent of God on earth in exercising rule or about the “Son of God,” who would in that case be the messiah of Israel, since the use of the third person singular could represent either. One of the statements, however, fits an individual better than a collective: “He [or it] will judge the earth with truth,” since judgment is a royal function.60 It is true that the early Christians imagined this judicial role collectively, but there is no evidence that any Jewish group in the late Second Temple period did so. Thus, the “Son of God” mentioned at the beginning of column 2 points ahead to the kingdom of peace that is introduced later in the column. There was no need to reintroduce the “Son of God”  Florilegium (4Q174) 1:11–12; trans. from Vermes, Complete Dead Sea Scrolls, 494.  Compare Marcus, Way of the Lord, 78. 57  Trans. from Collins, Scepter and the Star, 155. 58  See, e. g., Dan 11:36; for discussion and references to further literature, see Collins, Scepter and the Star, 156–57; see also Fitzmyer, “4Q246: the ‘Son of God’ Document from Qumran,” 167–69. 59  Collins, Scepter and the Star, 158. 60  Trans. from Collins, Scepter and the Star, 155; see the argument for an individual judge on 158–59. 55 56

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figure explicitly because of the traditionally close association of the king with the people: the rule of the messiah over the nations also involves the sovereignty of the people over these nations. Another important Qumran passage for our topic comes from the Rule of the Congregation or the Messianic Rule. This text includes a description of how the community should assemble for the common meal “when God begets the messiah.”61 The reading is uncertain, but if the text does read yolid, it probably alludes to Ps 2:7, in which God says to the king, “You are my son; today I have begotten you.” It is unlikely that the community interpreted this passage in a physical or metaphysical sense. It is also unlikely that, as Horbury argues, it means that God will cause the messiah to be born in the sense that God will bring the preexistent spirit of the messiah to birth.62 It is more likely that the text simply means that God will choose or raise up the messiah of Israel in the last days. The probable use of the expression “Son of God” by the Qumran community for the messiah of Israel suggests that such usage was not avoided by all Jews of the late Second Temple period.63 The reaction of the high priest in the text of Mark could be due to the fact that it was offensive to some Jews at the time that the Gospel was written. Another possibility is that the high priest is not portrayed as objecting to the idea of the messiah as the Son of God but only to the claim that Jesus is this figure. In other words, it could be that the high priest’s question already reflects conflict between followers of Jesus and other Jews regarding the divinity of Jesus, or even controversies regarding “two powers in heaven.”64 Finally, the use of the term “blasphemy” by Mark may be ironic. The text may suggest that the high priest was not concerned about the worship of God alone or about the unity of God but about the stability of Roman rule through the priestly establishment. The description of Jesus as the Messiah and as the Son of God implies, as we have seen, that he is a king. The kingship of Jesus, however, is not thematized until chapter 15, when Pilate asks him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” Jesus answers at first ambiguously and then not at all. Pilate is presented both sympa 1QSa (1Q28a) 2:11–12.  Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ, 98. 63  Hans-Jörg Steichele has suggested that Jews of the late Second Temple period avoided the title “Son of God” out of concern that it would be misunderstood in a physical sense: Der leidende Sohn Gottes, Münchener Universitäts-Schriften (Regensburg: Pustet, 1980), 143–44. Wilhelm Bousset gave Gustaf Dalman (Die Worte Jesu mit Berücksichtigung des nachkanonischen jüdischen Schrifttums und der aramäischen Sprache [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1898] 219) credit for making the observation that the title υἱὸς θεοῦ is hardly attested in the “later Jewish literature”; Bousset, Kyrios Christos: Geschichte des Christusglaubens von den Anfängen des Christentums bis Irenaeus, 2nd rev. ed., FRLANT n.f. 4 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1935), 53. 64  See Alan F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism (Leiden: Brill, 1977). 61 62

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thetically and ironically in the scene in which he tries to release Jesus.65 The narrator remarks that Pilate perceived that the chief priests had handed him over out of envy. His questions, “Do you want me to release for you the king of the Jews?” and “What then do you want me to do with the king of the Jews?” are somewhat mocking.66 The irony is unmistakable in the scene in which the soldiers dress Jesus in a purple cloak, signifying royalty; crown him with a thorny crown; greet him saying “Welcome, king of the Jews”; hit him on the head with a reed; spit on him; and kneel to him in mock reverence.67 The irony becomes vivid and visual once again when it is reported that the inscription of the charge against him was posted: “the king of the Jews.”68 As Jesus hangs on the cross, the chief priests and the scribes are mocking him among themselves as the messiah, the king of Israel. They say, “Let the messiah, the king of Israel, come down now from the cross, in order that we may see and believe.”69 Jesus does not come down from the cross, but a great darkness comes over the land from noon until mid-afternoon. When Jesus breathes his last, the curtain of the temple is torn from top to bottom. These signs lead the centurion standing opposite Jesus to say, “This man really was the Son of God.”70 In contrast to the chief priests and the scribes who reject Jesus as the messiah, this gentile soldier expresses his belief that Jesus is the Son of God. The shift from “king of Israel” to “Son of God” is noteworthy. Since the centurion is not a member of the people of Israel, it makes better narrative sense for him to acclaim Jesus as the Son of God, rather than as king of Israel or messiah. The epithet “Son of God” has another range of connotations from Greek and Roman perspectives, which I will explore in another essay.71 In Jewish tradition, especially in Psalm 2 and the fragmentary Aramaic apocalypse from Qumran discussed above, the two ideas, king of Israel and Son of God, are equivalent. So a Jewish reader of Mark may have inferred that the centurion is acclaiming Jesus as the messiah, the king of Israel, in terms appropriate to his own culture. Such a reader, however, would also recognize that this role has been reinterpreted by the narrative of Mark. The theme of Jesus as the Son of God reaches its climax in the centurion’s acclamation. This scene is often taken together with the baptism and the trans-

 Mark 15:6–15.  Mark 15:9, 12. 67  Mark 15:16–20. 68  Mark 15:26. 69 Mark 15:32. 70 Mark 15:39; although the expression υἱὸς θεοῦ (“the son of God”) is anarthrous, it may still be taken as definite, because definite predicate nouns that precede the verb usually lack the article; see Nigel Turner, Syntax, vol. 3 of A Grammar of New Testament Greek, 4 vols., ed. John H. Moulton, 1938 (reprinted Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1963), 3.183. 71  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans,” HTR 93 (2000): 85–100. This essay is included in the present volume. 65 66

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figuration as the third great revelatory scene relating to the identity of Jesus.72 In the first two scenes, as we have noted, it is the heavenly voice that identifies Jesus as the Son of God. Here the voice is human and gentile. The gentile voice takes up a theme introduced earlier in the narrative. The parable of the wicked tenants ends with the prediction, “He will come and destroy the tenants, and give the vineyard to others.”73 The destruction of the temple is predicted in chapter 13. The centurion is an emblem of the “others” to whom the vineyard will be given. The leaders who rejected Jesus will be rejected themselves, and the eschatological people of Israel will include gentiles. I raised the question earlier whether Mark presents Jesus as a royal messiah, a warrior-king designate. Another way of putting this question is to ask how deeply Mark has reinterpreted the type of expectation of the messiah of Israel attested by the Psalms of Solomon and the Dead Sea Scrolls.74 Although Mark emphasizes the shocking new revelation that the messiah must suffer and die, it is clear that the work of Jesus does not end with his crucifixion. Jesus’s messiahship includes a death for others, but it is not limited to that.75 Mark has Jesus predict not only his resurrection, but also his return as Son of Man.76 It is striking, however, that the portrayals of the coming of the Son of Man do not emphasize the motif of battle with foreign powers and eschatological adversaries or the motif of cosmic transformation. The destruction of Jerusalem does play an important role in the eschatological discourse of chapter 13, but Mark attributes that event to divine intervention, and it occurs before the Son of Man arrives.77 In Jesus’s response to the high priest, the remark “You will see the Son of Man” suggests that the arrival of the Son of Man will vindicate Jesus in some way, but the punishment of those who have rejected him is not thematized in this context. Rather, the arrival of the Son of Man is linked with the judgment of the individual followers of Jesus in mark 8:38 and with the gathering of the elect in 13:27.78 This second text leaves open the issue of whether they will be gathered to the Son of Man on earth or in heaven. In any case, the emphasis is on their union and fellowship with him. This motif recalls the Similitudes of Enoch, which look

 Marcus, Way of the Lord, 54–55.  Mark 12:9. 74  Donald Juel (Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, SBLDS 31 [Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1973]) and Frank Matera (The Kingship of Jesus: Composition and Theology in Mark 15, SBLDS 66 [Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982]) interpret the title “Son of God” in Mark in terms of “royal messianism.” See the discussion in Marcus, Way of the Lord, 142. 75  That Jesus’s death benefits others is made clear in Mark 10:45 and 14:24. 76 Mark 8:38; 13:24–27; 14:62. 77  Compare Mark 12:9 with 13:14–20, an account reminiscent of Genesis 19. 78  Mark 9:42–48 also alludes to the individual judgment of the followers of Jesus. 72 73

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forward to the day when the righteous will dwell with that Son of Man and have fellowship with him forever and ever.79 The link between the ultimate state of blessedness and the return of the Son of Man suggests that Mark’s portrayal of Jesus’s messiahship is a more heavenly or cosmic type than the traditionally human royal or warrior type. The Similitudes of Enoch and 4 Ezra provide good analogies to the role of the apocalyptic Son of Man in Mark. Although 4 Ezra was clearly written later than Mark, the date of the Similitudes is uncertain. It may be earlier than Mark because the prominent use of the epithet “Son of Man” by Jews becomes less likely the more famously it is applied to Jesus. Both the Similitudes and 4 Ezra interpret the figure of the “one like a son of man” in Daniel 7 as the messiah. Mark implies the same identification. The Similitudes and 4 Ezra, however, imply that the Son of Man is a preexistent heavenly being. Mark does not seem to attribute preexistence to Jesus. Further, the man-like figure in the Similitudes is portrayed as judge of the kings, the mighty, the exalted, all the sinners of the earth, and the fallen angels. In Mark there is little indication that Jesus will act as judge. He “will be ashamed” of those who have denied him when he returns as Son of Man (8:38), but this remark implies only that he will refuse to be their advocate, or even simply that they will not be gathered to him at the end. Mark interprets the man-like figure of Daniel 7 in two ways. First, the earthly Jesus, who has received the spirit of God, is the Son of Man who exercises God’s authority on earth to forgive sins and who has divine authority in his interpretation of the law. These ideas are expressed in Mark 2:10, 28. This earthly Son of Man must suffer and die. Secondly, the risen and exalted Jesus is the heavenly Son of Man, who sits at the right hand of God and who will come in a cosmic manifestation of power to gather the elect.80 The combination of Ps 110:1 and Dan 7:13 in Mark 14:62 is emblematic for the portrayal of Jesus as the Messiah in Mark as a whole. When Jesus quotes Ps 110:1 in his teaching in the temple, he questions how the messiah can be the son of David, if David calls him “Lord.” The implication is that the messiah should not be envisioned as a mere earthly king. His task is not simply to restore the kingdom of David to autonomy and glory. When Jesus quotes the psalm again in Mark 14:62, in combination with Dan 7:13, the picture of the messiah that emerges is a cosmic ruler, a heavenly being who mediates the blessing and rule of God to all creation. This reading of Mark in comparison with Jewish texts has implications for our understanding of how Jews of the late Second Temple period used the epithet “Son of God” in relation to the messiah. Fitzmyer’s assertion that it had no messianic nuance before it was applied to Jesus is untenable. Several passages from  1 Enoch 62:14; see also 71:16–17.  Mark 12:36, with its citation of Ps 110:1, implies that Jesus will sit at the right hand of God after his death and resurrection. 14:62 cites both Ps 110:1 and Dan 7:13. 79 80

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Qumran, especially the fragmentary Aramaic apocalypse 4Q246, make it highly likely that the opposite was the case. The community of Qumran conceived of the messiah of Israel as the “Son of God” and apparently used this epithet or title in speaking of him. Horbury, however, goes too far in suggesting that the idea of the messiah as the Son of God in this period was mythical and associated with preexistence. The evidence is lacking for such a conclusion. Rather, it seems likely that the ancient mythical language was used in the Dead Sea Scroll in a way similar to its force in the prototypical passages, namely, to express the ideas that God will choose the messiah, appoint him as God’s agent, and endow him with divine power. It is in these terms that some readers of Mark would have understood his portrayal of Jesus as the Son of God, namely, those who were informed about these Jewish traditions and who preferred these categories of interpretation to others that may have been known to them.

Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans In his influential work, Kyrios Christos, Wilhelm Bousset confessed that he had vacillated and was still vacillating on the question of whether the creation of the title υἱὸς θεοῦ (“Son of God”) as an epithet for Jesus ought to be attributed to the earliest community of his followers in Palestine.1 He tentatively took the position that the oldest community of followers of Jesus described him as the παῖς θεοῦ (“Servant of God”) in a messianic interpretation of the servant-poems of Second Isaiah. This epithet, he thought, was in considerable tension with the notion of Jesus as the Son of God, making it unlikely that both epithets originated in the same context.2 He argued that the statement of the divine voice in the scenes of baptism and transfiguration, “You are my Son,” is a tradition that circulated in the earliest community but that this address is a far cry from the title “Son of God.” He was thus inclined to conclude that this title originated “on Greek ground, in the Greek language.”3 He argued further that the confession of Jesus as the Son of God by the gentile centurion in Mark 15:39 cannot be understood as recognition of Jesus as the Jewish messiah. Rather, “Son of God” was the formula chosen by the evangelist to express the identity of Jesus Christ for the faith of the gentile Christian community.4 A quite different view has been proposed by Martin Hengel, who, in his book entitled The Son of God, criticized the views of the history of religion school with which Bousset was associated. Hengel argued, on the one hand, that the παῖδες Διός (“sons of Zeus”) in Greek religion have no link to the early Christian confession of the one Son of the one God. On the other hand, those who followed the Stoic ideal, according to which all human beings are by nature children of Zeus, no longer needed a “Son of God” as mediator and redeemer.5 Hengel also concluded that the expression υἱὸς θεοῦ (“Son of God”) was relatively rare in the Hellenistic world and that it was never used as a title except as the Greek trans1  Wilhelm Bousset, Kyrios Christos: Geschichte des Christusglaubens von den Anfängen des Christentums bis Irenaeus, FRLANT, 4th ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1935), 54. 2  Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 57. 3 Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 55–56; citation from 56: “auf griechischem Boden, in griechischer Sprache”; my translation. 4  Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 55. 5 Martin Hengel, The Son of God (London: SCM, 1976; German ed. 1975); ET reprinted in The Cross of the Son of God (London: SCM, 1986); the views summarized above are found on p. 22 of the reprint.

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lation of the Latin divi filius, usually in the form θεοῦ υἱός. This title was adopted by Octavian soon after the murder and divinization of Caesar. Hengel argued that this usage of the official state religion had no serious influence on the conceptuality of earliest Christianity, developing in Palestine and Syria; it was at best a negative stimulus, not a model.6 It is somewhat ironic that Hengel took such a position. As is well known, he challenged the dichotomy made by the history of religion school and others between Aramaic-speaking, Palestinian Judaism, on the one hand, and Greekspeaking “Hellenistic” Judaism of the diaspora, on the other. He documented in detail the Hellenization of the ]ews of Palestine in his magnum opus Judaism and Hellenism.7 In his conclusion concerning the imperial cult, the implied dichotomy between Rome, on the one hand, and Palestine and Syria, on the other, is likewise unjustified. The Palestine of the Herodians was Romanized to a significant degree, as was much of Syria. In this essay, I will suggest that there was a diversity of meaning of the phrase “Son of God” among followers of Jesus in the early period by focusing on the reception of the Gospel according to Mark. In particular, I am interested in those members of Mark’s audience who were more familiar with Greek and Roman religious traditions than with Jewish traditions and who preferred, whether consciously or unconsciously, to interpret Christian proclamation about Jesus in Greek or Roman terms. Most of this essay will investigate how such members of Mark’s audience were likely to understand his portrayal of Jesus as the Son of God. I will return to the question of origins in the closing paragraphs. It is not surprising that the expression υἱὸς θεοῦ (“Son of God”) is relatively rare in Greek, since Greek myths and cults were polytheistic. Greek gods had names and were usually addressed and referred to with these names, rather than with the generic term θεός (“god”). Those familiar with Greek polytheistic traditions, however, were likely to associate the Jewish or Christian term “Son of God” with terms like “son of Zeus” and “son of Apollo.” Zeus was honored by the poets Hesiod and Homer as the father of gods and human beings. The Olympian circle of gods was a family dynasty.8 From the heroes of the iron age onward, Greeks were familiar with the idea that great warriors and wise men were physically descended from individual gods.9 Dionysos was the son of Zeus by a mortal mother, yet he was considered to be a god from birth.10 Heracles was also a son of Zeus by a human mother, but he lived a toilsome life until his death  Hengel, The Cross of the Son of God, 26–28.  Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974).  8  Homer, Il. 1.544; Hesiod, Theogony 47. Compare Peter Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία, A. υἱός in Greek,” TDNT 8 (1972), 336.  9 Hengel, The Cross of the Son of God, 29. 10  Hesiod, Theogony 940–942; Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία,” 336; Petr Pokorny, Der  6  7

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and apotheosis, when he was received into the circle of the Olympian gods.11 According to Diogenes Laertius, Speusippos, a nephew and close friend of Plato, wrote about a story current in Athens saying that, when Periktione, Plato’s mother, was ready to bear children, his father Ariston tried but failed to make her pregnant. Then, after he had ceased his efforts, he saw a vision of Apollo. Therefore he abstained from any further marital relations until she brought forth a child (from Apollo).12 It is highly significant for our purposes that kings and other rulers were consistently portrayed as descended from gods or as “son of god,” “son of Helios,” “son of Zeus.”13 This was especially true of Egypt in the Hellenistic period. At the oracle of Ammon in the Libyan desert, Alexander the Great was called “son of Ammon,” “son of Zeus” in Greek. From the beginning, the Ptolemies, the successors of Alexander in Egypt, claimed the same title.14 In the early Roman imperial period, the title θεοῦ υἱός was used for Augustus. Doubtless, residents of the Mediterranean world familiar with the ruler cult would have associated the idea that Jesus was the Messiah, the king of Israel, with this usage. With these remarks forming the context, I would now like to turn to the text of Mark and raise the question of how Greek and Roman interested parties or converts would have understood certain passages.15 Such readers were likely to understand the account of Jesus’s baptism differently from those who preferred or were unconsciously shaped by certain Jewish traditions. A feature that led Bultmann to define the account as a legend is what he called the miraculous moment, the way in which divine characters and power break into the world of human experience and transform the subject of the narrative.16 Ancient biographies of poets contain similar accounts near the beginning of the narrative about their main subjects. In the popular biography of Aesop, he is portrayed as a slave, ex-

Gottessohn: Literarische Übersicht und Fragestellung, ThSt 109 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1971), 11. 11  Hesiod, Theogony 943–944, 950–955; Homeric Hymns 1 and 26; Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία,” 336. 12  Diogenes Laertius 3.2 (Hicks, LCL). See also the English trans. in David R. Cartlidge and David L. Dungan, Documents for the Study of the Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 129. 13  The tyrant Clearchus of Heraklea (4th century bce) called himself “Son of Zeus”; see Pokorny, Der Gottessohn, 15; Ludwig Bieler, ΘΕΙΟΣ ΑΝΗΡ: Das Bild des “göttlichen Menschen” in Spätantike und Frühchristentum, 2 vols. (Vienna: Oskar Höfels, 1935–1936), 1.1, 10, 134; Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία,” 336. 14 Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός, υἱοθεσία,” 336; Pokorny, Der Gottessohn, 15. 15 I am assuming here that many Greek and Roman converts, who would have been instructed in both Jewish and early Christian traditions, were likely to attempt to integrate Greek and Roman traditions with these new traditions, and, in any case, that they were likely unconsciously to understand these new traditions in terms of the old. 16  Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, rev. ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1968), 247–48.

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traordinarily ugly, and unable to speak because of a severe speech impediment.17 This low status is somewhat mitigated by divine power. Near the beginning of the narrative, Aesop assists a priestess of Isis. As a reward, the goddess grants him the power of speech, and the nine Muses bestow upon him the power to devise stories and the ability to conceive and elaborate tales, as well as other gifts of excellent speech. A story was told concerning the archaic poet Archilochus involving an extraordinary experience revealing that he would be a poet. While he was leading a cow to market at night with the moon shining, he met a crowd of women who offered to buy the cow. When he had agreed and they had promised to give him a good price, both the women and the cow disappeared, and before his feet he saw a lyre. He was overcome and realized that they were the Muses.18 Like Archilochus, the Jesus of Mark has an experience that transforms him and prepares him for his life’s work. Archilochus experienced an epiphany or vision of the Muses, who enabled him to be a poet; Jesus sees the heavens open and hears the divine voice address him as beloved son. As Aesop was given gifts of wise speech by Isis and the Muses, Jesus is endowed with the divine spirit on this occasion, the power that enables him to teach with authority, to heal, and to cast out demons.19 Those in the audience of Mark who were familiar with such traditions were likely to interpret this scene as an analogous legend and to view Jesus as an heroic figure analogous to the great poets and sages of Greek tradition. Jesus is addressed by the heavenly voice as “my beloved son” on the occasion of his baptism, but the first time that he is actually acclaimed with the title “Son of God” is at the time of his withdrawal to the sea, when a great multitude from Galilee, Judea, Jerusalem, Idumea, Perea, Tyre, and Sidon comes to him. Jesus is so pressed by the crowd that he asks his disciples to have a boat ready in case he is in danger of being overwhelmed by them. The crowd is eager because he has healed many, and many more are hoping to be healed. In this situation the un-

17  For the texts of the two Greek manuscripts and of a shorter Latin version, see Ben Edwin Perry, Aesopica, vol. 1: Greek and Latin Texts (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1952); for an English translation, see Lloyd W. Daly, Aesop without Morals (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1961) or Lawrence M. Wills, The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John, and the Origins of the Gospel Genre (London: Routledge, 1997), Appendix. 18  Mary R. Lefkowitz, The Lives of the Greek Poets (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981), 27–28. This story appears on an inscription discovered on the island of Paros and published by Nikolaos Kontoleon in 1954. The marble orthostates on which the text was inscribed belonged to the heroon of Archilochus that was built near the city of Paros in the third century bce. For the Greek text and discussion, see Carl Werner Müller, “Die Archilochoslegende,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie n. F. 128 (1985): 99–151; here 100–110. For the Greek text and a German trans., see Max Treu, Archilochus (Munich: Ernst Heimeran, 1959), 42–45. 19 For further discussion of the similarities of Mark to the ancient popular biographies, see Adela Yarbro Collins, “Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus,” JR 78 (1998): 175–96. This essay is included in the present volume.

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clean spirits fall down before him and cry out saying, “You are the Son of God!” Jesus, however, rebukes them sternly so that they will not make him known. The philosopher and miracle worker Empedocles lived in the fifth century bce in Sicily, and later in the Peloponnese. His fame, however, was far reaching and long lasting, especially among educated Greeks. The scene just described involving Jesus may have called to mind for those familiar with it a similar tradition about Empedocles, according to which he once said: Friends, who live in the great city of the yellow Acragas, up on the heights of the citadel, caring for good deeds, I give you greetings. An immortal god, mortal no more, I go about honoured by all, as is fitting, crowned with ribbons and fresh garlands; and by all whom I come upon as I enter their prospering towns, by men and women I am revered. They follow me in their thousands, asking where lies the road to profit, some desiring prophecies, while others ask to hear the word of healing for every kind of illness, long transfixed by harsh pains.20

Jesus’s efforts to keep his identity secret contrast with Empedocles’s selfproclamation. Both, however, draw huge crowds and both are portrayed as healers. Empedocles presents himself as a mortal who has become immortal. For Greek and Roman members of the audience of Mark, the epithet “Son of God” would imply at least potential immortality. The combination of the motifs of healing and divine sonship also evokes a comparison of Jesus with Asclepius. According to Hesiod and Pindar, Asclepius was the son of Apollo and a mortal woman. He was probably a hero in origin, but was later considered to be a god.21 In Greek and Latin sources, Asclepius or Aesculapius is identified with Eshmun, the Phoenician god of health, whose cult is attested in Syria and Palestine from the eighth century bce onward.22 There were shrines dedicated to Asclepius in Epidaurus, Pergamon, Rome, Cyrene, Crete, and Cos. At Epidaurus various healings of Asclepius were commemorated in formal inscriptions, including the healing of a man with a lame hand, a woman who was blind in one eye, a mute boy, two cases involving a blind man, two cases affecting a paralytic, and two cases dealing with a lame man.23 There was also a tradition that the mortal Asclepius raised the dead Hippolytus and that, for his 20 Empedocles, Καθαρμοί (“Purifications”) frag. 112 (DK); frag. 102 in M.  R. Wright, Empedocles: The Extant Fragments (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981); and frag. 399 in G. S. Kirk, J. E. Raven, and M. Schofield, The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of Texts, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); text and translation from the latter (p. 313); the fragment is cited by Martin Hengel, The Charismatic Leader and His Followers (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1981), 25. 21 Hesiod, Catalogue of Women 63 = scholiast on Pindar, Pyth. 3.14; see also Francis Redding Walton, “Asclepius,” in OCD, 2nd ed. (1970), 129–30. 22  S. Ribichini, “Eshmun,” in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, ed. Karel van der Toorn et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 583–87; here 584. 23  Epidaurus stele I.3, 4, 5, 9, 15, 16, 18; II.35, 37; see Emma J. Edelstein and Ludwig Edelstein, Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies (New York: Arno, 1975), 221–37.

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audacity, Zeus punished him by killing him with a thunderbolt.24 Thus, the story of Jesus raising Jairus’s daughter would also elicit a comparison with Asclepius. The secrecy motif in both Markan passages could be interpreted by comparison with Greek and Roman writers who spoke of the mysterious, hidden character of the divine. In Augustan times, Strabo explained the practice of secrecy as follows: “the secrecy with which the sacred rites are concealed induces reverence for the divine, since it imitates the nature of the divine, which is to avoid being perceived by our human senses.”25 In Mark 5:7 the demon-possessed man addresses Jesus, “What have I to do with you, Jesus, Son of the most high God?” In Greek, “Son of the most high God” is υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ὑψίστου. In the Greek translations of the Hebrew Bible, “Elyon” is always translated by (ὁ) ὕψιστος, but in non-Jewish, non-Christian Greek texts, the expression occurs as a divine name for Zeus. Zeus Hypsistos was revered from Athens, through Asia Minor, Syria, and on into Egypt.26 Thus, for members of Mark’s audience familiar with this cult, the demon’s address of Jesus is equivalent to “son of Zeus.” The account of the transfiguration of Jesus in Mark 9 must have had quite a different impact on members of the audience more familiar with or inclined toward Greek religious traditions than Jewish. Such listeners would be familiar with the idea that gods sometimes walked the earth in human form. This notion finds expression in the passage from the Odyssey that describes Odysseus’s return to Ithaca. He arrives home disguised as a beggar, and, when he is mistreated by Antinoös, one of his wife’s suitors, another suitor rebukes him saying: A poor show, that – hitting this famished tramp – bad business, if he happened to be a god. You know they go in foreign guise, the gods do, looking like strangers, turning up in towns and settlements, to keep an eye on manners, good or bad.27

24  Ovid, Fasti 6.743–762; see also Edelstein and Edelstein, Asclepius, nos. 1, 3–5, 8, 66–67, 69, 72, 75, and 94. 25  Strabo 10.3.9 (Jones, LCL); see Jan N. Bremmer, “Religious Secrets and Secrecy in Classical Greece,” in Secrecy and Concealment: Studies in the History of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Religions, ed. Hans G. Kippenberg and Guy G. Stroumsa, SHR 65 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 61–78; here 72. 26  Ciliers Breytenbach, “Hypsistos,” in Dictionary of Deities and Demons, ed. van der Toorn et al., 822–30; here 822–23. 27 Homer, Od. 17.485–487; trans. from Robert Fitzgerald, Homer: The Odyssey, Anchor Books (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961; Anchor Books, 1963), 327. See the discussion in Dieter Zeller, “Die Menschwerdung des Sohnes Gottes im Neuen Testament und die antike Religionsgeschichte,” in Menschwerdung Gottes – Vergöttlichung von Menschen, ed. Dieter Zeller, NTOA 7 (Freiburg, Schweiz: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 141–76; here 160.

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More strikingly and concretely, the Homeric Hymn to Demeter tells how Demeter, because of her grief and anger over the abduction of her daughter, “went to the towns and rich fields of men, disfiguring her form a long while.”28 The queen among goddesses disguised herself as an old woman, a stranger, exchanging her divine name, Demeter, for a human one, Doso.29 When she reveals her identity to her human employer, she is once again transformed to the divine state of being: When she had so said, the goddess changed her stature and her form (μέγεθος καὶ εἶδος ἄμειψε), thrusting old age away from her: beauty spread round about her and a lovely fragrance was wafted from her sweet-smelling robes, and from the divine body of the goddess a light shone afar, while golden tresses spread down over her shoulders, so that the strong house was filled with brightness as with lightning.30

To listeners familiar with such traditions, the account according to which Jesus, in the sight of the three disciples, was changed in appearance from an ordinary man to a being with white, shining clothing, would signify that he was a divine being walking the earth in a modest disguise. Peter’s proposal, that he and the others establish three tents for Jesus and his similarly transfigured companions, makes sense in this cultural context. When Demeter reveals her identity to Metaneira, she commands that the people of Eleusis build her a temple and an altar and promises to teach them her rites, so that they may perform them and win her favor.31 In Mark, the proposal is rejected, and Jesus does not identify himself as Demeter does, but is identified by the heavenly voice. Although certain conventions are contradicted, the account of Jesus’s transfiguration would make sense to Greeks familiar with polytheistic traditions as the self-manifestation of a deity. Similarly, the motif of secrecy in Mark has an affinity with the notion of a deity disguising himself or herself as a human being. From the point of view of traditional Greek religion, the identification of Jesus in this scene as God’s son is equivalent to identifying him as a divine being. Jesus appears as a prophet in Mark 13. Although the content of his eschatological discourse is Jewish in general and apocalyptic and eschatological in particular, prophecy was a familiar phenomenon to Greeks and Romans. The main types involved oracular shrines that people would visit with questions about the future; technical diviners, who interpreted dreams, the condition of sacrificial animals, the flight of birds, and other phenomena as signs and symbols of the future; and inspired diviners, who uttered oracles or prophecies in a state of divine in28  ᾤχετ’ ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπων πόλιας καὶ πίονα ἔργα εἶδος ἀμαλδύνουσα πολὺν χρόνον (Hymn to Demeter 93–94; Evelyn-White, LCL). See the discussion in Zeller, “Die Menschwerdung des Sohnes Gottes,” 160. 29  Hesiod, Hymn to Demeter 101, 118–122. The assumed name is similar to the divine one; compare line 211, in which Δηώ (= Δημήτηρ) is the goddess’s (secret and true) name. She is called ξείνη (“a stranger”) in line 248. 30  Hesiod, Hymn to Demeter 275–280 (trans. from Evelyn-White, LCL, slightly modified). 31  Hesiod, Hymn to Demeter 268–274.

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spiration or possession.32 Greeks and Romans would have found certain formal features of Mark 13 familiar. The passage opens with a scene in which Jesus and his disciples are walking out of the temple precincts, and one of them comments on the beauty of the buildings. In response, Jesus predicts the destruction of the temple. Whereas listeners well educated in the Jewish Scriptures would respond to this saying in terms of the prophetic tradition of Israel, those more at home with Greek and Roman religious practices and traditions would perceive it as an inspired prophecy or an oracle. The setting also evokes the Hellenic and Hellenistic literary form of the peripatetic dialogue or strolling conversation.33 This initial conversation is then followed by a seated dialogue set in full view of the temple. The disciples ask Jesus a two-part question: “Tell us when this will be and what the sign will be when all these things are about to be accomplished.” Jesus then gives a long response to these questions. The formal structure involving a question concerning the future and a prophetic response would have evoked for members of the audience acquainted with Greek and Roman religious practices the tradition of the oracular shrine, where knowledge about the future was granted in response to questions, or the tradition of the inspired diviner.34 From this perspective, Jesus’s statement, “concerning that day or the hour, no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, and not even the Son; [no one knows] except the Father,” contrasts the inspired diviner with the oracular god. Apollo was most esteemed as an oracular god, but Zeus was also so recognized and spoke through signs at Dodona and Olympia.35 The kingship of Jesus is a prominent theme in the trial of Jesus before Pilate, the mocking of the soldiers, and the crucifixion.36 But when the centurion acclaims Jesus after his death, it is not as king of Israel but as υἱὸς θεοῦ. The first thing to notice about this acclamation is that these nouns lack the article.37 It is not immediately clear whether the phrase should be translated “the Son of God” or “a son of god.”38 In contrast to this phrase, the unclean spirits proclaim Jesus to be ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ, a phrase in which the nouns do have the article. It is usually translated “the Son of God,” but it could conceivably be translated as “the Son of 32 For discussion see David E. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), 23–48. 33  Aune, Prophecy, 186–87. 34  Compare the discussion by Aune, Prophecy, 186–87. 35  Joseph E. Fontenrose, “Oracles,” OCD, 2nd ed. (1970), 754. 36 See Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” HTR 92 (1999): 393–408. This essay is included in the present volume. 37 If a noun follows another and the second is in the genitive case, the second noun usually follows the first in having or lacking the article. 38 Ezra P. Gould interpreted the statement of the centurion in its context to mean that the portent(s) accompanying the death of Jesus convinced him that Jesus was “a son of God, a hero after the heathen conception”: Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to St. Mark, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1896), 295.

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the God,” as Hengel formulated what he claimed was the distinctive early Christian confession. As is well known, however, the definite article in ancient Greek was not used in the same way as in modern English. Greek was flexible in this regard and a phrase may be definite even without the article. The manuscripts that contain the words υἱοῦ θεοῦ in the opening verse of Mark do not use the article with these nouns. Further, E. C. Colwell argued that the noun-phrase in Mark 15:39, the acclamation of the centurion, lacks the article because a predicate nominative lacks the article to distinguish it from the subject of the clause.39 Consequently, he argued that the statement of the centurion should be translated “the Son of God,” not “a son of god.” But Earl Johnson has rightly pointed out that grammar alone cannot eliminate the possibility that the author of Mark intended the centurion’s reference to Jesus’s divine sonship to be indefinite.40 Another difference between the acclamation of the unclean spirits and that of the centurion is that the spirits say, “You are (εἶ) the Son of God,” whereas the centurion says, “This man really was (ἦν) the [or a] Son of God.” The present tense implies a confession that the author and audience share; the imperfect does not.41 Members of the audience who understood “Son of God” as a messianic title would infer that the centurion recognized that Jesus was the messiah, the king of Israel.42 Members of the audience more acquainted with Greek and Roman traditions may well have understood this to be the primary denotation of the acclamation in light of the literary context, but it would have a wider range of connotations for them. In the narrative of Mark, the centurion makes his acclamation in response to the signs or portents that accompany the death of Jesus, the darkness over the land from noon until mid-afternoon and the tearing of the veil of the temple. This context suggests that he understood Jesus’s death in terms of the apotheosis or deification of a ruler. Virgil wrote, “the Sun shall give you signs … He expressed mercy for Rome when Caesar was killed; he hid his shining head in gloom and the impious age feared eternal night.”43 Plutarch wrote that events of divine design accompanied the death of Caesar, including the blocking of the sun’s rays. “For throughout the whole year the sun rose pale, and it had no radiance; and the heat which came from it was weak and effete, so that the air lay heavy, due to the feebleness of the warmth which entered it. The fruits, half-ripe and imperfect, faded and decayed because of the chill of the atmosphere.”44 Extraordinary events also occurred when Romulus, the founder of Rome, departed. “Suddenly strange and unaccountable disorders with incredible changes filled 39  E. C. Colwell, “A Definite Rule for the Use of the Article in the Greek New Testament,” JBL 52 (1933): 12–21. 40 Earl S. Johnson, “Is Mark 15:39 the Key to Mark’s Christology?,” JSNT 31 (1987): 3–22. 41  Compare Johnson, “Is Mark 15:39 the Key,” 7–8. 42 See Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” 406. 43  Virgil, Georgics 1.463–468; trans. from Cartlidge and Dungan, Documents, 163. 44  Plutarch, Caesar 69.3–5; trans. from Cartlidge and Dungan, Documents, 164.

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the air; the light of the sun failed, and night came down upon them, not with peace and quiet, but with awful peals of thunder and furious blasts driving rain from every quarter, during which the multitude dispersed and fled.”45 Although Romulus disappears and, it is implied, does not die, his disappearance serves as a prototype of the apotheosis of the Roman emperors.46 Not only the portents but also the centurion’s acclamation of Jesus as “Son of God” links Mark’s account of the death of Jesus with the imperial cult.47 When Julius Caesar died, he was deified and given the new name divus Iulius. In origin divus was nothing more than another form of deus and thus meant simply “god.” But following the deification of Julius Caesar, it came to mean a god who had previously been a man.48 In the Greek East, divus was usually translated as θεός.49 After the official deification of Caesar in 42 bce, Octavian began to call himself officially divi filius, that is, “god’s son” or “Son of a god.”50 From 27 bce until 3 ce, Augustus’s official name in Greek documents was Αὐτοκράτωρ Καῖσαρ θεοῦ υἱὸς Σεβαστός (Emperor Caesar Augustus son of god”).51 Thereafter,  Plutarch, Romulus 27.6–7 (Perrin, LCL). the discussion of the death and apotheosis of Augustus in Charles H. Talbert, “Biographies of Philosophers and Rulers as Instruments of Religious Propaganda in Mediterranean Antiquity,” ANRW 2.16.2 (1978), 1619–51; here 1634. 47 Compare the arguments of Philip H. Bligh, “A Note on Huios Theou in Mark 15.39,” Expository Times 80 (1968): 51–53; Johnson, “Is Mark 15.39 the Key,” 12–14; Tae Hun Kim, “The Anarthrous υἱὸς θεοῦ in Mark 15,39 and the Roman Imperial Cult,” Biblica 79 (1998): 221–41. 48  Stefan Weinstock, Divus Julius (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 391–92. 49  See, e. g., the letter of the emperor Claudius to the Alexandrians, which dates to 41 ce, in which the deified Augustus is referred to as (ὁ) θεὸς Σεβαστός, “(the) god Augustus”: the papyrus was published by H. I. Bell in 1912; the Greek text and an ET are given in John L. White, Light from Ancient Letters (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 131–37, no. 88; the citation is from line 59. 50 Winestock, Divus Julius, 399; see also the bronze coin of Philippi, dated tentatively to 2 bce, which contains on the obverse the legend “Aug. Divi f. Divo Iul(io)”; Weinstock, Divus Julius, pl. 29, coin no. 12. See also Harold Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum, vol. 1: Augustus to Vitellius (London: British Museum, 1923), mint of Ephesus: nos. 691–693 (p. 112). An inscription from Acanthus in Macedonia is dedicated to Augustus [αὐτοκράτορι Καίσ]α[ρι θ]εῶι θεοῦ [υἱῶι] Σεβαστῷ (“to the emperor Caesar, god, son of god, Augustus”); Victor Ehrenberg and A. H. M. Jones, Documents Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1955), no. 108 (p. 91); compare no. 115 (p. 93). The original form of the latter uses the same language as no. 108 and was dedicated to Augustus between 9 bce and 2 ce; it was reinscribed using the same epithets and dedicated to Tiberius between 19 and 23 ce. The latter inscriptions come from Cyprus. Tiberius is also designated υἱὸς θεοῦ (“son of god”) on another inscription from Cyprus dating to 29 ce; Ehrenberg and Jones, Documents, no. 134 (p. 96). In the great inscription of Octavian found at Rhosus, he is designated [Αὐτοκρά]τωρ Καῖσαρ, θεοῦ Ἰουλίου υἱός (“Emperor Caesar, son of the deified Julius”); Louis Jalabert and René Mouterde, Inscriptions grecques et latines de la Syrie, vol. 3.1: Région de l’Amanus, Antioche, Bibliothèque Archéologique et Historique 46 (Paris: Geuthner, 1950), no. 718, line 1 (p. 396). He is also designated simply as θεοῦ υἱός (“son of god”) in lines 73 and 85 (Jalabert and Mouterde, Inscriptions, 399, 400). 51  W. H. Buckler, “Auguste, Zeus Patroos,” Rev Phil 9 (1935): 117–88; here 179. 45

46 See

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his official title was longer, but it continued to begin with the names just cited.52 While Tiberius was emperor, his adopted son Germanicus, at the time consul and commander over all the eastern provinces, referred to himself in an edict as Σεβαστοῦ υἱὸς θεοῦ Σεβαστοῦ υἱωνός (“son of the god Augustus [Tiberius] and grandson of Augustus”).53 The earliest documented title of the high priest of the imperial cult in the Roman province of Asia is ὁ ἀρχιερεὺς θεᾶς Ῥώμης καὶ Αὐτοκράτορος Καίσαρος θεοῦ υἱοῦ Σεβαστοῦ “high priest of the goddess Roma and of Emperor Caesar Augustus son of god”).54 It is clear from a bilingual inscription from Alexandria dated to 10 or 11 ce that θεοῦ υἱός (“god’s son” or “a son of a god”) is a translation of the Latin divi filius.55 But this does not mean that the Greek phrase was limited to the denotation of the Latin expression and to its usage in Rome and the West. Rather, as Simon Price has shown, the phrase θεοῦ υἱός as an epithet of the emperor must be understood in a Greek cultural framework. The fact that the living emperor could be called θεός already indicates a profound difference between the Latin and the Greek cultural contexts. Divus could be applied only to a dead emperor, and thus θεός, when applied to the living emperor, cannot be a translation of divus.56 The epithet θεός was added to the name of the emperor, and on its own it could refer to a specific emperor. Both practices also occur in contemporary usage with regard to the traditional gods. Calling the emperor θεός was accompanied by other linguistic practices: he was assimilated to particular named deities; he, like the traditional deities, was sometimes described as ἐπιφανής (“distinguished”) and ἐπιφανέστατος τῶν θεῶν (“the most distinguished of the gods”); and a whole system of cults was devised to show εὐσέβεια (“reverence” or “piety”) toward the emperors.57 52  Buckler, “Auguste, Zeus Patroos,” 179–80. After the death of Augustus, his official name was θεὸς Σεβαστὸς Καῖσαρ Ζεύς Πατρῷος αὐτοκράτωρ καὶ ἀρχιερεὺς μέγιστος πάτηρ τῆς πατρίδος καὶ τοῦ σύμπαντος τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένους (“God Augustus Caesar Zeus Patroos, emperor and high priest, greatest father of the fatherland and of the entire race of human beings”); Buckler, Auguste, Zeus Patoos, 180–87. 53  Ehrenberg and Jones, Documents, no. 320 (b) line 31 (p. 147). Tiberius himself was named divi filius on coins from Rome: Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire, nos. 65–94 (pp. 128– 33); and on coins minted in Commagene: Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire, nos. 174–176 (pp. 144–45). 54  This title is documented for the period from 5 to 3 bce; Buckler, “Auguste, Zeus Patroos,” 179. Compare S. R. F.  Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 76. In the period from 2 bce until 14 ce, the title of the high priest was longer, but it still began with these names: Buckler, “Auguste, Zeus Patroos,” 180. 55  See Franz Josef Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ: Das Fischsymbol in frühchristlicher Zeit, vol. 1: religionsgeschichtliche und epigraphische Untersuchungen, RQSup (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder; Rome: Spithöver, 1910), 391. 56 S. R. F. Price, “Gods and Emperors: The Greek Language of the Roman Imperial Cult,” JHS 104 (1984): 79–95; here 79. 57  Price, Gods and Emperors,” 93.

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The acclamation of the centurion in Mark is ambiguous. It may be understood as a definite reference to the Son of God, as Colwell argued. But for those familiar with the terminology of the imperial cult, the lack of the articles makes the acclamation similar to the imperial epithet θεοῦ υἰός. The earliest recoverable reading of Mark’s text has the nouns in the opposite order, υἱὸς θεοῦ; but some manuscripts attest a reading in which the phrase has the same form as the imperial title: θεοῦ υἰός.58 Those members of the audience of Mark conversant with the imperial cult would understand that the centurion recognized Jesus as ruler of the known world, like the emperor.59 I cannot agree with Johnson that the statement of the centurion is ironic in the same sense as the statements of the chief priests, scribes, and those who think that Jesus is calling Elijah.60 That the remarks of the priests and scribes are ironic in the sense of mocking is clearly signaled by the participle ἐμπαίζοντες in 15:31; the comments of those who think that Jesus is calling Elijah are clearly noted as based on a misunderstanding of what Jesus has said. The statement of the centurion, however, has no marker indicating mocking or misunderstanding. On the contrary, it follows immediately upon the portent of the tearing of the veil of the temple. In both the Jewish reading and the Greek and Roman reading of the centurion’s statement, another type of irony is deeply felt. The king of Israel, the ruler of the world, is what appears to be an ordinary man who has died a shameful and horrifying death on a cross. Yet the portents mitigate the irony by manifesting a divine response to this death. In addition to the reasons given in the opening paragraph of this essay, Bousset thought it unlikely that the title “Son of God” originated in the earliest community of the followers of Jesus in Palestine because this title was not attested in the contemporary Jewish literature known at the time. As I have pointed out elsewhere, the title “Son of God” applied to the expected messiah of Israel now seems to be attested in the Dead Sea Scrolls.61 The usage at Qumran, however, does not seem to imply that this messiah is pre-existent or divine. The summary of the gospel given by Paul at the beginning of Romans may be a clue to the process by which divinity was attributed to Jesus by those who believed him to be the messiah. Paul says that he was descended from David according to the 58  The introduction of the reading θεοῦ υἰός may be explained in either of two ways: it could be influenced by the usage of the imperial cult or it could be due to the use of the acronym ἰχθύς (“fish”) for Ἰησοῦς Χριστός Θεοῦ Υἰὸς Σωτήρ (“Jesus Christ God’s Son Savior”); see Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ: Das Fischsymbol in frühchristlicher Zeit, 1.403–5. 59 With regard to the question of verisimilitude, it seems to be sufficient for the author of Mark to link this insight with the portents surrounding the death of Jesus. The author is not concerned with the centurion as a character in the narrative, and thus the fact that he is not portrayed as joining the group of disciples is irrelevant. The acclamation of the centurion is meant to affect the audience; for this purpose a high degree of verisimilitude is unnecessary. 60  Johnson, “Is Mark 15.39 the Key,” 16. 61  Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” 403–4.

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flesh and designated Son of God in power according to a spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead.62 This suggests that the idea that Jesus had been raised from the dead and exalted into heaven was closely associated with the idea that he was “Son of God” in a divine sense. This idea in turn is linked to new exegeses of Psalm 110 and Daniel 7. It is clear, however, from the hymn or poem in Philippians 2 that the idea of Jesus’s pre-existence is also very early. This idea may also be linked to an exegesis of Psalm 110. The plot or Gestalt of the poem in Philippians 2 taken as a whole expresses a strikingly novel perspective in the context of the history of religions. It involves a heavenly being undergoing a transformation into human form, dying, and being exalted to heaven. No ancient text, Jewish, Greek, or Roman, either contemporary with or older than Philippians, contains this pattern as a whole. Certain features of the poem have analogies in Jewish tradition, but, as I have argued elsewhere, more complete and illuminating analogies are to be found in Greek and Roman traditions.63 The poem ends with all creatures worshipping the heavenly figure who has been degraded and then exalted. Certain Jewish texts, mainly Daniel and the Similitudes of Enoch, indicate that the eschatological agent of God will receive obeisance, which may be understood as worship of a sort. But the most striking parallel is the worship of the emperor, a human being who is also portrayed as the junior partner and executive agent of the highest god. Hengel was surely right to point out the difference between the many sons of Zeus and the distinctive, if not exclusive, divine sonship of Jesus from the point of view of many of his followers. When one considers, however, that some Greeks were especially devoted to Asclepius and others to Dionysos, and that in some cultural contexts Heracles played the dominant role, the difference lessens. Hengel’s argument that the usage of the title θεοῦ υἱός in the official, state religion had no serious influence on the conceptuality of the earliest Christianity is based on an outdated view of the imperial cult. He cites with approval Fritz Taeger, who argued that θεοῦ υἱός in the imperial cult should not be compared with the Hellenistic and early Christian idea of the son of god.64 Taeger’s reasoning was that the Hellenistic and early Christian notions of divine sonship were mythical, whereas the Roman imperial concept of the divi filius was strictly judicial and rationalistic, inasmuch as it rested upon a private legal act of adoption. He also assumed that the significance of the Greek translation and usage were determined by Greek cultural traditions and contexts, not by the political constraints 62 Rom

1:3–4. Yarbro Collins, “The Worship of Jesus and the Imperial Cult,” in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus, eds. Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis, JSNTSup 63 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 234–57. 64  Hengel, Cross of God, 28 n. 57; Fritz Taeger, Charisma: Studien zur Geschichte des antiken Herrscherkultes, 2 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1957, 1960), 2.98. 63 Adela

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and specific cultural traditions of the city of Rome. Taeger himself documents how Augustus was soon transformed from the Roman princeps to a Hellenistic god-king by Asclepias of Mendes.65 Hengel also cites Stephan Lösch, who in turn cited with approval earlier scholars who had argued that the imperial cult was political and not religious.66 It is thus ironic that Price concludes, following Hengel, that “the pagan use of ‘son of god’ probably has no bearing on early Christian usage.”67 He thereby adopts a conclusion based on a view of the imperial cult that he himself was in the process of demolishing. Bousset was similarly restrained in his assessment of the impact of the imperial cult on early Christianity. He stated that he did not wish to interpret Paul’s use of the title “Son of God” in terms of the imperial formula divi filius and its Greek equivalent θεοῦ υἱός, because the imperial cult was not as prominent in Paul’s time as it was later and because the imperial titles had a very concrete and limited meaning.68 He based his opinion on Franz Dölger’s study ΙΧΘΥΣ: Das Fischsymbol in frühchristlicher Zeit. Dölger recognized that the description of the emperor as θεός in the Greek-speaking part of the empire was a serious and sincere expression of religious feeling.69 He also rightly recognized that the ancient conception of “god” was different from the modern Christian understanding.70 But from these observations he drew the unwarranted conclusion that the description of the emperor as θεός significantly devalued the ancient Greek conception of god and that therefore the concept of the son of god (θεοῦ υἱός) became quite shallow. The former polytheist, upon becoming Christian, he argued, would perceive no contradiction between the designation of the emperor as son of god and the much deeper confession of Christ as the Son of God.71 Dölger argued that there were three senses in early Christianity in which Jesus was understood to be the Son of God: in the sense of the Messiah; in the sense according to which Jesus became human, born of the power of God without the cooperation of a man; and in the sense of the primordial emanation of the Logos from the Father. He concluded that the designation of the emperor as son of god had so little significance that it could not have evoked the affirmation of Jesus as Son of God in opposition to it.72 Related to this argument is Dölger’s observation that none of the early Christian apologists objects to the designation

65 Taeger,

Charisma, 2.211.  Stephan Lösch, Deitas Jesu und Antike Apotheose: Ein Beitrag zur Exegese und Religionsgeschichte, (Rottenburg am Neckar: Adolf Bader, 1933), 66. 67  Price, “Gods and Emperors,” 85 n. 54. 68 Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 151–52 n. 3. 69  Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ: Das Fischsymbol in frühchristlicher Zeit, 1.394–95. 70  Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ, 1.395–96. 71  Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ, 1.395–96. 72  Dölger, ΙΧΘΥΣ, 1.397–99. 66

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of the emperor as “son of god,” whereas they do object to his identification as κύριος (“Lord”).73 There are two problems with Dölger’s argument. One is that the designation of the emperor as “god” or “son of god” in the eastern part of the Roman Empire did not degrade the concept of god so much as serve to recognize the analogous status of the emperor. There were of course critics of the imperial cult, but there were critics of the traditional worship of the gods also. The two issues are separate. The other problem is that Dölger evaluated the relevance of the imperial cult to the interpretation of Jesus from a late and harmonizing perspective. It is true that the Gospel of John, especially the prologue, goes beyond the ideology of the imperial cult, at least in its detailed and explicit claims, if not in its general implications. But the other two understandings of Jesus as Son of God mentioned by Dölger certainly have their counterparts in imperial ideology. The messiah is a ruler, like the emperor, and the virginal conception of Jesus has its counterpart in legends about the conception of Augustus. It seems likely that the apologists did not object to the designation of the emperor as son of god because that epithet could be applied to any virtuous human being, both in Jewish and Greek tradition. The nature of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark is ambiguous. The transfiguration could well have evoked the conclusion that he walked the earth as a pre-existent heavenly being or deity who revealed his divine glory on that occasion. But there is no explicit attribution of pre-existence and no mention of a virginal conception in Mark. Jesus is portrayed as Son of God in a narrative manner, by recounting his mighty deeds, his authoritative teaching, his prophecy, and his death for the benefit of others. The members of the audience educated in Greek and Roman traditions would associate the elements of this portrayal with their traditions regarding divine men: workers of miracles, philosophers and other wise men, inspired diviners, and benefactors, especially Heracles, who labored for the benefit of humankind and died a noble death.74 Those who still remembered that Augustus was known throughout the empire as “son of god,” or who could read the remaining inscriptions in which he and some of his successors were given that title, would also associate this portrayal with the imperial cult.75 The acclamation of the centurion especially would evoke a comparison of the emperor with Jesus and suggest that Jesus is one whom the highest power has established as the ruler of the world. 73 Dölger,

ΙΧΘΥΣ, 1.396. Braun, “Der Sinn der neutestamentlichen Christologie,” ZTK 54 (1957): 341–77; reprinted in his Gesammelte Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt, 2nd rev. ed. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1967), 243–82; Hans Dieter Betz, “Gottmensch II,” RAC 12 (1982), 234–312. 75 For the evidence from Egypt, see Paul Bureth, Les titulatures impériales dans les papyrus, les ostraca et les inscriptions de l’ Égypte (30 a.C.–284 p. C.), Papyrologica Bruxellensia 2 (Bruxelles: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1964). 74 Herbert

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In spite of the criticisms of his position that I have reviewed, without mentioning his name until now, Adolf Deissmann was correct in his assessment of the description of Jesus as the Son of God. Although the title has a Jewish origin and at first expressed the conviction that Jesus was the messiah, “gentile Christians” in Asia Minor, Rome, and Alexandria must have understood the expression in terms of their own cultural contexts and traditions. The gospel was understood differently in Corinth than in Jerusalem, and differently again in Egypt than in Ephesus. In the history of Christianity we see after one another and beside one another, a Jewish, a Roman, a Greek, a German, and, we might add, an American form of Christianity.76 And today we would go further to say that there are actually many forms of each of these, as well as many other types of Christianity.

76 Adolf Deissmann, Bibelstudien: Beiträge, zumeist aus den Papyri und Inschriften, zur Geschichte der Sprache, des Schrifttums und der Religion des hellenistischen Judentums und des Urchristentums (Marburg: Elwert, 1895), 166–68.

Jesus’s Action in Herod’s Temple In his article entitled “Jesus and the Purity of the Temple (Mark 11:15–18),” Hans Dieter Betz approached the story of Jesus’s action on the Temple Mount in an illuminating way by placing it in the wider context of temples and sacrifices in the larger Hellenistic and Roman world.1 He also astutely identified the problem that awakened Jesus’s protest: “that the merchants and the bankers had moved inside the sacred precinct to conduct their business.”2 He argued persuasively that Jesus was not opposed to the temple itself but to what had become of it under Herodian rule.3 In this study I intend to build upon these last two insights and to offer further clarification of what had become of the temple under Herod and why Jesus objected to that state of affairs. Before reflecting in some detail on the intention of Jesus in carrying out the actions on the Temple Mount described in the four canonical Gospels, I must consider whether these accounts are based on events in the life of the historical Jesus.4 One could argue that the story was created after the death of Jesus in order to present him as a reformer of sacred places and rituals. Such activity was attributed to kings and prophets in Israelite tradition and to holy men in Greek and Roman traditions.5 But the obscurity of the accounts calls this theory into question. If the originating story were of this type, one would expect the abuses being corrected to be explained more clearly. One could argue instead that the original significance of the story was the portrayal of Jesus as initiating the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy that all nations would worship in the temple of Jerusalem. The omission of the phrase “for all the nations” in Matthew and Luke creates a problem for this theory. It could be that both of these evangelists omitted the phrase because the temple had been destroyed before the prophecy could be fulfilled. But one must take into account the possibility that the copies of Mark used by the authors of Matthew and 1  Hans Dieter Betz, “Jesus and the Purity of the Temple (Mark 11:15–18): A Comparative Religion Approach,” JBL 116 (1997): 455–72. 2  Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 461. 3 Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 469. 4 The parallels to Mark 11:15–18 are Matt 21:12–17; Luke 19:45–48; John 2:13–22; see the discussion in Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 457–59. 5 For example, Josiah (2 Kgs 23:4, 6–7, 11–12), Jeremiah, Ezekiel; for further Israelite and Jewish examples and discussion, see Richard H. Hiers, “Purification of the Temple: Preparation for the Kingdom of God,” JBL 90 (1971): 82–90; here 86. For a Greco-Roman example, see Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 4.40–41.

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Luke lacked the phrase and that it is a later gloss.6 The later evangelists could have retained the saying and interpreted the temple metaphorically as the community of the followers of Jesus. A more serious problem for this theory is that the narrative description of Jesus’s actions does not emphasize the gentiles or their relation to the temple.7 This point is especially telling when one recalls that the outer courtyard was not called “the court of the gentiles” in the time of Jesus and the evangelists. Another type of argument against historicity holds that the author of Mark wished to make the point that there was a decisive incompatibility between two ways of relating to God, one centered on the temple and the other on Jesus. The evangelist accomplished this goal by working out a narrative sequence expressing conflict between Jesus and the temple system. The action of Jesus on the Temple Mount begins this sequence by subtly combining the motif of cleansing with a symbolic indication of the end of the temple service.8 A major problem with this theory is that Jesus’s actions do not clearly imply the end of the temple service. The wording of Mark’s account places emphasis on Jesus driving out those who were selling and buying on the Temple Mount. The point is not that Jesus wished to put an end to the selling and buying in an absolute sense, but only that this activity should not take place on the Temple Mount. Matthew’s wording is similar to Mark’s, and Luke emphasizes the verb “drive out.” John’s wording is similar, “He found on the Temple Mount those selling cattle and sheep etc.”9 The author of Mark was able to integrate this account into his development of the theme of the temple, but it seems unlikely that it was composed for that purpose. A narrative detail in Mark suggests that the tradition is very old and probably goes back to the historical Jesus, namely, that Jesus did not permit anyone to carry a σκεῦος through the Temple Mount. It is difficult to determine precisely how this word should be translated and to what it refers. The basic meaning of σκεῦος is “vessel or implement of any kind,”10 that is, a container or a tool of some sort. The plural has the collective sense of property, household goods, or equipment. The word thus has a great range of meaning in both singular and plural, and the specific meaning in any given case is determined by the context. Here the context is the Temple Mount, which is not further specified. The proximity of the temple proper calls to mind τὰ ἅγια σκεύη τῆς λειτουγίας, the  Hiers, “Purification of the Temple,” 89.  Jürgen Roloff, Das Kerygma und der irdische Jesus: Historische Motive in den Jesus-Erzählungen der Evangelien (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970), 98–99; Richard Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” in Law and Religion: Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity, ed. Barnabas Lindars (Cambridge: James Clarke, 1988), 72–89, 171–77; here 85.  8  David Seeley, “Jesus’ Temple Act,” CBQ 55 (1993): 263–83; here 276–79.  9  Mark 11:15; Matt 21:12; Luke 19:45; John 2:14–15. 10  LSJ, s. v. σκεῦος.  6  7

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vessels and utensils associated with the sacrificial cult.11 The point seems to be that Jesus taught that it was improper to carry an ordinary, that is, a profane container or implement from outside the Temple Mount, through the temple area and out again. There seem to be two main implications: first, the whole area of the Temple Mount is sacred and thus only sacred vessels and implements are allowed there;12 second, it is not proper to take a short-cut through the Temple Mount while carrying a profane vessel or tool.13 The saying clearly concerns the holiness of the Temple Mount, and possibly ritual purity, a theme of little concern to the author of Mark.14 The concern for holiness or ritual purity expressed in Mark’s version of the account, the earliest of the four versions; the rather opaque character of the action of Jesus and its significance; and the likelihood that there were two independent traditions of Jesus’s action on the Temple Mount suggest that these accounts are based on an event in the life of the historical Jesus.15 The original meaning of this event, however, was overlaid by subsequent reinterpretations. It is important also to keep in mind the literary form of the parallel accounts. It may be defined as a mixed chreia, that is, a concise reminiscence that involves both a striking action and a telling saying.16 The concise nature of the form and its rhetorical purpose indicate that it is far removed from a detailed historical report. Thus, much information that we would like to know is omitted, and what is said should not be read as if it were an accurate historical report. Although they may reflect to some degree the intentions of Jesus, the interpretive sayings have been colored by

11  4 Baruch (Paralip. Jer.) 3:9; compare Heb 9:21; Josephus, J. W. 6.388–389; see also Exod 27:3; 30:27–28; 3 Kgdms 8:4; Isa 52:11; Jer 52:18; Ezek 40:42; 2 Esdr 7:19; Eupolemus (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 34.14–15). 12 Josephus states that ordinary food and drink are not permitted in the temple (Ap. 2.108– 109). He also says that no vessel whatever may be carried into the temple; here he refers to the temple proper, the holy place, and must mean no ordinary vessel (Ap. 2.106). 13 Joseph Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times and Teaching, trans. from Hebrew by Herbert Danby (New York: Macmillan, 1925; Hebrew 1922), 315; Gustaf Dalman, Orte und Wege Jesu, BFCT, 2nd series, Sammlung Wissenschaftlicher Monographien 1, 3rd ed. (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1924), 309; contra Joachim Jeremias, “Zwei Miszellen: 1. Antik-jüdische Münzdeutungen. 2. Zur Geschichtlichkeit der Tempelreinigung,” NTS 23 (1977): 177–80 and E. P.  Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 364 n. 1. 14  Contrast Mark 7:1–23, esp. v. 19b. 15  To some degree, the account in John may be explained as a re-writing of the parallel passage in Mark; see Seeley, “Jesus’ Temple Act,” 272–73. But the fact that the Johannine version differs with regard to what happened (oxen and sheep are included), in vocabulary (κερματιστής), and in the nature of the explanatory saying attributed to Jesus (no allusions to Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11) suggests that the author of John also knew a version of the story independent of Mark. 16  Hermogenes, Aphthonius, and Nicolaus defined a mixed chreia in this way; see Ronald F. Hock and Edward N. O’Neil, The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric, vol. 1, The Progymnasmata, SBLTT 27, Graeco-Roman Religion Series 9 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 23–24, 28.

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the later concerns of the evangelists. For this reason, I shall focus on the actions rather than the sayings. Scholars who agree that these accounts are based on a historical event differ about its significance. At least since the end of the nineteenth century, a widespread view has been that the action was a “cleansing,” and the profanation that needed to be cleansed was the activity of trade itself. For example, Ezra Gould argued that the action of Jesus implies that “trade as such desecrates the Temple, making its precincts and sacrifices the place and occasion of personal gain … It is the principle of trade to pursue the personal advantage alone, and leave the other man to pursue his interests, in other words, competition, which makes trade robbery.”17 This view has been refuted by Israel Abrahams and E. P. Sanders.18 It rests more upon modern views of “external” and “internal” forms of religion and of the “real purpose” of the temple than upon first century Jewish views. Another interpretation that has been advocated from time to time is that Jesus’s action had a political purpose. In his Apology for the Rational Worshippers of God, partially published posthumously from 1774 to 1778, Hermann Samuel Reimarus argued that Jesus, after making a public entry and allowing royal honors to be done to him, laid aside his gentleness and began a disturbance, committing acts of violence, like one who suddenly considers himself possessed of worldly power.19 Other scholars, most notably S. G. F. Brandon, have argued similarly, that Jesus organized a military action of a political revolutionary character and forcibly seized control of the temple.20 Such readings are based on the unwarranted inference that Jesus could not have accomplished what the accounts describe by himself and that the expression “he did not permit” implies that he and his followers had control of the temple. Such language, however, may refer simply to his teaching, the laying down of a principle, and not imply its enforcement. 17  Ezra P. Gould, Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Mark, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1896; reprinted 1983), 213. See also Dennis E. Nineham, The Gospel of St. Mark, Pelican Gospel Commentaries (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1963), 301; J. Duncan M. Derrett, “The Zeal of the House and the Cleansing of the Temple,” Downside Review 95 (1977): 79–94; here 82. 18  I. Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, Library of Biblical Studies, 1st Series (New York: Ktav, 1917; reprinted 1967), 85–89; Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, 61–68. 19  Hermann Samuel Reimarus, Reimarus: Fragments, ed. Charles H. Talbert; trans. Ralph S. Fraser, Lives of Jesus Series (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970; reprinted Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), 146 (Part 2, section 7). 20  See the discussion in Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 456 n. 4, and in W. D. Davies, The Gospel and the Land: Early Christianity and Jewish Territorial Doctrine (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 349 n. 45. Bruce Chilton agreed with Brandon that Jesus and his followers actually occupied the temple, but argued that the purpose was to enact prophetic purity in the face of a commercial innovation, not to establish himself as the messianic king: The Temple of Jesus: His Sacrificial Program within a Cultural History of Sacrifice (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992), 100–11, 136.

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The likelihood that Jesus did not attempt to take control of the temple by force has led a number of scholars to interpret his action as a symbolic demonstration.21 Rejecting the principal proposal of this type, that the action symbolized the inclusion of gentiles, E. P. Sanders argued rather that it symbolized the destruction of the temple, suggesting that “overturning” is a self-evident symbol of destruction. He explained that Jesus could attack the temple service ordained by God only if destruction looks toward restoration.22 Sanders’s way of proceeding was to use the sayings about the destruction of the temple to complement and interpret the action in the temple.23 His argument depends on the hypothesis that the historical Jesus either threatened or predicted the destruction of the temple and its rebuilding after three days. Sanders goes on to say that, if Jesus did so, he was predicting the imminent appearance of the judgment and the new age.24 He argued that the threat of destruction appears in too many layers of the Synoptic tradition and coheres too well with the action of Jesus in the temple to be denied to Jesus.25 A major problem with Sanders’s thesis is that the saying about destroying this temple and building another in three days probably does not go back to the historical Jesus. It is more likely the creation of a follower of Jesus who understood the community of those loyal to him as a metaphorical temple. Without this saying, the element of the restoration of the temple is missing in the teaching of Jesus. Further, John Donahue has argued that Mark was the first to join two originally separate, pre-Markan traditions, namely, a prophetic saying about the destruction of the temple and the idea that the community of followers of Jesus is a metaphorical temple; the combined saying pictures Jesus in opposition to the Jerusalem temple and as founder of the new community.26 A number of scholars have suggested that Jesus’s action had primarily an economic motivation. Richard Horsley’s interpretation combines the economic and the symbolic reading, arguing that “The Temple was clearly the basis of an economic system in which the agricultural producers supported the priests, particularly the priestly aristocracy who administered the system and were its chief beneficiaries.”27 As “the basis of a whole political-economic-religious 21  In spite of his initially political reading, Brandon came to this view; see Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 349 n. 45. Others who take this view include Roloff, Das Kerygma, 95; A. D. Harvey, Jesus and the Constraints of History (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982), 134. 22  Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, 69–71. 23  Mark 13:2/Matt 24:2/Luke 21:6; Mark 14:58/Matt 26:60–61; Mark 15:29–30/Matt 27:39– 40; John 2:19. 24 Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, 71–73. 25  Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, 365 n. 5. 26  John Donahue, Are You the Christ?: The Trial Narrative in the Gospel of Mark, SBLDS 10 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1973), 136. 27  Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence: Popular Jewish Resistance in Roman Palestine (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), 286.

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system headed by the priestly aristocracy,” the temple was “an instrument of imperial legitimation and control of a subjected people.”28 This perspective on the temple is indebted to modern social and economic theories and does not reflect how ancient Jews viewed the temple. Putting aside with some reluctance the hypothesis that Jesus was attempting a direct takeover of the religious-politicaleconomic center of society, Horsley concludes that Jesus’s action was “a minimally violent prophetic demonstration symbolizing an imminent action by God,” that is, “a demonstration symbolizing destruction and directed against the high-priestly establishment” and “a prophetic act symbolizing God’s imminent judgmental destruction, not just of the building, but of the temple system.”29 A serious problem with Horsley’s conclusion is that, if Jesus did not share Horsley’s critical analysis of the temple system, there is little reason to think that he would have expected God’s judgment upon it. Richard Bauckham has interpreted Jesus’s action in light of the story about Jesus and the temple-tax in Matthew 17 and concluded that Jesus overturned the tables of the money-changers because he was opposed to the very principle of theocratic taxation. Jesus taught that God does not lay financial burdens on his people, but provides for their needs as a father does for his children. Since Jesus did not intend that the temple should fall into ruin and its services cease, he approved of voluntary giving.30 Bauckham argued that Jesus’s overturning the chairs of those selling doves also had an economic motivation. He concluded that the administrators of the temple-treasury had a monopoly in the sale of doves for sacrifice, that is, the rearing and sale of doves for the temple took place entirely under the auspices of the officer “over the bird-offerings.” Jesus rejected this system because doves were the sacrifices of the poor, yet the temple’s monopoly operated to keep the price high. The special scandal of the temple’s trade in doves was that the laws specifically intended to make worship possible for the poor were being so applied as to make them a financial burden on the poor.31 The most basic problem with Bauckham’s theory that Jesus was opposed in principle to theocratic taxation is that the story in Matthew is unlikely to be historical. It was probably composed after the destruction of the temple and was addressed to an audience struggling with the question whether to pay the templetax then being collected by Roman officials for the benefit of Rome rather than Jerusalem. The argument that it was the high price of the doves that led to Jesus’s overturning the chairs of the sellers is not convincing. Bauckham claims that the administrators of the temple were able to gain a monopoly over the sale of doves because halakic requirements regarding the fitness of birds had been made so  Horsley, Spiral of Violence, 287.  Horsley, Spiral of Violence, 299–300. 30  Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 73–76. 31  Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 76–77. 28 29

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stringent that the monopoly was the only way of ensuring that ritually acceptable birds were available to the public. The regulations regarding fitness were not so stringent, and it is more likely that the officer “over the bird-offerings” was charged with the management of the birds after they had been certified as fit for sacrifice rather than before. Furthermore, the treasurers supplied doves to the temple mainly for the convenience of pilgrims.32 Bauckham also cites the following story as evidence for the exorbitant price of doves: Once in Jerusalem a pair of doves cost a golden denar [twenty-five silver denars]. Rabban Simeon b. Gamaliel said: By this Temple! I will not suffer the night to pass by before they cost but a [silver] denar. He went into the court and taught: If a woman suffered five miscarriages that were not in doubt or five issues that were not in doubt, she need bring but one offering, and she may then eat of the animal-offerings; and she is not bound to offer the other offerings. And the same day the price of a pair of doves stood at a quarter-denar each.33

As Bauckham himself points out, however, this Simeon was a contemporary of Josephus and flourished during the Jewish revolt.34 Apart from the question of the reliability of the story, its late date means that it cannot be used to illuminate the time of Jesus. Besides arguing that Jesus was concerned for the poor, Bauckham also revived the view that, according to Jesus, the commercial and financial activities of the temple distorted its real purpose as a place of worship. Even though he concluded that Jesus’s protest was primarily against commercialism rather than corruption, he assembled evidence for the belief that the priestly aristocracy supported a conspicuously expensive lifestyle by corruption and violence.35 The parade example is a passage from the Babylonian Talmud: Woe is me because of the house of Boethus; woe is me because of their staves! Woe is me because of the house of Hanin, woe is me because of their whisperings! Woe is me because of the house of Kathros, woe is me because of their pens! Woe is me because of the house of Ishmael the son of Phabi, woe is me because of their fists! For they are High Priests and 32  On the requirements regarding fitness of doves and pigeons, see m. Hullin 1:5. On the officer over the bird-offerings, see m. Sheqalim 5:1 and m. Qinnim. On the provision of doves for pilgrims, see S. Safrai, “The Temple,” in The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern, 2 vols., CRINT 1 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974 and 1976), 2. 865–907; here 881. 33  m. Kerithot 1:7 (trans. Danby); cited by Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 77. 34  Josephus, Vita 189–194. 35  Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 79–81. Craig A. Evans has argued similarly: “Jesus’ Action in the Temple: Cleansing or Portent of Destruction?” CBQ 51 (1989): 237–70. Evans defends the view that Jesus’s action was a “cleansing.” John R. Donahue defines the incident as “Jesus’ prophetic protest against the mercantile activity in the temple”: “From Crucified Messiah to Risen Christ: The Trial of Jesus Revisited,” in Jews and Christians Speak about Jesus, ed. Arthur E. Zannoni (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 93–121, 172–79; quotation from 109.

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their sons are [temple] treasurers and their sons-in-law are trustees [temple overseers] and their servants beat the people with staves.36

Bauckham argued that the lament refers to the activities of the four families that supplied most of the high priests from 6 bce to 60 ce.37 Against Israel Abrahams and Duncan Derrett, he claimed that the implied corruption and violence of these families extended throughout this whole period and did not apply only to the time after the life of Jesus.38 As other scholars have done, Bauckham identified the Hanin mentioned in the lament with the high priest called Annas in the New Testament and Ananus by Josephus. He was High Priest from 6 to 15 ce, and he had five sons who also held this office.39 It is more likely, however, that the reference is to Ananias son of Nedebaeus.40 He was high priest from 47 to 59 ce but, as a result of his wealth, he remained an influential man until his death at the hands of the revolutionaries in 66.41 He is mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud, under the name Johanan the son of Narbai, in the same context as the lament just cited: The Temple Court also cried out: “Lift up your heads, O ye gates,” and let Johanan the son of Narbai, the disciple of Pinkai [the gourmand?] enter and fill his stomach with the Divine sacrifices. It was said of Johanan b. Narbai that he ate three hundred calves and drank three hundred barrels of wine and ate forty se’ah of young birds as a dessert for his meal. It was said: As long as Johanan the son of Narbai lived, nothar [sacrifices that must not be left after the time prescribed for consuming them] was never found in the temple.42

This passage suggests that, in spite of his wealth, Ananias was unpopular in some circles because of his greed. Furthermore, a passage in Josephus attrib36 b. Pesahim 57a; trans. H. Freedman in The Babylonian Talmud: Seder Mo’ed: Pesahim, ed.

I. Epstein (New York: Traditional Press, n.d.); Bauckham cites the translation from Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus; Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 79. 37 Compare Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c.– a.d. 135), vol. 2, rev. and ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, and Matthew Black (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1979), 227–34. 38  Bauckham, “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple,” 79–80, 173 n. 46. 39  Ananus or Annas son of Sethi (6–15 ce; appointed by Quirinius); see Josephus, Ant. 18.26; 2.34; compare 20.197; J. W. 5.506; Luke 3:2; John 18:13–24; Acts 4:6; see also Schürer, The History of the Jewish People, 2.230. 40  Ananias son of Nedebaeus (c. 47–59 ce; appointed by Herod of Chalcis); see Josephus, Ant. 20.103; compare 20.131; J. W. 2.243; Acts 23:2; 24:1; see also Schürer, The History of the Jewish People, 2.231. 41  Michael Owen Wise, “The Life and Times of Ananias bar Nedebaeus and His Family,” in Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language and Literature of Second Temple Palestine, JSPSup 15 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 51–102; Richard A. Horsley, “High Priests and the Politics of Roman Palestine: A Contextual Analysis of the Evidence in Josephus,” JSJ 17 (1986): 23–55, here 44–47. 42 b. Pesahim 57a; trans. H. Freedman in The Babylonian Talmud, ed. Epstein; see also Josephus, Ant. 20.103 and Louis Feldman’s note on Ananias to his translation of this passage in the LCL.

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utes activities to Ananias and his house that are very similar to the lament in the Talmud: Now the high priest Ananias daily advanced greatly in reputation and was splendidly rewarded by the goodwill and esteem of the citizens; for he was able to supply them with money; at any rate he daily paid court with gifts to Albinus [the procurator] and the high priest [Jesus son of Damnaeus]. But Ananias had servants who were utter rascals and who, combining operations with the most reckless men, would go to the threshing floors and take by force the tithes of the priests; nor did they refrain from beating those who refused to give. The high priests were guilty of the same practices as his slaves, and no one could stop them. So it happened at that time that those of the priests who in olden days were maintained by the tithes now starved to death.43

These abuses were part of the factional maneuvering among the high priestly families that began, according to Josephus, around 59 ce.44 The conflict among these families as they vied for power was a significant factor in the outbreak and conduct of the revolt. It is likely therefore that the lament from the Talmud refers to the late 50s and to the 60s, not to the time of Jesus.45 The argument that Jesus’s motivation in his action on the Temple Mount was primarily economic or that it concerned social justice is not convincing. A more promising starting point is the hypothesis that the protest of Jesus had something to do with Herod’s remodeling of the Temple Mount.46 Herod’s plan for the Temple Mount should also be contrasted with the opinion of a significant minority regarding its proper layout and function.  Josephus, Ant. 20.205–207.  According to Wise, it began soon after the appointment of Felix as procurator in 52 ce: “The Life and Times,” 59–65. 45 If the Hanin of the lament refers to Annas/Ananus, then the reference to the “house of Hanin” would indicate primarily Jonathan son of Ananus, since he, along with Ananias, was a major player in the factional conflict; see Josephus, J. W. 2.254–256; J. W. 20.162–163; Wise, “The Life and Times,” 65. 46  Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 462–69. It is much more likely that the Sanhedrin moved voluntarily from “the Chamber of Hewn Stones” to the Royal Portico and the vendors of doves from shops outside the Temple Mount to the same portico as a result of Herod’s reconstruction of the Temple than that the High Priest Joseph surnamed Caiaphas expelled the Sanhedrin and permitted vendors of doves and other sacred offerings to set up shop in the temple court by way of punitive competition as Victor Eppstein has argued: “The Historicity of the Gospel Account of the Cleansing of the Temple,” ZNW 55 (1964): 42–58. The Talmudic passages that state that the Sanhedrin moved from the Chamber of Hewn stones to Hanuth forty years before the temple was destroyed (cited by Eppstein, 48 n. 47) probably refer to a change that resulted from Herod’s remodeling program rather than to the alleged action taken by Caiaphas (contra Eppstein); the “forty years” should not be taken as a precise number. Sidney B. Hoenig, however, has argued that the talmudic reading ‫( ארבעים שנים‬forty years) might have been a copyist’s error or perhaps even a discreet change to emphasize the fact that the Jewish Sanhedrin had no participation in Jesus’s trial, in 33 ce; the original reading may have been ‫( ארבע שנים‬four years): The Great Sanhedrin: A Study of the Origin, Development, Composition and Functions of the Bet Din ha-Gadol during the Second Jewish Commonwealth (Philadelphia: Dropsie College; New York: Bloch, 1953), 111. 43 44

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Solomon’s plan for the Temple Mount, according to 1 Kings 6–7, involved a sacred center, the temple itself, and a profane royal and administrative complex. The plan as a whole included three courtyards: the court of the temple; the great court in which the public buildings were located; and the “other court,” that is, a court west of the Hall of the Throne and south of Solomon’s palace. Later a new forecourt of the temple, probably to the east of the original court, was built.47 As with the tabernacle and its court, the whole interior of the First Temple was held to be more sacred than the area of the court. The ideal temple described in the book of Ezekiel, however, is to be entirely separate from the city of Jerusalem and the land of the prince, the ruler of the people. It is placed in the district allotted to the priests.48 The area of the priests is holy, whereas the city is explicitly said to be profane (‫)חל הוא‬.49 Ezekiel’s vision pointedly excludes a royal palace from the Temple Mount.50 The temple-complex of Ezekiel 40–48 has an outer court and an inner court.51 The inner court was to have a higher degree of holiness, and only the sons of Zadok, that is, the priests, were to be allowed to enter it. The common people and the other sons of Levi could enter only the outer court.52 Furthermore, emphatic instructions are given that no foreigner may enter the temple-complex.53 The exclusion of foreigners may imply that the outer court was not to be a civic center, but part of the sanctuary in the strict sense. The Second Temple at first had only one court, like the First Temple. At some point during the third century bce, an outer courtyard was added. It is possible that the plan of Ezekiel inspired this addition. But unlike the design and norms of Ezekiel, the custom in the Second Temple was to allow gentiles to enter the outer courtyard. This arrangement shows that the outer courtyard was not envisioned as cultic space in the strict sense. The Mishnaic tractate Middot, like Ezekiel 40– 48, envisages a temple-complex open to Jews only. As is well known, however, gentiles were allowed to enter the outer courtyard of the Herodian Temple, as was the case with the Second Temple of the third century bce.54 47 2 Chron 20:5. On the courts of Solomon’s temple see Th. A. Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes, vol. 1, Der Tempel Salomos (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 143–49 and Abb. 47 on p. 160. See also Johann Maier, “The Architectural History of the Temple in Jerusalem in the Light of the Temple Scroll,” in Temple Scroll Studies: Papers presented at the International Symposium on the Temple Scroll, Manchester, December 1987, ed. George J. Brooke, JSPSup 7 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 29. 48 Ezek 47:13–48:29; see Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979; Germ. ed. 1969), 517–43. 49  Ezek 48:15. 50  On the tensions between cultic and royal institutions from the time of Solomon down to the Hasmoneans, see Maier, “The Architectural History of the Temple,” 28–33. 51  Ezek 40:17–47. 52  Ezek 40:44–47; 42:1–14; 43:18–27; 44:10–14, 15–31; 46:1–3, 19–20. 53  Ezek 44:5–9. 54  See Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem, 2.834–36.

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The members of the Qumran community believed that they had been commanded by God to build a temple in the final period of history, which they called “the end of days” (‫)אחרית הימים‬. They also referred to this period of time as the “time of refining” (‫)עת המהצרף הבאה‬. They defined this period as a time of separation and affliction for the pious, a time of temptation and suffering in which the community had to stand the test. This final period of history included events that were already past from the point of view of the community, the present time from the point of view of sectarian works from the oldest to the latest, and events of the future, such as the coming of the messiahs.55 The temple to be built in this period is probably the one described in the Temple Scroll.56 Although the composition of the work has been dated at various points from the fifth century bce to the first century ce, the most likely date is the middle of the second century bce.57 Some scholars argue that the work originated in a context that was completely independent of the sect, whereas others see it as a typical sectarian composition. Most persuasive is the hypothesis that it originated in the same priestly circles from which the sect later emerged; that is, it belongs to the formative period of the Qumran community, a time before its crystallization as a sect and withdrawal to the desert.58 As the renewal of the covenant in Exodus 34 is followed by plans for the construction of a sanctuary, the tabernacle, in Exodus 35, so the fragment related to the renewal of the covenant in column 2 of the Temple Scroll is followed by a fragmentary account in column 3 of a plan for the construction of a “house” where God will cause the divine name to dwell.59 The passage extending from 55  A persuasive case is made for these conclusions by A. Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1993): 225–41. 56  Some scholars, for example, Hartmut Stegemann and Jacob Milgrom, have doubted that the community actually intended to build this temple; see Hartmut Stegemann, “The Literary Composition of the Temple Scroll,” in Temple Scroll Studies, ed. Brooke, 144; Milgrom, “The Qumran Cult: Its Exegetical Principles,” in Temple Scroll Studies, ed. Brooke, 177. Other scholars describe the design and norms for the temple in the Temple Scroll as a statement about how the First and Second Temples ought to have been built and administered. The latter point of view is certainly correct. But it is plausible that the community wished such a temple to be built and would have built it, if they had had the authority and the means. Johann Maier argues along these lines, concluding that, although the design is ideal, it is not unrealistic: “The Temple Scroll and Tendencies in the Cultic Architecture of the Second Commonwealth,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8, JSOT/ASOR Monographs 2 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 67–82; here 67–68. 57 Florentino García Martínez, “New Perspectives on the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism, ed. García Martínez and Ed Noort, VTSup 73 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 230–48; here 242–43; Lawrence H. Schiffman dated the work to the second half of the reign of John Hyrcanus, who ruled from 134–104 bce: “Temple Scroll,” ABD 6.348–50. 58  García Martínez, “New Perspectives,” 243–44. 59  See the translation of col. 3 by Johann Maier, The Temple Scroll: An Introduction, Translation, and Commentary, JSOTSup 34 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985; Germ. ed. 1978), 20–21.

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column 3 to column 13 contains a design or norms for the construction of the temple and the altar. Following a section devoted to the festivals and their sacrifices is another architectural portion, a design or norms for the construction of the courtyards and other buildings within the temple-complex as a whole (columns 30–45). The Temple Scroll differs from Ezekiel with regard to the status of Jerusalem. Ezekiel, as noted earlier, declared that the city was to be profane. According to the Temple Scroll, however, God has declared, “The city which I will sanctify, causing my name and [my] sanctuar[y] to abide [in it], shall be holy and pure of all impurity with which they can become impure. Whatever is in it shall be pure. Whatever enters it shall be pure: wine, oil, all food and all moistened (food) shall be clean.”60 Another difference concerns the courtyard(s) of the temple. The Temple Scroll envisages a Temple with three courtyards. Only the priests are to have access to the inner courtyard.61 Apparently only men of Israel over the age of twenty are to have access to the second or middle courtyard.62 The third courtyard is intended for the women of Israel and a certain category of foreigners, probably proselytes.63 The temple is to have a terrace or platform around it, outside the third, outer courtyard, with twelve steps leading up to it. Finally, a ditch or trench, more than seven times wider than the terrace, is to separate the temple-complex from the city so that no one can rush into the sanctuary and defile it. This barrier would sanctify the complex and lead the people to hold it in awe.64 The plan of the Temple Scroll clearly does not allow for the use of the outer courtyard of the temple as a kind of civic center, open to gentiles and Israelites who are ritually impure. On the contrary, only Israelites, including proselytes, in a state of ritual purity are allowed to enter even the outer courtyard of the temple. It is clear then, that the design for the restored temple in Ezekiel and the norms for the ideal temple in the Temple Scroll involve stricter regulations regarding holiness than the ones that were actually in use in the Second Temple period. These two works attest to a minority opinion regarding the use of the outer 60  11Q19 47:3–7; trans. from Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (London: Penguin Press, 1997), 206. 61 This limitation seems to be implied by 11Q19 19:5–6, 32:10–12, and 37:8–14. 62  11Q19 38:12–39:11. 63  11Q19 40:5–6. Busink argued that the third, outer courtyard should be interpreted, not as a courtyard, but as the city of Jerusalem. Its great size, as well as the fact that the middle courtyard has the same measurements as Ezekiel’s outer courtyard, led him to this conclusion. The outer courtyard in Ezekiel is 500 cubits by 500 cubits, whereas the third, outer courtyard of the Temple Scroll is 1600 by 1600 cubits (measured on the inside): Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem, 2.1425. The outer wall of the third court was to be 1700 by 1700 cubits, measured on the outside; see Maier, “The Architectural History of the Temple,” 24; Michael Owen Wise, A Critical Study of the Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11, SAOC 49 (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1990), 81–82. 64  11Q19 46:5–12.

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court, an opinion that at some point became dominant in the Pharisaic-rabbinic tradition. It is likely that Herod’s re-design of the Temple Mount increased the degree to which the outer court served as a profane civic center.65 One piece of evidence for this conclusion is the fact that he greatly enlarged the area of the Temple Mount.66 The ambiguous character of the outer court was thus increased: on the one hand, it was a temenos, a sacred area; on the other, it was a great civic esplanade. A second, very important piece of evidence is that Herod’s plan for the entire ensemble of the Temple Mount resembles an Egyptian Hellenistic type of porticoed enclosure dedicated to the ruler cult. Julius Caesar and Cleopatra adopted this architectural form for the Kaisareion, a complex devoted to the worship of Caesar in Alexandria.67 In due course the Kaisareion was rededicated to Octavian and renamed the Sebasteion or the Augusteum.68 Its architectural form, the quadriporticus, that is, an enclosure with four porticoes, was brought to Rome by Caesar, and it became one of the favorite types used in the official Augustan building programs.69 Although it was used for both religious and civic purposes, it maintained its association with ruler cult at least until the time of Domitian.70

65  Jostein Ådna has argued that, in Herod’s design, the outer courtyard was intended to function as an agora, and the Royal Portico or basilica as a marketplace: Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt im 1. Jahrhundert n. Chr., ADPV 25 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999), 72–87. 66  G. Foerster, “Art and Architecture in Palestine,” in Jewish People, ed. Safrai and Stern, 2.971–1006; here 977–78; Martin Goodman, “The Pilgrimage Economy of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum, 1999), 69–76; here 74. 67  G. Foerster, “Art and Architecture in Palestine,” 980. See also Erik Sjöqvist, “Kaisareion: A Study in Architectural Iconography,” Opuscula Romana, vol. 1, Skrifter Utgivna av Svenska Institutet i Rom 4.18 (Lund: Håkan Ohlssons Boktryckeri, 1954), 86–108; Duane W. Roller, The Building Program of Herod the Great (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 216, who argued that, to some extent, in the stoas around the temple at Jerusalem Herod was imitating the porticoes that, in varying degrees of monumentality, lined the streets of contemporary Rome, especially the shops around the Forum Iulium, and the colonnades of the Saepta and Theater of Pompey; Lee I. Levine, “Second Temple Jerusalem: A Jewish City in the Greco-Roman Orbit,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum, 1999), 53–68; here 63; Ådna, Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt, 32–71. 68 Philo, Legat. 150–151; compare Sjöqvist, “Kaisareion,” 89. 69  Philo stated that there were Kaisareia in many other cities; J. B. Ward-Perkins has collected and discussed the evidence for these: see Ward-Perkins and M. H. Ballance, “The Caesareum at Cyrene and the Basilica at Cremna,” Papers of the British School at Rome 26 (1958): 137–94; here 177–86. 70 Sjöqvist, “Kaisareion,” 105–8; compare Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 463–65. It is interesting that the Caesareum in Cyrene received extensive damage in the Jewish revolt of 115 ce and that it was speedily repaired by Hadrian; see Ward-Perkins and Ballance, “The Caesareum at Cyrene and the Basilica at Cremna,” 161–62.

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Furthermore, the public administrative institutions were located in the courtyards of Herod’s Temple.71 The seat of the Sanhedrin72 was located in the Royal Stoa. Herod’s architects built the Royal Stoa on the model of the Roman basilicas, which served important communal and commercial purposes. The Royal Portico served communal needs and probably included shops for the purchase of doves, oil, wine, and other things needed for the sacrifices.73 For the housing of the Sanhedrin, an apse was constructed at the rear wall of the portico. It may be that some of the commercial activity that took place on the streets to the south and west of the Temple Mount was transferred or extended to the Royal Portico when it was completed in about 12 bce.74 Although any reconstruction of Jesus’s intention must of course be tentative, I suggest that his action against those who were selling doves indicates his advocacy of an ideal temple along the lines of those depicted by Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll. The outer court was to be sacred space devoted to prayer and teaching, not civic space open to the general public and devoted to profane activities. Those who needed or wished to sacrifice doves could bring their own from home or purchase them outside the temple. The accounts in the Gospels of Jesus’s action in the temple imply that he forbade the changing of money in the outer court as well. This prohibition may be related to the nature of the coins themselves. The temple-tax of half a shekel had  S. Safrai, “The Temple,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, ed. Safrai and Stern, 2.865–907; here 865–66. 72  For a summary of recent research on the Sanhedrin, see Donahue, “From Crucified Messiah to Risen Christ,” 96–97. 73 Benjamin Mazar, “The Royal Stoa in the Southern Part of the Temple Mount,” in Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research Jubilee Volume (1928–1929/1978–1979), Part 2, ed. Salo W. Baron and Isaac E. Barzilay = Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 47 (Jerusalem: American Academy for Jewish Research; New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 381–87; here 384. See also Brian Lalor, “The Temple Mount of Herod the Great at Jerusalem: Recent Excavations and Literary Sources,” in Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation, ed. John R. Bartlett (London: Routledge, 1997), 95–116; Lalor identifies the Royal Stoa (stoa basileos) mentioned by Josephus as a basilica (104). But Sjöqvist has shown that, in the eastern half of the empire, the term βασιλική was not confined to the standard Roman basilica, i. e., the basilica forensis in the Vitruvian sense (“Kaisareion,” 91–92). Ådna has argued that moneychangers were active in the Royal Stoa throughout the year, not only from the 29th of Adar until the beginning (or end) of Passover: Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt, 117–18. He has also assembled the evidence supporting the conclusion that the markets for cattle and sheep were outside the gates of Jerusalem (121–22). The reference to the sale of cattle and sheep on the Temple Mount in John 2:14 is not likely to be historically reliable (123–26). Ådna followed Safrai in concluding that doves were sold on the Temple Mount at the time of Jesus’s action, but at some point thereafter and before the temple was destroyed, this practice was abolished; the relevant texts (m. Sheqalim 6:5; t. Sheqalim 3:2–3) do not shed light on the reason for this change (130–34). 74 On the evidence for shops on the streets to the west and south of the Temple, see Foerster, “Art and Architecture in Palestine,” 983. On the dating of the construction of the Royal Stoa, see Roller, The Building Program of Herod the Great, 176–77. 71

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to be paid in definite coinage. It could not be paid in ingots, but only in stamped coins. It must not be paid in inferior alloy, but in high-grained silver. Again and again in rabbinic literature we are informed that the only coins accepted were Tyrian.75 In 126 bce, the city of Tyre acquired or appropriated the right to issue a silver coinage of its own.76 The Tyrian coinage, which lasted for almost two centuries, consists mostly of shekels (staters), bearing as types the head of the town God Melqart (or Heracles in the interpretatio Graeca) and an eagle standing on the prow of a ship.77 These coins, notwithstanding their foreign religious types and Greek lettering, were of so exact a weight and so good an alloy that they enjoyed a large circulation in Judaea, and were even officially adopted as sacred money, that is to say the annual head-tax of one [half-]shekel due from every Israelite to the temple treasury was to be paid in Tyrian money.78 Abrahams noted that it was strange that, while the bronze coins circulated in Judaea should conform scrupulously to the tradition and represent nothing but inanimate objects, the payment of the temple dues should not only be accepted but required in coins containing figures on them. He noted further that, while the coins most current in Syria were the Roman tetradrachms and denarii, the temple demanded payment on the Phoenician standard, and the money-changer for this (and other reasons) was therefore an actual necessity.79 Yaakov Meshorer has shown that the role of the temple authorities was even more surprising. The minting of autonomous shekels was discontinued at Tyre from the reign of Augustus onward, but it was picked up and continued by the temple authorities in Jerusalem.80 The Greek lettering and the images of Heracles and the eagle were retained. This second series of Jerusalemite-Tyrian shekels came to an end with the outbreak of the Jewish revolt in 66 ce when the rebels began to issue specifically Jewish coinage. It is likely that Herod co-operated with  Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, 1st Series, 83. Meshorer, “One Hundred Ninety Years of Tyrian Shekels,” in Studies in Honor of Leo Mildenbert: Numismatics, Art History, Archaeology, ed. Arthur Houghton et al. (Wetteren, Belgium: Cultura Press, 1984), 171–79; here 171. 77 On Melqart and his identification with Heracles, see Sergio Ribichini, “Melqart,” in DDD, 1053–1058. 78  Théodore Reinach, Jewish Coins, trans. Mary Hill with an appendix by G. F. Hill (Chicago: Argonaut, 1966), 20–22; see also Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, 1st Series, 83–84. 79  Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, 1st Series, 84. Meshorer concluded that Tyrian shekels dominated in the Middle East until the mint at Antioch began to strike Roman provincial issues in 20/19 bce; even after this date, however, vast quantities of Tyrian shekels continued to be struck: Meshorer, “One Hundred Ninety Years of Tyrian Shekels,” 172. 80 Meshorer, “One Hundred Ninety Years,” 171–79. But see the doubts expressed by Andrew Burnett, Michael Amandry, and Pere Pau Ripollès, Roman Provincial Coinage, vol. 1, From the Death of Caesar to the Death of Vitellus (44 bc–ad 69), part 1, Introduction and Catalogue (London: British Museum Press; Paris: Bibliotèque Nationale, 1992), 655–56. 75

76 Yaakov

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the temple authorities in issuing Tyrian shekels, because otherwise it is difficult to understand why Herod did not mint silver coins. The absence of silver coins struck by Herod is remarkable for two reasons: Jerusalem’s economic power under Herod was enormous, and other cities in the area subject to Rome were striking their own autonomous silver coinage.81 In this regard, the issuance of silver coinage by the Nabataean kings is particularly noteworthy. From 63 bce onwards, the political status of Judaea under Roman rule was superior to that of Nabataea.82 If Jesus was concerned about the holiness and purity of the temple, it could very well be that he found the images of the Syrian deity Melqart or Heracles on the Tyrian coins offensive. Since they bore the image of another god, such coins dishonored the God of Israel, to whom the temple was dedicated. Elsewhere in Mark, Jesus is asked whether it is lawful to pay taxes to Caesar.83 He asked for a coin, a denarius, and inquired whose image was on it. When he was told, “Caesar’s,” he responded, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” This saying may be understood to approve payment of taxes to the Romans using foreign coins, but it does not necessarily approve of the use of coins with images on them for the temple-tax. In fact, it may imply the opposite. The idea that Jesus insisted on stricter regulations regarding holiness than the priests administering the temple in his time may seem unlikely in light of the traditions attributed to him regarding the observance of the Sabbath and purity. But the various traditions are by no means incompatible. Jesus apparently subordinated the observance of the Sabbath to the needs of ordinary human beings, especially in relation to hunger and illness. It is characteristic of the Jesus of the Gospels that he objected to the interpretation of the law that forbade healing on the Sabbath. The need of pilgrims to purchase animals and to change coins did not have to be met in the outer court of the temple. Such activities could be located elsewhere. In this case, Jesus seems to place the honor and dignity of God above human convenience. In Mark 7, some Pharisees and scribes ask Jesus why his disciples ate with defiled hands, that is, why he did not teach them to extend to ordinary Jews some of the regulations regarding purity observed by the priests. The climax of Jesus’s response comes in the saying, “There is nothing outside of a human being which, by going into him, is able to defile him; rather, it is what goes out of a human being which defiles him.”84 An editorial comment in Mark takes this saying to 81  Sidon, Ascalon, and several Cappadocian kings; see Meshorer, “One Hundred Ninety Years,” 173. See also Yaakov Meshorer, Ancient Jewish Coinage, vol. 2, Herod the Great through Bar Chochba (Jerusalem: Israel Museum; Dix Hills, NY: Amphora Books, 1982), 5–9, 95, 97– 100, 104–5. 82  Meshorer, “One Hundred Ninety Years,” 174. 83  Mark 12:13–17. 84  Mark 7:15.

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mean that Jesus abolished the food laws of Leviticus.85 It is clear that the saying was so interpreted later, but it is unlikely that such was the intention of Jesus. In this saying and its explanation, Jesus distinguishes between the external and the internal, and implies that the internal is more significant religiously and morally than the external. Such a distinction is also found in the writings discovered at Qumran. According to the Community Rule, the man who walks “in the stubbornness of his heart” shall “neither be purified by atonement, nor cleansed by purifying waters, nor sanctified by seas and rivers, nor washed clean by any ablution.”86 This text recognizes that the “heart,” the seat of knowing and choosing, is the crucial element in the sanctification of the human being. At the same time, ritual washings were clearly very important to the community in which this text was written. Similarly, Jesus taught that the thoughts and choices of a human being are more important than the observance of the food laws.87 This teaching, however, does not imply that he did not observe the food laws or that he taught others to omit this observance. Jesus then was willing to dispense with certain regulations related to the observance of the Sabbath and with some ritual ablutions. He was less willing, however, to allow divorce and activities that infringed upon the holiness of the temple. Like that of other great teachers, the teaching of Jesus was complex and sensitive to situation and context. The conclusion of this study is that Jesus’s aim was neither to abolish the commercial activity related to the temple nor to establish social justice, but to extend the holiness of the inner court to the whole Temple Mount, including the outer court. In other words, Jesus’s deeds in the temple grew out his vision of the holiness of the temple and how it should be embodied.

85 Mark

7:19b.  1QS 2:25–3:5. 87  Compare Betz, “Purity of the Temple,” 470–72. 86

Messianic Secret and the Gospel of Mark: Secrecy in Jewish Apocalypticism, the Hellenistic Mystery Religions, and Magic The “messianic secret” is a concept in the history of the interpretation of the Gospel of Mark, not a phrase that occurs in the text itself. William Wrede coined the term das Messiasgeheimnis and used it in the title of his very influential study of Mark, which appeared in 1901.1 He developed a hypothesis to explain a number of features of Mark that he believed had the same purpose, namely, the commands to demons and disciples not to reveal the identity of Jesus,2 the instructions to those who are healed by Jesus not to speak about their healing,3 the lack of understanding by the disciples,4 certain individual features that betray a tendency against publicity, and the so-called parable theory. The latter is expressed in the enigmatic and shocking saying of Jesus, addressed to a restricted group of those around him together with the Twelve, “To you has been given the mystery of the kingdom of God, but to those who are outside, everything happens in parables in order that, seeing, they may see and not perceive, and hearing, they may hear and not comprehend, lest they turn and it be forgiven them.”5 Wrede did not believe that the messianic secret in Mark reflected historical reality. Rather, he treated it as a development in the pre-Markan Christian tradition, intended to explain the difference between the situation before the resurrection of Jesus and the situation afterward. He believed that the key to the meaning and function of the messianic secret is the statement that, after his transfiguration, Jesus ordered Peter, James, and John to tell no one what they had seen, “except when the Son of Man had risen from the dead.”6 Wrede thought that the various types of the secrecy theme were all intended to explain the fact that Jesus’s life and work were unmessianic, whereas his followers came to believe that he was the Messiah after they experienced him as risen from the dead.

1  William Wrede, Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangeliums (1901; reprint Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963); ET The Messianic Secret (Cambridge: J. Clarke, 1971). 2 E. g., Mark 1:34 (demons); 3:12 (unclean spirits); 8:30 (disciples). 3 E. g., the leper in Mark 1:44. 4  E. g., Mark 8:14–21. 5 Mark 4:11–12. All translations from the Greek New Testament are by the author. 6  Mark 9:9.

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Other scholars have argued that the messianic secret has some basis in the life of Jesus.7 Beginning with Rudolf Bultmann, however, many scholars have interpreted the secrecy theory as a creation of the evangelist. Bultmann argued that the literary device served to link the Hellenistic community’s proclamation of the Son of God coming down to earth, that is, the Christ-myth, with the narrative traditions about Jesus.8 The other great form critic, Martin Dibelius, argued that the secrecy theory had an apologetic function. It was invented to explain why, in spite of so many proofs of his supernatural power, Jesus was not recognized as the Messiah during his lifetime.9 Some scholars have argued against Wrede’s thesis that the several secrecy themes have the same origin and purpose. Ulrich Luz argued that the “miracle secret” and the “messianic secret proper” should be distinguished. According to him, the miracle secret is an independent motif that serves to highlight the glory of Jesus that manifests itself irresistibly. He interpreted the messianic secret proper in terms of the theology of the cross.10 Jürgen Roloff agreed with Luz’s separation of these two motifs but argued that the messianic secret proper should also be divided into two parts: commands to silence addressed to demons and commands addressed to disciples. Schuyler Brown, Heikki Räisänen, and others have argued that the parable theory should be interpreted without reference to the messianic secret.11 In the scholarship I have reviewed to this point, the primary methods that have been employed are the reconstruction of the history of tradition in historical context and literary-theological interpretations of the text of Mark. Recently Gerd Theissen has taken a different approach. Applying the perspective of the sociology of knowledge, he has suggested that the secrecy motifs had a pragmatic function. That which is kept secret is removed from social sanctions. It is kept secret to avoid evoking such sanctions on the part of those with the power to enforce them. As a rule, every secret is an attempt by a group to protect itself. When the secret is broken, the group is endangered. Assuming a correspondence between the world of the text and the social world of the audience, Theissen suggested that the tension between keeping their Christian identity secret and  7  E. g., Albert Schweitzer, Das Messianitäts- und Leidensgeheimnis: Eine Skizze des Lebens Jesu (Tübingen: Mohr, 1956); Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1966), 122–24.  8  Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (German ed. 1931; ET rev. ed. New York: Harper & Row, 1968), 347–48; see also Heikki Räisänen, The “Messianic Secret” in Mark (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1990), 55.  9 Martin Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel (New York: Scribner, 1935), 223. Dibelius had many followers, e. g., T. A. Burkill and Walter Schmithals; see Räisänen, “Messianic Secret,” 56–60. 10  Ulrich Luz, “Das Geheimnismotiv und die markinische Christologie,” ZNW 78 (1965): 169–85; ET “The Secrecy Motif and the Markan Christology,” in The Messianic Secret, ed. Christopher M. Tuckett (London: SPCK; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 75–96. 11  For discussion and bibliographical references, see Räisänen, “Messianic Secret,” 72–73.

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revealing it was a problem for the audience, just as an analogous tension was a problem for Jesus as a character in the narrative with whom the audience would identify. By telling the story of Jesus, the Gospel of Mark offers advice to the audience. They may keep their identity secret with a good conscience. But they are warned that it will be impossible to do so in the long run. When they are discovered, they must confess their identity bravely, as Jesus did, and risk conflict that may lead to death. By means of this approach, Theissen was able to make a case for the unity of the secrecy themes, since they all have the same basic purpose.12 Although Theissen’s study and those of earlier scholars are illuminating, the comparative history of religions approach has not yet been applied in a serious way to this problem, and I believe that it can make a considerable contribution.13 Further, the social functions of secrecy are more varied and complex than Theissen allows, and need to be explored more fully. This chapter is intended to take some steps toward the fulfillment of these two goals.

Secrecy in Jewish Apocalypticism According to an early Jewish apocalypse, found in chapters 1–36 of the composite work known as 1 Enoch and designated the Book of the Watchers by scholars, certain things are public knowledge, such as the visible workings of nature and the law of the Lord.14 The primary focus of the work, however, is secret knowledge revealed in this work itself by the pseudonymous author, the antediluvian patriarch Enoch. His eyes were opened by the Lord, and he saw a holy vision in the heavens, shown to him by angels. He communicated the vision to the chosen in the form of a parable (παραβολή). This “parable” is a description of a great theophany through which God will execute judgment upon the impious and bring mercy to the righteous.15 The secret knowledge revealed by Enoch also includes a narrative that seems to be an expansion of the story in Genesis 6, according to which mighty men were born to the sons of God who came down from heaven and had intercourse with the daughters of men.16 The version of the story in the Book of the Watchers may be called a myth of the origin of evil, but it seems also to be an allegorical assessment of the author’s own time. The “sons of God” 12  Gerd Theissen, “Die pragmatische Bedeutung der Geheimnismotive im Markusevangelium: Ein wissenssoziologischer Versuch,” in Secrecy and Concealment: Studies in the History of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Religions, ed. Hans G. Kippenberg and Guy G. Stroumsa, SHR 65 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 225–45. 13  The German “Religionsgeschichte” refers to the history of religion (singular). I use the plural to make the plurality and diversity of ancient religions clear. 14  1 Enoch 2–5. 15  1 Enoch 1. 16  1 Enoch 6–11; Gen 6:1–4.

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of Genesis are interpreted as angels called “Watchers.” These reveal heavenly secrets or mysteries to the daughters of men. Enoch is instructed to rebuke the Watchers and to tell them that, although they were in heaven, its secrets had not been revealed to them. It was only a “worthless mystery” that they knew and revealed to the women.17 This statement may reflect the competition between Jewish and Hellenistic culture and between various religious traditions. The narrative also describes a glorious future, an eschatological fulfillment, in which every evil work will cease and the plant of righteousness and truth will appear. The “plant” is probably a Jewish sect, or at least a subculture, to which the actual author and audience belonged. According to the text, they will plant righteousness and truth in joy forever. The earth will be transformed to a state of peace and fertility, and all the nations will worship the God of Israel.18 Finally, the work contains the revelation of secret knowledge in the form of an account of Enoch’s vision of the house and throne of God in heaven and of accounts of his tour of the secret places and secret workings of the cosmos. An important aspect of the tour is the revelation of the places of reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked after death.19 This work was probably written in the third or the early second century bce and reflects conflict related to the interaction of traditional Jewish and Hellenistic culture. We have no hard evidence that this text and its contents were concealed by its author, audience, and those who transmitted it from other Jews or the general public. The knowledge imparted in the work seems to be secret in the sense that it is not generally available and public, like the visible workings of nature and the written Torah. Enoch is described in the text as a scribe.20 There were many types of scribes in Second Temple Judaism with varying social locations and functions. Most probably served the governor and the chief priests. But those who produced and handed on the Book of the Watchers seem to have distanced themselves from the ruling elite. The secret knowledge revealed in the name of Enoch served to legitimate the leaders of a traditional and apocalyptic subculture and to distinguish that group from other Jewish groups. The book of Daniel was written during the crisis related to the persecution of the Jewish people by the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV Epiphanes. It includes an older tale in which King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon had a troubling dream.21 He commanded that his magicians and wise men tell him both the dream and its interpretation. They responded that not a man on earth could meet such a demand. Then the mystery was revealed to Daniel in a vision of the night. The 17 1 Enoch

16:3.  1 Enoch 10:16–11:2. 19  1 Enoch 12–36; the places of reward and punishment are described in chapter 22. 20  1 Enoch 12:3–4. 21  Daniel 2. 18

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term translated “mystery” is ‫ רז‬in the Aramaic text, a Persian loanword.22 It occurs often in the Dead Sea Scrolls to designate cosmological or eschatological secrets, and sometimes in the phrase “the mysteries of the words of his servants the prophets.”23 The latter usage suggests that certain passages in Scripture are opaque and in need of interpretation, like dreams. The use of the term for secrets of the cosmos and of the future implies that such dreams and passages reveal knowledge of such secrets when properly interpreted. The revelation of the dream and its interpretation to Daniel legitimates him, and his successors, the “wise” among whom the actual author counted himself, as well as glorifies the God of Israel, who determines the future, gives wisdom to the wise, and reveals mysteries. In both of the surviving Greek versions of Daniel, the term ‫“( רז‬mystery” or “secret”) is translated with the word μυστήριον. Near the end of the work, an angel tells Daniel, “Go your way, Daniel, for the words are shut up and sealed until the time of the end.”24 This statement does not necessarily mean that the book of Daniel was kept secret and shown only to the members of the circle of the wise. The point seems to be to explain why a book supposedly written by Daniel four hundred years earlier only became known in the time of Antiochus IV, when it was actually written. At the same time, the dream and its interpretation of chapter 2, as well as the visions of chapters 7–12, are presented as revealed knowledge, inaccessible to the general public, unless mediated by the wise and their followers. Since the work states that “those among the people who are wise shall make many understand,” it seems likely that the content of the book was made known to the Jewish people generally, in an attempt to persuade them to stand firm against Antiochus and his agents.25 The sect of the Dead Sea Scrolls divided the law into two categories, the ‫“( נגלה‬revealed”) and the ‫“( נסתר‬hidden”).26 The revealed laws were known to all Israel, since they were clearly set forth in the Scriptures. The hidden laws were known only to the sect, and these were based on secret meanings of the Scriptures that were revealed by divinely guided interpretation. Secrecy is an important theme in a Jewish apocalyptic work of the first century ce, preserved in chapters 37–71 of 1 Enoch and designated the Similitudes (or Parables) of Enoch by scholars. In the introduction, the pseudonymous author Enoch states that he will share with those who come after, the dwellers on the dry ground, three parables that have been imparted to him.27 Like the opening chapter of the Book of the Watchers, the first parable of the Similitudes of Enoch  Dan 2:18–19.  John J. Collins, Daniel, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 159. 24  Dan 12:9. 25  Dan 11:33. 26 1QS 5:7–12; Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls (Philadelphia/ Jerusalem: Jewish Publication Society, 1994), 247–49. 27  1 Enoch 37:3–5. 22 23

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describes an epiphany related to the judgment of the sinners and the vindication of the righteous. In this work, however, it is not God who will appear for judgment, but his agent, the Righteous One, who is also called the Chosen One, the Messiah, and that Son of Man elsewhere in the work.28 A prominent theme in this work is the hiddenness of the Son of Man, expressed, for example, in the following passage: For this (reason) he was chosen and hidden in the presence [of the Lord of Spirits] before the world was created and forever. And the wisdom of the Lord of Spirits has revealed him to the holy and the righteous; for he has preserved the portion of the righteous, for they have hated and despised this age of unrighteousness.29

Another passage reads, “For from the beginning the Son of Man was hidden, and the Most High preserved him in the presence of his might, and he revealed him to the chosen.”30 The context makes clear that at the time of writing, the Son of Man is hidden in heaven, his existence and identity known only to the righteous. But on the day of judgment, he will be revealed to all as God’s agent in punishing the wicked and rewarding the righteous. Again, there is no hard evidence that this text or its content was kept secret. Nevertheless, the wisdom that it contained seems to have played an important role in the self-understanding of the members of the subculture in which it circulated. It distinguishes them from the rest of the Jewish people and from outsiders as the righteous from sinners, as implied by the two passages quoted above. In this work, the righteous seem to be equivalent more or less to the poor, and the wicked to the rich and powerful. The revealed knowledge also provided them with a framework of meaning in which to understand and accept their social and political situation and to persevere in their commitment to traditional Jewish values. Finally, the Jewish apocalypse of Ezra, known as 4 Ezra, should be mentioned.31 This pseudonymous work claims to have been written thirty years after the first destruction of Jerusalem, that is, in the sixth century bce. It was actually written after the second destruction, around 100 ce. In the final chapter of the work, the Lord appears to Ezra in a burning bush, just as he appeared to Moses. He tells Ezra that he revealed to Moses the secrets of the times and the end of times. He said to Moses, “These words you shall publish openly, and these you shall keep secret.”32 Ezra laments that the law given by the Lord has been burned and requests that God send the spirit of holiness into him, in order that he may  1 Enoch 38.  1 Enoch 48:6–7; trans. (slightly modified) from George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A New Translation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 62. 30  1 Enoch 62:7; trans. 1 Enoch, 80 (slightly modified). Compare 1 Enoch 69:26. 31  4 Ezra is equivalent to chapters 3–14 of the apocryphal book 2 Esdras. 32  4 Ezra 14:1–6; trans. NRSV. 28

29

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“write everything that has happened in the world from the beginning, the things which were written in your law, that men may be able to find the path, and that those who wish to live in the last days may live.”33 Ezra then spoke under divine inspiration for forty days and nights, while five scribes wrote down his words. Ninety-four books were written during the forty days. The Most High spoke to Ezra, saying, “Make public the twenty-four books that you wrote first and let the worthy and the unworthy read them; but keep the seventy that were written last, in order to give them to the wise among your people. For in them is the spring of understanding, the fountain of wisdom, and the river of knowledge.” Ezra then states, “And I did so.”34 The twenty-four books are most likely the Jewish Scriptures, known to all and publicly available. It is not clear exactly what the seventy books are, but it is evident that a distinction is being made between exoteric and esoteric books, and that the secret books are more highly valued.

The Hellenistic Mystery Religions Unlike the situation with Jewish apocalypticism, we have abundant evidence for the strict observance of secrecy in the mystery religions, especially the Eleusinian mysteries. The motif appears already in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, which dates from the later Archaic age. Demeter is said to have revealed “the awesome rites, which it is not possible to transgress or to learn about or to proclaim, for deep awe of the gods checks the voice.”35 The practice of secrecy may derive from traditionally secret initiations of girls and boys.36 In Augustan times, Strabo explained the secrecy as follows: “The secrecy with which the sacred rites are concealed induces reverence for the divine, since it imitates the nature of the divine, which is to avoid being perceived by our human senses.”37 Jan Bremmer has argued that this explanation is fully satisfactory. There was no real secret, no esoteric wisdom, kept hidden from the general public. Rather, it was the very holiness of the rites that forbade their being performed or described outside of their proper ritual context.38 Although there was no actual secret in a cognitive sense, those who transgressed the decree of secrecy were prosecuted or punished. Aeschylus was accused of allowing an object belonging to the secret equipment of the mysteries 33  4 Ezra 14:21–22; trans. from Michael Edward Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Fourth Book of Ezra, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 425. 34  4 Ezra 14:37–48; trans. NRSV. 35 Homeric Hymn to Demeter 478–479 (Evelyn-White, LCL); trans. modified in accordance with the citation by Jan N. Bremmer, “Religious Secrets and Secrecy in Classical Greece,” in Kippenberg and Stroumsa, eds., Secrecy and Concealment, 61–78; here 71. 36  Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 71. 37  Strabo, 10.3.9; cited by Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 72. 38  Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 72.

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to be carried around upon the stage. He was acquitted, apparently because he claimed that he had not been initiated and did not know that the object was sacred.39 Diagoras, a citizen of the island of Melos, mocked the mysteries and opposed them openly.40 He was accused of telling the mysteries to all and thus profaning them.41 Alcibiades and other aristocrats were accused of profaning the mysteries more than once in private houses at symposia. One of them was accused of putting on a robe, imitating the holy rites, and revealing to the uninitiated and speaking with his voice the forbidden words. Nearly all of the denounced fled the city. Their property was confiscated and auctioned, and a few were executed.42 Around 200 bce, two young men from Acarnania, who had not been initiated, unwittingly entered the temple of Demeter during the days of the celebration of the mysteries along with the crowd of initiates. They were discovered because of their “absurd questions” and led to the priests of the temple. Even though it was clear that their offense was unintentional, they were executed.43 Walter Burkert has shown that the mystery cults did not involve knowledge that endowed a ruling elite with power; they expressed neither a philosophy of nature nor a riddling, allegorical theology. Their importance had to do with their concern with the riddle and the mystery of death. It was often said that the two gifts of the goddess of Eleusis, Demeter, were grain and “better hopes” for life after death. The poets had always spoken openly about a blessed afterlife. But poetry did not necessarily compel belief or endow with hope. The Eleusinian initiate “knew” that he or she was kin to the gods. The experience of the initiate was a privilege; it remained a privilege only insofar as it was kept separate from profane usage. Profanation of the mysteries, therefore, was not primarily the unauthorized revelation of the content of secret knowledge, but an offense against the uniqueness of the access to that knowledge.44

39 Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 72–73; see also Walter Burkert, “Der geheime Reiz des Verborgenen: Antike Mysterienkulte,” in Kippenberg and Stroumsa, eds., Secrecy and Concealment, 79–100; here 94. 40  Bremmer argued that Diagoras’s opposition to the mysteries was an anti-Athenian political act (“Religious Secrets,” 74–75). 41  Burkert, “Der geheime Reiz,” 94. 42  Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 76–77, citing Thucydides 6.28. Bremmer again suggests that the offenders had a political motivation: to show contempt for the political pretensions of the democrats of Athens. 43  Burkert points out that this was a disastrous application of sacred law, entirely contrary to rational diplomacy (“Der geheime Reiz,” 86–87). 44  Burkert, “Der geheime Reiz,” 91, 95–97.

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Hellenistic Magic As Hans Dieter Betz has pointed out, the phenomena in the Greek Magical Papyri relating to secrecy are complex and varied. Only some of the texts in this collection were supposed to be kept secret; others were open to the public and could even be sold in the marketplace. In the Demotic spells, which reflect traditional Egyptian magic, certain divine names and magical substances were to be kept secret, but rituals and other procedures were not. Some of the Greek magical texts concerned with secrecy show the influence of the mystery cults.45 It seems likely that, in a pluralistic culture with many religions and cults in competition with one another, one reason for secrecy was to limit the spread of magical expertise in order to protect the prestige and livelihood of an individual magician and his sons or apprentices. Another reason was the same as that stated by Strabo for the secrecy of the mysteries: some of the spells and rituals are awesome and holy because of their connection to the gods; thus, they may be shared only with those who are worthy. Both of these concerns appear in “The Spell of Pnouthis, the sacred scribe, for acquiring an assistant [daimon].”46 At the end of the description of one form of the ritual, the speaker states, “Share this great mystery with no one [else], but conceal it, by Helios, since you have been deemed worthy by the lord [god].”47 More pragmatic concerns are evident in the closing remarks, “Therefore share these things with no one except [your] legitimate son alone when he asks you for the magic powers imparted [by] us.”48 In another passage the secrecy is linked to the awesome effectiveness of the spell: Here is truly written out, with all brevity, [the rite] by which all modeled images and engravings and carved stones are made alive. For this is the true [rite], and the others such as are widely circulated, are falsified and made up of vain verbosity. So keep this in a secret place as a great mystery. Hide it, hide it!49

In this text both rationales may be in the background: the rite is so powerful that great harm could result, if it fell into the wrong hands; likewise, the fewer the magicians who possess it, the greater their power, wealth, and prestige. As we have seen, the secrecy surrounding the mystery cults derived from initiation rites and served to protect a unique mode of access to the knowledge of one’s kinship with the gods. The presence of the so-called Mithras Liturgy in the Great Magical Papyrus of Paris suggests that magicians also practiced a rite 45  Hans Dieter Betz, “Secrecy in the Greek Magical Papyri,” in Kippenberg and Stroumsa, eds., Secrecy and Concealment, 153–75; here 153–54. 46  PGM I.42–195. 47  PGM I.130–132; trans. by Edward N. O’Neil in The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, ed. Hans Dieter Betz, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 6. 48  PGM I.192–193; trans. O’Neil, Greek Magical Papyri, Betz, ed., 8. 49  PGM XII.319–324; trans. by Morton Smith, Greek Magical Papyri, Betz, ed., 164.

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of initiation that resulted in the deification of the initiate. It was this rite that made the practitioner of spells and rituals effective.50 The ritual begins with the words, “Be gracious to me, O Providence and Psyche, as I write these mysteries handed down [not] for gain but for instruction; and for an only child I request immortality.”51 Here the speaker distances himself from the profit motive and emphasizes the motive of the transmission of secret knowledge through teaching. The mention of “an only child” is perhaps intended to reassure the gods that this powerful knowledge will be shared within a very limited circle.

Secrecy in the Gospel of Mark I think that William Wrede was right in concluding that all the secrecy themes in the Gospel of Mark have the same purpose, or at least very similar purposes. But I disagree with his explanation of what that purpose was. As noted earlier, Wrede took the saying of Jesus after the transfiguration as the key to the messianic secret. According to him, when Jesus told the disciples not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead, that meant that the identity of Jesus would only be revealed or could only be comprehended after his resurrection. Other scholars have noted that Jesus’s declaration to the high priest and the acclamation of the centurion call this hypothesis into question.52 Jesus’s words after the transfiguration should rather be interpreted as a signal that the transfiguration serves as a preview of the resurrected state of Jesus. Mark offers this account instead of narrating an appearance of the risen Jesus later on. Hans Jürgen Ebeling was closer to the mark in his thesis that “Talk about the secret is a literary device, which is intended to make it clear to the reader of the gospel how important are the things which are being dealt with here.”53 Although Ebeling did not make a persuasive case for this view, I believe that one can be made. Ebeling argued that the Gospel of Mark is from start to finish an account of the epiphany of the Son of God.54 There is of course great tension between the theory that Mark is an account of such an epiphany, on the one hand, and the observation that secrecy is an important theme, on the other. This tension is re-

 Betz, “Secrecy in the Greek Magical Papyri,” 169.  PGM IV.475–476. 52  Mark 14:62; 15:39. 53  The quotation is part of Räisänen’s summary of Ebeling’s interpretation; see Räisänen, “Messianic Secret,” 60; emphasis original. See, e. g., Hans J. Ebeling, Das Messiasgeheimnis und die Botschaft des Marcus-Evangelisten, BZNW 19 (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1939), 168. 54  See the discussion in Räisänen, “Messianic Secret,” 60. 50 51

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solved by the felicitous description of the Gospel of Mark by Martin Dibelius as a book of secret epiphanies.55 It is clear from the introductory titular sentence of Mark (1:1) that the evangelist intended to present Jesus Christ as the Messiah: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ,” since the basic meaning of Christ is “anointed one” or “messiah.” This impression is reinforced by the heavenly voice at the baptism of Jesus that addresses him saying, “You are my beloved son,” an address that alludes to Psalm 2, in which God addresses the king of Israel in this way.56 It is equally clear that the activities of Jesus in Mark are more those of a prophet and teacher than those of the Messiah, judging from contemporary Jewish literature. But the two epithets of Jesus preferred by Mark are “Son of God” and “Son of Man,” epithets that individually, and especially together, have messianic connotations. The Son of Man sayings in Mark that have the strongest parallels in contemporary Jewish literature are the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings. According to the first of these, when the Son of Man comes in the glory of his father with the holy angels, he will be ashamed of those who have been ashamed of him.57 This saying evokes Dan 7:13, a text that was interpreted messianically near the time Mark was written. In the discourse about the last days in Mark 13, Jesus speaks of the arrival of the Son of Man after the great tribulation in classically epiphanic terms.58 It is in this discourse that the situation of the evangelist becomes clearest, as well as his expectations of the immediate future. One may infer, therefore, that the author of Mark expected Jesus to exercise his messianic role in the future, after his death, when he would return in divine power and glory to gather the elect into the new age (probably the heavenly realm). During his lifetime, he was revealed as Son of Man and Messiah, but only to the elect, only to those with eyes to see and ears to hear. The secret revelation of Jesus as Son of Man to the disciples in chapters 8–10 of Mark is strikingly analogous to the secret revelation of the Son of Man to the chosen in the Similitudes of Enoch. The secrecy theme appears for the first time in Mark in the account of the first miracle of Jesus, the exorcism that he performs in the synagogue in Capernaum.59 It was typical of ancient exorcisms, as we know them from other texts, that the exorcist would rebuke the demon and gain power over him by discovering his name. In this exorcism, the typical form is reversed. Before Jesus does or says anything, the demon says, “What do we have to do with you, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the holy one of God.”

 Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel, 230.  Mark 1:11; compare 9:7; 12:6; 14:61–62a. 57  Mark 8:38. 58  Mark 13:24–27; compare 14:62. Classic Jewish epiphanic texts include Isa 13:10; Ezek 32:7– 8; Joel 2:10, 31. 59  Mark 1:21–28. 55 56

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Jesus rebukes him, saying, “Be silent and come out of him.”60 The command to silence here is a typical exorcistic technique, a way of gaining control over the demon. But Mark has modified the typical genre of the exorcism in order to allow the demon to identify Jesus. It is important to note that this identification has importance primarily for the audience of the Gospel. Those present in the narrative scene comment on how the demons obey Jesus but not on the demon’s revelation of Jesus’s identity.61 The intention of the evangelist emerges even more clearly in the editorial summary given in the same chapter: “And he healed many who were sick with a variety of illnesses, and he drove out many demons, and he would not allow the demons to speak, because they knew him.”62 There is of course a striking contrast between the “unclean spirit” and “the holy one of God.”63 But the demons and Jesus have in common participation in the heavenly world, the demons by origin and Jesus by his endowment with the spirit of God.64 The demons recognize Jesus, as one heavenly being sees and knows another, but his identity is never revealed unambiguously to the human beings in this narrative. The account of Jesus’s healing of a leper is often cited as an expression of the secrecy theme.65 But actually it is not. Jesus’s command to say nothing to anyone is not a command to secrecy, but rather an expression of urgency. The man should go directly to the priest and tell how Jesus has healed him, “as a proof for them.”66 The healing is to demonstrate to the authorities that Jesus is the agent of God.67 Following the sequence of the Gospel, the next passage relating to secrecy is the discourse in which Jesus teaches the crowd in parables.68 In Greek and Roman rhetoric, the “parable” or “comparison” was a type of argument. The illustration was clear and the application unambiguous. As we have seen, the Jewish apocalyptic works called the Book of the Watchers and the Similitudes (or Parables) of Enoch use the term in quite a different way, to refer to once secret but now revealed knowledge about the heavenly world and the future. In some cases the revelation comes through visions that are opaque and require interpretation. Thus, the “parable” in 1 Enoch is similar to the “secret” or “mystery” of Daniel 2. The term parable in 1 Enoch and Mark 4 is also related to the Hebrew term ma Mark 1:24–25.  Mark 1:27. 62  Mark 1:34; see also 3:11–12. 63  Compare Mark 1:23 with 1:24. 64  See Mark 1:10. 65  Mark 1:40–45. 66  Mark 1:44. 67  I cannot agree with Gerd Theissen’s conclusion that Jesus commands the man to conceal from the authorities how he was cured: “Die pragmatische Bedeutung,” 243. The phrase εἰς μαρτύριον αὐτοῖς (“as a proof for them”) tells against this hypothesis. 68  Mark 4:1–34. 60 61

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shal, a figurative saying or narrative that often requires interpretation, especially as the term is used in prophetic books. The parables in Mark are presented as enigmatic narratives that require interpretation.69 In addition to its apocalyptic overtones, the statement of Jesus regarding the mystery of the kingdom of God also evokes the mystery cults.70 The insiders in Mark possess the secret of the kingdom, just as the initiates of the mysteries have special knowledge. The term μυστήριον in Mark thus evokes two different cultural traditions, the revealed secrets of apocalyptic traditions and the ritually mediated experience of the mysteries. It is striking that only one of the several parables in the discourse of Mark 4:1–34 is interpreted, and that one of course only for the insiders. It is also noteworthy that the interpretation retains figurative language to a considerable degree. In the center of the discourse, Jesus departs from the use of parables to declare in figurative sayings that “there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed, and nothing concealed that will not come out into the open.” This revelation, however, does not occur in the immediate context. Jesus spoke the word to the people only in parables; he explained everything privately to his disciples. If these explanations are like the interpretation of the parable of the sower, then even they remain somewhat opaque. Jesus first speaks openly after Peter’s confession. He began to teach his disciples privately that the Son of Man must suffer many things, be killed, and rise from the dead. The narrator comments, “And he was speaking the word openly.”71 The contrast with the discourse in parables seems to be deliberate. The parables of chapter four provide enigmatic, partial revelation. The suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus as Son of Man is the mystery of the kingdom of God; the revelation of the mystery becomes manifest in chapters 8–10. The content of this mystery corresponds to that of the mystery cults: death and the privilege of a happy afterlife. There is also a certain analogy in form: only the initiates hear and see the mystic ritual and receive “better hopes” through the experience. Only the members of the inner circle around Jesus receive the revelation about the destiny of the Son of Man. If they deny themselves, take up their crosses, and follow him, they will share in his destiny. 69  The term παραβολή is used for an enigmatic saying in Mark 7:17. In 12:1 it is said that Jesus spoke ἐν παραβολαῖς. Since he only tells one parable, it may be that the phrase indicates a manner of speaking, not a literary genre. In 3:23 the same phrase is used in relation to a series of figurative sayings. 70 Joseph Coppens argued that Paul’s use of the term “mystery” is rooted in the Jewish tradition but also reflects Hellenistic influence: “‘Mystery’ in the Theology of Saint Paul and Its Parallels at Qumran,” in Paul and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Jerome Murphy-O’Connor and James H. Charlesworth, Christian Origins Library (New York: Crossroad, 1968; reprinted 1990), 132–58; here 154. The situation seems to be similar with Mark. 71  Mark 8:32.

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There are also important differences between Mark and the mysteries. The secret of the kingdom of God is written down in the text of Mark, potentially available for anyone to read. Jesus does not perform an enigmatic, secret ritual, but speaks plainly to his followers. I suggest that Mark is deliberately competing with the mystery cults and offering a new, effective mystery. Yet Mark does not abandon secrecy entirely. On one level, the secrecy theme is necessary to evoke the comparison between the mystery of the kingdom of God and the Hellenistic mysteries. The nature of the Christian mystery and the social context may also be factors. In his discussion of possible explanations for the secrecy of the Pythagoreans, Jan Bremmer mentions the intense competition of the Archaic Age. Competition was equally intense in the early imperial period. Bremmer suggests Pythagoras may have felt dismayed by the critique of his fellow “intellectuals” and come to the conclusion that the meaning of his views would evaporate when removed from their specific context and exposed to general discussion. He compares the advice of Menander Rhetor to preserve but not to publish scientific and enigmatic hymns because they look too unconvincing and ridiculous to the masses.72 Michael Barkun has spoken of the “stigmatized knowledge” of modern apocalyptic movements.73 To members of the group, it is reliable knowledge, but to outsiders it is absurd. A recent example is the beliefs of the members of the cult of Heaven’s Gate about UFOs and another, better world. Considerations like those discussed by Jan Bremmer in connection with Pythagoras may have led Mark, not to hide the mystery of the kingdom, but to present it as secret and difficult to understand. To most Jews of the first century ce, the idea of a suffering and dying messiah was absurd. On the contrary, the messiah of Israel was to be a great warrior who would defeat the enemies of the people and reestablish an autonomous kingdom of Israel. To most gentiles, the idea that a criminal crucified in an obscure province by a Roman governor could be a king or Son of God was also absurd. Even the disciples of Jesus, who were carefully prepared by Jesus for this difficult revelation, are portrayed as rejecting it and failing to understand it. Nevertheless it is presented as something that “must” happen, like the events prophesied in the dream of Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel 2. It is the will of God, divine destiny, foretold in the Scriptures.

 Bremmer, “Religious Secrets,” 69–70.  Michael Barkun, “Politics and Apocalypticism,” in The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, ed. Bernard McGinn, John J. Collins, and Stephen J. Stein, vol. 3, Apocalypticism in the Modern Period and the Contemporary Age (New York: Continuum, 1998), 442–60. 72 73

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Conclusion Like the Jewish apocalypses, the Jesus of Mark and the Gospel of Mark reveal secrets in a partial and veiled manner. Lacking sufficient contextualization, the parables of Mark are analogous to the dreams and visions associated with Daniel and Enoch. In the Similitudes of Enoch, the Son of Man is hidden in heaven, yet known to the chosen. He will be revealed to all on the day of judgment. In Mark, he walks the earth, but incognito. His identity is hidden from the masses but revealed to the elect. Although even they are not able to grasp the mystery of his being, he will be revealed to all when he returns in the glory of his Father with the holy angels. The rituals and symbolic objects of the mystery cults were kept secret out of reverence for the divine. Similarly, the Gospel of Mark implies that the miracles of Jesus and his teaching about suffering are manifestations of the divine by surrounding them with secrecy.74 Although the content of the mysteries, like the fate of Jesus, was an open secret, secrecy was important in both cases to ensure that the message was conveyed in the proper context, with the proper solemnity and effectiveness. The goal of the magician was to cross the boundary separating the human and the divine. The ritual of deification known as the Mithras Liturgy was intended to accomplish that feat. According to Mark, Jesus crossed that boundary by being raised from the dead and being seated at the right hand of God.75 The followers of Jesus, if they are not ashamed of him and if they take up their crosses and follow him, have the “better hope” of sharing in the divine glory through him.76 The various themes of secrecy in Mark – the commands to demons and disciples not to reveal the identity of Jesus, the instructions to those who are healed by Jesus not to speak about their healing,77 the lack of understanding on the part of the disciples, and the “parable theory”  – are all literary devices created or adapted by the author of the Gospel to reveal and yet conceal Jesus and to imply that, during his lifetime, his identity was similarly revealed yet concealed. He was truly endowed with the divine spirit, was really the son of God, and was indeed the Messiah, even though he did not do what the Messiah was expected to do. He came as a prophet to proclaim the coming kingdom of God. He came as a teacher and a healer. He also came to give his life as a ransom for many. From Mark’s point of view, this is the mystery of the kingdom of God.

 E. g., Mark 5:37, 43.  Mark 14:62; compare 12:36. 76  Mark 8:34–38; compare 13:27. 77  E. g., Mark 7:36; 8:26. 74 75

What Sort of Jew is the Jesus of Mark? The question of the Jewishness of Jesus in Mark is multi-faceted. It involves, for example, the social roles Jesus is depicted as playing and his relation to the Jewish parties (αἱρέσεις) as we know them from Josephus.1 His relation to those parties can be discerned both in his teaching and in his deeds.

The Social Roles of Jesus in Mark Jesus as Messiah The most prominent social role in which Jesus appears in Mark, if it can be so defined, is his role as Messiah. The epithet “Son of God” in Mark is messianic.2 It is clear that when the term χριστός is applied to Jesus in Mark it means the Messiah, for example, in the opening titular sentence. Peter’s response to the question of Jesus, “Who do you (pl.) say that I am,” makes this point by declaring, σὺ εἶ ὁ χριστός, “You are the Messiah” or “You are the anointed one,” indicating that he, in the role of Messiah, is the anointed one that matters more than any other.3 After a rebuke, which is part of the theme of the secrecy of the identity of Jesus, he teaches the disciples about the necessary suffering of the Son of Man.4 This shift from the designation “Messiah” to “Son of Man” in the teaching that follows Peter’s declaration is important in several ways. On one level, it suggests that the two epithets are equivalent.5 On another level, it distinguishes between several understandings of the term “Messiah.” One idea of the role of the Messiah involves the eschatological, definitive restoration of the Israelite monarchy, especially as embodied by David. Examples of the expression of this type of Messiahship include a number of documents from the late Second Temple period, 1  Josephus, J. W. 2.119–166; on the Essenes, see also Philo, Prob. 75–91; Hypoth. 11–18. Many scholars hold that the Essenes can be known also from the sectarian works among the Dead Sea Scrolls. On the Pharisees and Sadducees, see Anthony J. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1988). On the Essenes, see Geza Vermes and Martin D. Goodman, eds., The Essenes according to the Classical Sources (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989). 2  Adela Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins, King and Messiah as Son of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 127–29. 3  Mark 8:29. 4  Mark 8:30–31. 5  Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 402.

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namely, the Rule of the Community; the Rule of the Blessings, which is appended to it; the War Scroll, and the Psalms of Solomon 17.6 Josephus presents evidence for messianic movements in the late first century bce and in the first century ce. He rejects those who apparently claimed to be the Messiah, a king able to restore the Davidic monarchy, and who were to a significant degree recognized as such, by referring to them as illegitimate kings or tyrants.7 All of these texts anticipate a Davidic Messiah who will be a successful military and political leader, defeating the Romans and their Jewish collaborators and reestablishing an autonomous kingdom of Israel. Although Mark places emphasis on the authority of Jesus,8 the passion predictions present a Messiah very different from the type just described. These predictions juxtapose an allusion to the powerful human-like figure of Daniel 7, who is given kingship over all peoples, with a portrait of Jesus as one who will suffer, be rejected, killed, and rise from the dead. This portrait is probably a correction, or at least an addition, to the widespread picture of a powerful Messiah of Israel. This correction is due of course to the fact that Jesus was crucified by order of a Roman magistrate. On a third level of meaning, the allusions to Jesus’s resurrection from the dead and the epithet “Son of Man” introduce a third type of Messiah, a heavenly king and judge. This understanding of the Messiah is expressed in the Similitudes or Parables of Enoch and in Fourth Ezra.9 In Mark, Jesus is presented as a fulfillment of Daniel 7:13–14 in two stages. In the first Jesus is the Son of Man during his human life as one who has authority to forgive sins and to interpret the commands of God regarding the keeping of the Sabbath.10 In the second stage the risen Jesus is a glorious, heavenly figure to whom God delegates kingship and judgment. The risen Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah in the full sense. This stage is introduced in the sayings about the Son of Man “coming,” or more broadly, in the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings.11

Jesus as prophet Although Mark is careful to make and maintain the point that Jesus is the Messiah, he also portrays him as a prophet. The role of prophet is recognized as one of the identities of Jesus in the eyes of the people but is subordinated to his role as Messiah.12 The appropriation of the role of prophet in characterizing Jesus  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 53–55. Collins, Mark, 55–58.  8 E. g., Mark 1:22.  9 Yarbro Collins, Mark, 58–63. 10  Mark 2:10, 28. 11  Mark 8:38; 13:24–27; 14:62; Yarbro Collins and Collins, King and Messiah, 150–52. 12  Mark 8:27–30.  6

 7 Yarbro

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must be seen in the context of the revival of prophecy in the late Second Temple period.13 The endowment of Jesus with the Spirit has both messianic and prophetic connotations.14 In the account of Elisha succeeding Elijah, the endowment with the Spirit signifies installation into prophetic office.15 Thus the descent of the Spirit upon Jesus may be seen as his commission to be a prophet. The Spirit driving Jesus into the wilderness evokes earlier accounts of the divine Spirit carrying prophets from place to place.16 Jesus’s stay in the wilderness of forty days and the angels serving him recall Elijah’s fleeing into the wilderness, where an angel appears to him and gives him food and drink that enable him to make a journey of forty days and nights to Mount Horeb.17 The similarities between the summary of Jesus’s teaching and the use of Scripture in certain Dead Sea Scrolls suggest that the summary presents Jesus as an eschatological prophet.18 Later, in response to Jesus’s question, the disciples report that some people say that Jesus is a prophet and others that he is Elijah.19

Jesus as Teacher The portrayal of Jesus as a teacher is compatible with his social roles as Messiah and prophet, since such figures were also known as teachers.20 After the introduction to the Gospel of Mark in 1:1–15, Jesus is presented as calling disciples and then entering the synagogue of Capernaum and teaching.21 He is also described as teaching in the synagogue in Nazareth.22 Some of his teaching takes place by the sea (of Galilee) or on it in a boat.23 He is portrayed as going around teaching in the villages of Galilee.24 Jesus is also depicted as teaching in the region of Judea, in Perea (the region east of the Jordan River), and in the temple, apparently in the outer court.25 The epithet “teacher” (διδάσκαλος) is applied to Jesus twelve times in Mark. His disciples address him as “teacher.”26 Others who come to Jesus for help do  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 44–46. the messianic connotations, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 65. 15 Compare Mark 1:10 with 2 Kgs 2:9, 15; see also 1 Kgs 19:16. 16 Mark 1:12; compare 1 Kgs 18:12; 2 Kgs 2:16; Ezek 3:12–15; 8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5. 17  Mark 1:12–13; 1 Kgs 19:4–8. 18  Mark 1:14–15; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 47–48. 19 Mark 8:27–28. 20  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 73. 21  Mark 1:16–21. The calling of the four disciples in 1:16–20 has similarities with Elijah’s call of Elisha; compare this passage and also 2:14 with 1 Kgs 19:19–21; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 48. 22 Mark 6:2. 23  Mark 2:13; 4:1–2; he also taught in an unspecified uninhabited place (6:32–34). 24 Mark 6:6b. 25  Mark 10:1; 11:15, 17, 27; 12:1–37. Compare 12:41. 26  Mark 4:38; 9:38; 10:35; 13:1. 13

14 On

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the same.27 The Pharisees and the Herodians are portrayed as addressing Jesus as “teacher” and affirming that he teaches the way of God in accordance with the truth.28 Some Sadducees also address him as “teacher.”29 The scribe who saw that Jesus answered well in the dispute with the Sadducees uses the same epithet of him.30 Jesus instructs two of his disciples to refer to him as “the Teacher” when seeking a place to celebrate the Passover.31 The teaching of Jesus is focused on the eschatological plan of God. The first time that the teaching of Jesus is reported, it takes the form of parables about “the mystery of the kingdom of God.”32 When the teaching of Jesus is reported in plain language, it concerns the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus as Son of Man.33 His interpretation of the Law and the exposition of Scripture are determined by the eschatological context in which they occur.34

Other characterizing themes Jesus is characterized as a herald by the use of the verb κηρύσσειν. In the introductory summary of his activity, he is described as going to Galilee “proclaiming the good news of God.” This characterization follows closely upon the endowment of the Spirit upon Jesus. An analogy is thus created, perhaps one of eschatological fulfillment of prophecy, between Jesus and the speaker of Isaiah 61. The prophet, as servant of God, states: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me; he has sent me to proclaim good news to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim release to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to announce a year of the Lord’s favor, and a day of compensation to comfort all who mourn.35

Itinerant proclaiming activity characterized Jesus’s time in Galilee, both in his own words and the narrator’s summary that immediately follows.36 Some of those healed by Jesus and those who witness a healing go forth proclaiming what he did for them.37 Jesus also sends his disciples out to proclaim that people 27  The man who brings his demon-possessed son (9:17); the rich young man who comes for advice (10:17, 20); associates of Jairus (5:35). 28  Mark 12:14. 29  Mark 12:18–19. 30 Mark 12:32. 31  Mark 14:14. 32  Mark 4:1–34; especially 4:11. 33  Mark 8:31; 9:31. 34  Mark 10:1–12; 11:17; 12:13–17; 12:35–37. For further discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 76–79. 35  LXX Isa 61:1–2; all translations from the Greek are my own unless otherwise noted. 36  Mark 1:38–39. 37  Mark 1:45; 5:20; 7:36.

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should repent.38 After Jesus’s death and resurrection, the duty of his followers is to proclaim the gospel to all nations.39 This theme is elaborated in the secondcentury longer ending of Mark.40 A glimpse of the personal piety of Jesus is given in the passages that portray him as praying. After a full day of healing and exorcising, Jesus is described as rising before dawn, leaving Capernaum, and going to an uninhabited place to pray.41 Later, after feeding the five thousand, dismissing the crowd, and taking leave of his disciples, Jesus goes up on a mountain to pray for an extended period of time.42 In the scene in Gethsemane, Jesus prays to his father (αββα ὁ πατήρ) in his time of distress and anxiety.43 He prays that he not be required to undergo suffering and a violent death.44 In the same breath, however, he submits to God’s will. In this and other contexts, Jesus also instructs his disciples about prayer and criticizes the prayer of the scribes.45

Jesus and the Jewish Parties Jesus and the Sadducees I take the simplest case first. The Sadducees appear only once in Mark, while Jesus is teaching in the temple.46 Some Sadducees approach him. The narrator characterizes them as saying that there is no resurrection. This characterization fits with Josephus’s description of the party as rejecting the afterlife and judgment after death.47 The only preliminary to their question is the address of Jesus as “teacher.” This matter of fact approach is in keeping with Josephus’s remark that the Sadducees consider disputing with teachers of wisdom an expression of excellence.48  Mark 6:12.  Mark 13:10; compare 14:9. 40  Mark 16:15, 20. On the longer ending, see James A. Kelhoffer, Miracle and Mission: The Authentication of Missionaries and their Message in the Longer Ending of Mark, WUNT 2.112 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). 41  Mark 1:35. 42  Mark 6:46. According to v. 47, he prayed until evening came. 43 The address of God as “father” in Mark 14:36 does not necessarily imply a metaphysical relationship; compare 2 Sam 7:12–14. As noted above “Son of God” in Mark is a royal title. 44  That this “hour” pass away and this “cup” be removed from him; Mark 14:35–36. Compare 14:39, 41. 45  Instruction in 11:24–25; 13:18; 14:38; and, in most manuscripts, 13:33; criticism in 12:40. 46  Mark 12:18–27. 47 Josephus, J. W. 2.165; according to Ant. 18.16, they hold the position that souls disappear along with bodies. 48  Josephus, Ant. 18.16. 38 39

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Those who come to Jesus give an account of a case of levirate marriage, in which a woman marries seven brothers in succession. They then ask, “In the resurrection, when they rise, to which of them will she be wife?” This example could be taken as an attempt at humor. Such humor may be interpreted as mocking the notion of resurrection. The latter option fits with Josephus’ comment that they are ungentle (ἀπηνής) in their dealings with their fellow Jews.49 Jesus’s response is equally direct, opening his reply with the statement that they are mistaken and closing it by saying that they are greatly mistaken. He makes two points in favor of the resurrection. The first responds directly to their example. It is irrelevant because those who rise from the dead are like angels and do not live as married persons. This point would be weakened if the account of Paul’s examination by the Sanhedrin is correct in characterizing the Sadducees as not believing in the existence of angels and spirits.50 There is, however, no trace of such a denial in the text of Mark. The second point is based on the interpretation of Scripture.51 God declares himself to be the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Since God is not God of the dead but of the living, these three patriarchs must be living. The argument either presupposes that they are living at the time of the dispute and thus rose soon after dying or assumes an interim state and anticipates their resurrection at the general resurrection of the dead. In either case, the Jesus of Mark defends belief in the resurrection and is therefore closer to the Pharisees than to the Sadducees on this point.52

Jesus and the Pharisees The Pharisees are introduced rather neutrally in the passage following the call of Levi.53 Jesus is eating with tax collectors and sinners, either in his own house in Capernaum or in Levi’s house. “The scribes belonging to the Pharisees” ask the disciples of Jesus why he is doing so. Jesus replies with the parable about a physician going to those who are sick, not to the healthy. The term “scribes” here seems to refer not to copyists and low-level officials but to experts in the law.54 According to Josephus, the Pharisees are the leading party and “are considered to be the most accurate interpreters of the laws.”55 He also says that they

49  Josephus, J. W. 2.166 (Thackeray, LCL). All further citations of the Greek text of Josephus and translations are from this source unless otherwise noted. 50 Acts 23:8. 51 Exod 3:6, 15–16. 52  For further discussion of this passage, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 557–64. 53 Mark 2:15–17. 54  See Yarbro Collins, Mark, 164. 55  J. W. 2.162.

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“cultivate harmonious relations with the community.”56 It is thus not surprising that some scribes would affiliate with them. Furthermore, Anthony Saldarini has argued that the Pharisees “functioned as a political interest group,”57 in which a religious dimension was of course embedded. They “entered into coalitions with other groups” among the upper strata of society “in order to gain influence and move those who had power.”58 Although the scribes of the Pharisees are not presented as opponents or as hostile to Jesus in this passage, the question does of course challenge his practices of fellowship in eating. It is likely that the reason for the challenge was that, in their view, Jesus’s practice showed that he was not pursuing holiness to a sufficient extent.59 The next scene begins with the narration of a brief back-story, “And the disciples of John and the Pharisees were fasting.”60 The scene itself begins with unspecified persons raising a question, “Why do the disciples of John and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” Here the Pharisees are not characterized as opponents of Jesus. Rather the context seems to be the perception among the people that Jesus and his followers are competing with the Pharisees for influence over them and how they live their lives as Jews. Jesus replies by characterizing himself as a metaphorical bridegroom and his activity as a time of rejoicing, like that of a wedding, when fasting is inappropriate. The appended sayings further describe the time of Jesus’s activity as initiating a new order that breaks through and goes beyond the traditional one. The Markan Jesus does, however, accept the practice of fasting on the part of his followers in the time after his death and before his coming as Son of Man. In this situation the Pharisees do not challenge Jesus. The question of unspecified persons, however, makes clear that Mark is presenting Jesus and his followers in competition for the allegiance of the people and for influencing what way of life they will choose to follow.

The controversies over Sabbath observance: Plucking heads of grain (Mark 2:23–28) In this scene we find the first real conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees. The passage may have a complex tradition-history.61 Since my topic is the Jesus of Mark, I will focus on its form as we find it in Mark.  J. W. 2.166.  Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees, 120. 58  Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees, 120. 59  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 193. 60  Mark 2:18–22. 61  On the tradition-historical and redactional history of the passage, see Lutz Doering, Schabbat: Sabbathalacha und ‑praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum, TSAJ 78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 409–23. 56 57

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The temporal setting is the Sabbath. The scene is set in the grain-fields, through which Jesus and his disciples are passing. The Pharisees ask Jesus polemically, “Why are they doing on the Sabbath what is not permitted?” There are two Jewish texts that shed light on what precisely the Pharisees of Mark are objecting to here. One is the Damascus Document, which contains the statement, “No one is to eat on the Sabbath day except what has been prepared and from what is perishing (‫ )האובד‬in the field.”62 This implies that one may not separate any part of a plant that is growing in the ground on the Sabbath.63 The other passage comes from Philo: “[The rest required on the Sabbath] extends also to every kind of trees and plants; for it is not permitted to cut (τεμεῖν) any shoot or branch, or even a leaf, or to pluck (δρέψασθαι) any fruit whatsoever.”64 This makes it clear that the prohibition of reaping has been extended to cases in which there is no economic gain and even when it is done for immediate use.65 Since the Damascus Document is an Essene text and Philo comes from the Greek-speaking Diaspora, it is likely that the issue in Mark is similar and that the attribution of this view to the Pharisees at least had verisimilitude. The first reply of Jesus to the Pharisees’ objection begins with the question, “Have you never read what David did when he was in need and when he himself and those with him were hungry?”66 When the scene is set in v. 23, no mention is made of Jesus or the disciples being hungry. This question implies that such was indeed the case. What David did is then described in v. 26.67 The transgression of David is emphasized: he “ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not permitted [for anyone] to eat, except the priests, and gave [some] also to those who were with him.” The context suggests that David’s breaking of that regulation was justified because he and his companions were hungry. The citation of David’s action here as a precedent is a strong argument, “For the Bible says explicitly of David that he ‘did that which was right in the eyes of the Lord, and turned not aside from any thing that He commanded him all the days of his life, except only in the matter of Uriah the Hittite’.” In the view of Menahem Kister, “David’s deeds are therefore the strongest precedents in a halakhic argument.”68 62  CD 10:22–23; trans (modified) from Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1997–1998) 1.568–69. 63  Doering, Schabbat, 428. See also the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark, 201–2 n. 122. 64  Philo, Moses 2.22 (Colson, LCL). 65  Doering, Schabbat, 428. 66 Mark 2:25; compare 12:10, 26. 67  For discussion of details of lesser relevance here, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 202–3. 68 1 Kgs 15:5; cited and discussed by Menahem Kister, “The Earliest Layers of the Jesus Tradition concerning the Sabbath, in Light of Jewish Midrashim,” chapter one in his Midrashic Studies in the New Testament, WUNT (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). I am grateful to Prof. Kister for sharing his work with me and allowing me to cite it.

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In this response, Jesus recognizes that the Pharisees are correct in claiming that the activity of his disciples breaks a rule of Sabbath observance. He implicitly makes the point by analogy with David, however, that this transgression is justified because they were hungry. Jesus leaves open whether hunger justifies breaking other Sabbath rules. In any case, Jesus’s argument does not abrogate the commandment not to work on the Sabbath as it is found in Exodus and Deuteronomy.69 Rather it provides a criterion for interpreting that prohibition, namely, any work that meets a basic and immediate human need overrides the prohibition of work on the Sabbath. The rabbis justified David’s act as overwhelming hunger that was a threat to life; so they allowed breaking the Sabbath to assuage hunger, but only if it was life threatening.70 The Pharisees probably held a similar view, as we shall see below. So Jesus did not abolish any commandment but expanded a permissible exception. The second reply of Jesus is given in vv. 27–28.71 In the context of Mark, these two verses belong together, since v. 28 is introduced as a consequence of v. 27 (ὥστε). I would like to begin by looking at v. 27 separately, however, because its force is somewhat in tension with that of v. 28. The saying of v. 27 reads, “The Sabbath came into being on account of man, not man on account of the Sabbath” (τὸ σάββατον διὰ τὸν ἄνθρωπον ἐγένετο καὶ οὐχ ὁ ἄνθρωπος διὰ τὸ σάββατον). The reference to the Sabbath coming into being would call to mind for the audience the ending of the first creation story of Genesis.72 First God is said to have rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done on the previous six days. Then he is said to have blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because he had rested on that day.73 Since human beings were created on the sixth day, the Sabbath was created for them, not the other way around. In the saying attributed to Jesus, the point is made in a poetic and evocative way, using the figure of speech known as anastrophe (ἀναστροφή).74 As is well known, the Rabbis knew a similar saying:

69 Exod

20:8–11; 23:12; 31:12–17; 34:21; 35:2–3; Deut 5:12–15. statement by an Amora in y. Yoma 8:5, 45b; Kister, “Earliest Layers.” 71  These verses constitute a second reply, as is shown in the new introduction given at the beginning of v. 27, “And he said to them.” 72 Gen 2:2–3; v. 4 is a generalizing conclusion. 73 Lutz Doering has ably refuted the claim by Martin Ebner that there is no evidence in the Old Testament and ancient Jewish texts for the idea that the Sabbath “was created”: Doering, “Much Ado about Nothing? Jesus’s Sabbath Healings and their Halakhic Implications Revisited,” in Judaistik und neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, ed. Lutz Doering, Hans-Günther Waubke, and Florian Wilk, FRLANT 226 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 217–41; here 239. 74  On this figure, see Herbert W. Smyth, Greek Grammar (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), § 3011. 70 A

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You shall keep the Sabbath for it is holy to you (‫[ )לכם‬Exod 31:14] – Rabbi Shimon ben Menassiah said: to you [‫ ]לכם‬the Sabbath is delivered [lit.: handed], and you are not delivered [lit.: handed] to the Sabbath.75

The Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael also provides evidence that, in the saying just quoted “being handed to you” means “you are given authority over [what is handed to you].” So the point of the saying is not that the Sabbath was given to you on Mount Sinai, but that “you” (‫ )לכם‬are given authority over the Sabbath.76 It is likely that the saying of Jesus in v. 27 has similar significance: Since the Sabbath came into being (or was created) for human beings, human beings have the authority to interpret the prohibition of work on the Sabbath. This saying is used in both the Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael and the Babylonian Talmud, however, “to flesh out the concept of saving a life on the Sabbath (piqquah nefesh).” In Mark the saying has no explicit limit or qualification.77 On the one hand, it could be seen as a generalizing summary of Jesus’s expansion of the exception regarding saving a life. On the other, it could be read as going beyond the preceding discussion to give a wider kind of authority to interpret the prohibition of work on the Sabbath. As mentioned earlier, in the present context, the apparently unlimited saying about human authority over the Sabbath is closely linked to another saying in v. 28: So the Son of Man is master also of the Sabbath (ὥστε κύριος ἐστιν ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καὶ τοῦ σαββάτου).

Perhaps this saying sets some kind of limit upon the one in v. 27. On one level, the Son of Man saying creates a play on words with the preceding saying, based on an idiom found in both Hebrew and Aramaic. The word “man” in v. 27 (ἄνθρωπος) may have the same referent and meaning as the phrase “son of man” (without the articles: υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου) according to that idiom.78 So v. 28 could be translated, “So the son of man (= man) is master even (or indeed) of the Sabbath.” Given the use of the phrase “son of man” in connection with Jesus elsewhere in Mark, the audience is led here to associate that phrase with Jesus as the humanlike figure of Daniel 7 interpreted as the Messiah.79 In that case, v. 28 would imply that the followers of Jesus had authority to interpret the regulations regarding the Sabbath with a limit; that is, they are to follow the example of the Jesus of Mark in interpreting such regulations. 75  Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Shabbtha; cited from Kister, “Earliest Layers”; see also Yarbro Collins, Mark, 203–4 with n. 137 and b. Yoma 85b. 76  Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Shabbtha 1; Kister, “Earliest Layers.” 77  Kister, “Earliest Layers.” 78  The idiom is preserved, e. g., in LXX Ps 8:5. 79  See the section “Jesus as Messiah” above.

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The controversies over Sabbath observance: the healing of the man with a withered hand (Mark 3:1–6) In this passage, the Pharisees, along with some Herodians, are depicted as hostile opponents to Jesus to the point of wanting to destroy him. The death of Jesus was already alluded to in the scholastic dialogue about fasting: “But days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast on that day.”80 The evangelist has crafted this scene as a more dramatic foreshadowing of his death, with opponents “watching him carefully [to see] whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, in order that they might bring charges against him.” When he does so, the passage ends with a conspiracy about how to bring about Jesus’s death. Such a scene is historically implausible, since breaking the commandment about resting on the Sabbath, let alone disagreements over specific, non-biblical Sabbath regulations, at this time were not prosecuted.81 Further, the Pharisees are not mentioned in the passion narrative of Mark among those responsible for the death of Jesus. After the scene is set, the Markan Jesus calls the man with a withered hand into the center of those gathered on the Sabbath. He then asks them, especially those watching him, “Is it permitted to do good on the Sabbath or to do harm, to save a life or to kill?” This saying is important for placing Jesus in his Jewish social context. I will return to this issue. First, however, the question whether and in what way Jesus’s healing of this man broke the Sabbath must be addressed. Lutz Doering has refuted persuasively the argument that, since Jesus healed only by his word, he did not break the Sabbath laws.82 He has also noted the fact that there is not a single source from the pre-tannaitic period that mentions healing on the Sabbath.83 A number of tannaitic passages, however, make clear that doing anything on the Sabbath with the intention of healing is unlawful. If healing is the indirect result of eating food and drinking liquids that healthy people also consume, then it is lawful.84 So the healing of the man with the withered hand seems clearly to violate tannaitic regulations, since the intention of healing is apparent. The reaction of the Pharisees to Jesus’s healing in this passage implies that they hold a similar view, since Jesus clearly has the intention of healing, yet heals without performing any other work in the currently defined sense. Now I would like to return to the question Jesus puts to the congregation, directed especially to the Pharisees.85 Doering rightly excludes the interpre Mark 2:18–22; quotation from v. 20.  Doering, Schabbat, 396, 501 with n. 114. 82  Doering, Schabbat, 446–47; “Much Ado about Nothing?” 217–27. 83  Doering, Schabbat, 448; “Much Ado about Nothing?” 229. 84  m. Shabbat 14:3–4; 22:6; t. Shabbat 12[13].8–14; 16[17].16,19; Doering, Schabbat, 449; “Much Ado about Nothing?” 232–34; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 206–7. 85  Mark 3:4. Those watching Jesus carefully turn out to be the Pharisees (3:6). 80 81

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tation that Jesus did good and saved lives, whereas the Pharisees and Herodians did harm and killed. Instead he argues that the alternatives are meant to exclude any middle ground: not to do good is to do harm; not to save a life is to kill.86 He argues helpfully that Jesus places his healing activity on the Sabbath between the general “doing good” and the specific “saving a life” in such a way that it is a proper continuation of “saving a life.” Jesus uses the keyword “saving a life” to describe an activity that can be understood as a concrete example of “doing good.” His antagonists are familiar with the idea that failing to do a good deed is the same as killing. Jesus extends the idea of “saving a life” to include the healing of a sick person when there is no danger of death. He goes a step further than those who accept the profanation of the Sabbath in order to save a life. In the weighing up of the needs of a human being and keeping the Sabbath holy, he takes the side of the human being.87 The position that Jesus takes is a consequence of the eschatological context of his message. Healing is a sign of the kingdom of God.88 Kister characterizes the saying of Jesus in Mark 3:4 as explicitly blurring the distinction “between cases of true piqquah nefesh and those in which there is no danger to life.”89 The phrase used by Jesus “to save life” (ψυχὴν σῶσαι) expresses a concept practically synonymous with that of piqquah nefesh.90 He argues further that “the tendency to extend the limits of the halakhic category piqquah nefesh is not alien to Jewish halakhah in later generations.”91 It was never, however, “so drastically extended in mainstream Judaism as in Jesus’ sayings.” The rabbis argued differently, but it is nevertheless “clear that Jesus’ assumption is that – as a rule – work on the Sabbath is prohibited.”92

A dispute with the Pharisees (7:1–23) The scene is set entirely in third person narration in vv. 1–2. “The Pharisees,” presumably local, and some scribes, whose origin or base was in Jerusalem, saw that some of Jesus’s disciples were eating with defiled hands. This narrative introduction is interrupted by an explanatory digression.93 In the two Sabbath controversies discussed earlier, the evangelist gives no explanation of the issues involved. The difference between those scenes and this  Doering, Schabbat, 451.  Doering, Schabbat, 452–53. 4Q265 5 6–7 concedes the saving of life only in so far as “no breach of the Sabbath is involved”; compare Doering, “Much Ado about Nothing?” 230. On the position that the Sabbath may be profaned for the sake of the life of a human being, see 231. 88  Doering, Schabbat, 454–55. 89  Kister, “Earliest Layers.” 90  Compare Doering, “Much Ado about Nothing?” 232. 91  m. Yoma 8:6; b. Shabbat 109a; y. Shabbat 14:4, 14d. 92  Kister, “Earliest Layers.” 93  Since the opening sentence is not completed, the digression creates an example of the figure of anacoluthon (ἀνακόλουθον); Smyth, Greek Grammar, § 3004–3007. 86 87

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one is probably due to the fact that Sabbath observance is a commandment of the Torah, whereas the washing of hands before eating is not. The explanation begins already in v. 2: the phrase “defiled hands” is defined as unwashed hands. It continues in v. 3 with the remark that, “the Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands,94 holding fast the tradition of the elders.” Josephus states that, “the Pharisees had passed on to the people certain regulations handed down by former generations and not recorded in the Laws of Moses.”95 He goes on to say that the Sadducees rejected these unwritten regulations, and the issue became a point of contention between the two parties.96 It is clear that these traditional regulations are what Mark refers to as “the tradition of the elders.”97 The statement that “all the Jews (do not eat unless they wash their hands)” may be a generalization like that of the Letter of Aristeas,98 or it may reflect the assumed or actual influence of the Pharisees upon the people.99 The evangelist’s exposition of Jewish washing practices continues through v. 4. The tradition of the elders entails the washing of utensils related to eating and drinking and even dining couches or beds.100 This explanatory digression does not necessarily signify that the audience of Mark is entirely made up of gentile followers of Jesus who were ignorant about Pharisaic practices. It need only imply that some part of the intended audience needed such an explanation. Rather than with a continuation of the sentence begun in v. 2, the dialogue proper begins in v. 5 with the question of the Pharisees and scribes, “Why do your disciples not walk in accordance with the tradition of the elders but eat bread with defiled hands?” The question sounds rather innocent, seeking to determine what principles Jesus’s teaching is based on. The audience, however, will recall the conspiracy of the Pharisees and the Herodians, and Jesus’s response takes the form it does in that light, calling them “hypocrites” or “actors playing a role” in the introduction to his citation of the Greek version of Isa 29:13 against them. The contrast between the lips and the heart in the quotation introduces the theme of “outside” versus “inside,” which is taken up again in v. 15. The force of the quotation is interpreted in v. 8, which follows it: “Abandoning the commandments of God, you keep the tradition of human beings.” In effect, Jesus here enunciates a principle of his teaching, one that is an attack on the major principle of the Pharisees’ teaching, which allows for a considerable human role  94  I do not translate the difficult word πυγμῇ in v. 3. See the translation (“up to the elbow”) and the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark, 339, 347.  95 Josephus, Ant. 13.297 (Marcus, LCL).  96 Ant. 13.298.  97  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 347–48.  98 Let. Aris. 305; for discussion see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 345–46.  99  Compare Josephus, Ant. 13.298. 100  See the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark, 349.

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in determining legitimate practices.101 The principle of Jesus here serves as the thesis statement for the argument of vv. 9–13. Kister has shown that language similar to that principle is used in some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, also against the Pharisees. For example, the speaker in column 12 of the Hodayot states, “They are mediators of fraud and seers of deceit … to change your Law, which you engraved in my heart, for flattering teachings for your people.”102 On this point Jesus is clearly closer to the community of the Dead Sea Scrolls, probably Essenes, than to the Pharisees. So even in his fundamental rejection of the tradition of the elders, Jesus can be placed firmly within the diverse spectrum of ancient Judaism. Verse 9 then introduces an example of how the Pharisees’ observance of “their tradition” nullifies the commandments of God. The divine commandments used in this illustration are “Honor your father and your mother”;103 and “Whoever reviles father or mother shall die.”104 The illustration from the tradition observed by the Pharisees is the prohibitive vow.105 This type of vow is exemplified in v. 11 by a man saying to his father or mother, “Whatever of mine may benefit you is korban, which means gift.” “Gift” here means that the man promises to give the property in question to God (the treasury of the temple). In other words, the prohibitive vow is a dedicatory vow “of a specific type, which [cannot] take effect for technical reasons. The practical effect was a personal prohibition.”106 In this case the prohibitive vow seems to be a means for the man to avoid supporting his parents. Like Jesus, the Damascus Document condemns this kind of vow: Every binding oath by which anyone imposes upon himself [the obligation] to fulfill a letter of the law, he should not annul, even at the price of death. Anything by which he might impose upon himself to turn away fr[om the la]w, he should not fulfill, not even when the price is death.107

According to the Mishnah:

101 See Menahem Kister, “The Dispute over Hand Washing,” chapter three in his Midrashic Studies in the New Testament, the discussion of Unit B (7:8–13). All further references to Unit B in Kister’s chapter are to his discussion of Mark 7:8–13. 102  1QHa 12:9–11; trans. from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1.169; see also 12:13–18; 4Q166 ii 5–6; 4Q301 4–5; all of these passages are cited by Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit B. 103  LXX Deut 5:16. 104 LXX Exod 21:16. 105  For discussion see Moshe Benovitz, kol nidre: Studies in the Development of Rabbinic Votive Institutions, BJS 315 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998); Yarbro Collins, Mark, 351–53. 106 Benovitz, kol nidre, 4; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 352. 107  CD 16:7–9; trans. from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1.565; the passage is cited by Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit B.

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if a man swore to set a commandment at naught, [to wit,] that he would not build a Sukkah or carry a Lulab or put on phylacteries, this is accounted a ‘vain oath’ [Lev 5:4], for which, if it is uttered wantonly, a man is liable to Stripes, but if unwittingly, he is not culpable.108

Apparently, however, the Pharisees did not allow annulment of prohibitive vows.109 Philo of Alexandria, nevertheless, was aware of a procedure for, in effect, annulling a vow.110 The rabbis’ position was “that a vow that prevents one from supplying material support to one’s parents is binding, unless it has been formally annulled by sages.”111 The dialogue between Jesus and the Pharisees (and scribes) comes to an end with v. 13. A new beginning is given with Jesus summoning the crowd and teaching them. He signals that what he is about to teach is figurative language with the opening remark, “Listen to me all of you and comprehend” (v. 14).112 Verse 15 reads, “There is nothing outside of a man which, by going into him, is able to defile him; rather, it is what goes out of a man that defiles him.” To a certain degree, the first half of the saying can be reconciled with the Torah commandments regarding ritual impurity. In the rabbinic understanding of the Torah at least, no food is in itself unclean, that is, no food can defile a human being by the act of eating, except the corpse of a clean bird. Non-kosher food defiles a human being because one’s hands become defiled by touching it, and the defilement is transmitted to the mouth. Kosher food can never defile a human being to the first, highest degree of impurity, that is, it can never be “a father of impurity” (av ha-tumah). So to the degree that Jesus spoke about kosher food, the first half of the saying is compatible with the Torah. It is not compatible with the rabbinic decree, however, that a man eating “defiled food” does become defiled.113 The context of Mark 7 suggests that the Pharisaic regulation was quite similar to the rabbinic decree, at least from the point of view of the evangelist and the Markan Jesus. The saying in 7:15 is an antithetical aphorism.114 As noted earlier, it is also parabolic or figurative speech. On the literal level of meaning, it states that nothing (no food) that goes into a person is defiling, thus opposing the Pharisaic 108 m. Shevu’ot 3:8; trans. from Herbert Danby, The Mishnah (London: Oxford University Press, 1933), 413; see also m. Nedarim 5:6; both passages cited by Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit B. 109  Mark 7:12–13. 110  Philo, Hypoth. 7.5 (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 8.7.5); for discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 352–53. 111  Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit B. 112 Compare Mark 4:3, 9; 4:11–13. The saying in v. 15 is defined as a “parable” or “figurative saying” in 7:17. 113  In support of this interpretation, Kister cites Rashi’s commentary on b. Shabbat 13b; “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit C (Mark 7:14–16). All further references to Unit C refer to Kister’s discussion of this passage. 114  On the figure of antithesis (ἀντίθεσις), see Smyth, Greek Grammar, § 3013.

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regulation about hand washing. The second half of the saying adds the idea that what comes forth from a person is defiling. The saying as a whole states clearly “not this, but that.” From the point of view of the second level of meaning, one can take seriously yet compensate for the hyperbolic literal claim and the use of language of defilement in the second half of the saying. One may see the contrast to be rhetorical, a striking way of saying that the Pharisees are putting their emphasis in the wrong place. Anticipating the interpretation vv. 21–23, one can argue that the Markan Jesus is calling for an emphasis on morality rather than on ritual purity. Sin and vice are what cause real “defilement” in a metaphorical sense. Kister has argued that this shift from halakic issues to morality is typical of several sayings attributed to Jesus.115 In vv. 14–23 we see a typical Markan literary device: public teaching by Jesus, followed by private explanation to his disciples.116 The disciples ask Jesus about “the parable.” In his interpretation of the first part of the saying, Jesus argues that nothing going into a person from outside, that is, what one eats, can be defiling because it does not enter the heart. Rather it goes through the belly and out into the latrine.117 With this teaching the Markan Jesus effectively does away with biblical and Pharisaic purity regulations, at least those concerning food. The evangelist, or a later editor, adds the comment “making all (types of ) food clean.”118 The interpretation of the second half of the saying elucidates the phrase “what goes out of a human being”: “For from within, from the hearts of human beings come evil intentions”; a list of sins and vices follows.119 In the controversy about hand washing as a whole, Jesus is portrayed as taking a variety of positions. In his first reply to the question of the Pharisees and the scribes, Jesus rejects the Pharisees’ observance of the “tradition the elders” because it leads to the abandonment or even nullification of the commandments of God.120 This stance of Jesus is similar to that taken in several of the sectarian works from Qumran, which also reject the regulations of the Pharisees. Jesus and the Qumran community, however, have different reasons for rejecting them. The Qumran covenanters reject them as undermining the letter of the commandments and thus as too lenient. One way of reading the illustration given by the Markan Jesus in this section, the prohibitive vow, is that they are too strict in their recognition of the inviolability of a vow that has the effect of allowing a man to disregard the commandment to provide for his parents.

115 Kister,

“Dispute over Hand Washing,” discussion of Unit C. Collins, Mark, 343, 353, and commentary on vv. 17–19 on 355. 117  Mark 7:18b–19a. 118 Mark 7:19b. 119  Mark 7:20–23; for discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 356–62. 120  Mark 7:6–13. 116 Yarbro

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Jesus addresses his second reply to the crowd.121 This reply involves a figurative saying that rejects the Pharisees’ principle that unclean hands defile food and therefore defile the person eating it. His own formulation can be read as halakically compatible with the Torah. On the second level of meaning, it criticizes the Pharisees for emphasizing ritual purity over moral considerations. The third and last reply comes most obviously from the evangelist’s point of view.122 It is clearly the most radical of the three. It rejects all regulations of the Torah and the tradition of the elders that understand food and drink as communicating impurity. It may even imply the rejection of the entire biblical system of ritual impurity, as Kister has concluded.123

Jesus and the Essenes/Qumran Community The question of divorce: 10:2–12 Since the consensus is that the Essenes described by Josephus and Philo are the same group as the community that stands behind the sectarian works of the Dead Sea Scrolls, I will use the latter as a point for comparison with the Markan Jesus rather than the accounts of the former. It is not clear whether the earliest recoverable reading of the text of Mark 10:2 presents the Pharisees asking whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife or whether the questioners are anonymous, as in the passage about fasting.124 Since no Jewish group known to us in the first century forbade divorce, the question is odd in any case.125 Jesus replies by asking, “What did Moses command you?” and his interlocutors respond with a paraphrase of Deut 24:1–4. Jesus replies that Moses “wrote this commandment for you because of your hardness of heart.” Stephen Fraade has argued credibly that Mark 10:2–9 implies that “the law of divorce was Moses’ own invention and not indicative of the divine will, and hence only a temporally bound concession to human weakness.”126

121  Mark 7:14–15. V. 16 is a later addition to the text of Mark; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 339, 341 (note p). 122  Mark 7:17–23. 123  Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing,” in the discussion of Unit D (Mark 7:17–23). 124 Fasting is the issue in 2:18–21; on the textual issue in 12:2, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 457, note b; 465. 125  For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 465. 126 Stephen D. Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics, History, and Rhetoric Be Disentangled?” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James Kugel, ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman, JSJSup 83 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 399–422; quotation from 417.

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Jesus goes on to demonstrate, by citing Gen 1:27 and 2:24, that the will of God is that “What therefore God has joined man shall not separate.”127 With this pronouncement the first scene comes to an end with what appears to be an absolute prohibition of divorce. In the next, closely related scene, however, the disciples ask Jesus privately “about this matter.” He replies that any man who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against his first wife, and that a woman who divorces and marries another commits adultery against her first husband.128 This response of Jesus indicates his acceptance that at times divorce is inevitable. It also, however, entails the prohibition of a second marriage as long as the first spouse is still alive. This position of the Markan Jesus is similar to that of a passage in the Damascus Document, one of the rule–books from Qumran. This passage reads: The builders of the wall [Ezek 13:10] […] have been caught in unchastity in two ways: by taking two wives in their lifetime, whereas the principle of creation [is] ‘Male and female he created them’ [Gen 1:27], and those who entered [Noah’s] ark, two [by] two went into the ark [Gen 7:9]. And concerning the prince [it is] written: ‘He shall not multiply wives for himself ’ [Deut 17:17].129

The interpretation of this text has been controversial, but a fragmentary text of the Damascus Document from Qumran seems to settle the issue.130 It states that a man may marry a widow, as long as she has not had intercourse with anyone since her husband died. This supports the conclusion that the text just quoted permits divorce but condemns all second marriages as long as the first wife is living. So in the second scene of this passage, the Markan Jesus takes a position similar to that documented for the Qumran community.

The issue of eschatology In Mark both John the Baptist and Jesus are presented as eschatological figures whose activity is the fulfillment of Scripture.131 The second part of the opening quotation from Scripture comes from Isa 40:3. The same passage is cited in the Community Rule from Qumran in a way that suggests the community interpreted it as being fulfilled in their own time and in their communal life.132 The Community Rule also refers to “the final age” and “the time of the visitation” of God. The Gospel of Mark implies the presence of the final age and an analogous  Mark 10:6–9.  Mark 10:10–12. 129  CD 4:19–5:2; trans. (punctuation modified) by Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Matthean Divorce Texts and Some New Palestinian Evidence,” TS 37 (1976): 213–23. 130 4Q271 frg. 3, lines 10–15. 131  Mark 1:1–3 and what follows in 1:4–15. 132  1QS 8:12–16; 9:17–20. For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 136–38. 127 128

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visitation in the announcement of Jesus’s message: The “time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has drawn near.”133 The evangelist portrays John the Baptist as the forerunner of Jesus.134 Both are described as “proclaiming” (κηρύσσειν).135 In addition to a baptism of repentance, John proclaims, “The one who is stronger than I is coming after me; I am not fit to crouch and untie the strap of his sandals.”136 This description of Jesus fits well with his identification as the Messiah; it also strongly subordinates John to Jesus.137 John’s declaration, “I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you in [the] Holy Spirit,” does the same but also entails the idea that the anticipatory eschatological renewal occurs in two stages. The baptism of John with water may be seen as evoking Ezek 36:25–28, where God promises to sprinkle clean water upon Israel to cleanse them, to give them a new heart, and to put God’s spirit within them. Whereas in Mark the sprinkling with water and the bestowal of the Spirit are separated in time, in the Community Rule these activities are two aspects of the same event or process.138 The separation of the two in Mark creates a parallel that suggests that John’s activity both precedes and prepares for that of Jesus. As is well known, the Qumran community expected an eschatological prophet; a Messiah of Aaron, that is, a priestly Messiah; and a Messiah of Israel, in other words, a political Messiah.139 According to the War Scroll, the outcome of the eschatological battle will be “the sway of Michael above all the gods (‫אלים‬ = angels), and the dominion of Israel over all flesh.”140 Elsewhere in the War Scroll, the Davidic Messiah is depicted as playing a role in the final battle.141 In this passage, he is called “the Prince of the whole congregation.”142 The term “prince” (‫ )נשיא‬comes from Ezekiel, where it is used both for the king of Judah who was sent into exile and also for the future king who would restore the Davidic monarchy. That “the Prince of the Congregation” refers to the Messiah of Israel in the War Scroll is indicated by the citation of the oracle of Balaam in column 11 and the association of the “scepter” in that passage with “the Prince of  1QS 4:16–23; Mark 1:2–15; quotation from v. 15; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 138.  Mark 1:2, 7–8. 135  John in 1:4, 7; Jesus in 1:14. 136  Mark 1:7. 137  See the section “Jesus as Messiah” above. 138  1QS 4:18–23. 139  1QS 9:10–11; 4QTestimonia (4Q175); CD 14:19; compare 4QEschatological Midrash (4Q174 + 4Q477) [4Q174 is also known as 4QFlorilegium]; CD 7:18–21; the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa); the Rule of Benedictions (1QSb); for discussion see Michael A. Knibb, “Apocalypticism and Messianism,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 403–32; here 421–24. 140 1QM 17:7–8. 141  1QM 5:1–2. 142  Trans. from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1.121. 133 134

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the whole congregation” in the Damascus Document.143 Thus it is likely that the rule of Michael in the heavens will be accompanied by the rule of the Messiah of Israel over the earth. The summary of Jesus’s teaching in Mark 1:15 implies that the prophecies of Scripture and the hopes of the people are in the process of being fulfilled. The process will not be complete until the Son of Man comes.144 Mark’s Jesus announces, “the time is fulfilled.” The Melchizedek Scroll refers to the “end of days” (‫ )אחרית הימים‬and the end of the tenth jubilee.145 In the Dead Sea Scrolls, the phrase “the end of days” refers to a period of separation and affliction for the pious, a time of temptation and suffering in which the community has to stand the test. This final period of history included events that were already past from the point of view of the community; the present time, from the point of view of sectarian works from the earliest to the latest; and events of the future, such as the coming of the two Messiahs.146 According to another document from Qumran, the history of the world is divided into ten jubilee periods, each of which is subdivided into weeks of years, as in the Melchizedek Scroll.147 The end of the tenth jubilee, therefore, would be the end or fulfillment of history. The Gospel of Mark and the Melchizedek Scroll thus seem to share the idea of the end as a period of time during which a series of eschatological events have occurred, are occurring, and will occur. The following passage is especially interesting for comparison with Mark 1:2–15: This is the day [of salvation (Isa 49:8) about w]hich [God] spoke [through the mouth of Isa]iah the prophet who said, [“How] beautiful on [the] mountains are the feet of the heral[d who pro]claims peace, the her[ald of good who proclaims salvati]on, saying to Zion, ‘Your God [is king.’”] (Isa 52:7).148

The Melchizedek Scroll interprets the word “God” in Isa 52:7 as referring to Melchizedek, who is an angel and probably equivalent to Michael, but this figure is clearly the agent of God in God’s eschatological rule.149 Thus Mark 1:15 and the Melchizedek Scroll both connect the fulfillment of history with the kingship of God.

 1QM 11:6–7; CD 7:18–21; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 53–54.  Mark 9:1; 13:24–27. 145 11QMelch 2:4, 7. 146  Annette Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1993): 225–46. 147  4QPseudo-Ezekiel (4Q385). 148 11QMelch 2:15–16; trans. (punctuation modified) from Paul Kobelski, Melchizedek and Melchiresha, CBQMS 10 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1981), 8. 149  11QMelch 2:24–25; Kobelski, Melchizedek, 62–64, 71–74. 143 144

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The “herald” (‫ )מבשר‬mentioned in the passage just cited and in what follows is probably identical with the eschatological prophet expected by the community.150 An aspect of the role of the herald is to announce that Melchizedek is king. This constellation of eschatological ideas is strikingly analogous to the narrative introduction to Mark, in which the baptism performed by the prophetic figure John and his reference to the one who comes after him provide the occasion for the appointment of Jesus as Messiah. The analogy is even stronger if we take Melchizedek as Michael and keep in mind the parallel kingship of Michael and the Messiah of Israel in the War Scroll. The Gospel of Mark implies that there is a divine plan in history and that, in the last days, the relevant part of this plan unfolds in stages. This last stage is related to the “good news” and it begins with John the prophet proclaiming his message of repentance and performing the rite of baptism. It continues with Jesus proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God and his making it present in an anticipatory way in his authoritative teaching, meal fellowship, and mighty deeds. His suffering, death, and resurrection “must happen” and are part of the good news,151 which must be proclaimed to all the nations before the end can come.152 Other events then follow: “the beginning of the birth pains,”153 the unprecedented tribulation,154 and finally the coming of the Son of Man, which seems to be the end (τὸ τέλος).155 The fixed character of this plan is clear, although God can amend it.156 The idea of a fixed divine plan is also found in a text from the Dead Sea Scrolls, known as 4QInstruction. It refers to a “mystery that is to be” or a “mystery that is to come” (‫)רז נהיה‬. This mystery “includes the entire divine plan from creation to eschatological judgment.”157 The eschatological dimension of this work expresses both the fulfillment of the divine plan and the fact that only at the end will the plan become evident to all, especially in the reward of the righteous and the punishment of the wicked.

150  11QMelch 2:16, 18–19; on the eschatological prophet, see 1QS 9:11; 4QTestimonia 5–8, citing Deut 18:18–19; Kobelski, Melchizedek, 61–62. 151 8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34; 14:8–9, 36, 41; 15:1–16:8; note the theme of the fulfillment of Scripture in chapter 15. 152  13:10; compare 13:7. 153  13:7–8. 154  13:19. 155  13:24–27; compare 13:7. 156  See especially 8:31; 13:7, 10; 14:36 and the motif of the fulfillment of Scripture in 14:49. 157  John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 122. Regarding eschatological punishment, see Mark 9:43–48.

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The role of the temple Many New Testament scholars have detected an “anti-temple” theme in Mark and argued that it signified for the Markan Jesus an end to the temple cult, to the temple itself, or even to the Jewish way of life.158 In my view this kind of argument is wrong-headed, as I will try to show in what follows. First of all, it should be noted that the Markan Jesus affirms the role of the temple and the priesthood in his instruction of the leper he has just healed: “See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a proof for them.”159 The phrase “as a proof for them” (εἰς μαρτύριον αὐτοῖς) indicates that the healing is to demonstrate to the authorities that Jesus has the power to heal and is thus God’s agent. Yet this demonstration is to take place within the normal function of the temple with regard to ritual purity. Just after Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which is associated by the crowd with “the coming kingdom of our father David,” and before the cleansing of the temple, Jesus curses a fig tree, declaring, “May no one eat fruit from you again!”160 Numerous scholars have claimed that the fig tree symbolizes the people of Israel as a whole or the temple and its destruction.161 An interpretation more in keeping with the literary and cultural context is that the fig tree represents the local leaders of the people, especially the priests and the scribes.162 Furthermore, the actions of Jesus in the temple do not symbolize the destruction of the temple.163 Contrary to what E. P. Sanders has argued, Jesus’s overturning tables and chairs is not a transparent image of destruction.164 In addition, the cursing of the fig tree is interpreted, immediately after the scene in the temple, as an example of the power of faith or trust in God.165 158  See the criticism by Nicole Wilkinson Duran of the supersessionist views of Bruce Chilton, N. T. Wright, John Dominic Crossan, Marcus Borg, and Nicholas Perrin in “‘Not One Stone will be Left on Another’: The Destruction of the Temple and the Crucifixion of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel,” in Sacrifice, Cult, and Atonement in Early Judaism and Christianity: Constituents and Critique, ed. Henrietta L. Wiley and Christian A. Eberhart, RBS 85 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017), 311–25; here 311–15. 159 Mark 1:44. 160 Mark 11:14. 161 See the discussion of these views in Yarbro Collins, Mark, 523–25. 162  Compare Mark 11:18, 27–28; 12:12–13 (the unexpressed subject in 12:12–13 is the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders of 11:27–28). See Yarbro Collins, Mark, 525–26. Wilkinson Duran makes a similar argument: “Not One Stone,” 320–21. 163 Mark 11:15–16. 164 E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 69–71; see the criticism and alternative interpretation in Adela Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’ Action in Herod’s Temple,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 45–61. This essay is included in the present volume. 165  Mark 11:20–25, especially vv. 23–24. For discussion see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 534–36.

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Jesus’s actions in the temple do not imply the end of the temple service. The wording of Mark’s account places emphasis on Jesus driving out those who were selling and buying on the Temple Mount. The point is not that Jesus wished to put an end to the selling and buying in an absolute sense, but only that this activity should not take place on the Temple Mount. The Scriptural citations also fail to establish an allusion to the destruction of the temple. The quotation of Isa 56:7 implies for Mark’s audience the traditional ideal that the gentiles will turn to the God of Israel and adopt Jewish practices. As in the original context of the saying in Isa 56:7, however, its use in the Markan context also entails a shift of emphasis from sacrifice to prayer. In its original context, Jer 7:11 condemned the incongruity between immoral behavior and the expectation of security in the holy place. In Mark, the allusion to Jer 7:11 contrasts with the promise of Isa 56:7 and protests against the factionalism and violence of the high priestly families, which was a contributing factor to the outbreak of the revolt against Rome. It probably also alludes to occupation of the temple by the Zealots, in which the temple quite literally became “a brigands’ den.”166 A narrative detail in this passage is interesting and important, namely, that Jesus did not permit anyone to carry a σκεῦος through the Temple Mount, that is, a container or a tool of some sort.167 Jesus apparently taught that it was improper to carry an ordinary, that is, a profane or defiled container or implement from outside the Temple Mount, through the temple area, and out again. The saying clearly concerns the holiness of the Temple Mount and possibly ritual purity. Although the latter theme seems to be of little concern to the author of Mark, he may have preserved here a fragment of the teaching of the historical Jesus.168 Mark’s presentation of Jesus’s action in the temple still reflects the likely motivation of the historical Jesus. He was probably protesting the way in which Herod had remodeled the Temple Mount. As with the tabernacle in the wilderness and the temple of Solomon, in Herod’s plan the whole interior was held to be more sacred than the area of the outer court. In the description of the ideal temple-complex in the book of Ezekiel emphatic instructions are given that no foreigner may enter the complex.169 The exclusion of foreigners may signify that the outer court was no longer to be a civic center but part of the sanctuary in the strict sense. Unlike the design and norms of Ezekiel, the custom in the second temple was to allow gentiles to enter the outer courtyard. This arrangement shows that the outer courtyard was not envisioned as cultic space in the strict sense. The Mishnaic tractate Middot, like Ezekiel 40– 166 For further discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 530–32. The conflict among the high priestly families began around 59 ce, according to Josephus (J. W. 2.254–256; Ant. 20.162–163). 167  For discussion of the significance of this term in its context, see the essay “Jesus’ Action in Herod’s Temple” in this volume. 168  Contrast Mark 7:19b. See Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’ Action.” 169  Ezek 44:5–9.

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48, envisages a temple-complex open to Jews only. As is well known, however, gentiles were allowed to enter the outer courtyard of the Herodian Temple, as was the case with the Second Temple of the third century bce.170 The members of the Qumran community believed that they had been commanded by God to build a temple in the final period of history, “the end of days.” The temple to be built in this period is probably the one described in the Temple Scroll.171 This work probably originated in the same priestly circles from which the sect emerged; that is, it belongs to the formative period of the Qumran community, a time before its crystallization as sect.172 The passage extending from column 3 to 13 contains a design or norms for the construction of the temple and the altar. Following a section devoted to the festivals and their sacrifices is another architectural portion, a design or norms for the construction of the courtyards and other buildings within the temple-complex as a whole.173 The Temple Scroll envisages a temple with three courtyards. Only the priests are to have access to the inner courtyard.174 Apparently only men of Israel over the age of twenty are to enter the second or middle courtyard.175 The third courtyard is intended for the women of Israel and a certain category of foreigners, probably proselytes.176 The temple is to have a terrace or platform around it, outside the third, outer courtyard, with twelve steps leading up to it. Finally, a ditch or trench, more than seven times wider than the terrace, is to separate the temple-complex from the city so that no one can rush into the sanctuary and defile it. This barrier would sanctify the complex and lead the people to hold it in awe.177 The plan of the Temple Scroll clearly does not allow for the use of the outer courtyard of the temple as a kind of civic center, open to gentiles and Israelites who are ritually impure. On the contrary, only Israelites, including proselytes, in a state of ritual purity are allowed to enter even the outer courtyard of the temple. The design for the restored temple in Ezekiel and the norms for the ideal temple in the Temple Scroll clearly involve stricter regulations regarding holiness 170 Th. A. Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1970–1980), 2.834–36. 171 Johann Maier argues along these lines, concluding that, although the design is ideal, it is not unrealistic: “The Temple Scroll and Tendencies in the Cultic Architecture of the Second Commonwealth,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8/JSOT/ASOR Monographs 2 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 67–82; here 67–68. 172  Florentino García Martínez, “New Perspectives on the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism, eds. F. García Martínez and Edward Noort, VTSup 73 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 230–48; here 243–44. 173 11QTa (11Q19) 30–45. 174  This limitation seems to be implied by 11QTa 19:5–6; 32:10–12; and 37:8–14. 175  11QTa 38:12–39:11. 176  11QTa 40:5–6. 177  11QTa 46:5–12.

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that the ones that were actually in use in the period of the Second Temple. These two works attest to a minority opinion regarding the use of the outer court, an opinion that at some point became dominant in the Pharisaic-rabbinic tradition. It is likely that Herod’s re-design of the Temple Mount increased the degree to which the outer court served as a profane civic center.178 One piece of evidence for this view is the fact that he greatly enlarged the area of the Temple Mount.179 Herod increased the already ambiguous character of the outer court: on the one hand it was a temenos, a sacred area; on the other, it was a great civic esplanade. Mark describes Jesus as disrupting the sale of doves and the changing of money in the outer courtyard. These actions suggest his advocacy of an ideal temple along the lines of those depicted by Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll. The outer court was to be sacred space devoted to prayer and teaching, not civic space, open to the general public and devoted to profane activities. Those who needed or wished to sacrifice doves could bring their own from home or purchase them outside the temple area. Money changing could also take place outside the Temple Mount. The idea that Jesus insisted on stricter regulations regarding holiness than the priests administering the temple in his time may seem unlikely in light of the traditions attributed to him regarding the observance of the Sabbath and purity. But the various traditions are by no means incompatible. Jesus apparently subordinated the observance of the Sabbath to the needs of ordinary human beings, especially in relation to hunger, illness, and disability. The need of pilgrims to purchase animals and to change coins did not have to be met in the outer court of the Temple. Such activities could be placed elsewhere. In this case, Jesus seems to place the honor and dignity of God above human convenience. Insofar as the Temple Scroll represents the views of the Qumran community, the Markan Jesus is once again closer to their views than to those of the Pharisees. The fact that Jesus’s actions in the temple are not the only reason given in Mark for his arrest and execution is also important for the question of interpretation. The account of these activities is indeed followed by a statement that the chief priests were looking for a way to destroy him. The reason, however, is not that he posed a threat to the temple but rather their fear that the crowd was so taken with his teaching.180 Later they question his authority “to do this,” probably refer178 Jostein Ådna has argued that, in Herod’s design, the outer courtyard was intended to function as an agora, and the Royal Portico or basilica as a marketplace: Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt im 1. Jahrhundert n. Chr., ADPV 25 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999), 72–87. 179 G. Foerster, “Art and Architecture in Palestine,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern, CRINT 1 (Assen: van Gorcum; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 2.971– 1006, here 977–78; Martin Goodman, “The Pilgrimage Economy of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum, 1999), 69–76; here 74. 180  Mark 11:18.

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ring to his actions in the temple. Jesus wins the repartee, and they do nothing because the people think he is a prophet.181 Moreover, it is their perception that Jesus told the parable of the wicked tenants against them that leads to the decision to arrest him.182 The Jesus of Mark utters a prophetic saying in 13:2 predicting the destruction of the temple.183 Two factors from the cultural context cast light on the significance of this prophecy. One is the expectation of a definitive, eschatological temple in the Temple Scroll and in Jubilees, a work closely related to the Dead Sea Scrolls. It would not be inappropriate to say that such an expectation implies that the current temple must make way for the future, final one. A passage in the Temple Scroll reads: I shall sanctify my [te]mple with my glory, for I shall make my glory reside over it until the day of creation, when I shall create my temple, establishing it for myself for all days, according to the covenant which I made with Jacob at Bethel.184

According to Jubilees, when God gathers the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob from among the nations and grants them an age of peace and righteousness: I will build my sanctuary in their midst, and I will dwell with them and be their God, and they shall be my people in truth and righteousness.185

The account that the angel will write for Moses begins with the beginning of creation and continues until “my sanctuary shall be built among them for all eternity.”186 That moment is elaborated in the following way: Until the day when the heavens and the earth are renewed and with them all created things both in heaven and on earth, until the day when the sanctuary of the Lord is created in Jerusalem on mount Zion and all the luminaries are renewed as instruments of healing and of peace and of blessing for all the elect of Israel, and that so it may be from that day on as long as the earth lasts.187

The other factor is the evidence that an attack on the temple and perhaps its destruction was associated with imminent expectation of a divine intervention. This is implied in the eschatological discourse of Jesus. The disciples of Jesus as-

 Mark 11:27–33.  Mark 12:12; compare 14:1–2. 183  Wilkinson Duran’s use of the phrase “the unbuilding of the temple” (“Not One Stone,” 324) is appropriate in its apparent antithetical allusion to LXX Haggai 2:15–16a; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 602. 184  11QTa (11Q19) 29:8–10; trans. from García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 2.1251. 185  Jub. 1:17; trans. by R. H. Charles and C. Rabin in H. F. D. Sparks, ed., The Apocryphal Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984), 12. 186  Jub. 1:29; Sparks, 13–14. 187  Jub. 1:29. 181 182

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sociate the destruction of the temple with the fulfillment of “all these things.”188 Part of Jesus’s reply is that wars (probably including the first Jewish war with Rome) will (only) be the beginning of the birth pains.189 A prophecy of a time of tribulation follows, which sounds very much like aspects of that war with Rome.190 Strikingly, Jesus prophesies the coming of the Son of Man as an event that will follow directly upon that time of trouble.191 Josephus also provides evidence for the connection between the war, the temple, and a divine intervention. After trying other forms of assault on the temple, Titus ordered that the gates be set on fire.192 The fire spread to the porticoes.193 When the rebels, who were using the temple as a fortress, did not surrender, Titus ordered that the fire be extinguished and a road be built to facilitate the army’s access to the temple.194 Before Titus ordered the army to force its way into the temple, the rebels engaged some Roman soldiers. One of the latter cast a burning object into the temple proper, and the chambers surrounding the sanctuary (ναός) caught fire.195 A large number of soldiers then fed the fire.196 It finally enveloped the sanctuary itself.197 According to Josephus, while the temple complex was aflame, the rebels fled into the city, but some of the people took refuge on the outer portico.198 He says that this group included women, children, and a mixed multitude, about 6,000 in number. The soldiers set fire to the portico from below, and they all perished. Josephus comments: They owed their destruction to a false prophet, who had on that day proclaimed to the people in the city that God commanded them to go up to the temple court, to receive there the tokens of their deliverance (τὰ σημεῖα τῆς σωτηρίας).199

The literary context of the eschatological discourse as a whole in chapter 13 of Mark and the Jewish evidence from the cultural context make clear that the prophecy of the destruction of the temple attributed to Jesus is not anti-temple or anti-Jewish in any way. It fits rather with one or more of the apocalyptic groups among Jews at the time, whose views are attested by the Temple Scroll, Jubilees, and book six of Josephus’s history of the Jewish War. 188 Mark

13:4.  Mark 13:7–8. 190 Mark 13:14–25. 191 Mark 13: 24–27. 192 Josephus, J. W. 6.228. 193 Josephus, J. W. 6.232. 194  Josephus, J. W. 6.236. 195 Josephus, J. W. 6.249–252. 196  Josephus, J. W. 6.256–258. 197  Josephus, J. W. 6.265–266. 198  Josephus, J. W. 6.277. 199  Josephus, J. W. 6.283–285; quotation from 285. 189

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False testimony against Jesus about the temple: 14:58 and 15:29 During the trial of Jesus before the Sanhedrin, it is stated that some bore false witness against him saying, “We heard him saying, ‘I will destroy this sanctuary (ὁ ναὸς οὗτος), which is made with hands, and in the course of three days I will build another, which is not made with hands.’”200 Presumably this testimony is defined as false because in the prophetic saying in chapter 13, Jesus does not say that he will destroy “these great buildings,” and does not mention a new temple that will replace the current one (τὸ ἱερόν), let alone that he would build it himself.201 Nevertheless, behind the falsely worded charge lies a point that should be taken seriously as affirmed by the Markan Jesus. The most likely connotation of the “temple not made with hands” is the Jewish apocalyptic notion of an eschatological, eternal temple of divine origin, such as the one attested in the Temple Scroll and Jubilees and discussed above. Some of those who passed by the crucified Jesus reviled him saying, “Hah! You who are about to destroy the sanctuary (ὁ ναός) and build [another] in three days, save yourself by coming down from the cross!”202 This saying reprises the statement of the false witnesses at the trial before the Sanhedrin. The thematic repetition connects the trial before the high priest with the crucifixion. Not only is Jesus mocked here because he is alleged to be unable to save himself in spite of his reputed mighty deeds, but the audience is also led to perceive the Jewish leaders as more culpable in the death of Jesus than Pilate. This shift of blame serves an apologetic purpose: the founder of the movement in and for which the evangelist writes was not freely and deliberately condemned as a criminal by a Roman magistrate.

The splitting of the curtain of the temple in 15:38 Like Jesus’s action in the temple, the splitting of the temple curtain has often been interpreted both as a sign of the imminent destruction of the temple and as symbolizing God’s abandonment or rejection of the temple. The splitting of the curtain of the sanctuary (ὁ ναός) is ambiguous and probably symbolic.203 The most important clue to the significance of this omen is the similarity between the splitting (σχίζειν) of the heavens at the time of Jesus’ baptism and the splitting (σχίζειν) of the curtain.204 The two passages mark the beginning and the end of Jesus’s public activity. When the heavens are split, the divine Spirit descends and  Mark 14:57–58.  Mark 13:2 – “these great buildings”; 13:3 – “the temple.” For discussion of the significance of this charge, see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 701–2. 202  Mark 15:29–30. 203  For discussion see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 759–64. 204  Compare Mark 1:10 with 15:38. 200 201

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Jesus hears the divine voice speaking to him. The connection of that passage with the splitting of the curtain suggests that the omen at the time of Jesus’s death is a nontraditional theophany. The death of Jesus on the cross is accompanied by a real but ambiguous and mysterious theophany that suggests the vindication of Jesus.205 There is no compelling reason to view the splitting of the curtain as an antitemple symbol or even a symbol of destruction. The splitting of the curtain may well be read as a positive portrayal of the temple: it signifies the mysterious revelation of the presence of God in the temple as an interpretation of the death of Jesus. This symbolic meaning is richly suggestive and open to a variety of interpretive elaborations.

Conclusion In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus plays several traditional Jewish roles: prophet, teacher, herald, and a pious man who prays. The evangelist also makes the bold claim that Jesus is the expected royal Messiah, but with a twist. He will not lead the Israelites in battle and will not rule as a political king, at least not in his human form. He will, it is implied, rule as the heavenly Son of Man, fulfilling the prophecy of Daniel 7, after his death and resurrection. That rule is anticipated in his authoritative activity of forgiving sins and interpreting the commandment to keep the Sabbath holy. The relationship of the Markan Jesus to the Pharisees is diverse and complex. In the Sabbath controversies, he shares their point of view for the most part. In each case, however, he expands a permissible exception. In the passage about plucking grain on the Sabbath, he expands the permission to break the Sabbath in the case of life-threatening hunger by arguing that hunger itself is a sufficient justification. He argues analogously in the healing of the man with the withered hand that the permission to violate the Sabbath in order to save a life be expanded to include healing any illness or disability. The controversy over hand washing is more complex. In part of the passage, Jesus, like the Qumran community, puts the commandments of God above the regulations of the Pharisees based on the tradition of the elders. The Markan Jesus argues that a vow resulting in refusal to support one’s parents is not to be viewed as inviolable. Analogously, he may be seen as adopting the idea that most foods are incapable of defiling a person, a view that is compatible with the Torah. The figurative saying and its interpretation criticize the Pharisees for em-

205  Compare Mark 15:38 with the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane, when he submits to God’s will (14:36).

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phasizing ritual purity more than moral issues. In all these instances, Jesus is within the sphere of Jewish ideas and practices of his time. In part of the interpretation of the figurative saying, the part most characteristic of Markan redaction, however, Jesus goes beyond the boundary of identifiable Jewish practices of his time by associating “defilement” with the heart, rather than with anything that impinges on the human being from outside the body. In the rest of the passage, however, the Markan Jesus is shown to be familiar with halakic argumentation. The Markan Jesus and the Qumran community agree that remarriage after divorce is only permitted after the first spouse has died. It is likely that the Pharisees, like the rabbis, did not limit remarriage in this way. We have little evidence for the eschatology taught by the Pharisees. Their teaching of resurrection and of rewards and punishments after death suggest that these views probably had a wider eschatological context. The imminent expectation of Paul, the former Pharisee, regarding the coming of the resurrected Jesus may well have been facilitated by the expectation of a divine intervention by some Pharisees. There are significant similarities between the much better known eschatology of the Dead Sea Scrolls and that of the Markan Jesus. In the Gospel of Mark, John the Baptist proclaims the coming of Jesus, and Jesus proclaims that the time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has drawn near. The latter announcement refers not to a point in time but to a process that begins with the baptism of John and ends with the coming of Jesus as Son of Man. Similarly, the notion of the “end of days” in the Dead Sea Scrolls is a period of time encompassing the past, present, and future of the community. The similarities between Mark and the Melchizedek Scroll are especially noteworthy. A number of works among the Dead Sea Scrolls and Mark also share the expectation of a Messiah of Israel, a political Messiah, although Mark considerably reinterprets the definition of that figure and gives more importance to a heavenly Messiah, who has some similarities with the angel Michael, also known as Melchizedek. The Markan Jesus implies that there is a fixed divine eschatological plan that has some elements in common with the raz nihyeh of 4QInstruction. With regard to the temple, the actions of Jesus in the temple as described by Mark imply that the outer courtyard should not be functioning as a public space open to gentiles and Israelites in a ritually impure state. Rather it should be as sacred as the inner court. The Temple Scroll was probably composed in circles related to the formation of the Qumran sect and was preserved and apparently read by its members. This document makes the same point made by the Markan Jesus and Ezekiel 40–48, that the outer court of the temple is sacred space and should not be profaned. The prophecies of the destruction of the temple attributed to the Markan Jesus do not signify a rejection of the temple service, let alone of Jewish practices as a

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whole, or of the people of Israel. Rather they are explicable in the context of the expectation of a definitive, eternal temple to be built by God attested by Jubilees and the Temple Scroll and in the context of a divine intervention associated with an attack or destruction of the temple as attested by book six of Josephus’s history of the Jewish War. Finally, the splitting of the curtain of the temple at the time of Jesus’s death need not be taken as symbolizing the departure of God from the temple and foretelling its destruction. Rather, like the acclamation of the centurion and the empty tomb found by the women, it may be seen as a vindication of Jesus. Like the splitting of the heavens at the time of Jesus’ baptism and the voice from heaven at the transfiguration, the splitting of the curtain symbolizes the presence of God in this case signifying approval of Jesus and his faithful death. Although the Markan Jesus is distinctive in some ways, he may be seen in all but one instance as fitting well into one context or another of the Jewish groups of his time.

C. The Passion Narrative

The Genre of the Passion Narrative The aim of this study is to shed some light on the question what kind of text the passion narrative is.1 I am most interested in two instances of this type, the last three chapters of the Gospel according to Mark and the hypothetical pre-Markan passion narrative as it can be reconstructed from the text of Mark. At the outset we must distinguish between the perception of the passion narrative as a kind of text today and the generic perceptions of the authors and audiences in the first century of the Common Era. The generic label “passion narrative” derives from the Latin word passio in its Christian sense. This label evokes a long history of liturgical reading and related musical performance of the accounts of Jesus’s death in the four canonical Gospels. Since the term passio was also used for detailed accounts of the early Christian martyrdoms,2 the generic label “passion narrative” implies that the account of the sufferings of Jesus was the first example of the genre “Christian martyrdom.”3 The strength and significance of this generic perception is evident in the fact that the Christian term “martyrdom” has been applied in the history of scholarship to Jewish and Greco-Roman texts also, primarily to certain passages in 2 and 4 Maccabees and to the Acta Alexandrinorum, widely known as the “Acts of the Pagan Martyrs.”4 My concern here is the original genre of what we call the passion narrative. As Alastair Fowler has noted, “In order to reconstruct the original genre, we have to eliminate from consciousness its subsequent states.”5 Doing so is of course impossible, but attempting to do so may be instructive. This attempt will involve 1 For bibliography on the passion narratives in general, see David E. Garland, One Hundred Years of Study on the Passion Narratives, National Association of Baptist Professors of Religion Bibliographic Series 3 (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1989). 2 See “Passional (Lat. Liber Passionarius)” in the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, ed. F. L. Cross and E. A. Livingstone (New York: Oxford University Press, 1974), 1039 and “Passions,” Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 1040. 3 The early form critic Karl Ludwig Schmidt identified the genre of the passion narrative as the first of a series of Christian acts of the martyrs: “Die literarische Eigenart der Leidensgeschichte Jesu,” Die Christliche Welt 32 (1918): 114–16, reprinted in Redaktion und Theologie des Passionsberichtes nach den Synoptikern, ed. Meinrad Limbeck (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1981), 17–20. 4 The Jewish texts include the accounts of the deaths of Eleazar and of a nameless Jewish woman and her seven sons (2 Macc 6:18–31; 7; 4 Macc 5:1–7:23; 8:1–18:24). On the Acta Alexandrinorum (Acts of the Alexandrians), see Herbert A. Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon, 1954). 5  Alastair Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982), 261.

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a search for the literary models of the passion narrative in which I will try to distinguish between later and original terminology.

Brief review of scholarship A number of candidates for the literary model of the passion narrative have been proposed in previous scholarship. Lothar Ruppert has argued that the most important model for the pre-Markan passion narrative was the motif of the suffering just person (passio iusti) in the psalms and in chapters 2 and 5 of the Wisdom of Solomon.6 Ruppert does not seem to have had the question of genre as such in mind, since he spoke of the Gestalt of the passion narrative as an issue distinct from his concern for the motif that generated the text.7 In literary critical terms, his observations apply to the “inner form” of the text as opposed to its “outer form” or “external structure.”8 George Nickelsburg has argued that the pre-Markan passion narrative belongs to a genre that he identified and labeled as “the story of the persecution and vindication of the righteous person.”9 Other instances of the genre are the narratives about Joseph in Genesis, the story of Ahikar, the Book of Esther, the story of the three young men in the fiery furnace in Daniel 3, the story of Daniel in the lion’s den in Daniel 6, the story of Susanna, and, with some qualifications, the treatment of the righteous person in chapters 2, 4, and 5 of the Wisdom of Solomon. He identified the genre by noting that all these stories have a common theme and by arguing that this theme is emplotted by means of a limited number of narrative elements or components. This approach to genre focuses mainly on the plot of the texts and has little to say about other significant generic features. Many of the narrative elements are expressed at such a high level of abstraction that major differences between the stories are obscured. For example, the narrative element “Rescue” applies both to stories in which the righteous person is rescued from death and to those in which he or she is rescued after death.10  6  He referred to this source as a “Diptych” and argued that it was used in the composition of Wis 2:12–20; 5:1–7; Lothar Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Gerechte? Der Weg Jesu im Lichte eines alt- und zwischentestamentlichen Motivs, SBS 59 (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1972); Lothar Ruppert, Der leidende Gerechte und seine Feinde: Eine Wortfelduntersuchung (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1973).  7  Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Gerechte, 59.  8 Fowler cited Austin Warren for the distinction between “outer form” and “inner form” (Kinds of Literature, 55). He himself identified “external structure” as one of the features important for understanding of genres or “kinds” of literature (Kinds of Literature, 60).  9  George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Genre and Function of the Markan Passion Narrative,” HTR 73 (1980): 153–84; see also Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism, HTS 26 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 48–111. 10  Nickelsburg, “The Genre and Function of the Markan Passion Narrative,” 155–56, 161.

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Detlev Dormeyer reconstructed three stages in the composition of the Markan passion narrative. He argued that the oldest stage is a mixture of two previously existing genres, the Jewish martyrdom and the acts of the pagan martyrs. The content, involving a detailed description of the conduct of a persecuted person during his execution, was influenced by the Jewish martyrdom. The form, consisting of an account of judicial proceedings placed in the context of a frame story, was modeled on the structure of the acts of the pagan martyrs. He argued that the pre-Markan redaction of the earliest passion narrative was carried out under the influence of the biographies of the prophets in the Old Testament. The product consisted of a kind of proto-gospel. The Markan redaction resulted in a complex of individual scenes that constituted a cycle of Christian legends. In the process, Mark preserved the characterization of the death of Jesus as a martyrdom. Thus a Sondergattung of the legend, the martyr-legend, came into being. According to Dormeyer, the Markan passion narrative in its final form became the model of all the later Christian martyr-legends.11

Assessment Ruppert’s notion of the motif of the suffering righteous person is not very helpful in determining what kind of text the passion narrative is. This narrative is obviously not a psalm.12 Similarly, it is not the same kind of text as the passages of the Wisdom of Solomon cited by Ruppert and Nickelsburg. The Wisdom of Solomon as a whole is best described as a protreptic or exhortatory discourse, a logos protreptikos.13 Chapters 2 and 5, with their speeches of an imaginary adversary, share features with the genre “diatribe,” a popular moral speech.14 The wisdom tales discussed by Nickelsburg at least have the same “representational aspect” as the passion, namely, narrative.15 But the most important narrative element of the passion, the death of the protagonist, is not a feature of the wisdom tales. It is true that an individual author may alter generic possibil-

11 Detlev Dormeyer, Die Passion Jesu als Verhaltensmodell: Literarische und theologische Analyse der Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte der Markuspassion, NTAbh, NS 11 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1974), 44–46, 243, 261–62, 273, 276. 12  See Dormeyer’s criticism of C. D. Peddinghaus’s thesis that the original passion narrative was indeed a series of songs in the lyrical “I”-style of the psalms (Dormeyer, Die Passion Jesu, 11). 13 So David Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon, AB 43 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1979), 18–20. 14  Winston, Wisdom of Solomon, 20. On the diatribe as an actual or fictitious record of a lecture or discussion in a philosophical school, see Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans, SBLDS 57 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981), 48, 75–78. 15  For a discussion of representational aspect, see Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 60.

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ities almost beyond recognition,16 but it seems wise to investigate further before concluding that such is the case here. The “Jewish martyrdom” and the “acts of the pagan martyrs” are more promising candidates for the literary models of the passion narrative. But here we must confront the terminological problem referred to earlier. The later Christian notions of the μάρτυς and the μαρτύριον have been retrojected onto texts that are in many cases earlier and in all cases of a different cultural origin. As Norbert Brox has shown, the Christian Martyrdom of Polycarp is the first text to use μάρτυς with the primary meaning “one who dies” and μαρτύριον with the primary meaning “death.”17 Thus, one or more new terms are needed to identify the genre of the texts that Dormeyer referred to as examples of the “Jewish martyrdom.”18 My intention is not to deny the influence that 2 and 4 Maccabees had on the Christian martyrdoms. Rather, my concern is to determine the models of the older Jewish texts, and, if possible, their original genre. Then the question of their possible influence on the passion narrative can be raised with greater precision and clarity.

Martyrdom or τελευτή? The oldest Jewish text that Dormeyer identified as a “martyrdom” is the story about the prophet Zechariah, son of the priest Jehoiada: The spirit of God took possession of Zechariah son of the priest Jehoiada; he stood above the people and said to them, “Thus says God: Why do you transgress the commandments of the Lord, so that you cannot prosper? Because you have forsaken the Lord, he has also forsaken you.” But they conspired against him, and by command of the king they stoned him to death in the court of the house of the Lord. King Joash did not remember the kindness that Jehoiada, Zechariah’s father, had shown him, but killed his son. As he was dying, he said, “May the Lord see and avenge!” (2 Chronicles 24:20–22; trans. NRSV )

The time of composition of 1 and 2 Chronicles is probably the fourth century bce, the late Persian or early Greek period.19 The passage itself may be described  So Rosalie Colie, cited by Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 47.  Norbert Brox, Zeuge und Märtyrer: Untersuchungen zur frühchristlichen ZeugnisTerminologie, SANT 5 (Munich: Kösel-Verlag, 1961), 41–42, 68–69, 106–9, 129–30, 172–72, 193– 95, 230–37. It should be noted that the genre of the actual text of this work is a letter; the later titles in the manuscripts refer to it as a μαρτύριον. The reason for the discrepancy is the fact that the work is an early instance of a new genre and the label for it was only devised later. It should also be noted that the book of Revelation uses the word group related to μάρτυς as primarily signifying “witness” but also as closely related to death. 18  This terminology is also used in the otherwise fine collection of essays edited by J. W. van Henten, Die Entstehung der jüdischen Martyrologie, StPB 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1989). 19 See the discussion by Roddy L. Braun, “1 Chronicles,” Harper’s Bible Commentary, ed. James L. Mays (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 342–43. Ralph Klein argued that the fourth century bce is the likely date: “Chronicles, Book of 1–2,” ABD, 1.995. 16

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as an account of the death of a prophet. The references to conspiracy and stoning may imply a judicial proceeding. The context makes clear that the story is an integral part of the overall historical work. The scene does not appear in the model for this portion of 2 Chronicles, 2 Kings 12. It may be that it was composed under the influence of Persian or Greek historiography, both of which had developed an interest in biographical elements, including accounts of the deaths of famous men, by the fifth century bce.20 One may then infer the existence of a literary genre from the fifth century bce onward that can be labeled the “story of the death of a famous man.” We may infer from Herodotus that such accounts were called τελευταί by the Greeks, from at least the fifth century.21 This label may be applied both to portions of later works and to instances of stories of this type that circulated independently and orally. Later, such stories were collected, as we learn from Pliny the Younger. In Latin the genre was called exitus illustrium virorum.22 Herodotus’s History contains several accounts in which a man’s life as a whole is narrated,23 each of which ends with a report of his death. The life of Cyrus is narrated in book one.24 The report concludes with his final campaign and fall in battle. His last words are not recorded, but those of Queen Tomyris, whose people he was attempting to conquer, are given along with a striking description of her insult to his corpse. The story of the life of Cambyses in book three ends with an account of his decline, followed by death from a wound accidentally selfinflicted, and last words.25 Sketches of the lives of a number of Greeks are given also, most of which include reports of their deaths.26 The causes and manners of death differ in these stories, and they have no fixed structure. This flexibility does not undercut the suggestion that these texts belong to the same “kind” of literature. It simply shows that the genre was closely linked to history and biography and that the variety associated with it reflects the variety of history.27 20  Arnaldo Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971), 28–36; Helene Homeyer, “Zu den Anfängen der griechischen Biographie,” Philologus 106 (1962): 75–85. 21  See the story of Solon and Croesus preserved by Herodotus, in which Solon recounts the death of Tellus and says: τελευτὴ τοῦ βίου λαμπροτάτη ἐπεγένετο (Herodotus, 1.30). 22  This is Pliny’s description of a lost work by Titinius Capito (Pliny, Letters 8.12); see also his discussion of a similar work by Fannius, entitled exitus occisorum aut relegatorum a Nerone (Pliny, Letters 5.5). Pliny comments that the style was intermediate between the colloquial and the historical (inter sermonem historiamque medios). According to Klaus Berger, Cicero already attests to the collection of such stories: “Hellenistische Gattungen im Neuen Testament,” ANRW II.25.2 (1984), 1257. 23  Homeyer, “Anfängen,” 76. 24 Herodotus, 1.107–130, 177–188, 201–214. 25  Herodotus, 3.61–66. 26  Miltiades the Elder (Herodotus, 6.34–38), Miltiades the Younger (6.39–41, 103–104, 132– 140), and Cleomenes (5.39–41, 6.73–84; 6.75 describes his self-inflicted death). 27  Fowler has argued that the changing and interpenetrating nature of the genres make their definition impossible, although we can apprehend them intuitively (Kinds of Literature, 25); he

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In discussing “history” as a genre in this study, I am not interested in the question of historical accuracy and reliability. My concern is with the way in which the authors present their texts. The death of Socrates and literary accounts of it in the fourth century had great impact on the development of the genre “death of a famous man.” The event itself and the accounts of it by Plato and Xenophon created an interest in a particular sort of death, rather than simply continuing the older concern with the death of a famous man as an intrinsically important event, whatever sort it was. Even older than the historical interest in the τελευταί of famous men was the notion of a noble death in accordance with the heroic ideal. An important element in this notion of a noble death is the public honor given to the hero by his fellow citizens afterward.28 The death of Socrates redefined the noble death in philosophical terms. Plato’s Apology, as Socrates’s speech of self-defense before the citizens of Athens, gives an impressive picture of his attitude toward death and his behavior under the threat of condemnation to death. The literary structure of the Phaedo is a dialogue in which Phaedo reports to Echecrates Socrates’s last dialogue and death, both of which took place in his prison. The subject of conversation is the nature of death and the immortality of the soul. The report ends with an account of Socrates’s death. He drinks the poison readily and calmly. When his friends break down in tears, he maintains his composure and urges them to keep silence and to bear up. His last words are, “Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius; pay it and do not neglect it.”29 The cock was a thank-offering that those who were cured of illness gave to the god of healing. Socrates’s last words are thus an ironic affirmation of his teaching that death is a good thing for the good person.30 The Greek and Roman genre “deaths of famous men” and the tradition regarding Socrates’s death are important for understanding the texts usually described as Jewish martyrdoms. After the short text in 2 Chronicles, the oldest such accounts appear in 2 Maccabees. This book is an abridgement of a lost work in five volumes by an otherwise unknown author, Jason of Cyrene. Both the original work and its epitome were composed in Greek, and the summary also suggests that a genre is usually characterized by very few “necessary” elements (Kinds of Literature, 39). 28  See the comment by Solon on the death of Tellus (Herodotus, 1.30). Compare the honor given to Miltiades the Elder by the people of the Chersonese as their founder (Herodotus, 6.38). 29  Plato, Phaedo 117C–118. 30  According to Arthur J. Droge and James D. Tabor, the implication is that death is the “cure” for life: A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom among Christians and Jews in Antiquity (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1992), 21. A spurious letter from Socrates’s disciple Aeschines to Xenophon, which dates to the late second or early third century ce, explains that Socrates was in the debt of Asklepios because of a vow given when he was ill after returning from the battle at Delium; see Abraham J. Malherbe, The Cynic Epistles, SBLSBS 12 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1977), 258–59; on the date see 28–29. This ancient explanation seems to miss the irony of Plato’s text.

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manifests a refined rhetorical style. Jason’s work was probably written not long after 161 bce; the abridgement was certainly made before 63 bce and probably before 124 bce.31 Both the original and the epitome belong to the genre “history.” The summary reports events from the reign of Seleucus IV through the career of Judah the Maccabee, that is, from about 187 to 161 bce. The deaths of Eleazar and the woman with her seven sons are described as part of this history. Once again I would like to emphasize that assigning this text to the genre “history” does not imply a judgment about its accuracy or objectivity. Chapter 6 begins with a summary of Antiochus’s attempt to force the Jews to abandon the laws of God and their ancestors and to adopt Greek religious practices. It is in this context that the story of Eleazar is introduced.32 The general situation is similar to those of two of the wisdom tales of Daniel, the stories of the fiery furnace and the lions’ den.33 Religious Jews are being forced by a foreign king to perform an act forbidden by their tradition or to refrain from performing one that is commanded. None of the three cases involves a trial of the accused, but a decree of the monarch and obedience is at issue. The focus of the Eleazar story on his noble death, however, gives it a striking similarity to the genre of the “deaths of famous men,” especially to the tradition regarding Socrates’s death.34 Like Socrates, Eleazar was at an advanced age when the threat of execution arose. Both made reference to the little time left to them to live in any case. The narrator’s comment that Eleazar welcomed death with honor rather than life with pollution recalls Socrates’s argument that it is worse to behave unjustly than to die. Like Socrates, Eleazar was counseled by his friends to take action that would allow him to avoid death. One of his reasons for rejecting their suggestion is that to accept it would not be in keeping with the excellent life that he had led since childhood. Socrates did offer to pay a fine, but the whole tenor of his defense implies that he acted in his trial in a way consistent with his life up to that point. Eleazar made reference to his responsibility to God, as did Socrates. Eleazar emphasized that his death would be a noble example to the young, and the narrator commented that his death was an example of nobility and a memorial of courage, not only to the young, but to the majority of his nation.35 The same  See the discussion by Lawrence H. Schiffman, “2 Maccabees,” Harper’s Bible Commentary,

31

898.

 2 Macc 6:18–31.  Daniel 3 and 6. 34  For a discussion of the similarities between Socrates and Eleazar, see Jonathan A. Goldstein, II Maccabees, AB 41A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 285. 35  Socrates was seventy (Apology 17D), Eleazar ninety (2 Macc 6:24); on the little time left, compare Apology 38C with 2 Macc 6:25; on death with honor, compare Apology 32A–33B, 39AB with 2 Macc 6:19; on avoiding death compare Apology 37E–38C with 2 Macc 6:21–23; on responsibility to God, compare Apology 37E with 2 Macc 6:23, 26; on Eleazar as a “noble example” (ὑπόδειγμα γενναῖον), see 2 Macc 6:28; as a “memorial of courage” (μνημόσυνον ἀρετῆς), see 2 Macc 6:31. 32 33

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point is implied in the Apology and the Phaedo regarding Socrates. Further, the death of Socrates did become a conscious and often cited example in the noble deaths of others. Eleazar’s last words, uttered like those of Socrates just before the moment of death, in part focus on the distinction between the body and the soul, a point also made by Socrates, but at an earlier stage in the narrative.36 It would seem, then, that the original genre of the story in 2 Maccabees is “death of a famous man” or an “account of a noble death.” It is noteworthy that the account combines narration and direct speech and that only Eleazar’s words are given in direct discourse. One of the most striking similarities between Plato’s accounts of the trial and death of Socrates and the story of Eleazar is the way in which the situation is portrayed and exploited as a didactic opportunity. Torture is a minor feature in the account of Eleazar; he dies from blows on the rack.37 It is a prominent feature in the account of the mother and her seven sons. They were being compelled by the king to perform an act forbidden by the Jewish law under torture with whips and cords. The tongue of the eldest son was cut out, he was scalped, his hands and feet were cut off, and he was finally fried in a pan.38 The other brothers were tortured in a similar fashion. Their bravery and disregard of pain and death probably owe something to the noble death tradition, but the detailed description of torture is a distinctive element. Jason or the epitomizer employed here a motif that he took either from the melodramatic type of historiography that characterized the Hellenistic period (sometimes called “tragic history” or “pathetic history”)39 or from the emerging genre of the ancient novel or romance.40 Although the latter genre reached its zenith in the second century of the Common Era, the first “proto-novels” may have appeared already in late Hellenistic times.41 One of the main features of the Greek novel was a melodramatic emphasis on death, torture, attempted suicide, ordeal by fire and such.42 In the story of Eleazar, King Antiochus is entirely in the background, but in the story of the mother and her seven sons, the king is directly involved. He him Plato, Phaedo 115C–116A; 2 Macc 6:30.  2 Macc 6:30; see also 6:19, 28b. 38  2 Macc 7:1–5. 39  For a discussion of 2 Maccabees as “tragic history,” see Thomas Fischer, “First and Second Maccabees,” ABD, 4.445. 40  On the relation between historiography and the novels, see B. P. Reardon, “Chariton: Chaereas and Callirhoe; Introduction,” Collected Ancient Greek Novels, ed. B. P. Reardon (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 18. 41 See the discussion by Reardon, “General Introduction,” Collected Ancient Greek Novels, 5; compare 17. 42 Chariton, Chaereas and Callirhoe 3.4, 9; 4.2; ET by Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels, 56–57, 63, 67; Xenophon of Ephesus, An Ephesian Tale 2.6; ET by Graham Anderson (Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels, 141–42); Achilles Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon 7.12; ET by John J. Winkler (Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels, 267). See the discussion by Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 253–54. 36 37

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self gives the orders for the tortures43 and his reactions are described.44 Much more than the story of Eleazar, this account is cast as a kind of contest or struggle between the heroes and heroine, on the one hand, and the king, who is cast in the role of a tyrant, on the other. The second story does not call the model of Socrates to mind as much as the first. The speeches of the seven sons and their mother are much more informed by contemporary Jewish values.45 Nevertheless, important points of similarity with the death of Socrates remain. In general, they share the feature of fearless death because of commitment to high principles. In terms of more specific features, Socrates also predicted the punishment of those who condemned him46 and faced death confident that his true self would go to share in the joys of the blessed.47 In spite of the characteristically Jewish historical setting and the predominantly Jewish values that inform the story, it does not seem necessary to conclude that the story of the mother and her seven sons was the first instance of a new genre, at least not in its own time. It seems best to take it as a creative adaptation of the “noble death” type to a Jewish cultural context.48 Although the influence of Socrates as a model in dying was great, the older interest in the death of a famous man, of whatever sort it was, did not die out. It has been argued that collections of the τελευταί of philosophers and heroes were made in Alexandria in the Hellenistic period. One such collection was that of Hermippus of Smyrna, who flourished around 200 bce; this work was one of the sources used by Diogenes Laertius in composing his Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers.49 According to Hermippus, the philosopher Chrysippus met his death in the following way. He was invited by his pupils to a sacrificial feast. After drinking unmixed wine, he became dizzy and “departed from humanity.”50 Diogenes recounted other τελευταί, some of which may have come from other collections like that of Hermippus. Like the Maccabean story of the seven brothers and their mother, a number of these have as their main feature the tension between the protagonist and a tyrant. According to several sources, Zeno of Elea plotted to overthrow a tyrant, but was arrested. While being interrogated by the  2 Macc 7:3, 4, 5.  2 Macc 7:3, 12, 24, 39. 45  2 Macc 7:6, 9, 11, 14, 18, 23, 29, 32–33, 36a. 46 Compare 2 Macc 7:14, 17, 19, 31 with Apology 39C. 47  Compare 2 Macc 7:9, 11, 14, 23, 29 with Phaedo 115D. 48 Ulrich Kellermann characterized 2 Maccabees 7 provisionally as a martyrological didactic narrative, but concluded that its closest generic parallel is the exitus illustrium virorum: Auferstanden in den Himmel: 2 Makkabäer 7 und die Auferstehung der Märtyrer, SBS 95 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1979), 35–40, 51–53. 49  Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 238; see also R. D. Hicks, “Introduction” (Diogenes Laertius, LCL, 1.xxiv). 50  ἀπελθεῖν ἐξ ἀνθρώπων (Diogenes Laertius, 7.184). 43 44

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tyrant himself about his accomplices, Zeno said that he had something to tell him privately in his ear. When the tyrant offered his ear, the philosopher laid hold of it with his teeth and refused to let go until he was stabbed to death. According to another source, Zeno bit off his tongue and spat it at the tyrant.51 Anaxarchus, the companion of Alexander, made himself an enemy of Nicocreon, the tyrant of Cyprus, by wishing out loud that his head would be served at table. Later, when forced to land in Cyprus after Alexander’s death, the philosopher was arrested and, at the order of Nicocreon, pounded to death in a mortar. When he was placed in the mortar, Anaxarchus said, “Pound, pound the pouch containing Anaxarchus; you pound not Anaxarchus.” When the tyrant commanded that his tongue be cut out, the philosopher bit it off and spat it at him.52 Such stories may have influenced the account of chapters 6 and 7 of 2 Macca­ bees. The general situation of conflict with a ruler is analogous; the story about Anaxarchus and the account of the death of the first of the seven sons share the motif of the command to cut out the protagonist’s tongue. The purpose of this cruel deed is to put an end to speech that is offensive to the ruler.53 After 2 Maccabees, the next important Jewish text for our discussion is the Fourth Maccabean book. Although Dormeyer did not discuss this work, it is often associated with the notion of the “Jewish martyrdom” or “Jewish martyrs.” It was written by an unknown Hellenistic Jewish author in an urban setting of the Greek East, probably between 20 and 54 ce.54 In terms of literary form, it seems best to take it as the rhetorical development of the thesis stated in 1:1, “whether devout reason is sovereign over the emotions.”55 The argument combines later Stoic and Jewish values. The first part of the work is a discursive argument of the thesis.56 The second part argues the thesis with reference to a specific group of examples and treats them as worthy of praise. This second part, then, has elements of the encomium or panegyric speech.57 The examples cited are the same faithful Jews whose stories are told in 2 Maccabees. In fact, it is generally agreed that the narrative portions of 4 Maccabees 3–18 are based on 2 Maccabees 6:12–7:42. In the story of Eleazar in 4 Maccabees, Antiochus is portrayed as a tyrant.58 Even though the situation does not involve a formal legal proceeding, the king is portrayed as sitting with his counselors. In 2 Maccabees 6, only the speech of  Diogenes Laertius, 9.26–27. Laertius, 9.58–59. 53  On the relation of 2 Maccabees 7 to “philosophical martyrdoms,” see Kellermann, Auferstanden in den Himmel, 46–50. 54  So Stanley Stowers (following Elias Bickerman), “4 Maccabees,” Harper’s Bible Commentary, 923. 55  Trans. from NRSV. 56  4 Macc 1:1–3:18. 57  Stowers, “4 Maccabees,” 922–23. 58  4 Macc 5:1. 51

52 Diogenes

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Eleazar is given in direct discourse. In 4 Maccabees, the speech of Antiochus is also quoted so that the account contains an actual dialogue. As in 2 Maccabees, but even more so, Eleazar’s speech in 4 Maccabees is didactic. It provides instruction for the character Antiochus and, more importantly, for the audience of the work on the rationality of the Jewish law and way of life.59 In 2 Maccabees, the element of torture is a minor theme in the story of Eleazar. In 4 Maccabees, this element is elaborated.60 The emphasis on Eleazar’s ability to endure pain and torture here probably derives from the author’s Stoic values. Cicero, as a representative of later Stoicism, argued in his disputation on enduring pain that pain becomes endurable by reason.61 Seneca the Younger, a contemporary of the author of 4 Maccabees and another adherent of later Stoicism, expressed similar values in his letters to Lucilius, which were probably written from 63 to 65 ce.62 The twenty-fourth letter is a reply to Lucilius’s request for advice with regard to his fear of a lawsuit against him. Rather than consoling his friend with hope for a positive outcome, Seneca encourages him to expect the worst and to overcome his fear of death. He tells the story of Cato as a model for Lucilius. In 4 Maccabees Eleazar is portrayed as enduring a whipping, fire, and various instruments of torture. In the letter just mentioned, Seneca includes an apostrophe to pain in which its tools, including fires, the whip, and machines of torture, are mocked as ineffective against those who aspire to be wise.63 As in 2 Maccabees, Eleazar in 4 Maccabees emphasizes that his noble death will be an example for the young. But his final words contain an important new element: his prayer that his death be accepted by God as vicarious suffering for the rest of the Jewish people.64 But like the accounts in 2 Maccabees and the narrative about Cato in Seneca’s letter, the stories of 4 Maccabees are τελευταί, accounts of the deaths of famous or noble people that serve as examples to those who read or hear them.

Hellenistic acts of the martyrs Besides the Jewish martyrdom, the “Hellenistic acts of the martyrs” is the other genre that Dormeyer proposed as a literary model for the early forms of the passion narrative. This genre is represented primarily by a group of texts often 59  See especially 4 Macc 5:22–24. The presence of an actual dialogue between Eleazar and Antiochus makes this part of 4 Maccabees more similar to the Acts of the Alexandrians than the corresponding portion of 2 Maccabees; see below on the Acts of the Alexandrians. 60 4 Macc 6:1–11. 61  Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.42–65. 62 Richard M. Gummere, “Introduction” (Epistulae Morales, LCL, 1.ix). 63  Compare 4 Macc 6:1–11, 24–26 with Seneca, Epistulae Morales 24.14. 64  4 Macc 6:27–29.

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referred to as the Acts of the Alexandrians or the Acts of the Pagan Martyrs. In this context, the term “acts” refers to proceedings in a judicial setting. These texts were discovered in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries written in Greek on fragments of papyrus. U. Wilcken published the oldest study in 1895 in which he argued that four such fragmentary works had a family resemblance and could be classified together as the Acts of the Alexandrians. Since then more than twenty additional fragments have been identified as belonging to this group, but scholars do not agree on the precise extent of the corpus. Wilcken believed that they were historical documents and identified them as extracts from ὑπομνηματισμοί or commentarii Caesaris, that is, from official records of legal proceedings. These are often referred to as “protocols” by modern scholars.65 A. Bauer was the first to apply the label “acts of the pagan martyrs” to these texts.66 He argued that these works belonged to the same literary genre as the Christian acts of the martyrs. He argued further that some texts were actually based on protocols, but that others only imitated their literary form. In response to Bauer and others who took a literary approach, Wilcken responded that the Acts were basically historical, but showed evidence of the addition of a fictional framework and reworking at various stages. He admitted that some might not be based on protocols at all. The author of the most recent comprehensive study, Herbert Musurillo, takes a similar position with due allowance for the aspect of political propaganda.67 The Acts of the Alexandrians were composed between 41 ce and the end of the second century of the Common Era.68 Their subject matter involves tension and conflict between citizens of Alexandria and the Roman government from the reign of Tiberius to that of Septimius Severus, and between the Alexandrian Greeks and the Jews. Five of the texts usually included in the Acts of the Alexandrians are not really comparable in genre to the passion narrative.69 But six of

65 See the discussion by Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 259; compare 249 on the protocol. An early but classic study is Hans Niedermeyer, Über antike Protokoll-Literatur (Göttingen: Dieterisch’schen Univ.-Buchdruckerei [Kaestner], 1918); see also Berger, “Hellenistische Gattungen,” 1248–49; Gary A. Bisbee, Pre-Decian Acts of Martyrs and Commentarii, HDR 22 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 19–64 and the literature cited there. 66 A. Bauer, “Heidnische Märtyrerakten,” Archiv 1 (1901): 29–47; see the discussion by Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 260–61 and by Theofried Baumeister, Martyr Invictus: Der Martyrer als Sinnbild der Erlösung in der Legende und im Kult der frühen koptischen Kirche, Forschungen zur Volkskunde 46 (Münster: Verlag Regensberg, 1972), 20–21. According to Berger, U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff used the term “Märtyrer-akten” for these works (“Hellenistische Gattungen,” 1250). 67 Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 260; he holds that the majority of the Acta fragments may be described as “reworked protocols” and that the “protocol form” is not merely a literary device (275). 68  Dormeyer, Die Passion Jesu, 44. 69  These are the “Boule Papyrus,” the “Interview with Flaccus,” the “Gerousia Acta,” the Acts of Maximus, and the Acts of Athenodorus.

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them do have some points of similarity.70 All of these are fragmentary, so it is difficult to determine their structure and genre, but some features are clear. Five of the six contain part of an account of judicial proceedings and each of these involves a dialogue between the accused and the emperor.71 Only two contain part of a frame story.72 One includes an account of a sign or wonder in its frame story.73 Viewed from the point of view of content, one work implies that the two accused men were sentenced to death, but their execution is not described in the surviving fragments.74 In another, the emperor threatens the Alexandrian protagonist with death for his insolence, but the fragment does not narrate his condemnation or execution.75 In a third, one of the accused is released and the other bound, apparently to be tortured.76 It is not clear whether the latter was eventually released or executed. The frame story of a fourth describes how the accused is led off to be executed but then called back by the emperor, not once but twice.77 Although none of the Acts of the Alexandrians in its present form narrates the death of the protagonist, the hero of one of the works does refer to three of the main characters of another one as having died before him.78 So a few of them may have been τελευταί in their original form, but we cannot be sure.

exitus illustrium virorum The genre involving accounts of the deaths of famous men continued to flourish as the Acts of the Alexandrians were being written. Pliny the Younger mentions a work by Fannius, otherwise unknown, consisting of a collection of stories about the deaths of those who had been killed or exiled under the emperor Nero.79 70 The Acts of Isidore, the Acts of Diogenes, the Acts of Hermias, the Acts of Hermaiskos, the Acts of Paul and Antoninus, and the Acts of Appian. 71  All of the texts mentioned in the previous note, except the Acts of Diogenes, which is a fragment of a speech of prosecution. 72  The Acts of Hermaiskos and the Acts of Appian. 73  The Acts of Hermaiskos. 74  The Acts of Isidore. 75  The Acts of Hermaiskos. 76  The Acts of Paul and Antoninus. 77 The Acts of Appian, which is similar in this respect to the Life of Secundus the Philosopher; Secundus is led out to be executed, but saved at the last moment. The latter text is not one of the Acts of the Alexandrians; see Secundus the Silent Philosopher: The Greek Life of Secundus, ed. Ben Edwin Perry, Philological Monographs 22 (Ithaca: American Philological Association, 1964). 78 Appian in the Acts of Appian speaks about Theon, Isidore, and Lampo in this way, all of whom appear in the Acts of Isidore. 79  exitus occisorum aut relegatorum a Nerone (Pliny, Letters 5.5).

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He mentions another such work by Titinius Capito, which probably dealt with events during the reign of Domitian.80 He himself composed an account of the death of his uncle, Pliny the Elder.81 There is reason to think that Tacitus and Pliny made use of collections of exitus in their own writings.82 In books four and six of the Annals, Tacitus describes the deaths of men during the reign of Tiberius, which involved conspiracy and false accusations.83 In book eleven, he narrates a similar incident that occurred during the reign of Claudius.84 The early books of the Annals contain other accounts of voluntary death; of judicial proceedings, sometimes leading to execution, sometimes to acquittal; and accounts of banishment. In the work as a whole, these narratives show how the absolute power of the principate led to abuses, committed either by the emperor himself or by those who were able to manipulate him for their own purposes. The exitus go beyond this comprehensive, historical function by idealizing their protagonists and holding up their behavior as a model to be admired, if not imitated. Books 14, 15, and 16 of the Annals contain accounts of notable people who died voluntarily, were murdered, or exiled during the reign of Nero. The most famous of these is the forced suicide of Seneca.85 The account makes clear that the death of Seneca was intended to be a model for others. Socrates was equally clearly Seneca’s model. His last words were that he was making a drink offering to Jove the Liberator. He thus welcomed death as freedom from the tyrant.86

The pre-Markan passion narrative Having surveyed these Greek, Roman, and Jewish texts, we are in a position to consider the genre of the oldest passion narrative. As I have argued elsewhere, there are indications that the author of the Gospel of Mark made use of a source  exitus illustrium virorum (Pliny, Letters 8.12).  Pliny, Letters 6.16; see the discussion by Richard Reitzenstein, “Ein Stück hellenistischer Kleinliteratur,” Nachrichten der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, philologisch-historische Klasse (1904): 1.327. 82  F. A. Marx makes a case for Tacitus’s use of such works: “Tacitus und die Literatur der exitus illustrium virorum,” Philologus 92 (1937): 83–103; on Pliny’s use of such material, see Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 241–42; and Berger, Hellenistische Gattungen,” 1257. 83  Titius Sabinus (Tacitus, Annals 4.68–70); Arruntius (Annals, 6.47–48). 84 Asiaticus (Tacitus, Annals 11.1–3); this account involves a conspiracy. 85 Tacitus, Annals 15.44–64, especially 60–64. 86 Compare Tacitus, Annals 15.62. In his disputation on despising death, Cicero argued that death is freedom from the prison (of the body) and from all sensation and trouble (Tusculan Disputations 1.118). Epictetus, a representative of later Stoicism in the period immediately following Seneca, argued that freedom is freedom from desire or the ability to desire something in proportion to its value; he alluded to the story of the death of Socrates as an example of freedom in the face of death (Discourses 4.1.159–177). 80 81

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in composing chapters 14–15.87 It does not seem to me to be feasible to discern three strata as Dormeyer and others have attempted to do, but it is possible to distinguish Markan composition and pre-Markan material. It is my working hypothesis that the pre-Markan material in chapters 14–15 is the oldest recoverable passion narrative. Although it is clear that the passion narrative of the Gospel of John contains individual units of tradition that were independent of the Synoptic tradition, such usage does not compel the conclusion that it was based on a source that consisted of an extended account of Jesus’s arrest, trial, crucifixion, and death, other than the passion narratives of Mark, Matthew, and Luke. The likelihood of an author composing a work so similar in literary form to the Synoptic Gospels in total independence of them is very small.88 My discussion of the genre of the oldest passion narrative is based on my tentative reconstruction of the pre-Markan source (see the appendix to this chapter below). The arguments for this reconstruction are given in the book mentioned above. This source, insofar as it can be reconstructed with any plausibility, begins with the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane, in which Jesus is portrayed as distressed and anxious. This portrait contrasts with the self-control and composure of the Maccabean heroes and most of the famous men of Greek and Roman tradition. In his distress, Jesus prays, at first asking his omnipotent Father to save him from death. This motif recalls the wisdom tales in which the protagonist is rescued from danger by divine power. Yet the prayer concludes with the serene acceptance of God’s will; the finishing touches of the portrait thus call to mind Socrates and those who followed his example in meeting death with composure and courage.89 The arrival of Judas, one of the Twelve, who betrayed him, provides the transition to the second scene. In the Maccabean stories there is no betrayer or even an accuser. In the Greek and Roman τελευταί there is often an accuser and sometimes a conspiracy. Jesus’s betrayal by a false friend also resonates with the psalms.90 The narrative element of betrayal by a disciple with a kiss gives 87  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 92–118. 88  Anton Dauer has argued that the author of the Gospel of John made use of a passion account that was in part independent of the Synoptic Gospels and in part influenced by the Synoptic passion narratives, especially those of Matthew and Luke. Certain redactional elements of the written texts of Matthew and Luke had been absorbed into oral tradition and then once again committed to writing: Die Passionsgeschichte im Johannesevangelium: Eine traditionsgeschichtliche und theologische Untersuchung zu Joh 18,1–19,30, SANT 30 (Munich: Kösel-Verlag, 1972), 335–36. 89 The prayer is a relatively infrequent motif in τελευταί. The only real prayer in the relevant portions of 2 and 4 Maccabees is the one uttered by Eleazar as his last words, according to 4 Macc 6:27–29. The scene in Gethsemane resonates with Psalm 69 (compare Mark 14:32–42 with Ps 69 [LXX 68]: 1, 13–15, 17, 29, and especially v. 20. 90  E. g., Ps 41:9 reads “Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted the heel against me” (trans. NRSV ).

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poignancy to the simple narrative of the arrest, which most closely resembles a historical report or a biographical anecdote. Once again, the identification of the genre of this portion of the narrative as historical or biographical does not necessarily imply the historical accuracy or reliability of the account. Since Jesus was no doubt crucified by the Romans, it is likely that he was in fact arrested by Roman soldiers or by officers of the temple, but the story about Judas may be legendary. The comment at the end of the scene, that all the disciples fled, resonates with Ps 38:11, “My friends and companions stand aloof from my affliction, and my neighbors stand far off ” (NRSV ). The narrative then relates that Jesus was taken to the high priest and the chief priests held a consultation. This language does not imply a judicial proceeding and no verdict is mentioned.91 It is not necessarily implied that Jesus was interrogated. The result of the consultation is that Jesus was sent bound to Pilate, the prefect of Judea. These remarks, which follow the story of the arrest, resemble a historical report. The literary form, as noted before, does not guarantee reliability, but such a course of events is not implausible. The remarks in question also serve as a frame story for the dialogue between Pilate and Jesus that follows. The scene involving this dialogue is unlike the ancient protocols in that it lacks a heading at the beginning and the verdict at the end. It does, however, represent in a plausible way a typical cognitio extra ordinem, a summary investigation in which special crimes are investigated according to special rules. Pilate’s first question implies that the most important charge from a Roman point of view is Jesus’s claim to be the king of the Jews. It is also stated that the chief priests accused him of many things. Although their other accusations are not quoted or even summarized, they are presented as his accusers in a legal process. The function of Pilate’s second question is to give Jesus, the accused, an opportunity to respond to the accusations. When he does not avail himself of this opportunity, Pilate is amazed, since the narrative gives no explicit motivation for the silence of Jesus.92 This motif resonates with the Scriptures. Psalm 38, alluded to earlier, also contains the following remark, “But I am like the deaf, I do not hear; like the mute, who cannot speak. Truly, I am like one who does not hear, and in whose mouth is no retort.”93 Pilate’s decision is implied in the last sentence of the scene, in the remark that he handed Jesus over to be scourged and cru91  Fergus Millar argued that there is no formal trial even in the Markan passion narrative: “Reflections of the Trials of Jesus,” in A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History, JSOTSup 100, ed. Philip R. Davies and Richard T. White (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 366. 92 Jesus’s silence recalls Secundus’s refusal to speak to Hadrian in the Life of Secundus, but Hadrian is not surprised, only exasperated and offended, because Secundus’s silence is motivated and already known to him. 93 Ps 38:13–14; trans. NRSV. See also Isa 53:7, “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth” (trans. NRSV ).

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cified. The presiding official in a cognitio extra ordinem, in which the accused was not a Roman citizen, did not need to formulate a precise legal charge;94 without a formal charge, there would be no formal verdict. The whipping was apparently a standard prelude to crucifixion.95 After the scourging and before the crucifixion, there is an account of Roman soldiers mocking Jesus. This scene recalls two incidents that took place in Alexandria. The first occurred in 38 ce and is reported by Philo.96 Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, had just been made a king by the emperor Gaius. When Agrippa was visiting Alexandria, the Greeks of the city instigated a public mockery of the newly designated king. They took a harmless simpleton to the gymnasium, set him up on high, put on his head a sheet of papyrus spread out wide for a diadem, clothed him in a rug as a mantle, and gave him a piece of papyrus that had been thrown on the road as a scepter. Some approached him, pretending to salute him, others to sue for justice, and others to consult him on state affairs. Then the crowd hailed him as “Marin,” the name by which it is said that kings are called in Syria. According to Philo, the whole affair was similar to the theatrical mimes. The other incident is mentioned in one of the Acts of the Alexandrians.97 This work reports a speech by an Alexandrian about how the people of Alexandria had mocked a king by performing a mime. The king in question was probably the Jewish king or would-be messiah who led the revolt in Cyrene, whose name was Lukuas according to Eusebius or Andreias as Cassius Dio says. This mime took place in about 117 ce.98 It is possible that the author of the pre-Markan passion narrative had heard about the mockery of King Agrippa I in Alexandria. More likely is the hypothesis that the scene in which Jesus was mocked was independently influenced by the contemporary mime.99 The next scene, the account of the crucifixion itself, resembles a historical report. By “historical report” I do not mean bruta facta. I doubt that any historical account could possibly be free of interpretation and bias. The account of Jesus’s death is historical in form even though it presents him as a crucified messiah and involves omens that interpret the event. The offer of wine flavored 94  See the discussion by Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 113–14. See also Peter Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 5–6. 95 Livy, 33.36; Josephus, J. W. 2.305–308; 5.446–451. See the discussion by Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 2nd ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1966; reprinted, Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1981), 584. 96  Philo, Flaccus 36–39; see the discussion by Herbert Box, Philonis Alexandrini: In Flaccum (London: Oxford University Press, 1939), xl–xliii, 91–92. On Agrippa I, see also David C. Braund, “Agrippa,” ABD, 1.98–99. 97  The Acts of Paul and Antoninus. 98  See the discussion in Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, 182–85. 99  The striking of Jesus on the head and the spitting have no parallel in the story about Agrippa and are due to the context of the passion narrative, in which Jesus is about to be executed as a royal pretender.

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or drugged with myrrh should probably be interpreted as a typical practice intended to dull the pain. Jesus’s refusal calls to mind the motif of despising pain prominent especially in the late Stoic τελευταί. The soldiers divide his clothing, casting lots to see who will take what. The wording of this incident creates a strong allusion to Ps 22:18.100 The placard announcing to passers-by the crime of Jesus is said to read “the king of the Jews.” This statement links the crucifixion scene to the proceeding before Pilate and is another indirect indication of the charge, probably informal, against him. The remark that Jesus was crucified between two bandits or rebels resonates weakly with Isaiah 53:12, “he was numbered with the transgressors.” Rather than a deliberate allusion to that text, it seems better to take the remark as historical or history-like; one would expect a messianic pretender to be crucified between two other rebels. The mocking of the passers-by and the two bandits echoes Psalm 22.101 The description of the death of Jesus involves a sign or wonder, darkness over the whole land for three hours. Such prodigies are relatively rare in τελευταί, but not unknown. This incident recalls accounts of the death of Julius Caesar. Virgil, for example, says that the sun “expressed mercy for Rome when Caesar was killed; he hid his shining head in gloom and the impious age feared eternal night.”102 According to my tentative reconstruction, the pre-Markan passion narrative did not contain a report of Jesus’s last words. This lack is consonant with the virtual silence of Jesus during the proceeding before Pilate. He simply cried out with a loud voice and expired. In the place of the last words is another sign, the tearing or opening of the curtain of the temple. The most likely meaning of this event in its original context is a symbolic theophany.103 The removal of the veil before the Holy of Holies reveals God. The sequence of the cry of Jesus and the opening of the temple resonates with Psalm 18.104 If the account of Jesus’s death recalled this psalm to the minds of its earliest audience, which it may well have, given the other allusions to psalms that we have noted, the sign of the 100 Psalm

21 LXX.  Ps 22:6–8, “But I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people. All who see me mock at me; they make mouths at me, they shake their heads; ‘Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver – let him rescue the one in whom he delights!’” (NRSV ). The reconstructed pre-Markan text shares a number of words (actually roots) with the LXX version of the psalm: ὄνειδος (LXX Ps 21:7; compare Mark 15:32), ἐκίνησαν κεφαλήν (compare LXX Ps 21:8 with Mark 15:29), σωσάτω (compare LXX Ps 21:9 with Mark 15:30). 102  Virgil, Georgics 1.468; trans. from David R. Cartlidge and David L. Dungan, Documents for the Study of the Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 163. Plutarch says that amazing events followed the death of Caesar, one of which was “the obscuration of the sun’s rays. For during all that year its orb rose pale and without radiance, while the heat that came down from it was slight and ineffectual, so that the air in its circulation was dark and heavy owing to the feebleness of the warmth that penetrated it, and the fruits, imperfect and half-ripe, withered away and shriveled up on account of the coldness of the atmosphere”; Plutarch, Lives, Caesar 69.4–5 (Perrin, LCL). 103  See the discussion in Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” 116–17. 104  Ps 18:6–19. 101

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opening of the veil would imply that God vindicated Jesus. The language of the Psalm, “He brought me out into a broad place,” in the context of the apocalyptic world-view of the earliest Christian communities, would have been understood in terms of God’s exaltation of Jesus to a heavenly mode of existence. The pre-Markan passion narrative was probably an independent composition that had a liturgical setting.105 Such a prose text could well have functioned in early Christian gatherings in a way analogous to the reading of narrative texts from the Torah in the worship of the synagogue. It was an instance of the literary genre τελευτή, the story of the death of a prominent person. Jesus was certainly not a noble person in the eyes of his opponents during his lifetime. For a long time after his death he remained an obscure person in the eyes of the general public and, from their point of view, hardly qualified as a famous man. But from the perspective of the oldest passion narrative, he was of noble rank; he was the Messiah, the rejected king of Israel. Subtypes of the genre τελευτή can be defined according to the social role of the protagonists: rulers, rebellious subjects, and philosophers. Jesus, as protagonist of the pre-Markan passion narrative, is presented as the Messiah from the point of view of his followers and as a messianic pretender from his enemies’ perspective. Pilate put him to death because he claimed to be the “king of the Jews.” Passers-by, apparently portrayed as Jewish, mocked his claim to be “the messiah, the king of Israel.” Other instances of the subtype “death of a messianic pretender” occur in two of the works of Josephus. They include the stories of Simon, the slave of Herod the Great;106 Athronges the shepherd;107 Menahem;108 and Simon, son of Giora.109 None of these accounts contain a report of judicial proceedings, but Simon, son of Giora, was executed in the Roman forum at the climax of the triumphal procession of Vespasian and Titus. The presence of the scene with Pilate gives the passion narrative a certain similarity to the Acts of the Alexandrians, but the virtual silence of Jesus is a striking difference. The detailed description of the death is analogous to the Maccabean stories, but there is little emphasis in the passion narrative on torture. Again the silence of Jesus contrasts sharply with the speeches of Eleazar and the others, and the passion narrative lacks the didactic quality of the Maccabean stories. The pre-Markan passion narrative is best understood as an early Chris See Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” 118.  Josephus, J. W. 2.57–59 = Ant. 17.273–277. Simon the slave was decapitated while trying to flee from a battle with Roman soldiers. 107 Josephus, J. W. 2.60–65 = Ant. 17.278–284. Josephus does not actually describe the death of Athronges, but it seems to be implied. He and his four brothers led a revolt; three of them were captured and one surrendered. 108  Josephus, J. W. 2.433–248. Menahem was killed by partisans of Eleazar, joined by the people of Jerusalem. 109  Josephus, J. W. 7.26–36, 153–157. 105 106

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tian adaptation of the widespread and well known Greek genre τελευτή, but its tone or internal form derives from the psalms of lament. It is probably not helpful to associate the use of these psalms in the passion narrative with the motif of the suffering righteous person. Chapters 2 and 5 of the Wisdom of Solomon do indeed show that this motif was known and used around the time of Jesus. But there is little evidence that it was consciously used by the author of the earliest recoverable passion narrative. The label δίκαιος is never applied to Jesus in this narrative.110 There is little evidence if any that, prior to the death of Jesus, the messiah was expected to suffer and die. The psalms of lament may have been used by followers of Jesus in writing the account of his death to help make sense of it, not as the death of a righteous person, but as the death of the Messiah. Given the hermeneutics of the time, they did not necessarily read these psalms as individual songs of lament or as expressions of the motif of the righteous sufferer. It is more likely that they read them as songs of David, the prototypical king. In the eschatological context of earliest Christianity, the psalms of lament could easily have been understood as prophecies of the suffering and death of the Messiah, even though, in their original meaning, they had little to do with David and did not even envision the death of the speaker.111

The Markan passion narrative From the point of view of genre, Mark altered the narrative of the τελευτή of Jesus in several significant ways. An account of the unsuccessful attempt of three women to find and anoint the body is added at the end. This scene is a Christian adaptation of a familiar genre in Greek and Roman traditions, disappearancestories that imply the protagonist’s translation to heaven.112 In order to prepare for the disappearance of Jesus’s body, Mark also added the account of his burial. Burial of the protagonist is rarely mentioned in the τελευταί.113 In the biographical material about Miltiades the Elder preserved in 110  The application of the term to Jesus in Matthew (27:4, 19 and in some mss, v. 24) and in Luke (23:47) says nothing about the intentions of the authors of the pre-Markan and the Markan passion narratives. 111  So also Donald Juel, Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 116. 112  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 119–48. This essay is included in the present volume. 113 In some cases, cremation is mentioned or implied. Before opening his veins, Asiaticus gave instructions about the location of his pyre (Tacitus, Annals 11.3). Tacitus reports that Seneca was cremated without ceremony, in accordance with his will (Annals 15.64). The burial of Vetus, Sextia, and Pollitta is mentioned in passing when Tacitus relates that they were indicted after burial (Annals 16.11).

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Herodotus, no mention is made of his burial, but it is stated that the people of the Chersonese offered him regular sacrifices after his death as their founder, and held horse-races and athletic contests in his honor.114 These rituals may imply the existence of a tomb, like those of the heroes.115 In the Phaedo, the burial of Socrates is discussed beforehand,116 but not described after his death. The lack of an account of the burial is in keeping with Socrates’s teaching that the corpse is not the self. The actual accounts of the deaths of Eleazar, the seven brothers, and their mother do not describe their burials. In 4 Maccabees, however, in the final encomium, their tomb and epitaph are mentioned and the panegyric itself has several features in common with the funeral oration.117 Mention of the tomb and epitaph does not necessarily imply that the work was actually delivered orally at a commemorative occasion. They may be rhetorical devices, but they do show that the honored dead were portrayed in a way similar to the Greek heroes.118 It may be that the author of Mark included an account of the burial and mentioned the tomb in order to suggest the hero-like status of Jesus. By adding the burial and disappearance stories, Mark brought out much more clearly than the earlier passion narrative the divine vindication of Jesus. In a sense, this was a logical development of the genre. The account of the death of Caesar in Suetonius is followed by a description of his funeral, cremation, and apotheosis.119 For a Greek or Roman audience, the “disappearance” of Jesus’s body assimilates him to their heroes and divinized founders and rulers. Another important new scene is the trial before the high priest and the council. Mark states that the chief priests and the whole council were seeking testimony against Jesus in order that they might condemn him to death.120 Since the definite article is used, Mark seems to have in mind, not an ad hoc group or the high priest’s personal advisory council, but the provincial assembly of Judea, which ruled in cooperation with the Roman prefect.121 The scene as a whole is a Markan composition based on various older traditions.122 It is similar to the Roman pro114 Herodotus,

6.38.  The founders of the pre-Hellenistic period (οἱ κισταί) were generally believed to have been buried in the ἀγορά (“marketplace”), in the center of the πόλις (“city”), and were given hero-cults: Irad Malkin, Religion and Colonization in Ancient Greece, Studies in Greek and Roman Religion 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1987), 193–94, 200–16; see also Wolfgang Leschhorn, “Gründer der Stadt”: Studien zu einem politisch-religiösen Phänomen der griechischen Geschichte, Palingenesia 20 (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1984), 75–77, 85–87, 93–94, 98, 103. 116  Plato, Phaedo 115C–116A. 117  Pliny likens the accounts of the deaths of famous men collected by Titinius Capito to funeral orations (Letters 8.12). 118  Stowers, “4 Maccabees,” 923, 933. 119  Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars, Julius Caesar 80–82, 84, 88. Plutarch also mentions the comet (Lives, Caesar 69.4). 120  Mark 14:55. 121  See Anthony J. Saldarini, “Sanhedrin,” ABD, 5.975–80. 122  See John R. Donahue, Are You the Christ? The Trial Narrative in the Gospel of Mark, SBLDS (Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1973), 53–102. 115

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tocols and to some of the Acts of the Alexandrians in that the judicial proceeding is in part summarized and in part represented in direct discourse. The high point of the account is the dialogue between Jesus and the high priest. This dialogue contrasts sharply with the one between Jesus and Pilate. The high priest first questions Jesus about the testimony of the witnesses. To this question Jesus gives no response. But then the high priest asks Jesus whether he is the messiah, the son of the Blessed. Jesus makes a decidedly positive response and adds a prophetic saying that plays a key role in the development of the Markan theme regarding Jesus’s identity. With this brief speech of Jesus, Mark stretches the picture of the virtually silent Jesus in the pre-Markan passion narrative to the breaking point and also breaks through the Gospel’s own secrecy theme. This element makes the Markan form of the passion narrative more similar to the Maccabean accounts in which the speeches of the dying heroes have a didactic function. It also makes the τελευτή of Jesus more similar to the Hellenistic and Roman types in which the speech of the protagonist is the major focus. The narrative is by no means precise with regard to the legal and religious issues involved. The high priest’s reaction to Jesus’s positive response to his question about messiahship implies that the charge on which Jesus was condemned was blasphemy. Such a charge does not fit either the literary or the historical context with much plausibility. But the narrative shows clearly enough that the underlying and real issue was perceived to be Jesus’s claim to be the messiah. Such a claim would be related to the council’s responsibility to keep order and its commitment to support Roman rule. Although the charge is not precisely formulated, the verdict is: the members of the council unanimously condemned him to death.123 As noted earlier, the genre τελευτή was often incorporated in larger historical and biographical works. Mark’s Gospel is a type of historical work, an account of the “good news” of God proclaimed by Jesus Christ.124 This good news is that the time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has drawn near.125 Mark implies that the kingdom of God will not have arrived fully until the appearance of Jesus in glory as the Son of Man.126 But Jesus’s death, like his public life, is an important part of the process. According to 10:45, it is a “ransom for many,” and at the Last Supper it is portrayed as a sacrifice of covenant renewal and a sin offering.127 In 123  In addition to its similarities with other τελευταί that include judicial proceedings, this scene also resonates with the psalms of lament in which the theme of false witnesses and unjust condemnation of an innocent person is frequent; compare Pss 109:2–3, 6–7; 35:11; 69:4; 94:21. 124  Compare Mark 1:1 with 1:14. See the discussion in Adela Yarbro Collins, “Is Mark’s Gospel a Life of Jesus? The Question of Genre,” in The Beginning of the Gospel, 1–38. 125  Mark 1:14–15. 126  Mark 13:24–27; 14:62; compare 14:25. 127 Compare 4 Macc 6:29; 17:21–22. It is noteworthy how little Mark’s understanding of the redemptive character of the death of Jesus intruded upon the narration of that death as he found it in his source.

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other words, for Mark the death of Jesus was an event that changed the world. At the same time, his death is a model for his followers. When they are arrested and interrogated, they should speak the truth and endure torture and death, rather than deny their master as Peter did.128 The death of Jesus for Mark was as much a beginning as an end, as the open-ended character of the last scene indicates. The women are to tell the disciples, including Peter, that “he goes before you into Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you.” The narrative of the Gospel does not complete the story. In part, this is so because the story was not complete when Mark was writing. The audience had its part to play in the events of the last days.

Conclusion The account of the death of Jesus in the pre-Markan passion narrative belongs to the genre τελευτή; it is an interpretation of the execution of Jesus as the death of the Messiah. The account as modified and expanded by the author of Mark belongs to the same genre. Although Mark interpreted the death of Jesus as redemptive (10:45; 14:23–24), he did not recast the account of it to make this point. He expanded the death-story in a way that logically develops the genre; the divinely appointed and vindicated Messiah of his source becomes the Messiah translated to heaven whence he will return as Son of Man in glory. Jesus’s death is portrayed as one to be imitated by his followers in 8:34–9:1 and 13:9–13. The same point is made in Luke-Acts, for example, by the way in which the account of the death of Stephen is modeled on that of Jesus. These portrayals do not yet imply that Jesus was the first of a series of martyrs. On the contrary, they fit quite well in the tradition of the τελευτή and the exitus. Those aspiring to die nobly model their attitudes and behavior on the great examples of the past.

Appendix A Reconstruction and Translation of the Pre-Markan Passion Narrative They came to a place called Gethsemane and Jesus began to be distressed and anxious and he said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved unto death; remain here and stay awake.” He went a little farther on, fell upon the ground, began to pray and said, “Abba, father, all things are possible for you; remove this cup from me; but [let] not what I want [be], but what you want.” And he went and found them sleeping, and said to Peter, “Simon, are you sleeping? Were you not strong 128  The parallels between chapter 13 and the passion narrative reinforce the exemplary character of the latter.

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enough to keep awake one hour? Wake up, let us go. See the one who betrays me has drawn near.” While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a crowd with swords and clubs, sent by the chief priests. Now the betrayer had given them a signal, saying, “The one whom I kiss is he; arrest him and take him securely into custody.” And when he arrived, he immediately went to Jesus and said to him, “Rabbi,” and kissed him. The others laid hands upon him and arrested him. And all left him and fled. And they led Jesus away to the high priest. In the morning, the chief priests took counsel, bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate. And Pilate asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” He answered and said to him, “You say [so].” And the chief priests accused him of many things. Pilate asked him again, saying, “Do you not answer anything? Look how many things they accuse you of.” But Jesus answered no further, so that Pilate marveled. He had Jesus whipped and handed him over to be crucified. The soldiers led him inside the courtyard and called together the whole cohort. And they dressed him in a purple cloak, made a crown of thorns, and put it on him. And they began to acclaim him, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they hit him on the head with a reed, spat on him, and kneeling, paid their respects. And when they had mocked him, they removed the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him. And they led him out to crucify him. They forced a certain passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the field, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross. And they brought him to the place Golgotha, which is translated “the place of the skull.” And they tried to give him wine flavored with myrrh, but he did not take it. And they crucified him and divided his clothing, casting lots for them [to determine] who would take what. Now it was the third hour when they crucified him. And the inscription of the charge against him was posted: the king of the Jews. And they crucified two bandits with him, one on his right and one on his left. And those who passed by reviled him, shaking their heads and saying, “He saved others, himself he cannot save; let the messiah, the king of Israel come down now from the cross, in order that we may see and believe.” The men who were crucified with him also insulted him. And at the sixth hour, darkness came upon the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour, Jesus shouted with a loud voice and expired. And the curtain of the temple was split in two from top to bottom.

The Flight of the Naked Young Man In this study of Mark 14:51–52, I shall first introduce the exegetical problems, then review the history of scholarship, and finally draw some conclusions.

The Exegetical Problems The only other place in Mark where the word νεανίσκος is used is 16:5. In 14:51 the young man is introduced in a way that signifies that he has not yet been mentioned in the story.1 The phrase συνηκολούθει αὐτῷ could be translated “was accompanying him,” “was following him,” or “was attempting to accompany/ follow him.”2 The significance could be either that the young man was in the entourage of Jesus up to the time of his arrest or that, when Jesus was arrested, he tried to follow him by joining the group taking him away.3 The word σινδών may be translated either “piece of linen cloth” or “garment made of linen.”4 This word occurs twice in this passage and twice in 15:46. These are the only places where it occurs in Mark. The phrase περιβεβλημένος σινδόνα ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ5 is ambiguous. The word περιβεβλημένος could be translated literally, signifying that the young man had a piece of linen or other fine cloth wrapped around himself, or, in accordance with its frequent usage, with “dressed in” or “wearing.” One way in which the audience could understand the phrase ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ is as equivalent to ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ ἐνδύματος (“upon the covering of his nakedness” or “upon the garment of his nakedness”). In this understanding, the young man would be

1  This point holds also for the textual variants; see Philip Sellew, “Secret Mark and the History of Canonical Mark,” in The Future of Early Christianity, ed. Birger A. Pearson (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 242–57; here 251–52. 2  LSJ, s. v. ἀκολουθέω; H. W. Smyth, Greek Grammar, rev. by G. M. Messing (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956), § 1889, 1895. 3  Willoughby C. Allen, The Gospel according to Saint Mark, Oxford Church Biblical Commentary (London: Rivingtons, 1915), 178. 4  LSJ, s. v. σινδών. 5 The earliest recoverable reading is probably ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ (“over his naked body”); see BAGD, s. v. γυμνός, 1. The shorter reading, γυμνός (“naked”), attested by Θ ƒ13 et al., probably arose through an accidental assimilation of this passage to v. 52. The words ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ (“over his naked body”) are lacking in W ƒ1 et al.; this shortest reading is due either to accidental omission or deliberate revision because the phrase seemed obscure, unnecessary, or misleading; contra Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1966), 561.

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wearing a light, upper garment over his underwear.6 Or they could understand it as equivalent to ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ τοῦ σώματος (“over his naked body”).7 The “crowd” with swords and clubs “arrest” or “seize” (κρατεῖν) the young man, just as they arrested or seized Jesus (14:46). When they take hold of him, the young man flees naked, leaving the cloth or garment behind (v. 52). “Naked” (γυμνός) here could mean either “in his underwear” or literally “naked.”

History of Scholarship on 14:51–52 Epiphanius identified the young man as James the brother of the Lord. Ambrose, John Chrysostom, and Bede identified him with John, the son of Zebedee.8 The anonymous author of a seventh-century commentary on Mark, which was attributed to Jerome in the Middle Ages, says regarding our passage: This is proper to Mark. This is like the case of Joseph, who leaving behind his tunic, fled in the nude from the hands of the shameless mistress of the house. Whoever wants to escape from the hands of wicked people, let them mentally abandon the things of the world, and flee after Jesus (Hoc proprie Marcus. Sic et Ioseph relicto pallio nudus de manibus inpudicae dominae effugit. Qui uult effugere manus iniquorum, relinquens mente quae mundi sunt, fugiat post Iesum).9

Like Epiphanius and other ancient writers, many modern authors have taken this passage as a historical reminiscence.10 Theissen raised the question whether  6  Erich Klostermann, Das Markusevangelium, HNT 3, 4th ed. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1950), 153; Allen, Mark, 178; Str-B, 2.50–51. M. Kelim 29:1 provides evidence that Jews wore underwear at least by the end of the 2nd cent. ce. According to Joshua Schwartz (personal communication), since practices related to material culture are conservative, it is likely that Jews normally wore underwear in the first cent. ce.  7  Thucydides 2.49.5; Klostermann, Markusevangelium, 153; Allen, Mark, 178; Str-B, 2.50–51.  8  Henry B. Swete, The Gospel according to Mark, 3rd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1913), reprinted as Commentary on Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes and Indexes (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 1977), 354; Frans Neirynck, “La Fuite du jeune homme en Mc 14,51–52,” ETL 55 (1979): 43–66; here 55–56.  9  The allusion is to Gen 39:6–20. Text from Expositio Evangelii secundum Marcum, ed. Michael Cahill, CCSL 82, Scriptores Celtigenae pars 2 (Turnholti: Brepols, 1997), 66; trans. from Cahill, The First Commentary on Mark: An Annotated Translation (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 109–110; on authorship and date of the commentary, see The First Commentary on Mark, 4–7. 10  E. g., Ezra P. Gould, Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Mark, ICC (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1896), 276; compare xvi (John Mark); Swete, Mark, 354 (John Mark or another eyewitness); Allen, Mark, 178; compare 3 (John Mark); Ernst Lohmeyer, Das Evangelium des Markus, MeyerK 1.2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1937; 17th ed. 1967), 324 (an eyewitness); C. E. B.  Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark, rev. ed., CGTC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977; 1st ed. 1959), 438–39; compare 5–6 (an eyewitness, perhaps John Mark); Taylor, St. Mark, 562 (an eyewitness known to Mark); Eduard Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark (Richmond, VA: John Knox Press, 1970); trans. of Das Evangelium nach Markus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 316–17 (a young

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the relationship of the young man to Jesus was “meant to remain shadowy.”11 He considered the anonymity of this disciple to be striking and explained it in terms of “protective anonymity.” He had “run afoul of the ‘police.’” He offered resistance and therefore was in danger. It would be inopportune to mention his name or even to admit that he was a member of the Christian community.12 But this hypothesis does not explain why the young man was dressed (or nearly undressed) in the way he was.13 Other scholars have seen the evocation of Scripture as a key to the significance of the passage. Loisy interpreted it as a messianic application of prophecy to the events of the passion. He argued that this brief narrative is based on the Hebrew version of Amos 2:16 and noted Rev 16:15 as a parallel.14 Klostermann suggested that the author wished to enrich the account of the flight of all those around Jesus in 14:50 with a prophetic motif based on the Greek version of Amos 2:16.15 He also referred to Mark 13:16 as an analogy. Linnemann concluded that it was impossible to be sure that Amos 2:16 was a factor in the origin of this passage, but considered it at least possible.16 Schneider argued that vv. 51–52 constitute a traditional story formulated by Mark. He concluded that it belongs, as a special case, to the theme of the flight of the disciples. In his view, the notion of the eschatological tribulation, perhaps following Amos 2:16 and Mark 13:14–16, also plays a role in this story.17 Gnilka rejected the hypothesis that this story is connected with Amos 2:16 because Amos plays no role otherwise in the theological interpretation of the passion.18 He argued, however, that the flight of the

man arrested with Jesus who later joined the church); Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium II. Teil: Kommentar zu Kap. 8,27–16,20, HThKNT 2.2 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1977; 4th ed. 1991), 402 (a curious youth who lived nearby); Michael J. Haren and M. J. Haran, “The Naked Young Man: A Historian’s Hypothesis on Mark 14,51–55,” Bib 79 (1998): 525–31 (Lazarus). 11  Gerd Theissen, The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 185. ET of Gerd Theißen, Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition, NTOA 8 (Freiburg, Schweiz: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 197. 12  Theissen, Gospels in Context, 186–87 (Lokalkolorit, 198–99). 13  The implausible speculations on the part of most of the authors who consider vv. 51–52 to be an historical reminiscence discredit this hypothesis. 14 Alfred Loisy, L’Évangile selon Marc (Paris: É. Nourry, 1912), 425. 15  Klostermann, Markusevangelium, 153. He notes that Greek MSS of Amos belonging to the Lucian-group read φεύξεται (“will flee”) rather than διώξεται (“will be pursued”). See the citation of Amos 2:16 LXX below. 16 Eta Linnemann, Studien zur Passionsgeschichte, FRLANT 102 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970), 52. 17  Gerhard Schneider, “Die Verhaftung Jesu: Traditionsgeschichte von Mk 14.43–52,” ZNW 63 (1972): 188–209; here 205–6. 18  Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus, 3rd ed., 2 vols., EKK II.1–2 (Zürich: Benziger, 1978–1979), 2. 271; but the motif of the darkness at noon in Mark 15:33 seems to evoke Amos 8:9.

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young man makes an impression of chaos and is an instance of an apocalyptic motif.19 A number of scholars have concluded that the incident is symbolic. Knox suggested that the “whimsical story of the young man and the linen cloth” is a cryptic reference to the empty tomb.20 In a later study, he argued that “Mark likes to describe events in proleptic fashion, or at any rate to make cryptic references to coming future events.”21 Both Jesus and the young man were “seized” by the arresting party. Just as the young man broke free, leaving the linen cloth behind, so Jesus “was likewise destined to escape the hands of his enemies, leaving only the linen cloth in which he was wrapped.”22 He noted that the σινδών (“linen cloth”) in which Jesus was buried is mentioned in 15:46, but not in 16:1–8. But both 14:51–52 and 16:5 refer to a νεανίσκος … περιβεβλημένος (“young man … clothed”). He also referred to John 20:5–7, Acts of Pilate 15:6, and a quotation by Jerome from the Gospel according to the Hebrews in support of his interpretation.23 Apparently independently of Knox, but inspired by Farrer’s focus on the editing of tradition by the evangelist, Vanhoye came to a similar conclusion, that this episode is an enigmatic prefiguration of the destiny of Jesus.24 He commented on the same similarities noted by Knox; in addition, he concluded that Mark’s use of the unusual verb συνακολουθεῖν (“to accompany” or “to follow along with”) links the young man closely to Jesus.25 The last two words of the 19  Gnilka, Markus, 2.267, citing Rev 6:15–16; 1 Enoch 62:10; Mark 13:14–20. He takes the position that the earliest passion narrative was revised in an apocalyptic direction before Mark received it (2.267); he cites with approval, however, Schneider’s conclusion that vv. 51–52 is a Markan formulation of traditional material (2.267 n. 5). 20  John Knox, Christ the Lord: The Meaning of Jesus in the Early Church (Chicago/New York: Willett, Clark & Co., 1945), 100 n. 18. 21 John Knox, “A Note on Mark 14:51–52,” in The Joy of Study: Papers on New Testament and Related Subjects Presented to Honor Frederick Clifton Grant, ed. Sherman E. Johnson (New York: Macmillan, 1951), 27–30; quotation from 28. 22  Knox, “Mark 14:51–52,” 29. 23 Knox, “Mark 14:51–52,” 29–30. 24  Albert Vanhoye, “La fuite du jeune homme nu (Mc 14,51–52),” Bib 52 (1971): 401–5; here 405. Similarly, Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mysteries in the Gospel of Mark,” in Mighty Minorities: Minorities in Early Christianity  – Positions and Strategies: Essays in Honour of Jacob Jervell on His 70th Birthday, ed. David Hellholm, Halvor Moxnes, and Turid Karlsen Seim (Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), 11–23; here 19–20. Ernst L. Schnellbächer argued that the young man of 14:51–52 is identical with the one who appears in 16:5; the two episodes illustrate the two main aspects of the evangelist’s message: crucifixion and resurrection: “Das Rätsel des νεανίσκος bei Markus,” ZNW 73 (1982): 127–135. W. Schenk, however, had already pointed out that, if the young man in 16:5 were the same as the one in 14:51–52, there would be a definite article in 16:5 referring back to the introduction of the figure: Der Passionsbericht nach Markus: Untersuchungen zur Überlieferungsgeschichte der Passionstraditionen (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1974), 210. 25  Vanhoye, “La fuite du jeune homme nu,” 404. He also observed that περιβάλλειν (“to put on”) is found in Mark only in 14:51 and 16:5. Somewhat less pertinently, he notes that φεύγειν

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story, γυμνὸς ἔφυγεν (“he fled naked”), express a situation of extreme distress and humiliation. It is shameful to flee, all the more so naked. At the same time, there is a positive element: the escape from danger and the exultation such a deliverance brings. The ridicule falls upon the enemies, who are left with a piece of cloth in their hands. In such a situation, nudity loses its shame and takes on the connotation of liberation. In reading the passage, one thinks first of a negative interpretation, but it also contains a promise.26 Scroggs and Groff argued that “when seen against the backdrop of Christian baptismal practices, the appearance of the young man in both instances can best be explained as a symbolic pointer to the Christian initiate. The nakedness and flight in 14:51–52 symbolize dying with Christ; the reappearance of the young man in a new garment in 16:5 symbolizes rising with Christ.”27 The rite of Christian baptism, however, is not explicitly mentioned in Mark. One could argue that the baptism of Jesus in 1:9–11 serves as a model for the Christian rite and that John’s saying in 1:8 alludes to Christian baptism “in Holy Spirit,” but the notion of dying and rising in baptism does not occur in chapter 1. In 10:38–39, the terms βαπτίζειν (“to immerse” or “to baptize”) and βάπτισμα (“immersion” or “baptism”) are associated with the death of Jesus, but these terms are used metaphorically in that context and do not refer to the ritual of baptism. The passion predictions speak about the death and resurrection of Jesus, and the disciple is expected to follow Jesus in suffering (8:34–9:1), but the idea of the disciple dying and rising with Jesus is not explicitly present.28 Further, as the authors recognize, there is no early evidence for the practice of “the actual stripping off of the clothes of the candidate before immersion and the robing in a white garment after he had emerged from the water.”29 Didache 7 says nothing about such a ritual act in its discussion of baptism. The Apostolic Tradition attributed to Hippolytus seems to imply that those who are baptized put the same clothes on again after the rite.30 Kermode also took the incident to be fictional, but in a quite different way. He suggested that the young man’s appearance represents the kind of random event that characterizes ordinary experience and is analogous to the man in the (“to flee”) creates another verbal contact between the two passages: the young man fled and so did the women who found the empty tomb (404–5). 26  Vanhoye, “La fuite du jeune homme nu,” 405–6. 27  Robin Scroggs and Kent I. Groff, “Baptism in Mark: Dying and Rising with Christ,” JBL 92 (1973): 531–48; quotation from 540. 28 Harry Fleddermann rightly concluded that the dying and rising motif is not one of the “known Markan concerns”: “The Flight of a Naked Young Man (Mark 14:51–52),” CBQ 41 (1979): 412–18; quotation from 415. 29  Scroggs and Groff, “Baptism in Mark,” 537. 30  Apostolic Tradition 21.3–20; see the translation in Paul F. Bradshaw, Maxwell E. Johnson, and L. Edward Phillips, The Apostolic Tradition, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 112– 19. The core of this document goes back to the second century ce (14–15).

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macintosh in James Joyce’s Ulysses, who just keeps popping up, although he has no significant narrative role.31 Although Mark’s narrative style is realistic,32 the technique Kermode identifies is characteristic of modern literature. Mark does not seem otherwise to include random characters. Other scholars have seen the incident of vv. 51–52 as a literary expression of the theme of the misunderstanding and failure of the disciples. As noted above, Schneider took this position with regard to the role of the passage in its present context in Mark.33 Tannehill argued that the “flight of the naked young man probably dramatizes the shamefulness of the disciple’s flight and satirizes the pretensions of Christians who claim to be ready for martyrdom.”34 He noted the occurrence of σινδών (“linen cloth”) in the scene describing Jesus’s burial (15:46) and inferred from it “that this man is so sure of his loyalty that he comes all dressed for death, but suddenly changes his mind when death is a real prospect.” At the same time, he argued that the man’s nakedness emphasizes the shamefulness of his flight.35 Fleddermann argued that the flight of the young man is a “commentary on 14:50” and “a dramatization of the universal flight of the disciples.”36 Thus the passage belongs to the “theme of the failure of the disciples to understand and accept the passion and their consequent falling into unbelief.”37 Against Knox and Vanhoye, who see in the young man a prefigurement of the risen Jesus, Fleddermann argued that “The fleeing young man is in contrast to Jesus who accepts the passion as God’s will (14:36).”38 Against Scroggs and Groff, he claimed that the youth “is not a symbol of the Christian initiate approaching baptism, he is a symbol of those who oppose God’s will in the passion.”39 With regard to the use of the word σινδών (“linen cloth”) twice in 14:51–52 and twice in 15:46, he concluded that the remarks about Jesus’s clothing in the passion narrative imply that he was crucified naked. Again there is a contrast between the young man who was arrested and stripped, but flees, and Jesus, who “is arrested and stripped and crucified.”40 31  Frank Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), 49–73. 32  See the discussion in Vanhoye, “La fuite du jeune homme nu,” 401. 33  Schneider, “Die Verhaftung Jesu,” 205–6. 34  Robert C. Tannehill, “The Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role,” JR 57 (1977): 386–405; quotation from 403. 35  Tannehill, “The Disciples in Mark,” 403 n. 38. 36  Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man,” 415. 37 Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man,” 416, citing Ludger Schenke, Studien zur Passionsgeschichte des Markus: Tradition und Redaktion in Markus 14, 1–42 (FB 4; Würzburg: Echter Verlag; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1971), 401–4, in n. 26. 38 Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man,” 416. 39  Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man,” 417. 40  Fleddermann, “The Flight of a Naked Young Man,” 417.

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Hatton argued that the verb συνακολουθεῖν (“to accompany” or “to follow along with”) suggests that “following,” that is, “discipleship,” is a subtext of the passage.41 He proposed that “To write that all fled and then to write of one who did not flee is a comic use of ‘all.’” This “obvious incongruity” is one of the features of this pericope that links it to comedy.42 Its “humorous metalanguage” interrupts “the reader’s progress and abandons denotative signification.”43 Hatton conjectured that it might have been Mark’s objective to downplay “the importance of discipleship and ‘following.’” This objective “is achieved by emphasis on the physical when the story-level context calls for an emphasis on the spiritual, by exaggerated detail, by a focus on the embarrassing … textual materiality, and textual self-reference.”44 Donahue and Harrington concluded that the young man “represents concretely the group of disciples whose flight was described in 14:50. Rather than symbolizing Jesus or the Christian, he stands for those who desert Jesus in time of trouble.” The fact that he fled naked indicates “the shame that the young man will experience.” He chose “shame over fidelity to Jesus.”45 Since the publication in 1973 of a fragment of a letter ostensibly written by Clement of Alexandria, which contains quotations from a work described by Clement as a secret Gospel of Mark, scholars have made use of that fragment to make sense of vv. 51–52. The author of the letter says that this Gospel (τὸ μυστικὸν εὐαγγέλιον) contains a passage following Mark 10:34 which tells how Jesus raised a young man (νεανίσκος) from the dead. The text goes on to say that “after six days, Jesus told him what to do and in the evening the youth comes to him, wearing a linen cloth over his naked body (περιβεβλημένος σινδόνα ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ). And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God.”46 In an addendum to their article, Scroggs and Groff refer to this passage and argue that “at least the framers of the added story understood 14:51–52 as also alluding to a ritual event” and that this event “is, or is related to, baptism.”47 41  Stephen B. Hatton, “Mark’s Naked Disciple: The Semiotics and Comedy of Following,” Neot 35 (2001): 35–48, here 36–44. Contrast the conclusion of Pesch, that the verb is to be taken literally and not as connoting discipleship (II.402); so also Neirynck, “La Fuite du jeune homme,” 53–55. 42  Hatton, “Mark’s Naked Disciple,” 45. 43  Hatton, “Mark’s Naked Disciple,” 35 (abstract). 44  Hatton, “Mark’s Naked Disciple,” 47. Compare the comment of Knox, “Anyone who has read this Markan narrative (chs. 14–15) to a congregation on Good Friday is bound to have felt tempted to omit this apparently whimsical passage” (“A Note on Mark 14:51–52,” 27), and Vanhoye’s description of the scene as ridiculous and indecent (“La fuite du jeune homme nu,” 401). 45  John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, SP 2 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 417. 46 Text and trans. from Morton Smith, Clement of Alexandria and a Secret Gospel of Mark (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973), 447, 452. 47  Scroggs and Groff, “Baptism in Mark,” 547–48.

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Koester argued that the incident involving the young man fleeing naked in vv. 51–52 was added by the editor or reviser who transformed “Proto-Mark” into “the Secret Gospel of Mark” early in the second century. These verses were not eliminated by the redactor of canonical Mark, although he omitted the first passage about the young man, which followed 10:34.48 Before Schenke became acquainted “with Smith’s letter of Clement,” he was already inclined to think that the incident in vv. 51–52 constitutes “the now incomprehensible remains of something that was originally more extensive, which had been eliminated, and may have been of a highly mythological nature.”49 He concluded that v. 51 supports Koester’s theory about the relation between canonical Mark and Secret Mark, arguing that it is “unnatural” to argue, as others do, that “the clothing of the youth in the resurrection narrative was taken over from Mark 14:51 f.”50 The redactor, “in purifying the Secret Gospel of Mark,” did not omit 14:51–52 because he no longer saw the connection between the two passages about the young man with the linen cloth, but understood 14:51–52 to be reporting an historical event. Schenke himself concluded that the latter passage is “the true conclusion” to the story about the young man raised from the dead and taught the mystery of the kingdom of God by Jesus.51 He suggested that both passages belong to “a separately circulating ‘apocryphal’ resurrection story” in which the young man, at one stage in the literary history of the story, “appears as a prototype and a symbol of all those who are to be initiated into the higher discipleship of Jesus.”52 Meyer concluded that “The key to understanding the significance of the word σινδών (“linen”) in the Secret Gospel of Mark and Mark 14:51 may be found in … Mark 15:46 … the σινδών of the νεανίσκος is quite the same as Jesus’ shroud: the νεανίσκος participates in baptism as an experience of sharing in the suffering and death of Christ, and wears ritual clothing appropriate for such an experience.”53 But he disagrees, following Smith, with Scroggs and Groff that vv. 51–52 allude to baptism. Rather, the passage signifies “the forsaking of baptismal loyalties: the paradigmatic disciple is scandalized by the suffering of Jesus no less than the other disciples, and even abandons his sacramental clothes symbolizing 48 Helmut Koester, “History and Development of Mark’s Gospel,” in Colloquy on New Testament Studies: A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches, ed. Bruce Corley (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983), 35–57; here 41, 54–57. See also Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), 277, 301. 49  Hans-Martin Schenke, “The Mystery of the Gospel of Mark,” Second Century 4 (1984): 65–82; quotation from 69. 50  Schenke, “The Mystery of the Gospel of Mark,” 74. 51  Schenke, “The Mystery of the Gospel of Mark,” 77. 52  Schenke, “The Mystery of the Gospel of Mark,” 77–78. 53  Marvin W. Meyer, “The Youth in the Secret Gospel of Mark,” in The Apocryphal Jesus and Christian Origins, ed. Ron Cameron = Semeia 49 (1990): 129–153; quotation from 142.

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his participation in Jesus’s passion and death. The viability of discipleship itself seems in doubt as the tension builds in Mark 14.”54 Brown argued, against Koester, Schenke and others, that “longer Mark,” that is, the secret or spiritual Gospel alluded to by Clement in the letter-fragment, is later than canonical Mark.55 He argued against Schenke that the incident in vv. 51–52 is unlikely to be a remnant of the story about the raising of a young man that follows 10:34 in the spiritual Gospel.56 Rather, the incident in canonical Mark seems to be deliberately enigmatic and to evoke a series of questions on the part of the audience. Longer Mark is designed to offer answers to these questions. Brown argued that 14:51–52 was added to the canonical version of Mark by the evangelist himself as “a deliberate enigma designed to entice catechumens to inquire more deeply into the truths conveyed in this story through study of the more spiritual Gospel,” after he had decided to produce a more esoteric version (longer Mark).57

Conclusions It is likely that 14:51–52 is a Markan insertion into the pre-Markan passion narrative, but the question must be left open whether it was invented by the evangelist or results from his reformulation of an older tradition.58 In either case, the question of the ingredients, prototypes, or sources of inspiration of the story must be distinguished from the issue of the meaning of the scene as part of Mark as a whole. The lack of any attempt on the evangelist’s part to explain how the young man happened to be at the scene of Jesus’s arrest and especially why he was dressed in 54  Meyer, “The Youth in the Secret Gospel of Mark,” 145–46. In another study, Meyer concluded that “the prototype or ‘historical model’ of the Beloved Disciple may best be understood as the νεανίσκος (“young man”) in Secret Mark and as Lazarus in John”: “The Youth in Secret Mark and the Beloved Disciple in John,” in Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings: In Honor of James M. Robinson, ed. James E. Goehring et al. (Sonoma, CA: 1990), 94–105; quotation from 104. 55  Scott G. Brown, Mark’s Other Gospel: Rethinking Morton Smith’s Controversial Discovery, Studies in Christianity and Judaism 15 (Waterloo, Ontario: Canadian Corporation for Studies in Religion, 2005), 3–22, 105–120, 215–38; Brown, “On the Composition History of the Longer (“Secret”) Gospel of Mark,” JBL 122 (2003): 89–110. See also Brown, “The More Spiritual Gospel: Markan Literary Techniques in the Longer Gospel of Mark” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 1999), 58–62, 256–61, 297–98. 56 Brown, “On the Composition History,” 107–8. 57 Brown, “On the Composition History,” 109 with n. 56. In his later work, Brown argued that Mark added the story about Jesus’s raising the young man (after 10:34) and the incident about the young man fleeing naked (14:51–52) to canonical Mark at the same time (Mark’s Other Gospel, 230, 233). 58  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 92–118; here 107–8.

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the way he was makes it unlikely that the brief narrative is an historical reminiscence.59 Field proposed that περιβεβλημένος σινδόνα ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ be translated “having a sheet wrapped about his naked body” by analogy with a brief narrative concerning Crates’ manner of dressing.60 In the latter text, περιβάλλεσθαι and ἀμφίεσθαι (“to have put round oneself ” or “to have on”) are used interchangeably.61 Galen recommended sleeping, not naked (γυμνός), but wrapped in a sheet (περιβεβλημένος σινδόνα).62 Hatton’s remarks on the comic effect of the incident are well taken, but they do not address the question of the sources or inspiration of the details of the scene. Linnemann rightly concluded, following Bertram, that flight after leaving behind one’s garment is a motif typical of folklore.63 To that extent, vv. 51–52 are similar to the story of Joseph escaping the advances of Potiphar’s wife.64 There seems also to be a relationship between this passage and Amos 2:12–16: And you gave wine to the consecrated ones to drink and you commanded the prophets saying “Do not prophesy.” Therefore, see, I am rolling under you, in the way a wagon rolls along which is full of the stalk of wheat; and flight will fail the runner, and the mighty will surely not be master of his strength, and the warrior will surely not save his life, and the archer will surely not endure, and the swift of foot will surely not be preserved, even the cavalryman will surely not save his life, and he will find his heart in mighty deeds, the naked will be pursued65 on that day, says the Lord (καὶ ἐποτίζε τοὺς ἡγιασμένους οἶνον 59 But see the interpretation of Neirynck, who argues that ἐπὶ γυμνοῦ (“over his naked body”) was not part of the earliest recoverable reading of v. 51 and that σινδών (“linen cloth/garment”) in vv. 51–52 refers to the young man’s mantle (“La Fuite du jeune homme,” 60–65). Compare a text cited by Klostermann (Markusevangelium, 153), Demosthenes Or. 21.216 (p. 583): “that I was startled by your clamour, Athenians, and let my cloak drop so that I was half-naked in my tunic, trying to get away from his grasp” (ὤ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, φοβηθέντα τὸν ὑμέτερον θόβυρον θοἰμάτιον προέσθαι καὶ μικροῦ γυμνὸν ἐν τῷ χιτωνίσκῳ γενέσθαι, φεύγοντ’ ἐκεῖνον ἕλκοντά με) (Vince, LCL). If the σινδών in vv. 51–52 were the young man’s mantle or cloak, one would expect v. 52 to read something like μικρὸς γυμνός (“half-naked”), rather than γυμνός (“naked”). 60 Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Phil. 6.90; Frederick Field, Notes on the Translation of the New Testament: Being the Otium Norvicense (Pars Tertia) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1899), 40; cited by Swete, Mark, 354. Field also refers to Acts 12:8 (40). 61  Diogenes Laertius 6.90 (Hicks, LCL). 62  Or, as Jacobus J. Wettstein translates, Veste dormitoria (“in sleeping attire”): Novum Testamentum Graecum (2 vols.; Amstelaedami: Ex Officina Dommeriana, 1751–1752) 1.265; cited by Swete, Mark, 631. Wettstein also lists Amos 2:16 as a parallel (1.265). 63  Linnemann, Studien zur Passionsgeschichte, 51; Georg Bertram, Die Leidensgeschichte Jesu und der Christuskult: Eine formgeschichtliche Untersuchung, FRLANT 32 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922), 51 n. 4. 64  Gen 39:6–20. See the interpretation of vv. 51–52 in the anonymous commentary on Mark cited above: Cahill, Expositio Evangelii, 66; Cahill, The First Commentary on Mark, 4–7. Herman Waetjen, however, goes too far in arguing that there was a Gattung or genre of νεανίσκος-stories, that Joseph is predominant among these ideal young men, and that there is a typological relationship between Joseph’s humiliation and exaltation and Jesus’s destiny in Mark: “The Ending of Mark and the Gospel’s Shift in Eschatology,” Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute 4 (1965): 114–31; here 118–21. 65  Some MSS support the reading φεύξεται(“will flee”); see the following n.

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καὶ τοῖς προφήταις ἐνετέλλεσθε λέγοντες οὐ μὴ προφητεύσητε διὰ τοῦτο ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ κυλίω ὑποκάτω ὑμῶν ὃν τρόπον κυλίεται ἡ ἃμαξα ἡ γέμουσα καλάμης καὶ ἀπολεῖται φυγὴ ἐκ δρομέως καὶ ὁ κραταιὸς οὐ μὴ κρατήσῃ τῆς ἰσχύος αὐτοῦ καὶ ὁ μαχητὴς ὀυ μὴ σώσῃ τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ ὁ τοξότης οὐ μὴ ὑποστῇ καὶ ὁ ὀξὺς τοῖς ποσὶν αὐτοῦ οὐ μὴ διασωθῇ οὐδὲ ὁ ἱππεὺς οὐ μὴ σώσῃ τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ εὑρήσει τὴν καρδίαν αὐτοῦ ἐν δυναστείαις ὁ γυμνὸς διώξεται66 ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ λέγει κύριος).67

Since the motif of the darkness at noon in 15:33 seems to evoke Amos 8:9, it is likely that there is an evocation of Amos 2:16 and its context here.68 In the context of Amos, read historically, the Hebrew version of this passage refers to “the immobility and helplessness of the entire Israelite army.”69 The text, however, has eschatological and cosmic overtones as well.70 The connotations of the phrase “on that day” (ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ) make it likely that Mark evokes the passage in a reference to the woes of the end-time.71 Such woes are not eschatological in the same way that the coming of the Son of Man in 13:24–27 is an eschatological event. They could, however, be connected with the idea that “the hour” in which the Son of Man is handed over (14:41) is part of the eschatological scenario. The Hebrew expression translated “shall flee naked” means to “flee unarmed.”72 The evangelist may have assumed that γυμνός meant literally “naked” or may have interpreted the word that way deliberately for maximum effect. With regard to the role of this passage in Mark as a whole, it does not seem prudent to base an interpretation on the fragmentary letter of Clement, as long as its authenticity is in doubt.73 The best starting points for a contextual understanding are the hypotheses that the incident involving the young man running 66  The Lucianic group of MSS (22–36–48–51–231–719–763), the Sahidic (Coptic) version, three early Christian writers and three later Greek translations support the reading φεύξεται (“will flee”); Joseph Ziegler, ed., Duodecim prophetae, Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Societas Litterarum Gottingensis 13 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1943), 185–86. 67  Amos 2:12–16 LXX. 68  Contra Gnilka, Markus, 2.271. Neirynck argued that a direct influence of Amos 2:16 is improbable because the text of the LXX differs considerably from that of the MT; he preferred to take Mark 13:16 as the model for vv. 51–52 (“La Fuite du jeune homme,” 65 with n. 292). 69  Shalom M. Paul, Amos, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 95. 70  Francis I. Andersen and David N. Freedman, Amos, AB 24A (New York: Doubleday, 1989) 343, 357. 71  J. M. Ross took the position that the incident is historical, but it was remembered and included by Mark “because it showed that the crucifixion was a ‘day of the Lord’ such as Amos had foretold”: “The Young Man Who Fled Naked: Mark 15:51–2”, Irish Biblical Studies 13 (1991): 170–74; quotation from 173. Schenk also combined the hypothesis of historical reminiscence with that of allusion to Scripture (Passionsbericht nach Markus, 210–12). 72 Paul, Amos, 98. Compare 2 Macc 11:12, where γυμνοί (“naked”) has the same meaning (Swete, Mark, 354). 73 See Stephen C. Carlson, The Gospel Hoax: Morton Smith’s Invention of Secret Mark (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2005); Peter Jeffery, The Secret Gospel of Mark Unveiled: Imagined Rituals of Sex, Death, and Madness in a Biblical Forgery (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007).

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away naked is an instance of the general flight of the disciples and that it is part of the theme of their misunderstanding and refusal to accept the passion of Jesus and their duty to follow him in suffering that cannot be honorably avoided. Even though the words νεανίσκος and περιβάλλειν occur only in 14:51 and 16:5 in Mark, the two passages are not similar enough otherwise to warrant the conclusion either that the two young men are identical or that they are part of the same symbolic complex of ideas. They are linked only to the extent that the one in 14:51–52 contrasts with Jesus, whereas the one in 16:5 is comparable to Jesus.74 More fruitful are the observations that both Jesus and the young man are “arrested” or “seized” (κρατεῖν) and that both are associated with a σινδών (“linen cloth” or “linen garment”), a term that occurs twice in vv. 51–52 and twice in 15:46 and only in those places in Mark.75 Rather than representing Jesus, the paradigmatic disciple or the Christian initiate, the young man is best interpreted as one whose flight and abandonment of his linen cloth contrast dramatically with Jesus’s obedience in submitting to being arrested, stripped and crucified.76

74 The young man in 16:5 is “sitting on the right” (καθήμενον ἐν τοῖς δεξιοῖς). This position, otherwise unmotivated or explained, is symbolically similar to that of the risen Jesus. The Markan Jesus’s citation of Ps 110:1 in 12:35–37 implies that the risen Jesus will be seated at the right hand of God (κάθου ἐκ δεξιῶν μου). 75  See the discussion of the work of Knox, Vanhoye and Fleddermann above. 76 Compare the discussion of Fleddermann’s interpretation above. See also Augustí Borrell, The Good News of Peter’s Denial: A Narrative and Rhetorical Reading of Mark 14:54.66–72, South Florida International Studies in Formative Christianity and Judaism 7 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 136.

From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah In his excellent study of crucifixion, Martin Hengel has documented the harsh reality of the penalty in antiquity and has shown that it was seldom portrayed in detail or in an idealized manner.1 These facts are important and should be kept constantly in mind. They make all the more pressing the question why a detailed narrative of Jesus’s death was composed and lead us to look closely at the way the story is told. An ancient opponent of Christianity, Celsus, provides an interesting illustration of both the cultural situation and the literary question. On the one hand, he expressed the general view that crucifixion was the most ignominious and shameful type of death.2 On the other hand, he made charges that were based, not so much on the disgrace of death by crucifixion as such, but on the way the story is told, on the character of Jesus as revealed by the narrative. As is well known, in part of his work entitled On the True Doctrine, he employed the device of a fictitious Jewish interlocutor. Alluding to the scene in Gethsemane, this critic challenged the teaching that Jesus was a god or the son of the most high God because he hid and tried to escape when the Jews decided that he was worthy of death. Further, this so-called god was betrayed by his own disciples, a criticism that applies to several scenes of the passion narrative.3 Returning to the Gethsemane story, the interlocutor attacks the theory that Jesus foreknew and intended his sufferings on the basis of his portrayal as mourning and lamenting and praying that this cup might pass from him.4 He denies that the death of Jesus can function as an example to others of how they should despise punishment5 and implies that Jesus lacked courage.6 Celsus’s criticisms of the account of Jesus’s death are based, not only on the idea that gods, being immortal, cannot die, but also on the widespread ancient notion that a human being worthy of the epithet “divine” faces death with unwavering resolve, dignity, and courage. In other words, he used the standard of the heroic or noble death to judge the passion account. This state of affairs raises an interesting set of questions. Was the passion narrative an attempt to present Jesus’s death as heroic or noble? If so, why did it fail to impress Celsus? Was the 1 Martin Hengel, Crucifixion in the Ancient World and the Folly of the Message of the Cross (London: SCM; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). 2 Origen, Contra Celsum 6.10. 3 Cels. 2.9. 4  Cels. 2.24. 5 Cels. 2.38. 6  Cels. 2.42.

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passion narrative, on the contrary, based on a typically Jewish model that differs radically from the Greek tradition of a noble death? Or, finally, must we conclude that the account of Jesus’s death is something profoundly new, based on stubborn historical facts and the creativity elicited by those events?

The Noble Death Although the ancient notion of the noble death was not always and everywhere the same, it developed certain typical features over time. Its oldest and deepest root was the heroic death, the image of a glorious death in battle. This heroic ideal is expressed by Achilles to the emissaries of Agamemnon in book nine of the Iliad: “if I stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans, my return home is gone, but my glory shall be everlasting.”7 Similarly, when Hector is threatened by Achilles, he says, “But now my death is upon me. Let me at least not die without a struggle, inglorious, but do some big thing first, that men to come shall know of it.”8 The story of Tellus of Athens concludes with a classic statement of this ideal, “he crowned his life with a most glorious death (τελευτὴ … λαμπροτάτη): for in a battle between the Athenians and their neighbors at Eleusis he attacked and routed the enemy and most nobly there died (ἀπέθανε κάλλιστα); and the Athenians gave him public burial where he fell and paid him great honour.”9 The death of Socrates and the literary accounts of it redefined the noble death in philosophical terms. During the time of Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, Cicero praised the voluntary death of Caesar’s opponent Cato Uticensis and likened it to that of Socrates.10 The image of the noble death and the example of Socrates were especially important during the reigns of Nero, Vespasian, and Domitian. The sufferings and deaths of those killed or exiled by Nero were recorded by Fannius and those under Domitian by Titinius Capito. These accounts were important sources for Pliny the Younger and Tacitus in their own writings.11 The same cultural situation made this tradition important for the philosophical  7  Homer, Il. 9.412–413; trans. Richard Lattimore, The Iliad of Homer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951), 209. On the noble death in antiquity, see Arthur J. Droge and James D. Tabor, A Noble Death: Suicide and Martyrdom among Christians and Jews in Antiquity (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992) and David Seeley, The Noble Death: Graeco-Roman Martyrology and Paul’s Concept of Salvation, JSNTSup 28 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1990).  8 Il. 22.303–305; Lattimore, The Iliad of Homer, 443.  9 Herodotus, History 1.30 (Godley, LCL). 10 Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 7.71–74; for discussion see Klaus Döring. Exemplum Socratis: Studien zur Sokratesnachwirkung in der kynisch-stoischen Popularphilosophie der frühen Kaiserzeit und im frühen Christentum, Hermes Einzelschriften 42 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1979), 39. 11 See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” Studia Theologica: Scandinavian Journal of Theology 47 (1993): 3–28; here 13 and the literature cited there. This essay is included in the present volume.

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reflection upon death in the writings of Seneca and Epictetus.12 The tradition of the noble death was adapted by Hellenistic Jewish authors in their treatment of those who died in the persecution under Antiochus Epiphanes.13 The Stoic and Hellenistic Jewish texts extol the virtue of ἀπάθεια, the control of the emotions by reason. Beginning in the second century, the example of Socrates and related traditions of noble death were taken up by Christians in speaking of Jesus and the Christian martyrs.14 It is important to recognize that the paradigm of the noble death was not the only way of portraying death in the ancient world. In the Hebrew Bible we find genealogical death reports,15 death reports in the context of an itinerary,16 and death reports that are, in the proximate literary context, part of the life-story of a cultural hero and, in a more distant literary context, part of a larger legendary or historical work.17 The death report as part of a man’s life, incorporated into a larger historical work, is also found in the History of Herodotus.18 In the Hellenistic period in Alexandria, collections of accounts of the deaths of philosophers and other famous men were made.19 The account of the death of Chrysippus, preserved by Diogenes Laertius from one of these collections, shows that these stories were not all glorious or glorifying.20 Having been invited to a feast by his disciples, Chrysippus drank unmixed wine, became dizzy, and died five days later. Diogenes himself wrote a sportive poem (παίγνιον) on this event, indicating his awareness that the philosopher’s death was not a noble one. In fact many of the accounts of the deaths of philosophers preserved by Diogenes portray a less than noble death and many of the epigrams dealing with these deaths 12  See Döring, Exemplum Socratis, 16–20; see index b under “Gefangenschaft und Tod des S[okrates]” for further passages. 13  2 Maccabees 6–7; 4 Maccabees 5–18; for discussion see Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 7–11. See also the account of the death of Razis in 2 Macc 14:37–46. 14  Döring, Exemplum Socratis, 143–61. 15  E. g., the death of Adam in Gen 5:5; Westermann calls the genealogy a type of enumerative narrative: Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984), 6–18. 16  E. g., the death of Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse (Gen 35:8); this is another type of enumerative narrative: Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–26: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1985), 36, 552. 17  E. g., the report of Jacob’s death, which is a redactional product including an oath regarding his burial, blessings, prophecy, accounts of mourning and burial (Gen 47:28–50:14). See also the accounts of death that include a farewell discourse (e. g., Moses in Deuteronomy 31–34; and Joshua in Joshua 23:1–24:31) and the notices (i. e., brief reports) of death and burial in the context of a regnal resumé (e. g., David in 1 Kings 2:10–12a; see Burke O. Long, 1 Kings, FOTL 9 [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984], 22, 160–64, 259 and Burke O. Long, 2 Kings, FOTL 10 [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991], 109. See also Simon J. De Vries, who speaks of a death and burial formula, 1 and 2 Chronicles, FOTL 11 [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989], 346). 18  For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 6–7. 19  Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 9–10. 20  Diogenes Laertius, Lives 7.184.

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seem to mock rather than praise.21 These accounts and epigrams seem to be parodies of the noble death tradition. In a more serious vein, Plutarch distinguished between the noble death of Demosthenes and the ignoble death of Cicero. The death (τελευτή) of the Roman is judged ignoble (δι’ ἀγέννειαν) because of his flight and attempt to hide, whereas the clever voluntary death of Demosthenes is deemed admirable (ἀγαστή).22

Alternatives to the Greek Ideal One way to explain Celsus’s failure to be impressed by the passion narrative is to associate the account of Jesus’s death with the prophetic value of pathos, which is opposed to the Greek ideal of apatheia. According to Abraham Heschel, the God of the prophets is a God of pathos, which means that God is not revealed in abstract absoluteness but in a personal and intimate relation to the world. This pathos is not irrational, but the result of decision and determination. It is not self-centered, like the emotions of the Olympian gods, but is always directed outward, expressing a relation to humanity.23 Heschel contrasted the prophetic sense of life with that based on a notion of fate. According to Homer, even Zeus was powerless against Fate, and Plato concluded that divine providence is limited by Necessity. The divine pathos represents a sharp antithesis to the belief in destiny, since it is a dynamic category that makes every decision contingent and provisional.24 Heschel’s insights may be applied to the passion narrative by pointing out that there is a relation between a culture’s or sub-culture’s understanding of God and its portrayal of an ideal human being. The philosophical Greek notion of an immutable and absolute God correlates with the human ideals of apatheia and indifference to all that is beyond one’s control, whereas the prophetic portrayal of God’s decisions as contingent encourages prayer for rescue and complaint. The main obstacle to this line of interpretation is the theme of the predetermined character of the death of Jesus, a theme that is similar to the Greek idea of fate. The fated nature of Jesus’s death is expressed most clearly in the references to the Scriptures, which foretell or determine it, but also in the way in which God 21  E. g., the deaths of Diodorus (Diogenes Laertius, Lives 2:112), Stilpo (2.120), Menedemus (2.144), Speusippus (4.3), Arcesilaus (4.44–45), Lacydes (4.61), Lyco (5.68), Menippus (6.100), and Ariston (7.164). Lucian’s account of the death of Alexander, whom he dubbed “the pseudoprophet,” belongs in this category as well. Whereas he had predicted that he himself was fated to live 150 years and die by a stroke of lightning, Lucian reports that he actually died from a mortified leg, complete with maggots, and that the medical treatment exposed his baldness (Alexander the False Prophet 59). 22  Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Comparison of Demosthenes and Cicero 5 (Perrin, LCL). 23  Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets: Part II (New York: Harper & Row, 1962), 3–6. 24  Heschel, Prophets, 18–20.

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has receded as a character in the narrative. God speaks twice in the earlier part of Mark but not in the passion narrative. Jesus’s prayer in Gethsemane is not answered by a voice from heaven. The personal God recedes and the impersonal force of Scripture controls the events. In the context of his study of immortality and resurrection, Oscar Cullmann, following others, contrasted Socrates and Jesus. For the Socrates of Plato’s Phaedo, death is the great liberator because it leads the soul out of the prison of the body and back to its eternal home. In keeping with this teaching, the death of Socrates is a beautiful death; nothing is seen of death’s terror, since it is the soul’s great friend. In Gethsemane, Jesus knew that death stood before him, just as Socrates knew it. But Jesus trembled and was distressed; his soul was troubled unto death. He prayed that the cup might pass from him. And when he concludes, “Yet not as I will, but as thou wilt,” this does not mean that at the last he, like Socrates, regards his death as the friend, the liberator. He means only that, if it is God’s will, he will submit to the greatest of all terrors. The Jesus of the passion narrative is so thoroughly human that he shares the natural fear of death. But Jesus is not a coward; he does not fear the men who will kill him or the pain and grief that precede death. Rather he knows beforehand that death is the great enemy of God and that to die means to be utterly forsaken, abandoned even by God. The ancient opponents of Christianity saw more clearly than the exponents: he was really afraid. Whereas Socrates drank the hemlock with divine calm, Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” and with another inarticulate cry he died. According to Cullmann, Jesus had to undergo death in all its horror because only so could he conquer death. With this contrast he argued for a radical difference between the Greek doctrine of the immortality of the soul and the Christian doctrine of the resurrection.25 The strength of Cullmann’s interpretation is that he can make sense of the two sayings of Jesus that constitute the greatest stumbling blocks to reading Jesus’s death as a heroic or noble death. Further, he is able to integrate the Gethsemane story with the account of the crucifixion. The main problem with his theory is that, like Celsus, he underestimates the significance of the second part of Jesus’s prayer in the garden. The acceptance of the divine will expressed at the end of the prayer suggests that the purpose of the description of Jesus’s distress and the request to let the cup pass is to magnify the choice to submit to death, to highlight Jesus’s freely chosen obedience. Friedrich Schiller, in his essay “On the Pathetic,” argued that it is impossible “to represent moral freedom, except by expressing passion, or suffering nature, with the greatest vividness … Therefore the pathetic is the first condition required most strictly in a tragic author … The pa25 Oscar Cullmann, “Immortality of the Soul or Resurrection of the Dead: The Witness of the New Testament,” in Immortality and Resurrection, ed. Krister Stendahl (New York: Macmillan, 1965), 9–53; here 12–20.

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thetic only has esthetic value insofar as it is sublime.”26 The two-part prayer thus creates a tragic tone in the Gethsemane narrative. Rather than imply that pain and suffering are illusions, the narrative takes them utterly seriously and nevertheless shows how they may be overcome.27

The Production of the Passion Narrative As noted earlier, Celsus’s criticisms of the passion narrative result from his application of the standard of the noble death. This procedure raises the question of genre. If genre is understood primarily in formal terms, the passion narrative may be classified as a death-report and placed in the same category as Plato’s account of Socrates’s death. From this point of view, the passion narrative may also be understood as a redefinition of the noble death of comparable significance to the philosophical redefinition. The most disgraceful death has become the most noble of all. If, however, genre is understood in terms of production, a different result is achieved. The passion narrative is then seen to be a particular kind of historical account: a narration of the fulfillment of prophetic oracles. Such an account may be called eschatological history. This definition of the passion narrative will be supported by an examination of the motives and modes of its composition. The motives for composing such a narrative may be inferred from the text itself, but may also be deduced from what is known about the historical situation. Virtually everyone who has considered the matter agrees that Jesus was in fact crucified by the Romans. Opinions differ, however, on the reason. It is unlikely that Pilate would have given the order for crucifixion if he did not perceive Jesus as a threat to public order. This inference supports the historicity of the report 26  Friedrich Schiller, “On the Pathetic,” Schiller’s Works, Aesthetical and Philosophical Essays (London: George Bell & Sons, 1898), 142–68; citations are from pp. 143 and 147; for the German original, see Friedrich Schiller: Werke und Briefe, 12 vols., Bibliothek Deutscher Klassiker 78, ed. Otto Dann et al. (Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1988–), vol. 8, Theoretische Schriften, ed. Rolf-Peter Janz (1992), 423–51; here 423–24 and 428. This work was cited by Heschel, Prophets, 271. Pathos, as described by Schiller, is characteristic of the tragedies of Seneca; see, e. g., Hercules Oetaeus 796–807, in which the sufferings of Hercules from the poisoned garment are described. 27  A widespread theory about the earliest understanding of the death of Jesus is that it was interpreted in terms of the biblical and Jewish motif of the suffering just person. This theory was proposed by Lothar Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Gerechte? Der Weg Jesu im Lichte eines alt- und zwischentestamentlichen Motivs, SBS 59 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1972). If the earliest recoverable Christian traditions about Jesus are already associated with his role as Messiah, it is unnecessary to posit a stage at which the motif of the passio iusti was the only model for the interpretation of his death. Although the motif is not explicit in the Gospel of Mark, it does play a role in the accounts of Matthew and Luke. For further discussion, see Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 4–5.

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in all four canonical Gospels that Jesus was executed on the charge of claiming to be the king of the Jews. In other words, Jesus was crucified as a supposed messianic pretender.28 The hypothesis that an unmessianic Jesus was accused and convicted in this way by mistake is implausible. It is even more implausible that, after his execution by the Romans, the followers of Jesus first conceived the idea that he was the messiah. It is thus highly probable that a significant number of the followers of Jesus were convinced, during his lifetime, that he was the anointed of God, the Messiah of Israel.29 The reasons for this belief require further discussion, but are beyond the scope of this essay. The important thing for our topic is that this conviction preceded the death of Jesus.30 Since the fate of John the Baptist was known to Jesus and his followers, the violent death of Jesus may not have taken them by surprise. Nevertheless, the disciples, and perhaps Jesus himself, may have expected a divine intervention that would establish the kingdom and overthrow the opponents of Jesus before they could harm him. If the latter scenario was the case, the death of Jesus would have been a great shock and would have seemed to be disconfirming evidence of the claim that he was the messiah. Thus, possibly during the lifetime of Jesus, or more likely soon after his death, his followers were faced with the challenge of explaining why the messiah had to die a violent death. As Barnabas Lindars and others have shown, Scripture played a major role in the resolution of this problem. This fact is evident in the earliest summaries of the gospel, for instance in the statement that “Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures” (1 Cor 15:3). It is likely that an analogous process was at work in the production of the passion narrative. 28 So

also Martin Hengel, “Jesus, der Messias Israels,” in Messiah and Christos: Studies in the Jewish Origins of Christianity Presented to David Flusser, ed. Ithamar Gruenwald, Shaul Shaked, and Gedaliahu Stroumsa (Tübingen: Mohr, 1992), 155–76; here 165–70. Martin Hengel, The Charismatic Leader and His Followers, SNTW (New York: Crossroad, 1981), 39. See also Nils A. Dahl, “Der gekreuzigte Messias,” in Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christos, ed. Helmut Ristow and Karl Matthiae (Berlin: Evangelische Verlaganstalt, 1960), 157–69; ET: Martin Hengel, “The Crucified Messiah,” in Hengel, The Crucified Messiah (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974), 10–36. 29 There was of course considerable diversity of eschatological expectation in contemporary Judaism; but the identification of Jesus as an anointed one, apparently as the Davidic messiah, in the earliest Christian traditions about his death and eschatological role is the focus here. See also the article by Nils Dahl cited in the next note. 30  Nils Dahl has argued that it is highly probable that Jesus was crucified as the king of the Jews, i. e., as a messianic pretender, and that this fact is at the basis of the developing tradition of the passion narrative: Nils A. Dahl (revised by Donald H. Juel), “Messianic Ideas and the Crucifixion of Jesus,” in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 382–403; here 390. It is not clear, however, whether he concludes that this was an understandable mistake made by the opponents of Jesus or whether a significant number of Jesus’s followers acclaimed him as a messianic leader (402– 403). Dahl describes his work, in effect, as a retrieval of Julius Wellhausen’s thesis that the crucifixion of Jesus caused a radical alteration of the concept “messiah.”

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Given the highly charged situation, it is unlikely that the death of Jesus was ever described in narrative form as a simple historical report. The Roman protocol, if there was one, any account given by Jews who opposed him, as well as the accounts produced by his followers, must all have involved interpretation and evaluation as well as facts. Since the death of Jesus was an intrinsically horrible and humiliating event, his followers would narrate it in detail only if they were confident that this horror and humiliation had meaning. Since Jesus was probably executed as a messianic pretender, it is reasonable to conclude that the earliest passion narrative was composed in order to vindicate him as messiah in spite of his ignominious death. The narrative may be defined as an account of the crucifixion of the Messiah, the king of Israel. Since the intelligibility of such an event could hardly be communicated in a brief notice or death-report, it is likely that the oldest written account placed the crucifixion in at least a somewhat larger literary and historical context. Many scholars have concluded that Mark was not the first to write such an account. The main reasons are literary. Mark achieves a far greater degree of coherence and temporal and spatial specificity in chapters 14 and 15 than in the rest of the Gospel. This difference may be explained by a difference in his sources. Much of the material in these chapters cannot be analyzed into units that were plausibly independent oral traditions at one time. Finally, tradition and redaction can be distinguished in these chapters in a way that makes the tentative reconstruction of Mark’s source possible. The hypothesis that there was a pre-Markan passion narrative must be supported by reconstruction of the social setting of such a text. The purpose of such a text may have been liturgical; for example, it may have been composed in order to be read in a communal observance of the anniversary of Jesus’s death. Or it may have been written with a catechetical purpose, either to be read by new converts or by those preparing to instruct them. Another possibility, neglected by form critics, is that the text may have been produced by an educated member of the community in the process of articulating Christian faith; such an act may be understood as a type of self-expression and self-definition.31 In another context I have attempted to reconstruct the pre-Markan passion narrative and presuppose the results of that effort in this essay without repeating the detailed arguments.32 The reconstructed Greek text may be found in the Appendix below. I should emphasize that I do not place a great deal of weight 31 I use the phrase “Christian faith” here to mean a religious perspective arising from the acclamation of Jesus as the Messiah. This religious perspective and the social formation associated with it may be seen, on the one hand, as one form of Jewish messianism among many; on the other, it may be viewed as the beginning of a process that eventually led to the separation of Christianity, as a religion with its own institutions, from Judaism. 32  See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 92–118. An English translation of the

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on the exact wording of the reconstruction. Rather, my intention is to indicate which pericopes were included in the recoverable pre-Markan passion narrative, their general form (that is, without probable Markan expansions), and their approximate wording.

The Production of the Pre-Markan Passion Narrative As Ludger Schenke has argued persuasively, the first recoverable scene in the pre-Markan passion narrative is the Gethsemane story.33 The narrator informs the audience that Jesus became distressed and anxious and then introduces Jesus’s words, “My soul is deeply grieved unto death.” This saying alludes to a sentence that appears several times in Psalms 42 and 43: “Why are you grieved, my soul?”34 Psalms 42 and 43 originally constituted a single psalm whose genre is individual complaint. In its original context, the individual is probably a literary device to express the hope of the early Jewish community in a diaspora situation of humiliation.35 The use of the refrain from these psalms in the passion narrative takes seriously the form of the psalm as individual speech.36 In light of the historical context described above, it is likely that the individual speaker of the psalms is identified with the messiah. Thus the hermeneutical stance of the later author involves taking the psalm as prophecy of the sufferings of the messiah.37 In the narrative, when Jesus speaks the refrain, the prophecy is fulfilled. The context of this saying in the pre-Markan passion narrative resonates with reconstructed text may be found in Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 21–22. 33  Ludger Schenke, Studien zur Passionsgeschichte des Markus: Tradition und Redaktion in Markus 14, 1–42 (Würzburg: Echter Verlag; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1971), 353, 360– 62, 423, 561. 34  Pss 42:6, 12; 43:5 MT; Pss 41:6, 12; 42:5 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 42:5, 11; 43:5 RSV. On the use of Psalm 42/43 in the Gospel of John, see Johannes Beutler, “Psalm 42/43 im Johannesevangelium,” NTS 25 (1983): 33–57; Johannes Beutler, Habt keine Angst: Die erste johanneische Abschiedsrede (Joh 14), SBS 116 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1984), 25–46. 35 See Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Psalms: Part 1, FOTL 14 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 178–82. 36  On Christ as the speaker of the psalms in early Christian texts, see Richard B. Hays, “Christ Prays the Psalms: Paul’s Use of an Early Christian Exegetical Convention,” in The Future of Christology: Essays in Honor of Leander E. Keck, ed. Abraham J. Malherbe and Wayne A. Meeks (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 122–36. 37  This technique of interpretation is analogous to one employed by the authors of pesharim (commentaries on biblical texts) found at Qumran. The latter is described by Maurya P. Horgan as follows: “The pesher may follow the action, ideas, and words of the lemma closely, developing a similar description in a different context” (Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books, CBQMS 8 [Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979], 244). It is exemplified by the apparent identification of the kings who bring gifts to God in Ps 68:30 with “the Kittim” in 1QpPs frg. 9.1–2 (see Horgan, Pesharim, 67–68). It is also noteworthy that those who produced the pesharim understood the psalms, as well as the prophetic books in the

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the context of the refrain in the psalms: Ps 42:11 associates “a deadly wound in my body” with “adversaries [who] taunt me.”38 The saying of Jesus alludes also to Jonah 4:9. This verse is part of the story in which God instructs the prophet by means of a plant that grows enough in one day to provide shade, but is then destroyed.39 After destroying the plant, God sends a hot wind, so that lacking shade and tormented by the sun, Jonah wishes for death. God then asks Jonah if he is grieved over the plant and Jonah answers, “I am very grieved unto death.” God then uses this response to explain the divine attitude toward Nineveh. A striking difference between the passage in Jonah and the Gethsemane scene is that God initiates the dialogue with Jonah and both parties speak. In the garden scene, Jesus initiates the dialogue, but God does not respond. Nevertheless, Jesus’s desire to avoid death is overcome, and his acceptance of it is expressed in the prayer: the cup is for God to remove, not Jesus; what is to be done is God’s will, not that of Jesus. As the story continues, not only is God silent, the disciples fall asleep, and one of them is a betrayer. Jesus is isolated; he receives neither divine nor human support or encouragement. As already noted, the context of the refrain in Psalms 42–43 resonates with that of the Gethsemane story. The allusion to Jonah 4:9 also seems to evoke the context in which an agent of God receives instruction about the divine plan. A further reason for alluding to the book of Jonah may be that this prophet was defined by early Christians as a type of Jesus, because his being swallowed by a fish and being spewed out on dry land was taken as a prefigurement of the death and resurrection of Jesus.40 It should be noted that the image of the cup presented to Jesus evokes the metaphor of the cup of wrath, which is widespread in the Hebrew Bible and associated with the theme of the judgment of the nations.41 The judicial wrath of God is compared to the experience of extreme intoxication. The implication is that God is the power behind the death of Jesus. As, for example, Babylon was a golden cup in the Lord’s hand, making all the earth drunken,42 so Rome and the Jewish leaders are tools of God in laying the judicial punishment owed by the

narrow sense, as prophecies of the history of their community, including the past, present, and future (Horgan, Pesharim, 248–49). 38  Ps 42:11 MT; 41:11 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 42:10 RSV; the LXX differs from the MT and reads ἐν τῷ καταθλάσαι τὰ ὀστᾶ μου ὠνείδισάν με οἱ θλίβοντές με. 39  For an analysis and interpretation of this text, see Jack M. Sasson, Jonah, AB 24B (New York: Doubleday, 1990), 269–320; here 306–7, 316–20. 40  See Matt 12:39–41; compare Matt 16:4; Luke 11:29–30, 32. 41  For a summary and brief discussion of the evidence, see Leonhard Goppelt, ποτήριον, TDNT 6 (1968), 149–51. 42  Jer 51:7.

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nations upon Jesus.43 Although God is not present in the Gethsemane scene as a character, this narrative implies that God determines the course of events. The personal God of the prophets has been re-pictured as Fate-like. It is impossible to prove that the Gethsemane story has a historically accurate core. Similarly, it is impossible to demonstrate that the story is pure fiction, inspired by Scripture. It is clear, however, that Scripture has played a major role in shaping the specificity of the text, in determining precisely how the story is told. The author of this pre-Markan text was faced with the stubborn fact of the crucifixion of Jesus. He or she accepted this fact head-on as the mysterious will of God, which is powerful even from a distance in both time and space.44 This plan was revealed long ago in Scripture, although the revelation of this state of affairs was recent, and God, though silent and distant, is active in bringing scriptural prophecy into fulfillment. The Gethsemane story ends in such a way as to lead directly into the account of the arrest: Jesus says, “See, the one who hands me over has drawn near.” This person is identified as “Judas, one of the Twelve.” Once again, it is impossible to be certain whether the story of the betrayal by Judas rests on historical fact or creative reflection. Most scholars have argued that such a humiliating story could not have been invented by the followers of Jesus. But in a situation in which an author is coming to terms with the enormity of the humiliation of the cross, such a story could well have been invented, as an incident in keeping with Jesus’s apparent abandonment by all. The more important question is how the story of Judas is told and what significance it has. It is not by chance that the verb παραδιδόναι is used to describe the activity of Judas. As noted earlier, the divine will is in the background of the narrative, expressed through Scripture. The verb παραδιδόναι occurs in the Septuagint’s description of the suffering servant in Isa 53:12, “He shall divide the spoils of the mighty, because his soul was handed over to death … and he bore the sins of many, and was handed over because of their iniquities.” In the Septuagint, the passive παρεδόθη is used, no doubt implying that it was God who delivered the servant to death. This idea fits with the point of the Gethsemane story. The notion that Jesus bore the sins of many is consonant with the image of him drinking the cup of God’s wrath. In an account designed to narrate the fulfillment of prophecy, God’s act of handing the servant over to death needs a human instrument. Even though such people are carrying out God’s plan, they are nonetheless responsible for their deeds. Whether Judas’s betrayal is historical or fictional, he is placed in this role in a way that resonates with 43 For discussion, see Ernest Best, The Temptation and the Passion: The Markan Soteriology, SNTSMS 2, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), lxvi, 153. 44 On the likelihood of Christian and Jewish women authoring written works in the GrecoRoman period, see Ross S. Kraemer, “Women’s authorship of Jewish and Christian Literature in the Greco-Roman period,” in Women Like This: New Perspectives on Jewish Women in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Amy-Jill Levine, SBL.EJL 1 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 221–42.

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Scripture and implies the fulfillment of Isa 53:12.45 He is the first to “hand over” Jesus in a process that leads to death. The motive for telling his story is to show that his deed is not the consequence of poor judgment or ineptitude on the part of Jesus in choosing such a disciple or in educating him, but the intended fulfillment of an aspect of the mysterious, though revealed, plan of God. According to the reconstructed pre-Markan passion narrative, the chief priests, after a consultation, “handed over” Jesus to Pilate. The verb παρέδωκαν once again echoes Isa 53:12. For the first time in this narrative Jesus is presented as a king, when Pilate asks him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” The response of Jesus, “You say [so],” is ambiguous, but more positive than negative. The ambiguity is probably meant to indicate that the wording is more Roman than Jewish; compare the saying of the mocking passers-by in the crucifixion scene: “Let the messiah, the king of Israel, come down now from the cross, in order that we may see and believe.” The restraint may also indicate that Pilate’s understanding of the meaning of the title is also misinformed. After this brief response to Pilate, Jesus becomes silent. Pilate marvels at the fact that Jesus does not respond to his accusers. This theme was probably inspired by Scripture. Psalm 38 contains the words, “But I am like the deaf, I do not hear, and in whose mouth is no retort.”46 In its original context, this psalm was a complaint of the individual, probably associated with healing rituals that were also penitential and petitionary.47 If the Gospel theme was inspired by this text, it has been reinterpreted as a prophecy of the behavior of the messiah in the context of his suffering. Such a reinterpretation could have been supported by reference to the superscription of the psalm; since it is labeled as a psalm of David, it could be connected, by extension, with the messiah. Another possible source is Isa 53:7, “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.”48 As noted earlier, the Septuagint’s version of Isa 53:12 played a role in the theme of Jesus being handed over to death. Although strong allusions and actual quotations of this chapter of Isaiah are rare in early Christian literature, it is nevertheless one of the most likely passages behind the idea that “Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures” (1 Cor 15:3).49 If the whole context of Isa 52:13– 45  Scholars who come to similar conclusions include Friedrich Karl Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises und anderer Motive auf die Leidensgeschichte: Ein Beitrag zur Evangelienkritik (Tübingen: Mohr, 1910), 49–50 and Barnabas Lindars, New Testament Apologetic: The Doctrinal Significance of the Old Testament Quotations (London: SCM, 1961), 80–81. 46  Ps 38:14–15 MT; 37:14–15 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 38:13–14 RSV. 47  See Gerstenberger, Psalms: Part 1, 160–65. 48  See the discussion in John Dominic Crossan, The Cross That Spoke: The Origins of the Passion Narrative (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 174–97. 49  See the discussion by Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises, 10.

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53:12 was important for those attempting to make sense of Jesus’s death, as seems to have been the case, the passage may have been applied to Jesus as messiah by identifying the servant described there with the eschatological king.50 The scene involving the interrogation of Jesus by Pilate ends with the remark, “And he handed Jesus over, after whipping him, to be crucified.” The verb παρέδωκεν resounds once again like a refrain. Before the crucifixion is narrated, however, the mocking of Jesus by soldiers is depicted. Although there are echoes of Scripture in this account,51 its overall logic and details are more similar to Philo’s account of the mocking of Agrippa I in Alexandria than to any single scriptural text. Philo wrote that this impromptu event was similar to the theatrical mimes.52 In the Acts of Paul and Antoninus, one of the so-called Acts of the Pagan Martyrs, Paul, a non-Jewish citizen of Alexandria, says that the people of the city mocked a Jewish king by performing a mime. The setting is the reign of Hadrian, and the king in question was probably the leader of the Jewish revolt in Cyrene.53 These two texts may be evidence that there was a well known type of theatrical mime, “the mocked king,” which may have been a model for this scene in the passion narrative.54 The presence of this scene of mockery in the pre-Markan passion narrative and its similarity to mimes raises the question of the role of parody and irony in the account of Jesus’s death. Parody is the artful and subversive use of mimicry to expose pretension or falsity in the original that it imitates. The activity of the soldiers is thus a parody of Jesus’s claim to be king or of his followers’ acclamation of his kingship. The written account of the soldiers’ activity is ironic 50  The term “servant [of God]” was of course widely used, usually without any connection with Isa 52:13–53:12. If, however, the epithet “servant [of God]” was common, or at least predictable, as a designation of the messiah in Jewish circles of the time, the association between the two terms would have facilitated the early Christian identification of the servant of Isaiah 52– 53 with the messiah, since the suffering of this servant was no longer a deterrent, but rather an advantage for such an identification in their eyes. The designation of the messiah as the servant of God is attested by 4 Ezra 13:32; for discussion see Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 207, 392. 51  The motif of spitting recalls Isa 50:6–7; on the allusion to this passage in the Gospel of Peter, see Jürgen Denker, Die theologiegeschichtliche Stellung des Petrusevangeliums: Ein Beitrag zur Frühgeschichte des Doketismus, Europäische Hochschulschriften 23, Theologie 36 (Bern: Herbert Lang; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1975), 62. For hypotheses about the role of this passage in the development of the passion tradition as a whole, see Helmut Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International; London: SCM, 1990), 224; Crossan, The Cross That Spoke, 142–43. The motif of mocking is present in Psalm 42 (41 LXX), though it is clearer in the MT than in the LXX. 52 Philo, Flaccus 36–39; see the discussion by Herbert Box, Philonis Alexandrini: In Flaccum (London: Oxford University Press, 1939), xl–xliii; 91–92. 53  See Herbert A. Musurillo, The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon, 1954), 49– 50, 184. 54  See the discussion in Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” 15–16; see also Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 225; Crossan, The Cross That Spoke, 139–59.

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insofar as it employs a rhetorical device in which the intention of the author is in sharp contrast to the literal meaning. This device depends on the collaboration of an audience who, along with the author, know that Jesus is in fact a king.55 This literary device is a key element in the production of the passion narrative. The logical and historical starting point of this production was a hermeneutic that involved the recontextualization of certain passages of Scripture. Texts that originally referred to a symbolic individual representing the community were interpreted as prophecies of the suffering of the messiah.56 The narrative use of these texts constituted a novel act of recontextualization. An account that, to an outsider like Celsus, appeared to portray Jesus in a shameful and degrading position,57 was, for the insider, an ironic portrayal of the true king. The perception of the irony depends, however, on familiarity with the novel hermeneutic. The account of the crucifixion in the pre-Markan passion narrative has two strong allusions to Psalm 22. The first is the statement that those who crucified Jesus “divided his clothing, casting lots for them [to determine] who would take what.”58 The psalm reads, “they divide my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.”59 The second allusion occurs in the description of the mocking of Jesus by passers-by. “And those who passed by reviled him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘He saved others, himself he cannot save.’” The psalm reads, “But I am a worm and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people. All who see me mock at me; they make mouths at me, they shake their heads; he set his hope upon the Lord; let him rescue – let him save the one in whom he delights!”60 It is probable that Christian interest in this psalm originally focused on the complaint, “a pack of evildoers encircle me, piercing my hands and feet.”61 There are other texts that could be and were cited as proofs that the messiah was foreordained to suffer, but this is the only one that seems to prophesy the crucifixion 55  According to Wayne Booth the relevant portion of the text of Mark displays a “double irony” (A Rhetoric of Irony [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974], 92). 56  Donald Juel calls this process “messianic exegesis” and argues that its logic is midrashic: Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 90. 57 See Origen, Contra Celsum 2.34. 58  The reconstruction and translation are based on Mark 15:24. 59 Ps 22:19 MT; 21:19 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 22:18 RSV; trans. NRSV. The LXX reads διεμερίσαντο τὰ ἱμάτιά μου ἑαυτοῖς καὶ ἐπὶ ἱματισμόν μου ἔβαλον κλῆρον. 60 Ps 22:7–9 MT; 21:7–9 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 22:6–8 RSV; trans. NRSV modified. The LXX reads, beginning with v. 8, πάντες οἱ θεωροῦντές με ἐξεμυκτήρισάν με, ἐλάλησαν ἐν χείλεσιν, ἐκίνησαν κεφαλὴν· Ἤλπισεν ἐπὶ κύριον, ῥυσάσθω αὐτόν· σωσάτω αὐτόν, ὅτι θέλει αὐτόν. 61 Ps 22:17 MT; 21:17 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 22:16 RSV. The translation of the MT cited above is taken with slight modification from Mitchell Dahood, Psalms 1, 1–50, AB 16 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966), 137; see the comments on 140–41. The LXX reads ὤρυξαν χεῖρας μου καὶ πόδας.

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of the eschatological king. The appropriateness of this verse to the context, along with the fact that other verses from the same psalm are clearly alluded to, makes it certain that this verse stands in the background.62 It very likely played a major role in the production of the narrative, in the sense that it provided a motive for telling the story by supplying a meaning, and that it was evoked in the minds of competent readers, that it, knowledgeable or instructed insiders.63 In the account of Jesus’s death, the narrator says that darkness came upon the whole land or earth at the sixth hour, that is, at midday. If there is an allusion to Scripture in this motif, the most likely text is Amos 8:9, which reads, “On that day, says the Lord God, I will make the sun go down at noon, and darken the earth in broad daylight.” The context of the passage is appropriate to the new use, since the latter part of the following verse reads “I will make it like the mourning for an only son, and the end of it like a bitter day.” “That day” in Amos is a day of judgment upon the people for their sins. In the pre-Markan passion narrative, it is unlikely that the motif is meant to indicate primarily or simply that the death of Jesus is an event of the end-time that will lead soon to the manifestation of the kingdom of God.64 In light of the metaphor of the cup in the Gethsemane story, the notion of judgment evoked by the image of darkness refers to the bearing of the wrath of God by Jesus. Various attempts have been made to argue that the loud cry with which Jesus dies is a sign of his victory over death or Satan.65 Such arguments have little basis in the text. The cry is followed immediately by the tearing of the curtain of the temple. Since the narrative coherence and high degree of temporal and spatial specificity mentioned earlier extend only through the account of the death of Jesus, it is unlikely that the notice about the women watching, the burial, and the empty tomb story were part of the pre-Markan passion narrative.66 Although the purpose of the passion narrative was to explain the death of Jesus, it is likely that it contained from the beginning some indication of the vindication of Jesus. The tearing of the curtain, as a miracle or symbolic event, indicates such a vindi Compare the discussion in Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissangungsbeweises, 65–66.  Even though Psalm 22 has little intrinsic connection with messianic ideas, it was interpreted messianically in the earliest recoverable Christian traditions. The presupposition of this interpretation was the execution of Jesus by crucifixion as a messianic pretender. The process by which followers of Jesus arrived at this conclusion and attempted to persuade others of its validity cannot be determined exactly, but they probably began by interpreting a more messianic psalm as a prophecy of Jesus and then extended the argument to other psalms. Juel has attempted to reconstruct the process (Messianic Exegesis, 90, 98–117); see also Hays, “Christ Prays the Psalms,” 130–31. 64 Feigel makes this argument (Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises, 72); it may hold, however, for the motif as part of the Markan passion narrative. 65   E. g., Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises, 73–76. His argument is based on the Markan form of the passion narrative and takes the cry together with the reaction of the centurion. 66  See Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” 117. 62 63

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cation. Since the words of the centurion tie in so nicely with the Markan theme of Jesus as the Son of God, it is likely that this verse is a Markan addition. It is credible then that the pre-Markan passion narrative ended with the statement about the veil. The meaning of this event is ambiguous and interpretations differ widely.67 In the context of the pre-Markan passion narrative, the only point that is absolutely clear is that the audience is invited to reflect on the relationship between Jesus’s death and the tearing of the veil of the temple. It is highly likely that the event symbolizes the vindication of Jesus, although precisely how it does so is concealed as much as revealed. The following reflections are one reader’s attempt to clarify the symbolic meaning. The tearing of the curtain may be a mysterious sign for insiders that Jesus was vindicated by God immediately following his death. Since allusions to the Psalms play such an important role in the narrative, one is led to consider whether such an allusion may be the case here. A search for analogies leads to Psalm 18, which reads: “In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears.”68 The divine response to this cry is described first of all in terms of a mighty theophany. Then the speaker’s vindication is recounted: He reached down from on high, he took me; he drew me out of mighty waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those who hated me; for they were too mighty for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity; but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a broad place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.69

Since Psalm 18 is a messianic thanksgiving song or royal victory hymn,70 it would be a logical choice as a source for images of the vindication of the messiah.71 If the veil in the passion narrative is the inner one, which hung before the Holy of Holies,72 one may conclude that the elaborate theophany of the psalm has been 67  On the ambiguity of the relation between the tearing of the curtain and the death of Jesus, see Robert M. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 202–3, 211. On the variety of interpretations, see Timothy J. Geddert, Watchwords: Mark 13 in Markan Eschatology, JSNTSup 26 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 140–43. 68 Ps 18:7 MT; 17:7 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 18:6 RSV; trans. from NRSV; emphasis added. Note that φωνῆς occurs in Ps 17:7 LXX and φωνῇ or φωνήν in the pre-Markan passion narrative; compare Mark 15:34 and 37; ναοῦ also occurs in both; compare Ps 17:7 LXX with Mark 15:38. 69  Ps 18:17–20 MT; 17:17–20 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 18:16–19 RSV; trans. from NRSV. 70 Gerstenberger, Psalms: Part 1, 96. This psalm is explicitly associated with David by its appearance, with minor variations, in 2 Samuel 22 as his victory song. 71  The book of Jonah has a similar motif; it presents the prophet as saying, “As my life was ebbing away, I remembered the Lord; and my prayer came to you, into your holy temple” (Jonah 2:7). The LXX reads ἐν τῷ ἐκλείπειν ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ τὴν ψυχήν μου τοῦ κυρίου ἐμνήσθην, καὶ ἔλθοι πρὸς σὲ ἡ προσευχή μου εἰς ναὸν ἅγιόν σου (Jonah 2:8, ed. Rahlfs). 72  See Josephus, J. W. 5.219.

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transformed into the mysterious tearing of the curtain, which would symbolize God or divine power revealed or coming forth from the temple.73 If the veil is the outer one, upon which a panorama of the heavens was portrayed,74 the tearing of the veil may symbolize the ascent of Jesus to heaven, that is, his exaltation. It may be that making a distinction between the two veils involves over-interpretation of the text and that the splitting of the veil symbolizes both divine revelation and the ascent of Jesus. The widespread ancient notion that the earthly temple was a copy of a heavenly reality may be at work here, so that the tearing of the earthly curtain reflected the passing of Jesus through its heavenly equivalent into the presence of God. If this reading is cogent, the pre-Markan passion narrative may be the source of the analogous imagery and thought found in the letter to the Hebrews.75

The Markan Passion Narrative Due to limitations of time and space, a full discussion of the Markan passion narrative here is impossible. The most important passage for this essay is the saying attributed to Jesus as his last articulate words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” As is well known, the saying is a strong allusion to the beginning of Psalm 22,76 which is quoted first in Aramaic and then translated into Greek. It is given in Aramaic to prepare for the misunderstanding of some of the bystanders who conclude that Jesus is calling Elijah. Their misunderstanding appears to be deliberate, since the similarity between the two relevant words is not close. Thus, the reaction is presented as additional mockery.77 The primary motivation for adding the saying does not seem to be to reveal Jesus’s state of mind, but to remind the reader of Jesus’s teaching concerning Elijah, which was recorded in the dialogue between Jesus and the few disciples allowed to witness the transfiguration (Mark 9:9–12). On the way down the mountain, Jesus warns them to say nothing about what they have seen until the Son of Man has risen from the dead. When they ask about the scribes’ teaching that Elijah must come first, Jesus says that Elijah has already come and been mistreated, apparently referring to the activity and death of John the Baptist. In light of this dialogue, 73  On the tearing of the veil as theophanic, see the discussion in Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” 116–17; see also Geddert, Watchwords, 141. 74  Josephus, J. W. 5.212–214; David Ulansey argued that the outer veil was meant and that Mark intended to link this image with the tearing of the heavens at the baptism of Jesus: “The Heavenly Veil Torn: Mark’s Cosmic Inclusio,” JBL 110 (1991): 123–25. 75  Heb 6:19–20; 10:19–20; for discussion see Harold W. Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1989), 183–85, 284–87. 76  Ps 22:2 MT; 21:2 LXX (ed. Rahlfs); 22:1 RSV; trans. from NRSV. 77  See the discussion in Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” 115–16.

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the scene at the cross is ironic. The bystanders parody Jesus’s eschatological beliefs, but the competent reader knows that Elijah has already come. Some scholars have argued that Jesus must actually have spoken these words, since the tendency of the tradition was to present Jesus as more and more divine, courageous, and in control. Support for this hypothesis is found in the fact that later Christians apparently took offence at the saying.78 But the fact that some later Christians thought that they could improve on the saying does not imply that Jesus actually said it. Once again it is impossible to prove or disprove the historical accuracy of the attribution. The important question for this essay is the role of this saying in the passion narrative. My own position is that Mark added the saying along with the misunderstanding about Elijah. One must leave open the possibility that Mark’s attribution of the saying to Jesus in this context is based on reliable historical tradition. It is also possible to explain the origin of the saying through Mark’s reasoning that, since Psalm 22 contained prophecies of the events associated with Jesus’s death, it could also be employed as a guide to his last words.79 Opinions differ as to the meaning of the saying in its new context. Many modern readers have tended to understand the saying in terms of its inner or psychological meaning. Mark, however, may have used it in a more formal sense; the saying in the psalm was a prophecy of what the messiah would say; Jesus said it to show that he was the messiah. If Mark considered any further intention of Jesus in speaking such words, it is likely that he understood them to be a complaint rather than an expression of despair. In Psalm 22, the complaint is a cry for help; according to Mark, God’s response to this cry was to raise Jesus from the dead.

Conclusion Greek or Hellenized readers and hearers of the pre-Markan passion narrative may have seen some similarity in the second part of Jesus’s prayer in Gethsemane, “not what I want, but what you want,” to the serene acceptance of death manifested by Socrates and his imitators. But such readers would have expected a more loquacious Jesus in the scene before Pilate, since the account of a noble death was often exploited in literature as a didactic opportunity. Mark has taken the passion narrative a little further in this direction by adding the trial before the Sanhedrin, in which Jesus’s response to the high priest is a didactic prophecy (14:62).80 The unanswered mocking by the soldiers before the crucifixion  E. g., K. Hase, mentioned by Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises, 67.  Compare Feigel, Der Einfluß des Weissagungsbeweises, 67–68. 80 In ancient literature, the last words of a dying man were often prophetic; examples include Patroklos (Iliad 16.843–854), Hektor (Il. 22.355–360), and Pherecydes, who prophesied his own death (Diogenes Laertius, Lives 1.117–118); this motif occurs also in the Hebrew Bible in con78 79

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and by those who passed by the cross would have been puzzling to such readers, as would the inarticulate cry of Jesus and the mysterious tearing of the veil. The darkness at noon, however, would have been intelligible as a sign of cosmic sympathy and mourning at the death of a great or favored man.81 Mark’s addition of a burial story and an account analogous to stories of apotheosis again brought the account closer to Greek and Roman stories of noble or at least notable deaths.82 On the whole, however, the passion narrative, whether pre-Markan or Markan, is profoundly different from such Greek and Latin accounts. Further, it does not make sense to define the passion narrative as a parody of the noble death tradition since parody is closely related to satire and both have a playful and humorous dimension, as well as the intention of criticism or attack.83 At the same time, there is no type of Jewish story that corresponds to the passion narrative any more closely. The accounts of the deaths of those who perished in the persecution of Antiochus are permeated with the values of the noble death, and the protagonists make long didactic speeches. It would seem best to conclude, therefore, that the passion narrative embodies a new kind of death-story, one in which the intractable and appalling facts of the end of Jesus’s life were illuminated by a new use of Scripture. This new use of Scripture, defined by early Christians as inspired by the risen Christ or the Holy Spirit,84 attests also to the resourcefulness of the followers of Jesus and to the profound impact his person and life had upon them. The role played by Scripture in the production of the passion narrative has tremendous implications for the question of its genre and thus for its meaning. The noble death tradition is closely linked to biography and the purpose of nection with Jacob (Genesis 49), Joseph (Gen 50:24), Moses (Deuteronomy 32), Joshua (Joshua 23) and in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs. 81  Compare the account of the death of Carneades: Diogenes Laertius reports that the moon is said to have been eclipsed at the time of his death; he interprets this phenomenon as a sign of the sympathy of the brightest luminary next to the sun, in spite of the fact that he states that the philosopher met his death with a certain lack of courage (Lives 4.64). See also the accounts of the death of Julius Caesar (Virgil, Georgics 1.468; Plutarch, Lives: Caesar 69.4–5). 82  See the mention of burial in the story of Tellus, cited above in relation to n. 9; Suetonius gives an account of the funeral, cremation, and apotheosis of Julius Caesar (The Twelve Caesars: Julius Caesar 80–82, 84, 88). Diogenes Laertius occasionally mentions the funeral or burial of his subjects, e. g. of Chilon (1.72), Pherecydes (1.118), Anaxagoras (2.15), and Plato (40–41). 83  See, e. g., the discussion by Mikhail M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist; trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 51–68. An example of a parodistic travesty of the account of a noble death is Lucian’s The Passing of Peregrinus, especially 23 and 42. 84 See Luke 24:13–32, 44–49; John 14:25–26; for discussion of this point in relation to the Emmaus story, see Hans Dieter Betz, “The Origin and Nature of Christian Faith according to the Emmaus Legend (Luke 24:13–32),” Interpretation 23 (1969): 32–46; for a German version of this article, see Betz, “Ursprung und Wesen christlichen Glaubens nach der Emmauslegende (Lk 24:13–32),” in Synoptische Studien: Gesammelte Aufsätze 2 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1992), 35–49.

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biography is exemplary. The passion narrative has a biographical dimension, and it did become exemplary for the later Christian martyrs.85 But as Celsus noted well, the point of contention with regard to the life of Jesus was whether he was the messiah. The dispute between Jews and Christians on this point reminded him of the proverbial fight about the shadow of an ass.86 From his point of view, there was simply nothing at stake in this dispute. In the context of Jewish messianism, however, nothing less was at stake than the course of history itself and the destiny of the world. Jesus is silent in the passion narrative because the focal point is not his state of mind or his character, but the events. The narrative depicts a sequence of events that was prophesied and whose fulfillment changed the world. It is for this reason that the biographical genres are inadequate to define the intention of the passion narrative and the Gospel of Mark as a whole. For the author of the earliest passion narrative and for Mark, the death of Jesus is admirable, not because he faced it bravely and thus became an example for others, but because it was “for our sins” and “according to the Scriptures.”

Appendix A Reconstruction of the Pre-Markan Passion Narrative Καὶ ἔρχονται εἰς χωρἰον οὗ τὸ ὄνομα Γεθσημανὶ καὶ ἤρξατο ἐκθαμβεῖσθαι καὶ ἀδημονεῖν καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖς· περίλυπός ἐστιν ἡ ψυχή μου ἕως θανάτου· μείνατε ὧδε καὶ γρηγορεῖτε. καὶ προελθὼν μικρὸν ἔπιπτεν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς καὶ προσηύχετο καὶ ἔλεγεν· αββα ὁ πατήρ, πάντα δυνατά σοι· παρένεγκε τὸ ποτήριον τοῦτο ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ· ἀλλ’ οὐ τί ἐγὼ θέλω ἀλλὰ τί σύ. Καὶ ἔρχεται καὶ εὑρίσκει αὐτοὺς καθεύδοντας, καὶ λέγει τῷ Πέτρῷ· Σίμων, καθεύδεις; οὐκ ἴσχυσας μίαν ὥραν γρηγορῆσαι; ἐγείρεσθε ἄγωμεν· ἰδοὺ ὁ παραδιδούς με ἤγγικεν. Καὶ ἔτι αὐτοῦ λαλοῦντος παραγίνεται Ἰούδας εἵς τῶν δώδεκα καὶ μετ’ αυτοῦ ὄχλος μετὰ μαχαιρῶν καὶ ξύλων παρὰ τῶν ἀρχιερέων. δεδώκει δὲ ὁ παραδιδοὺς αὐτὸν σύσσημον αὐτοῖς λέγων· ὅν ἂν φιλήσω αὐτός ἐστιν, κρατήσατε ἀυτὸν καὶ ἀπάγατε ἀσφαλῶς. καὶ ἐλθὼν εὐθὺς προσελθὼν αὐτῷ λέγει· ῥαββί, καὶ κατεφίλησεν αὐτὸν· οἱ δὲ ἐπέβαλον τὰς χεῖρας αὐτῷ καὶ ἐκρὰτησαν αὐτόν. καὶ ἀφέντες αὐτὸν ἔφυγον πάντες. Καὶ ἀπήγαγον τὸν Ἰησοῦν πρὸς τὸν ἀρχιερέα. καὶ πρωῒ συμβούλιον ποιήσαντες οἱ ἀρχιερεῖς δήσαντες τὸν Ἰησοῦν ἀπήνεγκαν καὶ παρέδωκαν Πιλάτῳ. καὶ 85 Like the passion narrative, the letter to the Hebrews combines the notions that the death of Jesus was exemplary and that it changed reality. See Heb 2:10–18; for discussion, see Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews 78–87. 86  Origen, Contra Celsum 3.1; compare Plato, Phaedrus 260c, where Socrates uses the proverb “shadow of an ass” to make a point about good and bad speaking and writing. Celsus apparently used the proverb to signify a dispute of no importance.

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ἐπηρώτησεν αὐτὸν ὁ Πιλᾶτος· σὺ εἶ ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων; ὁ δὲ ἀποκριθεὶς αὐτῷ λέγει· σὺ λέγεις. καὶ κατηγόρουν αὐτοῦ οἱ ἀρχιερεῖς πολλά. ὁ δὲ Πιλᾶτος πάλιν ἐπηρώτα αὐτὸν λέγων· οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ οὐδέν; ἴδε πόσα σου κατηγοροῦσιν. ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς οὐκέτι οὐδὲν ἀπεκρίθη, ὥστε θαυμάζειν τὸν Πιλᾶτον. καὶ παρέδωκεν τὸν Ἰησοῦν φραγελλώσας ἵνα σταυρωθῇ. Οἱ δὲ στρατιῶται ἀπήγαγον αὐτὸν ἔσω τῆς αὐλῆς καὶ συγκαλοῦσιν ὅλην τὴν σπεῖραν. καὶ ἐνδιδύσκουσιν αὐτὸν πορφύραν καὶ περιτιθέασιν αὐτῷ πλέξαντες ἀκάνθινον στέφανον· καὶ ἤρξατο ἀσπάζεσθαι αὐτόν· χαῖρε, βασιλεῦ τῶν Ἰουδαῖων· καὶ ἔτυπτον αὐτοῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν καλάμῳ καὶ ἐνέπτυον αὐτῷ καὶ τιθέντες τὰ γόνατα προσεκύνουν αὐτῷ. καὶ ὅτε ἐνέπαιξαν αὐτῷ, ἐξέδυσαν αὐτὸν τὴν πορφύραν καὶ ἐνέδυσαν αὐτὸν τὰ ἱμάτια αὐτοῦ. Καὶ ἐξάγουσιν αὐτὸν ἵνα σταυρώσωσιν αὐτόν. καὶ ἀγγαρεύουσιν παράγοντά τινα Σίμωνα Κυρηναῖον ἐρχόμενον ἀπ’ ἀγροῦ, τὸν πατέρα Ἀλεξάνδρου καὶ Ῥούφου, ἵνα ἄρῃ τὸν σταυρὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ φέρουσιν αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τὸν Γολγοθᾶν τόπον, ὅ ἐστιν μεθερμηνευόμενον Κρανίου Τόπος. καὶ ἐδίδουν αὐτῷ ἐσμυρνισμένον οἶνον· ὅς δὲ ουκ ἔλαβεν. καὶ σταυροῦσιν αὐτὸν καὶ διαμερίζονται τὰ ἱμάτια αὐτοῦ βάλλοντες κλῆρον ἐπ’ αὐτὰ τίς τί ἀρῃ. ἦν δὲ ὥρα τρίτη καὶ ἐσταύρωσαν αὐτόν. καὶ ἦν ἡ ἐπιγραφὴ τῆς αἰτίας αὐτοῦ ἐπιγεγραμμένη· ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων. καὶ σὺν αὐτῷ σταυροῦσιν δύο λῃστάς, ἕνα ἐκ δεξιῶν καὶ ἕνα ἐξ εὐωνύμων αὐτοῦ. καὶ οἱ παραπορευόμενοι ἐβλασφήμουν αὐτὸν κινοῦντες τὰς κεφαλὰς αὐτῶν καὶ λέγοντες· ἄλλους ἔσωσεν, ἑαυτὸν οὐ δύναται σῶσαι· ὁ χριστὸς ὁ βασλεὺς Ἰσραὴλ καταβάτω νῦν ἀπὸ τοῦ σταυροῦ, ἵνα ἴδωμεν καὶ πιστεύσωμεν. καὶ οἱ συνεσταυρωμένοι σὺν αὐτῷ ὠνείδιζον αὐτόν. Καὶ γενομένης ὥρας ἕκτης σκότος ἐγένετο ἐφ’ ὅλην τὴν γῆν ἕως ὥρας ἐνάτης. καὶ τῇ ἐνάτῃ ὥρᾳ ἐβόησεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς φωνῇ μεγάλῃ [καὶ] ἐξέπνευσεν. καὶ τὸ καταπέτασμα τοῦ ναοῦ ἐσχίσθη εἰς δύο ἀπ’ ἄνωθεν ἕως κάτω.

D. The Death of Jesus

Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus Twentieth-century people of the northern hemisphere deal with personal and social crises by naming them and composing narratives about them. People in the ancient Mediterranean world reacted in similar ways to their crises. The death of Jesus must have been a personal, social, and religious crisis for his followers. In dealing with that crisis, they named his death in both traditional and novel ways. They also composed narratives, which were at first told by word of mouth and later written down. I will not attempt to discuss all the ways in which the followers of Jesus named and narrated his death in the first century, not even all the most important ones. Rather, I would like to focus on three aspects of this rich and amazing process, using the Gospel of Mark as a focus. First, I would like to explore the naming of Jesus’s death as a sacrifice. This metaphor is sometimes related to the notion of vicarious suffering. I will look at the way in which these motifs, at home in the Hebrew Bible, were expanded by Jewish authors in a Hellenistic context into narratives of noble death. These narratives eventually gave rise to a new kind of narrative, the martyrdom. I would like to show how the interpretation of the death of Jesus is related to this line of development. Second, I will discuss the Greek and Roman traditions that express the idea of an “effective death,” especially in relation to rituals of substitution. A striking example of such rituals is that involving a φαρμακός. I will discuss the translation of this term later. This ritual is related to a cluster of mythic and literary motifs; analogous motifs appear in the narration of Jesus’ death. Third, and finally, I will discuss the curriculum vitae of the hero, the typical plot of the hero’s life. This narrative pattern appears in the popular lives of the poets and in the Gospel of Mark. In the conclusion I will address some of the objections that have been raised to the notion of sacrifice and consider what interpretation of the death of Jesus is most prominent in the Gospel of Mark.

From Sacrifice to Martyrdom According to Mark 14:22–25, Jesus uttered several sayings during his last meal with his disciples that seem to interpret his death in advance. One of these resonates clearly with the language of sacrifice: “And he said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for many’” (14:24). The phrase “blood of the covenant” alludes to and evokes the account of the ceremony of covenant ratification narrated in Exod 24:3–8. Oxen were sacrificed to the Lord; half of

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their blood was put in basins and half was thrown against the altar. In and of itself, this type of sacrifice has nothing to do with sin. Its metaphorical evocation in Mark expresses the idea that the death of Jesus is a sacrifice that ratifies the establishment of a covenant relationship between God and the followers of Jesus. The phrase “which is poured out for many” in Mark 14:24 also has sacrificial connotations. In the Greek version of the Jewish Scriptures, the phrase “to pour out blood” is a technical term for the act of pouring out, at the base of the altar, the blood of the animal being sacrificed. It is used in relation to the sacrifice of a young bull for the consecration of a priest in Exodus 29 and to sacrifices for unwitting sins in Leviticus 4.1 The phrase “for many,” however, is not a technical term in the sacrificial tradition. The idea that a sacrifice is performed on behalf of a specific group was widespread, and the preposition used by Mark is used elsewhere to express this idea.2 In Mark 14:24, the phrase “for many” may be understood in terms of the notion of atonement but does not explicitly express it. The author of the Gospel of Matthew understood the Markan phrase to imply atonement for sin and made this idea explicit in the parallel passage by adding the phrase “for the forgiveness of sins.”3 The naming of Jesus’s death as a “pouring out of his blood for many” probably results from a combination of the terminology of sacrifice with the poem about the suffering servant of the Lord in Isaiah 53.4 The Hebrew ver-

1  The phrase αἷμα ἐκχεῖν (“to pour out blood”) occurs in Exod 29:12 in the account of the ordination of the priests; it also occurs in Lev 4:7, 18, 25, 34 in the instructions for the sin offering of first the high priest, then the whole congregation, then the ruler, and finally one of the common people. All of the sacrifices in Leviticus 4 atone for unwitting sins. Compare the use of αἷμα προσχεῖν (“to pour blood on [something]”) in Lev. 1:5, 11 (both verses concern burnt offerings) and 3:2, 8, 13 (all three verses concern peace offerings). This phrase is also used in Exod 24:6 in relation to the covenant sacrifice mentioned above. All translations are by the author unless otherwise noted. On these passages, see Bernd Kollmann, Ursprung und Gestalten der frühchristlichen Mahlfeier, Göttinger Theologische Arbeiten 43 (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 174–75. 2 1 Esdras 8:63 in the Septaguint (LXX) states that twelve bulls were offered to the Lord ὑπὲρ Ισραηλ (“for all Israel”). Homer includes a scene in which Odysseus offers a sacrifice on behalf of (ὑπέρ) the Danaans to propitiate Apollo (Iliad 1.444). Xenophon has Socrates speak of officeholders offering sacrifice on behalf of the state (ὑπὲρ τῆς πόλεως; Memorabilia 2.2.13). For further references, see Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier , “Eucharistie” in Handbuch religionswissenschaftlicher Grundbegriffe, ed. Hubert Cancik et al. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1990), 2.347–56; here 350 with n. 20. 3 εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν (Matt 26:28). 4 See the discussion in Kollmann, Ursprung und Gestalten, 175; see also Joachim Jeremias, Die Abendmahlsworte Jesu, 4th rev. ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967), 218; The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, trans. from the 3d ed. of 1960 with the author’s revisions to 1964 (1966; reprint, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 226–27; and “Das Lösegeld für Viele (Mk. 10,45),” Judaica: Beiträge zum Verständnis des jüdischen Schicksals in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart 3 (1947–1948): 249–64; here 262–64.

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sion of this poem reads in verse 12 “because he poured out his life to death.”5 The basic meaning of the word used for “life” here is breath, rather than blood, but both breath and blood represent the life force.6 So the notion of pouring out life unites this poem with the traditional sacrificial terminology and with Mark 14:24. The conclusion that the phrase “he poured out his life to death” in Isa 53:12 is sacrificial is supported by a clear allusion to sacrifice in verse 10. Here the servant is called “a guilt-offering” or “a tresspass offering.” The term used is the name for a type of sacrifice discussed in Leviticus 5–6. The type of sacrifice spoken of in Leviticus 4, where the phrase “to pour out blood” is used, is called “a sinoffering,” but Lev 5:6 shows that the two terms are synonymous. The same verse of Isaiah that speaks of the servant “pouring out his life” also reads, “he bore the sin of many.” Unlike Exodus 24 and Leviticus, Isaiah 53 shares with Mark 14:24 both the motif that “many” are benefited and the sacrificial notion of pouring out life. But the two motifs in Isaiah 53 are juxtaposed, not joined. The phrase “he bore the sin of many” in Isa 53:12 does not allude to the instructions for sacrifice but rather to the description of the ritual involving the scapegoat in Leviticus 16. There it is said that, “the goat shall bear all their iniquities on him.”7 Since the conjunction in Isa 53:12 is simply “and,” no logical connection is made between the servant’s pouring out his life and his bearing the sin of many. So the poem provides two related but distinct images for the suffering of the servant: he is a sacrificial offering for sin, and he is the scapegoat. The tradition preserved in Mark 14:24 combines the two images. The poem from Isaiah 53 is important for another reason, besides providing a likely source for the notion of dying “for many” in Mark 14:24. The instructions for offering sacrifice of course involve the ritual slaughter of animals, and the scapegoat is also an animal. The poem about the suffering servant seems to be the only instance in the Hebrew Bible of the notion of a human being suffering vicariously for the sins of other human beings.8 In other words, it is the first known example in Jewish tradition of the idea of the metaphorical sacrifice of a human 5  Isa. 53:12b MT. The Greek version (LXX) reads ἀνθ’ ὡν παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ (“because his life [or soul] was handed over to death”). The tradition known to the author of Mark may have been based on a Greek version closer to the Hebrew than the LXX, or it may have been originally formulated in Hebrew or Aramaic. 6  See Lev 17:11, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood” (trans. RSV ). On the Hebrew term for “life” or “soul” and its relationship to “breath” and “blood,” see Edmond Jacob, “ψυχή κτλ: B. The Anthropology of the Old Testament,” in TDNT 9.618–20. 7 Isa 53:12; the LXX reads καὶ αὐτὸς ἁμαρτίας πολλῶν ἀνήνεγκεν καὶ διὰ τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν παρεδόθη (“and he bore the sins of many and on account of their sins he was handed over”). 7  Lev 16:22. The same Hebrew verb meaning “to bear” is used in both Isa 53:12 and Lev 16:22. Compare also Isa 53:6 and 11 with Lev 16:21–22. 8 This notion is present, not only in Isa 53:12, but also in 53:4–6. It has been argued that other passages express this idea, but these arguments have not been found persuasive. See H. S. Versnel, “Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis? Bemerkungen über die Herkunft von Aspekten

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being as a sin offering. The text is mysterious and ambiguous. The death of the servant is implied, yet it is said that, “he shall see his offspring, he shall prolong his days.”9 The identity of the servant is obscure, and it is not clear whether an individual or a collective figure is meant. This ambiguity invited interpretation. It at least made possible, and perhaps encouraged, an interpretation of the text as a prophecy or prefiguration of the death of Jesus. The metaphorical application of the idea of sacrifice to the suffering of a human being in Isaiah 53 occurred in a context influenced by the trauma of the Babylonian exile. The notion of vicarious suffering does not appear again in Jewish tradition until the period affected by the crisis under Antiochus Epiphanes. Second Maccabees is an abridgment of an otherwise lost history in five volumes by Jason of Cyrene. Written in the second century bce, the history treated the story of Judas Maccabeus and his brothers and the wars against Antiochus. The epitome was probably written in the first century bce. In chapters 6 and 7 of this work, the voluntary deaths of the aged scribe Eleazar and of seven brothers and their mother are vividly described. They nobly choose torture and death rather than violate the holy laws. Just before his death, the youngest brother makes a speech that concludes with the following words: “I, like my brothers, give up body and life for the laws of our fathers, appealing to God to show mercy soon to our nation and by afflictions and plagues to make you confess that he alone is God, and through me and my brothers to bring to an end the wrath of the Almighty, which has justly fallen on our whole nation.”10 Earlier in the same speech, the seventh brother had told the king, “We are suffering because of our own sins.”11 The earlier remark is an expression of the traditional idea that God punishes sinful behavior by sending misfortune on the sinner in this life. The later remark, however, moves beyond this notion to suggest that the suffering of the seven brothers and the others could bring an end to the period of persecution of the whole people. The logic of this remark is somewhat opaque. The underlying idea may be understood as an extrapolation from the Levitical laws of sacrifice: the wrath of God may be removed by an offering for sin. Or the idea may be a more general one: the deity is offended by the sins of the people and pundes “Effective Death,” in Die Entstehung der jüdischen Martyrologie, ed. Jan Willem van Henten, StPB 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1989), 163–64.  9  Isa 53:10; vv. that imply his death include 8–9, 12. 10  2 Macc 7:37–38. My trans. takes the preposition ἐν in v. 38 as instrumental. Williams translates “in me and my brothers” and argues that the speaker simply asks God to let his anger end at this point, i. e., with the death of the speaker and his brothers. I find more convincing the arguments of Hans-Werner Surkau and Eduard Lohse, summarized by Williams, that the notion of vicarious expiatory suffering is implicit in the speech; see Sam K. Williams, Jesus’ Death as Saving Event: The Background and Origin of a Concept, HDR 2 (Missoula, MT: Harvard Theological Review/Scholars Press, 1975), 82–90. 11  2 Macc 7:32; compare 7:18, in which the sixth brother declares to the king that they were suffering these things on their own account because of their sins.

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ishes them; the young man prays that the suffering of himself and his brothers may appease the deity and turn wrath into graciousness. The metaphorical application of the idea of sacrifice to the suffering of a human being appears much more clearly in Fourth Maccabees. This work is a philosophical speech on the question of whether devout reason is sovereign over the emotions.12 It has been dated at various points between 40 and 100 ce.13 The author tells the stories of Eleazar, the seven brothers, and their mother as examples of his thesis that reason controls the emotions. In the introduction, he states that they became the cause for the downfall of tyranny over their nation and that their native land was purified through them.14 The land was defiled because of the apostasy of many of the people. The blood of those who died rather than transgress is not mentioned in this passage, but the idea expressed here resonates with the notion in the Torah that the altar must be purified by sacrificial blood from the uncleannesses of the people of Israel.15 In 4 Maccabees, it is the whole land that must be purified. This metaphorical extension of the rite of purification correlates with the author’s presentation of Eleazar as a priest, in contrast to his portrayal as a scribe in 2 Maccabees.16 In his last words, Eleazar makes two statements that interpret his death; he asks God, “Be merciful to your people, being satisfied by our punishment in their behalf.”17 He goes on, “Make my blood their purification, and take my life in exchange for theirs.”18 In the panegyric on the mother of the seven sons near the end of the work, the images of the introduction and those of Eleazar’s last speech are brought together: “These, then … are honored … by the fact that because of them our enemies did not rule over our nation, the tyrant was punished, and the homeland purified [καθαρίζειν] – they having become, as it were, a ransom [ἀντίψυχον] for the sin of our nation. And through the blood of those devout ones and their death as an expiation [ἱλαστήριον], divine Providence preserved Israel that previously had been afflicted.”19 The notions of sin, 12  The speech has affinities with the diatribe, the speech of praise (the encomium), and the funeral speech; see Versnel, “Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis,” 166–67; Williams, Jesus’ Death, 190–91. 13 Versnel, “Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis,” 189; Jan Willem van Henten argues for a date around 100 ce in “Datierung und Herkunft des vierten Makkabäerbuches,” in Tradition and Reinterpretation in Jewish and Early Christian Literature: Essays in Honour of Jürgen C. H. Lebram, ed. J. W. van Henten et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 136–49. 14 4 Macc 1:11. 15  E. g., Lev 16:19. 16  Compare 2 Macc 6:18 with 4 Macc 5:4. 17 4 Macc 6:28; compare 2 Macc 7:37–38. Note that the phrase ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν (“in their behalf ” or “for them”) in 6:28 is similar in form and content to the phrase ὑπὲρ πολλῶν (“for many”) in Mark 14:24. 18  Καθάρσιον αὐτῶν ποίησον τὸ ἐμὸν αἷμα καὶ ἀντίψυχον αὐτῶν λαβὲ τὴν ἐμὴν ψυχήν (4 Macc 6:29; cf. 17:21). 19  4 Macc 17:20–22. ἀντίψυχον means literally “something given in exchange for life.”

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punishment, and expiation probably derive from Jewish tradition, although the terminology of this passage is distinctive in comparison with other texts from the Jewish Scriptures. Other ideas, however, are typically Greek. For example, the notion of making satisfaction to an offended deity is an important theme in Aeschylus’s Prometheus Bound.20More important, the idea of an “effective death” that can change an external, historical situation is a theme developed by the tragic poets, especially Euripides. Such a change may be described as salvation or deliverance.21 Thus the interpretation of the deaths of those who die nobly in 4 Maccabees may be described as an innovation, typically Hellenistic in that it is created through the fusion of Greek cultural traditions and traditions of an ancient Near Eastern originally non-Greek culture, in this case, Judaism.22 The oldest understanding of the noble death in Greece was the heroic ideal of winning glory by dying bravely in battle for fatherland and fellow citizens. The death of Socrates as interpreted by Plato and Xenophon redefined the noble death in philosophical terms. Important motifs in the noble death of the philosopher as it developed over time were willingness to die for a principle – for example, the truth; fearlessness in the face of death; and resistance to the tyrant. The deaths of Eleazar, the seven brothers, and their mother in second Maccabees are clearly modeled on the death of Socrates and are thus Jewish adaptations of the Greek tradition of the noble death.23 These individuals are often referred to as martyrs.24 Technically, the idea of a “martyr” is a Christian innovation in which the legal term for a “witness” comes to mean a person who has chosen death rather than renounce Christ. Although this terminology is virtually absent in the

 Williams, Jesus’ Death, 147; compare Versnel, “Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis,” 187–88. It is also a theme in the plays of Euripides (Williams, Jesus’ Death, 194–95). 21  Euripides, Iphigenia at Aulis 1383–1384, 1420, 1472–1473; Heraclidae 499; Phoenician Women 948, 952, 997–998; for discussion, see Williams, Jesus’ Death, 194. Joachim Gnilka, in “Martyriumsparänese und Sühnetod in synoptischen und jüdischen Traditionen,” in Die Kirche des Anfangs: Festschrift für Heinz Schürmann, eds. Rudolf Schnackenburg, Josef Ernst, and Joachim Wanke (Leipzig: St.-Benno-Verlag, 1977), 223–46, argued that this evidence has no theological significance, but Hengel supports its relevance; see Martin Hengel, The Cross of the San of God: Containing The Son of God, Crucifixion, The Atonement (London: SCM, 1986), 199. The section entitled “The Atonement” is a translation, with substantial additions by the author, of “Der stellvertretende Sühnetod Jesu: Ein Beitrag zur Entstehung des urchristlichen Kerygmas,” Internationale katholische Zeitschrift 9 (1980): 1–25, 135–47. 22  See Versnel, “Quid Athenis et Hierosolymis,” 192–93. 23  Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” Studia Theologica: Scandinavian Journal of Theology 47 (1993): 3–28; here 7–9. This essay is included in the present volume. 24 See, e. g., Detlev Dormeyer, Die Passion Jesu als Verhaltensmodell: Literarische und theologische Analyse der Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte der Markuspassion, NTAbh NS 11 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1974), 43–44; Jan Willem van Henten, “Das jüdische Selbstverständnis in den ältesten Martyrien,” in Die Entstehung der jüdischen Martyrologie, ed. J. W. van Henten, StPB 38 (Leiden: Brill, 1989), 127–61; here 128–29. 20

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Maccabean books, the analogy is clear, so that Eleazar and the others may be described as martyrs in the wider sense. The death of Jesus in Mark is similar to the deaths of Eleazar and company in two respects: it is portrayed as voluntary and as benefiting many.25 It is dissimilar in that Jesus is relatively passive and silent. The emphasis is not on his state of mind, character, or exemplary role but on his death as an eschatological event.26

Rituals of Substitution and the Resolution of Crisis The substitution type of ritual is very ancient. An early example is provided by a Hittite text, which has been given the title “Removal of the Threat Implied in an Evil Omen” by its translator. It dates to the period between 1800 and 1225 bce. The text indicates how the ritual is to be carried out. The king goes to the sanctuary of the Moon-god and gives substitutes so that he himself may go free. The substitutes include a live steer and a healthy prisoner. The prisoner is anointed with the fine oil of kingship and is given a royal name. He is clad in the vestments of kingship and crowned with the diadem. The relevant deities or spirits are asked to pursue the substitute (instead of the king). The prisoner is then released and taken back to his own country.27 A related type of Hittite ritual involves a prisoner acting as a substitute king who is supposed to take on himself the misfortune afflicting the whole land – for example, a deadly illness – and carry it off into a foreign land.28 Another example, dating approximately to the sixth century bce, is the description of the scapegoat ritual in Leviticus 16, to which I have already referred. On the Day of Atonement, the high priest is to lay both his hands on the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, putting them on the head of the goat, and then send it away into the wilderness. The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a barren region, where it is to be set free.29

25  The voluntary nature of Jesus’ death is brought out in the second part of his prayer in Gethsemane: “not what I want, but what you want” (Mark 14:36). Both the voluntary aspect and the benefit for many are expressed in the saying “For the Son of Man also came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” in Mark 10:45. 26  See Adela Yarbro Collins, “From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah,” NTS 40 (1994): 481– 503; here 500–502. This essay is included in the present volume. 27 The text was translated with a brief introduction and notes by Albrecht Goetze and may be found in ANET, 355–56. See also the trans. and discussion by Hans Martin Kümmel, “Ersatzkönig und Sündenbock,” ZAW 80 (1968): 289–318; here 297–99. 28  Several relevant texts are cited and discussed by Kümmel, “Ersatzkönig,” 305–11. I am grateful to H. S. Versnel and Lily Knibbeler for this reference. 29  Lev 16:21–22. See the discussion in Kümmel, “Ersatzkönig,” 311–12.

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The Greeks had similar rituals.30 The most detailed information has been preserved in fragments of the poet Hipponax, who flourished in the sixth century bce in Colophon, a city in the coastal district of Lydia in Asia Minor. By means of a critical reading of these fragments, an Ionic ritual may be reconstructed, which dates to about the same time as the recording of the scapegoat ritual in the Priestly document. According to Hipponax, a human being, referred to as a φαρμακός (“pharmakós”) was driven out of the city with twigs of a wild fig tree.31 The noun φαρμακός is a relatively rare word, ambiguous in meaning and rich in connotations. The related neuter noun, φάρμακον, is much more common but also ambiguous. Its root meaning is “drug,” whether healing or noxious. Thus, it may be used to mean a “healing remedy” or “medicine,” but also “poison.” The masculine noun, φάρμακος, accented on the first syllable, was used in Jewish and Christian literature to mean “poisoner,” “sorcerer,” or “magician.” The same noun, but accented on the last syllable, φαρμακός, was used by Hipponax and other Greek writers in contexts that suggest the meaning “a person acting or treated as an atonement or purification for others.”32 The reason for calling such a person φαρμακός may have been clear to Hipponax and his contemporaries. Unfortunately, it is not clear to modern scholars whether this person was treated like a poison which had to be expelled from the community or regarded as a medicine which healed the community. The neuter noun φάρμακον can also mean a charm or a spell. In Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates says that the scroll Phaedrus is hiding under his cloak is a charm that has the power to draw Socrates from the city into the countryside.33 Later in the dialogue, when Socrates tells the tale of the invention of writing, the god Thoth presents it as “a charm for memory and wisdom.”34 The ambiguity of the term and the invention is shown by the reaction of the Egyptian godking Thamus, who says that writing, since it is external to the human mind, will 30 The evidence has been discussed by Jan Bremmer, “Scapegoat Rituals in Ancient Greece,” HSCP 87 (1983): 299–320; and Dennis D. Hughes, Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece (London: Routledge, 1991), 139–65. 31  Bremmer, “Scapegoat Rituals,” 300–301; Hughes, Human Sacrifice, 141–49, 164–65. See also Viktor Gebhard, Die Pharmakoi in Ionien und die Sybakchoi in Athen (Amberg: H. Boes Söhne, 1926), 1–10; Walter Burkert, Structure and History in Greek Mythology and Ritual (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 65; Greek Religion (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985) 82. 32  According to the work De prosodia catholica by the Roman grammarian Herodian, who was active in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, a φαρμακός is one who dies for the purification of the city; a φάρμακος is a sorcerer. For the Greek text, see Grammatici graeci recogniti et apparatu critico instructi, pt. 3, Herodiani Technici Reliquiae, ed. Augustus Lentz, vol. 1, Praefationem et Herodiani prosodiam catholicam continens (Leipzig: Teubner, 1867; reprint, Hildesheim: Olms, 1965), 150. I owe this reference to an anonymous reader for Journal of Religion. 33  τῆς ἐξόδου τὸ φάρμακον (“the charm to bring me out”); Plato, Phaedrus 230D. 34  μνήμης τε γὰρ καὶ σοφίας φάρμακον (“a charm for memory and wisdom”); Phaedrus 274E.

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instead produce forgetfulness and ignorance.35 Besides the possible meanings mentioned above, a medicine to be applied or a poison to be purged, the usage of the neuter form of the word suggests that the human φαρμακός may have been seen as a sorcerer or charm which acted to remove impurity or evil from the community. The plays of Aristophanes give evidence that the φαρμακός ritual was practiced in Athens in the late fifth and early fourth centuries bce.36 Later commentators state that this ritual was carried out on the sixth day of Thargelion, the eleventh month of the Attic year, which extended, in our reckoning, from the middle of May to the middle of June. This was the day preceding the main feast day of Thargelia, an Ionian festival associated with Apollo. On the chief day of the feast, the first fruits, or θάργηλα, were offered.37 On the day before, two men designated φαρμακοί were driven out of Athens, one for the men and one for the women. The commentators on Aristophanes paint a grim picture, in which persons of the humblest background, who were considered good for nothing, cripples or those otherwise deformed, were selected for this role. It seems that such unfortunates would sometimes offer, for payment, to undergo the ritual mistreatment and to leave the city for a permanent exile. In a fragment from his longest and most famous poem, the Aetia, Callimachus gives a hint that the φαρμακός ritual was performed at Abdera, a city on the coast of Thrace, in the third century bce. An ancient exposition of this poem states that in Abdera, a slave, bought in the market, was used to purify the city. Standing on a block of grey stone, he enjoyed a rich banquet, and so fed to the full he was led to the gates called Prurides. Then he went around the walls in a circle purifying the city in his own person, and then the basileus and the others threw stones at him until he was driven beyond the boundaries.38 A related ritual is mentioned by Strabo, who describes a shrine of Apollo on Leukas, an island off the west coast of mainland Greece. The shrine was situated on Cape Leukas and was the site of an ancestral cult practice. Every year, at the sacrifice performed in honor of Apollo, some criminal was cast down from the white rock into the sea below for the sake of averting evil, ἀποτροπῆς χάριν (“for the sake of warding off ”). Wings and birds of all kinds were fastened to him, to lighten the leap, and men in fishing boats were stationed below the rock in order to retrieve the victim after his plunge and

35  Phaedrus 275A–B. On the ambiguity of the term φάρμακον and its significance as a key to the interpretation of the Phaedrus, see Jacques Derrida, Dissemination (French ed., 1972; English ed., Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 63–75, 95–134. 36  Gebhard, Die Pharmakoi, 11–14. 37  Martin P. Nilsson, “Thargelia,” OCD, 2nd ed. (1970), 1051. 38 Callimachus, Aetia, frag. 90. For the text of the frag. from Callimachus and an English trans. of the ancient diegesis, see Trypanis, LCL. For discussion, see Hughes, Human Sacrifice, 157.

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to get him safely outside their borders.39 In all of these cases, the substitute is to take on himself all the defilement, sin, or misfortune of the members of the group and to carry it far from them. Although later commentators believed that the φαρμακός was killed during such rituals, he most probably was simply driven out into permanent exile rather than killed.40 But the logic of the φαρμακός ritual is very similar to a mythic and literary motif of voluntary death in a situation of crisis. This similarity may have given rise to the belief that the φαρμακός was killed. Some of the evidence for this kind of ritual implies a regular, usually an annual, practice. Other evidence implies that this ritual was carried out in times of crisis, such as an epidemic, famine, or war. The mythic and literary texts usually refer to such times of crisis. There is a notable difference between the reliable evidence for φαρμακός rituals, on the one hand, and mythic and literary representation of the same or similar patterns, on the other.41 The victims in the rituals are usually outsiders or persons of little socially defined worth, such as criminals, slaves, and ugly or deformed persons. In mythic and literary texts, the victims, who usually offer themselves voluntarily, are of relatively high status.42 For example, Pausanias says that just before a war between Thebes and Orchomenos, two girls took their own lives, following an oracle, in order that Thebes might win the war.43 The daughters of Orion took their own lives in order to stop a plague in Boeotia.44 The daughters of Erechtheus sacrificed themselves to prevent Eumolpus from 39  Strabo, Geographica 10.2.9; for discussion, see Hughes, Human Sacrifice, 160–62; see also Gregory Nagy, “Phaethon, Sappho’s Phaon, and the White Rock of Leukas,” HSCP 77 (1973): 137–77; here 141. 40  Hughes (Human Sacrifice, 152–55) argues that the φαρμακός was driven out, not killed, in the rituals; later writers inferred that he was killed from an etiological myth, whose details did not exactly reflect the actual ritual. 41  Bremmer, “Scapegoat Rituals,” 302–7. 42  Frazer argued that those who took the role of the scapegoat were noble or at least respectable people in early times, whereas in later times slaves and criminals were pressed into service; see his remarks about the Cronia on Rhodes and the Sacaea in Babylon in James George Fraser, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion, pt. 6, The Scapegoat, 3rd ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1935), 397. It is likely that the texts that speak about “early times” are literary or mythic fictions. 43  Pausanias 9.17.I. An oracle stated that Thebes would be successful in the war if their citizen of the noblest descent would consent to die by his own hand. The obvious candidate, Antipoenus, was unwilling to die for the people (πρὸ τοῦ δήμου), but his daughters, Androcleia and Alcis, were willing to do so (Jones, LCL). 44  Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoseon synagoge 25. Antoninus says that the daughters of Orion were named Metioche and Menippe. When the region was struck by a plague, an oracle informed the people that they had to appease two gods by the willing sacrifice (θῦμα) of two virgins. When the two young women heard about the oracle, they called out three times to the chthonic deities that they were sacrificing themselves willingly and took their own lives. Compare Ovid, Metamorphoses 13.685–701. Ovid says that they died for the people (pro populo), but he does not use sacrificial language.

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conquering Athens.45 And when Codrus, king of Athens, heard that the city could be taken only if the enemy spared the life of the king, he dressed in the clothing of an artisan or slave, went secretly to the enemy, and provoked his death, thus saving the city.46 It seems, then, that in the regular ritual the community gave up those they considered to be the least valuable members of society but made them symbolically important by feeding them at the expense of the state or dressing them as a person of high importance. In the mythical tales, a person of high standing could be given up without social loss.47 The difference in the nature of the person to be exiled or killed suggests a transformation in the logic of the ritual, actual or imagined. When the individual is despised and has low status, the logic may be that like attracts like: the disease or impurity is easily attached to the hapless individual. When the individual is of high status or possesses great, as yet untapped, potential, he or she more easily represents the community and dies as a substitute for it. One of the most powerful literary adaptations of the φαρμακός ritual is Sophocles’s Oedipus Rex. The character of Oedipus is double, enigmatic. He is in reality, is eventually revealed to be, and becomes the opposite of what he seems to be or is at the beginning of the play. The best of mortals is the worst of men; the king is a criminal; he who is renowned to all is abhorred by the gods. Seen from a human point of view, Oedipus is a leader with second sight, the equal of the gods, the highest of men. From the point of view of the gods, he is blind, equal to nothing, the lowest, who reaches the depths of misfortune. At the beginning of the play, Oedipus the Sage is placed far above other men, is revered like a god who dispenses justice and is able to save the city from the pestilence that plagues it. But at the end of the drama he is inverted into the opposite, Oedipusthe-Swollen-Foot, the abominable defilement in whom is concentrated all the impurity of the world, the criminal who must be expelled like a φαρμακός so that the town can regain its purity and be saved.48 This is of course the classic  See Bremmer, “Scapegoat Rituals,” 302 n. 20, and the literature cited there. Structure and History, 62–63, Greek Religion, 84; Hengel, The Cross of the Son of God, 201–2. See also Vernon K. Robbins, “The Reversed Contextualization of Psalm 22 in the Markan Crucifixion: A Socio rhetorical Analysis,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck, ed. F. van Segbroeck et al., BETL 100 (Leuven: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1992), 2.1161–83; here 1175. 47 Bremmer (“Scapegoat Rituals,” 302–7) argues that the actual ritual made use of lowly people, whereas the φαρμακός was transformed into a person of high rank as the ritual itself was transformed into a mythic and then a literary motif. 48 Jean-Pierre Vernant, “Ambiguity and Reversal: On the Enigmatic Structure of Oedipus Rex,” in Tragedy and Myth in Ancient Greece by Jean-Pierre Vernant and Pierre Vidal-Naquet, European Philosophy and the Human Sciences 7, trans. Janet Lloyd (Brighton, Sussex: Harvester Press; Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1981), 87–119; here 92–97. This book was first published under the title Mythe et Tragedie en Grèce Ancienne, 2 vols. (Paris: F. Maspero, 1972– 1986); the essay cited here was published in a different English translation in New literary his45

46 Burkert,

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tragic vision in which the destiny of Oedipus reflects the limits and ambiguity of human existence. The passage in the Gospel of Mark that resonates most strongly with the φαρμακός ritual is the scene in which the Roman soldiers mock Jesus (15:16–20). In the eyes of society, the status of Jesus is low; he is a criminal condemned to death. He is dressed up and treated like a king. The soldiers do this in mockery, but for the implied author and audience, the gesture is ironic affirmation of his actual kingship. From the point of view of the φαρμακός ritual, his dress and treatment as a king make him a fit offering to redeem the people. He is crowned with thorns, a wild plant which does not benefit society, analogous to the twigs of the wild fig tree with which the φαρμακός is driven out, according to the account of Hipponax.49 He is struck with a reed, as the φαρμακός is struck with the twigs. And in the context of Mark as a whole, his ignominious execution as a criminal is an atonement or a purification for many, as the φαρμακός saved or purified his community.

The Curriculum Vitae of the Poet In some of the ancient popular biographies and biographical traditions, the poet is inspired and commissioned by a divine being at the beginning of his life. In spite of this divine patronage, he is later mistreated or even killed by ungrateful men. Nevertheless, divine protection wins out, and he is vindicated after death. Often those who abused him are required by the gods through an oracle to honor him with a hero cult. This typical account of the poet’s life is shaped by the heroic pattern of violent death followed by divine vindication and honors. In the popular biography of Aesop, he is portrayed as a slave, ugly, and with a severe speech impediment.50 His low status is somewhat improved by divine power. After he assists a priestess of Isis, the goddess grants him the power of speech, and the nine Muses enable him to devise stories and tales. According to various biographical traditions about Aesop, he was wrongly accused by the tory 9 (1977–1978): 475–501; it is reprinted in Erich Segal, ed., Greek Tragedy: Modern Essays in Criticism (New York: Harper & Row, 1983), 189–209. 49  On the significance of the use of thorny, unproductive, or wild plants in the ritual of the φαρμακός, see Bremmer, “Scapegoat Rituals,” 308–13. 50  For the texts of the two Greek manuscripts and of a shorter Latin version, see Ben Edwin Perry, Aesopica, vol. 1, Greek and Latin Texts (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1952); for an ET, see Lloyd W. Daly, Aesop without Morals (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1961). For discussion, see Anton Wiechers, Aesop in Delphi (Meisenheim am Glan: A. Hain, 1961), 31–32; and Gregory Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 308. Bremmer (“Scapegoat Rituals,” 308) has argued that this description of Aesop and the events related to the end of his life characterize him as a φαρμακός type. On this point he agrees with Wiechers, F. R. Adrados (Francisco Adrados, “The ‘Life of Aesop’ and the Origins of the Novel in Antiquity,” Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica NS 30.1 [1979]: 93–112), and Nagy.

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people of Delphi of stealing a sacred bowl of Apollo, which they had deliberately hidden among his belongings as he left their city. He was then unjustly executed by them, according to one tradition, by being stoned to death, or, according to another, by being thrown from a cliff.51 The Delphians claimed that he should be put to death, not only as a temple robber, but also as a blasphemer (βλάσφημος).52 Near the end of the narrative, after his unjust trial and conviction, Aesop curses the people of Delphi, calls on the leader of the Muses to witness that his death is unjust, and throws himself over the cliff. Later the Delphians are afflicted with a famine. When they inquire, they receive an oracle instructing them to expiate the death of Aesop.53 The narrative ends with the remark that later the peoples of Greece, Babylon, and Samos avenged his death, presumably by making war on Delphi.54 A striking feature of the death of Aesop is that it is caused, not only by the Delphians, but also by Apollo, who is hostile to Aesop because he honored the Muses but slighted the leader of the Muses, Apollo himself.55 But Apollo is also beneficent toward Aesop since he sends a pestilence on the Delphians for killing him and commands through his oracle that they worship him as a cult hero.56 Thus, the god both causes and avenges the poet’s death. This divine ambivalence toward the hero is a very ancient theme.57 Analogous themes occur in the biographical traditions relating to Hesiod. At the beginning of the Theogony, he establishes his own poetic authority by telling how the Muses came to him, gave him a rod of laurel, and breathed into him a divine voice “to celebrate things that shall be and things that were aforetime.”58 According to some traditions, Hesiod was wrongly suspected of seducing a young woman and was therefore unjustly murdered by her brothers, who cast his body into the sea. On the third day, however, his body was brought to land by dolphins. The murderers were punished through divine intervention, and Hesiod received a tomb and inscription.59 An epigram attributed to Pindar implies the existence of a legend that Hesiod had lived a second life. A return from death, 51 One text combines both modes of execution (The Oxyrhynchus Papyri 1800); see Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 280–81; Wiechers, Aesop in Delphi, 33. 52 Vita Aesopi 132. 53 Vita G specifies that the oracle came from Zeus (sec. 142); Vita W simply refers to an oracle (sec. 142). (See Perry, Aesopica, for Vita G and Vita W.) 54  According to Nagy, the narrative gives a motivation for the First Sacred War and the institutional reality that all Delphi is sacred to Apollo (The Best of the Achaeans, 283–86). 55  Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 289–90. 56  So Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 302; but Vita G says that the oracle came from Zeus, and Vita W is ambiguous. At least one can say that the texts portray an ambivalence of the gods toward Aesop, if not specifically of Apollo. 57  Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 302–3. 58  Hesiod, Theogony 1–35 (Evelyn-White, LCL). 59  Of the Origin of Homer and Hesiod and Their Contest 323; compare Thucydides 3.96; Plutarch, Dinner of the Seven Wise Men 19 (= Moralia 162c–f ). For discussion, see Mary R. Lefkowitz, The Lives of the Greek Poets (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981),

like an extraordinarily long life, is a sign of heroic status.60 Like the bones of the heroes Orestes and Theseus, Hesiod’s remains were believed to have beneficial powers.61 A striking feature of the stories of Hesiod’s death told by Alcidamas and Ephorus is that they endow him with a hero’s ambivalent status, which combines events of violence with indications of divine support.62 Furthermore, the oracle given to Hesiod after his contest with Homer implies that his death was caused by the gods. Hesiod misunderstands the oracle and thus his attempt to prevent its fulfillment is foiled. Ambiguity is evident also in the tension between the divine causation of Hesiod’s death, on the one hand, and the divine vindication of him and vengeance for his murder, on the other.63 The modesty of the narrator in the Iliad and the humble pictures of bards in the Odyssey may have led to the portrayal of Homer as a humble itinerant in the biographical tradition.64 He travels from place to place primarily because of his poverty, and he suffers inhospitality and rejection in various places.65 Other aspects of the life of Homer are clearly derived from mythic patterns. For example, he was given the uncertain origins of a mythological hero. According to Aristotle, his mother was made pregnant by “some divinity” among the dancers in a festival of the Muses.66 This ambiguity is dissolved in Ephorus’s account, according to which Homer was illegitimate.67 The Life of Homer attributed to Herodotus, however, which dates to the late Hellenistic period, leaves the identity of Homer’s father a mystery.68 Like Hesiod, Homer suffered a degrading death away from his homeland.69 Homer’s death is also predicted by the oracle at Delphi,70 with the implication that it was divinely caused. Some biographical traditions portray his death as an ignominious slide into the mud after his failure to guess a riddle put to him by some boys.71 The Life of Homer softens this picture and implies that he 3–10. Compare the story of Arion, who is forced by robber-sailors to leap into the sea but is brought safely to land by a dolphin (Herodotus 1.23–24). 60  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 3–4. 61  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 10. 62 Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 6. 63 Of the Origin of Homer and Hesiod and Their Contest 322–323. See Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 29; on the antagonism of god and hero, see Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 289–97. 64 So Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 12. 65  The theme of the life of the lonely wanderer is especially prevalent in the epigrams attributed to Homer; see Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 16–17. 66  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 13. According to other traditions, he was the son of a Muse and Apollo or a direct descendant of Apollo through Orpheus or Musaeus (Lives of the Poets, 12). 67  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 14. 68  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 20; Life of Homer 2, ed. U. von WilamowitzMoellendorff, Vitae Homeri et Hesiodi (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1929); ET in Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 139–55; here 139. 69  This is clearest in the account of Alcidamas. See Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 18; and the works by R. Renehan and N. J. Richardson in Lefkowitz’s bibliography. 70  Of the Origin of Homer and Hesiod and Their Contest 315. 71 Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 17–19.

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died simply of weakness.72 In spite of his miserable death, he was honored both during his lifetime and with cults and statues afterward.73 Some of the same themes appear in the biographical traditions concerning the archaic lyric poet Archilochus. Like Hesiod, he had an extraordinary experience that revealed his destiny, becoming a poet. While he was leading a cow to market on a moonlit night, he met a group of women who offered to buy his cow. He agreed and they promised to pay him well. The women and the cow disappeared, and he saw a lyre lying beside him. He then realized that the women were the Muses.74 Like Homer, he also was said to have left his homeland because of poverty and destitution.75 His trial and its aftermath are similar to those of Aesop. The citizens of Paros convicted him for blasphemy against Dionysos. Later the Parians were accused by the oracle at Delphi of judging unjustly and told that there would be no relief from the plague afflicting them until they honored Archilochus.76 Like Aesop, he was known in the biographical traditions as a blasphemer (βλάσφημος) who vilified friends and enemies equally.77 Like the death of Hesiod, that of Archilochus is both caused and avenged by the gods. He is killed in battle by a man named “the Crow,” which is the bird of Apollo. But afterward, Apollo reprimands the man and tells him to give offerings to a hero named “the Cricket.” The cricket was sacred to the Muses, and Archilochus referred to himself as a cricket.78 These biographical traditions and Lives are complex works. Their tradents and authors no doubt had more than one purpose, and the texts more than one kind of impact or function. It seems, however, that, whether by design or intuition, the texts were composed in such a way that they reflect a deep ambivalence in the figure of the poet-hero, a despised outcast and at the same time a benefactor of humankind. The curriculum vitae of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark is remarkably similar to that of these poets. Although the evangelist was clearly an heir to the Jewish biblical and post-biblical tradition and incorporated many new traditions  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 20.  Of the Origin of Homer and Hesiod and Their Contest 324–325; note especially the cult established by the people of Argos and the statue with inscription that they set up. 74  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 27–28. This story appears on an inscription discovered on the island of Paros; for the Greek text and discussion, see Carl Werner Müller, “Die Archilochoslegende,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie NS 128 (1985): 99–151; here l00– 110. For the Greek text and a German translation, see Max Treu, Archilochos (Munich: Ernst Heimeran, 1959), 42–45. 75  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 25–26. 76 Todd Compton, “The Trial of the Satirist: Poetic Vitae (Aesop, Archilochus, Homer) as Background for Plato’s Apology,” AJP 111 (1990): 330–47; here 333–34. Anne Pippin Burnett doubts that there was an historical trial of Archilochus and suggests that the account of his life given in the inscription is shaped by the basic myth of the prophets of Dionysus: Three Archaic Poets, Archilochus, Alcaeus, Sappho (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983), 24. 77  Compton, “The Trial of the Satirist,” 334; Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 26–27. 78  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 29; Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 301–2. 72 73

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deriving from the movement which grew out of the activity of the historical Jesus, it seems likely that he was also familiar with Greek mythic, ritual, and popular biographical traditions as one able to write Greek and as a participant in the pluralistic culture of the eastern Mediterranean world in the early Roman imperial period. This literary pattern may have been employed deliberately or intuitively, but, I would submit, the Gospel owes much of its original and enduring effect to its presence. Like Hesiod and Archilochus, the Jesus of Mark has an experience near the beginning of the narrative, which to some extent reveals his calling. They experienced epiphanies or visions of the Muses, who enabled them to be poets; Jesus sees the heavens open and hears the divine voice address him as beloved son. The allusions to Scripture in the words of the divine voice suggest that Jesus is being appointed as messiah, prophet, or to an eschatological role that combines both offices. As Aesop was given gifts of wise speech by Isis and the Muses, Jesus is endowed with the divine spirit on this occasion, the power which enables him to teach with authority, to heal, and to cast out demons (Mark 1:9–11). As Archilochus was rejected by the Parians, Aesop by the Delphians, and Homer by various cities, the relatives of Jesus think that he is out of his mind, and his opponents accuse him of being possessed by Beelzebul and of casting out demons by being in league with their ruler (3:21–22). The Gerasenes ask him to leave their district (5:17), and he is rejected in Nazareth (6:1–6a). The people of Nazareth ask, “Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James [etc.]?” (6:3). These rhetorical questions may be taken as insults. Criticism of social background was a standard mode of invective. The compiler of the Life of Sophocles denied the statements of earlier writers that Sophocles’s father was a carpenter, a bronze-smith, or a sword-maker and defended his aristocratic background.79 The writers of Old Comedy made fun of Euripides by calling him the son of a woman who sold vegetables.80 The claim that Jesus himself was a carpenter could be an insult if taken literally. Compare Lucian’s mockery of Hesiod as a (mere) shepherd, an imposter.81 If taken figuratively, however, “carpenter” is equivalent to “poet.”82 The reference to Jesus as “son of Mary” could also be taken as an insult. It was usual to refer to a man as the son of his father, even when the father was dead.83 The reference to Jesus as the “son of Mary” could lead an uninformed or hostile reader to infer that the mother is 79 Lefkowitz,

Lives of the Greek Poets, 75.  Lefkowitz, Lives of the Greek Poets, 88. 81 Lucian, Saturnalia 6. 82 Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans, 297–300. 83 Detlev Dormeyer, “Die Familie Jesu und der Sohn der Maria im Markusevangelium (3,20 f.31–35; 6,3),” in Vom Urchristentum zu Jesus: Für Joachim Gnilka, ed. Hubert Frankemölle und Karl Kertelge (Freiburg: Herder, 1989), 109–35; here 129. Dormeyer argues that, from the perspective of Mark, the father should no longer be known because of the breaking in of the kingdom of God. 80

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named and not the father because the father was unknown and the son illegitimate. The author of Mark could leave open the possibility of such an inference because it makes the origin of Jesus mysterious, like that of Homer, and suggests a semi-divine or heroic status. As was the case with Hesiod and Homer, the death of Jesus is foretold by an oracle, in his case by repeated prophecies which he himself makes by the power of the divine spirit with which he is endowed. Unlike them, he does not misunderstand the oracle or seek to prevent its fulfillment but deliberately goes to Jerusalem in order to allow the divine plan to be carried out. But once again like them, there is ambiguity in his relationship to God. On the one hand, his death is divinely willed and ordained. This is clear from the prophetic predictions of his death, from the references to the fulfillment of Scripture, and from the prayer in Gethsemane. On the other hand, it is implied that those responsible for his death will experience divine punishment. This is clear from the parable of the wicked tenants and is implied by the prediction of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. Jesus himself is vindicated by his resurrection from the dead, which is announced by the “young man” in the tomb. Like the opponents of Jesus, the Delphians plotted to kill Aesop by deceit (δόλος).84 The Delphians were said to have convicted Aesop unjustly as a temple robber (ἱερόσυλον).85 Analogously, according to Mark’s narrative, Jesus is falsely accused of speaking against the temple by predicting its destruction and claiming to be able to replace the temple “built with hands” with a new temple “not built with hands” (14:56–59). According to tradition, Archilochus was convicted in a trial for using offensive language and was known as a “blasphemer” (βλάσφημος). Similarly, one of the reasons given for Aesop’s unjust condemnation to death was that he was a “blasphemer.” Analogously, Jesus is wrongly condemned to death, according to Mark, on the charge of blasphemy (14:61–64).86

Conclusion Many exegetes and theologians find the notion of sacrificial death offensive.87 Some deal with their distaste for the idea by arguing that it does not actually occur in the New Testament or by minimizing its presence. Such an attitude  Compare Vita Aesopi 127 with Mark 14:1–2. Aesopi 132 according to Vita W and p. Gol. (a papyrus acquired by W. Golenishchev and edited by G. Zereteli and 0. Krueger); see Perry, Aesopica, 75. 86 See also Mark 2:7, where the opponents of Jesus consider his activity of forgiving sins to be blasphemous. 87 For some, it is the idea itself that is offensive. For others, it is the lack of symmetry in its application that offends – that is, that women are more often expected to suffer vicariously. For a discussion of the fact that four of the five victims are women in Euripides’ plays involving human sacrifice, see Philip Vellacott, Ironic Drama: A Study of Euripides’ Method and Meaning (London: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 181–82. 84

85 Vita

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is not surprising given the fact that the foundation of metaphorical sacrifice, official sacrificial cults, was already criticized in antiquity. Greek philosophers began to raise questions in the sixth century bce. They pointed out that the gods do not need the offerings. They asked how the gods could be honored by killing and how the blood of an animal could purify a murderer. They asserted that true worship, worthy of the gods and of human beings, is the knowledge of God and a reverent, pure mind.88 According to the Hebrew prophet Isaiah, the Lord does not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of he-goats. What the Lord desires is that the people cease to do evil and learn to do good.89 If animal sacrifice was problematic, how much more so were the ritual killing and sacrifice of human beings, whether actual or imagined.90 Even voluntary death for the sake of the political community was not universally acclaimed. According to Livy, in 340 bce, the Roman army commanded by consuls P. Decius Mus and T. Manlius Torquatus joined battle with the allied Latins near Veseria. The troops commanded by Decius were losing ground, and defeat was imminent. Decius required the pontifex maximus to lead him in prayer and to pronounce the formula by which the general devoted his own life and the lives of the enemies to the gods of the underworld. He then mounted his horse and rode into the midst of the hostile army, deliberately seeking death. The son and grandson of Decius later gave their lives in a similar way.91 Cicero’s character Cotta comments on these legends: “Again, you think that the gods were actually propitiated by the voluntary deaths [devotionibus] of the Decii. But how can the gods have been so unjust that their wrath against the Roman people could only be appeased by the death of heroes like the Decii? No, the sacrifice of the Decii was a device of generalship … their notion was that if a commander rode full gallop against the foe his troops would follow him, and so it proved.”92 88  See Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier, “Opfer: Religionswissenschaftliche Bemerkungen zur Nutzbarkeit eines religiösen Ausdrucks,” in Der Krieg in den Köpfen: Beiträge zum Tübinger Friedenskongreß “Krieg  – Kultur  – Wissenschaft,” ed. Hans-Joachim Althaus et al., Untersuchungen des Ludwig-Uhland-Instituts der Universität Tübingen 73 (Tübingen: Tübinger Vereinigung für Volkskunde, 1988), 109–20; here 112. 89  Isa 1:11, 17. 90  See Albert Henrichs, “Human Sacrifice in Greek Religion: Three Case Studies,” in Le Sacrifice dans l’antiquité, ed. Jean Rudhardt and Olivier Reverdin, Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 27 (Geneva: Fondation Hardt, 1981), 195–235. 91  Livy 8.9–10; see H. S. Versnel, “Self-Sacrifice, Compensation, and the Anonymous Gods,” in Le Sacrifice dans l’antiquité, eds. Rudhardt and Reverdin, 135–94; here 139, and “Two Types of Roman Devotio,” Mnemosyne 29 (1976): 365–410; Williams, Jesus’ Death, 160–61. 92  Cicero, De natura deorum 3.6.15; trans. (modified) from Rackham, LCL. Although Otho mentioned Decius as a model for his own voluntary death, Otho’s suicide fits much better the category of the noble death. On the latter, see Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” ST 47 (1993): 3–28, and “From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah.” (Both of these essays are included in the present volume.) Otho teJls his supporters that he intends to show by his death that they chose for their emperor “one who would not give you up to save himself, but rather himself to save you” (ὅστις οὐχ ὑμᾶς ὑπὲρ ἑαυτοῦ ἀλλ’ ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν δέδωκε); Diο

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According to Plutarch, Pelopidas had a dream before a major battle that he should sacrifice a virgin with auburn hair. The injunction seemed dreadful to him, but he reported the dream to the seers and commanders nonetheless. In the debate that followed, those who were against the idea argued “that such a lawless and barbarous sacrifice [θυσία] was not acceptable to any one of the superior beings above us [οἱ κρείττονες], for it was not the fabled typhons and giants who governed the world, but the father of all gods and men; even to believe in the existence of divine beings who take delight in the slaughter and blood of men was perhaps a folly, but if such beings existed, they must be disregarded, as having no power; for only weakness and depravity could produce or harbor such unnatural and cruel desires.”93 In anthropologically oriented studies in the history of religion in the late nineteenth and the twentieth century, sacrifice involving the shedding of blood has been identified as a key ritual, as an instance of the integration of the society in which it takes place.94 Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier has criticized those theories that associate sacrifice with an existential, shattering experience that refounds the solidarity of the community.95 She also criticizes the “modern ideology of sacrifice” because it sacralizes killing and being killed; it leads to the glorification and honor of those who have been killed; and it exonerates those who have done the killing. In short, it mobilizes the masses to accept violence and war by sacralizing them.96 These criticisms of sacrifice and sacrificial metaphors are all quite rational, moral, and persuasive. But we would do well to pay heed to a remark by Albert Henrichs: “It remains to ask, although I shall forgo the answer, why Greeks of so vastly different periods and backgrounds were so preoccupied with the notion of human sacrifice, even though they repudiated its practice. I suspect that the proper answer would have to do no less with human nature in general than with the Greeks as such.”97 There is, I believe, a common experience that explains the fascination with human sacrifice and the reason that its metaphors are so powerful. Human beings are subject to sudden variations in their experiences Cassius, Roman History 63.13 (Cary, LCL). Neither this saying nor the context evokes motifs of sacrifice or devotio. In spite of the allusion to Decius, the death of Otho in Dio’s account has been interpreted in entirely rational and ethical terms as a noble and honorable death (see Dio Cassius, Roman History 63.15). 93  Plutarch, Pelopidas 21.4 (Perrin, LCL). 94  E. g., Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss, Essai sur la nature et la fonction du sacrifice (Paris: Felix Alcan, 1899); G. Gusdorf, L’expérience humaine du sacrifice (Paris: Universitaires de France, 1948); René Girard, La violence et le sacré (Paris: Bernard Grasset, 1972); Walter Burkert, Homo necans (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972). For discussion, see Cancik-Lindemaier, “Opfer,” 115–17; Versnel, “Self-Sacrifice,” 182–83. 95  Cancik-Lindemaier, “Opfer,” 116. 96  Cancik-Lindemaier, “Opfer,” 115, 119–20. 97  Henrichs, “Human Sacrifice,” 234.

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and fortunes. From these experiences they infer a transcendent power that is double; a power that heals and kills, that blesses and curses, that gives and takes away.98 Because the idea of the total arbitrariness of this alternation is too hard to bear, people posit a principle of equilibrium and balance, whose disturbance must be restored by compensatory acts.99 The saying that Jesus pronounces over the cup in Mark 14:24 makes clear that the author of Mark inherited a tradition about the sacrificial death of Jesus and was able to incorporate and affirm that tradition. The saying about the Son of Man coming to lay down his life as a ransom for many also shows that the author affirmed Jesus’s death as effective in a powerful way that benefited others.100 The scene in which the soldiers mock Jesus seems to be a literary reconfiguration of the ritual in which the φαρμακός takes on himself all the impurity, disease, and sin of the community.101 But the dominant portrayal of the death of Jesus in Mark is a narrative recounting conspiracy, betrayal, and deceit on the part of his fellow human beings and disturbing ambiguity in his relationship with God. These narrative elements in Mark make the portrayal of Jesus similar to that of the poet-heroes in the Greek popular biographical traditions. The deity abandons his favorite. The hero is vindicated, but only after degrading humiliation. Those who despised and mistreated him are punished. The fact that the Gospel of Mark shares this pattern with popular biographies does not mean that Mark is a biography.102 Mark differs from the biographies in its presentation of the story of Jesus as the fulfillment of the promises of the Jewish Scriptures and in its apocalyptic expectation of Jesus’s return as the Son of Man. Like other followers of Jesus before him, the author of Mark struggled to find meaning in the ignominious death of Jesus. Metaphorical transformations of rituals of sacrifice and substitution offer such meaning at certain points in the narrative. The pattern expressing the hero’s destiny served to structure the narrative as a whole and thus to provide the dominant framework of meaning. This pattern is adapted  98 Although I am not persuaded by Girard’s theories about violence and the sacred, his formulation of the beliefs that humans infer from sudden variations in fortunes is insightful; see Rene Girard, Le Bouc émissaire (Paris: Bernard Grasset. 1982); ET: The Scapegoat, trans. Yvonne Freccero (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 44. Whereas Girard argues that such shifts lead to concrete, historical acts of scape-goating, I see them as the basis for the origin and continuing practice of substitution rituals and the development of metaphorical understandings of human death as sacrifice and as effectively beneficial in other ways.  99 This is the thesis of Versnel, “Self-Sacrifice,” 176. See also his discussion of blindfolded Tyche, Nemesis, etc., on 174–79. 100 Mark 10:45; a detailed discussion of this saying is beyond the scope of this essay. See Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Signification of Mark 10:45 among Gentile Christians,” HTR 90 (1997): 371–82. This essay is included in the present volume. 101  Mark 15:16–20. 102 See the discussion of the genre of the Gospel of Mark in Adela Yarbro Collins, “Genre and the Gospels”; a review article on Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography,” JR 75 (1995): 239–46. This essay is included in the present volume.

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to an apocalyptic framework in that the vindication of Jesus takes the apocalyptic form of his resurrection and exaltation as Son of Man; the apocalyptic perspective is especially evident in the expectation of his imminent return.103

 Mark 13:24–27.

103

The Signification of Mark 10:45 among Gentile Christians This essay attempts to show the importance of certain inscriptions for the signification of the saying attributed to Jesus in Mark 10:45, “For the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”1 Both parts of the saying have links to the Markan context. The claim that “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve” presents Jesus as the model for a communal life of mutual service advocated in 10:41–44. The remark that he came to give his life “as a ransom for many” takes up and clarifies the cryptic question that Jesus put to the sons of Zebedee in 10:38, “Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am about to be baptized?”2 Nevertheless, I hesitate to conclude that Mark created the saying de novo. Both parts of the saying, separately or together, probably have a pre-Markan history.3 The reconstruction of that history is beyond the scope of this essay. Rather, my present concern is with how the readers and hearers of Mark’s Gospel in the first three centuries of the Common Era would have understood this saying, especially its second part. Those members of the audience intimately familiar with the Jewish Scriptures would have perceived allusions to Isaiah in this saying. According to the Septuagint version of Isa 53:11, the servant of the Lord is a just man who serves many well (δίκαιον εὖ δουλεύοντα πολλοῖς). The following verse adds that “his life was given over to death” (παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ) and that “he 1  The antithetical structure of Mark 10:45 and its meaning are strikingly similar to a saying that Dio Cassius attributed to Otho: “I shall free myself [that is, take my own life], that all may learn from the deed that you chose for your emperor one who would not give you up to save himself, but rather himself to save you” (ὅστις οὐχ ὑμᾶς ὑπὲρ ἑαὐτοῦ αλλ’ ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν δέδωκε); Dio Cassius 63.13 (Cary, LCL). I am grateful to Dieter Georgi for calling this passage to my attention. An important difference between it and Mark 10:45, however, is the use of the term λύτρον (“ransom”) in Mark. As I will show below, this term has cultic and expiatory connotations. Although some of the exempla cited by Otho have cultic connotations, his own death is portrayed as a noble and honorable death with no such connotations. 2 All translations from the Greek New Testament are by the author. 3 See the discussion in Wolfgang Kraus, Der Tod Jesu als Heiligtumsweihe: Eine Untersuchung zum Umfeld der Sühnevorstellung in Römer 3.25–26a, WMANT 66 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991), 194–97. Max Wilcox goes so far as to argue that the entire saying originated with the historical Jesus: “On the Ransom-Saying in Mark 10:45c, Matt 20:28c,” in Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Hubert Cancik, Hermann Lichtenberger, and Peter Schäfer, vol. 3, Frühes Christentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 173–86.

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bore the sins of many” (καὶ αὐτὸς ἁμαρτίας πολλῶν ἀνήνεγκε). The language of “bearing sins” casts the servant in the role of the scapegoat, and the Hebrew version describes him as an offering for sin, as well as a scapegoat.4 The image of ransom, however, does not occur in this passage. It does of course appear elsewhere in the Jewish Scriptures, and informed members of the audience may well have interpreted Mark 10:45 in light of one or more of those occurrences.5 The focus of this essay, however, is how, in the Roman imperial period, Christians familiar with Hellenistic cultic traditions would have understood the saying.6

Epigraphical Evidence An inscription that sheds light on this question was found by William M. Ramsay in 1884 in Synaus, a city of Lydia in western Asia Minor. At some point before 1889, the small marble stele containing the inscription was moved to Kula, where Karl Buresch saw it. He published an epigraphical drawing and transcription in his 1898 book Aus Lydien. Γαλλικῷ Ἀσκληπιὰς κώμης Κερυζέων πα(ι)δίσκη (Δ)ιογένου λύτρον. This transcription may be translated: To (Men) Gallikos Asklepias, a female slave of the village of the Keryzeis, (dedicates this stele as) a ransom for Diogenes.7 His transcription of the first word as Γαλλικῷ implies that it is the dative masculine singular of Γαλλικός, which then becomes an ethnic epithet of the god Men, who appears in a bas-relief above the inscription. Men was a Phrygian deity, whose worship is widely attested through Isa 53:10 MT.

4

5 The noun λύτρον occurs in the singular in Lev 27:31; Prov 6:35; and 13:8. The plural occurs

in Exod 21:30 (twice); Exod 30:12; Lev 19:20; 25:24, 26, 51, 52; Num 3:12, 46, 48, 49, 51; 18:15; 35:31; and Isa 45:13. For a discussion of those passages in the Jewish Scriptures in which the ransom is for a forfeited life and is paid to God, see Joachim Jeremias, “Das Lösegeld für viele (Mk. 10,45),” Judaica 3 (1947–1948): 249–64. 6  In addressing this topic I am taking up a suggestion made by Hans-Josef Klauck in “Die kleinasiatische Beichtinschriften und das Neue Testament,” in Geschichte  – Tradition  – Reflexion, ed. Cancik et al., 63–87. I am grateful to him for giving me a pre-publication copy of his article. On p. 80 of the published version he states that the non-Jewish sources in which words related to λύτρον occur are possible indicators of the way Mark 10:45 and 1 Peter 1:18 were understood in the history of the reception of these texts. See also Klauck, “Heil ohne Heilung? Zu Metaphorik und Hermeneutik der Rede von Sünde und Vergebung im Neuen Testament,” in Sünde und Erlösung im Neuen Testament, ed. Hubert Frankemölle (Freiburg: Herder, 1996), 18–52. I am grateful also to Hendrik Versnel for calling these inscriptions to my attention in a personal conversation. 7 Karl Buresch, Aus Lydien: Epigraphisch-geographische Reisefrüchte, ed. Otto Ribbeck (Leipzig: Teubner, 1898), 86–89. The drawing and transcription are given on p. 87. The stele is no. 90 in Eugene N. Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis Dei Menis, vol. 1: The Monuments and Inscriptions, EPRO 19 (Leiden: Brill, 1971), 59. See also G. H. R. Horsley, ed. New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri published in 1977 (North Ryde, Australia: Macquarie University Press, 1982), 2.90 no. 58.

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out Anatolia; he was also worshipped in Attica and at other Greek sites. His main symbol was the crescent moon, and he was known especially as a healer, protector of tombs, and giver of oracles. The transcription Ἀσκληπιάς takes the word as a woman’s name. Adolf Deissmann published a photograph of this stele in his Light from the Ancient East and, following these transcriptions, translated the inscription as follows, “To Gallicus [= the god Men], Asclepias of the village of Ceryza, maidservant of Liogenes [Diogenes?], presents this ransom.” He further suggested that the word λύτρον here probably meant that the woman was releasing herself from a vow.8 In 1916 William H. Buckler proposed that the first line be read, Γαλλικὼ Ἀσκληπίας.9 He thus took Γαλλικῷ to be a woman’s name and Ἀσκληπίας to be an adjective modifying κώμης (“village”). His translation therefore reads, “Galliko, female slave of the Asklepian village of the Keryzeis, [dedicates this as] a ransom of Diogenes.” He rejected the idea of a cult of “Gallic” Men as highly improbable. Eugene Lane, however, argued that the attestation of a cult of Men Italikos suggested that a cult associated with Men Gallikos was no longer improbable. He suggested that the most profitable line of investigation would be in the direction of the Γάλλοι (priests of Cybele), Γαλάται (Galatians), and Γάλλος (the name of several rivers in Asia Minor).10 The epithet “Gallikos” for Men, however, remains unattested.11 In the case of inscriptions of this type, the name of the person dedicating the stele is usually given, but not necessarily in the case of a slave.12 The name of a deity whose effigy is depicted on a stele need not appear in the text engraved below that image.13 Buckler’s reading of Γαλλικώ as a woman’s name, therefore, remains plausible. His interpretation of the ransom as one for Liogenes (or Diogenes) is also more persuasive than Deissmann’s interpretation since, as Buresch had already pointed out, there is punctuation and a large space between the word παι(ι)δίσκη (“female slave”) and the name  8  Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient Near East, rev. ed., trans. Lionel R. M. Strachan (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1927), 328 n. 1. The photograph is on the facing page (fig. 60). According to William H. Buckler, this translation was already given in the 1910 English edition of the book: “Some Lydian Propitiatory Inscriptions,” Annual of the British School at Athens 21 (1914–1916), 169–83; here 182.  9  Buckler, “Some Lydian Propitiatory Inscriptions,” 182. 10  Eugene N. Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis Dei Menis, vol. 3, Interpretations and Testimonia, EPRO 19 (Leiden: Brill, 1976), 73. 11 The god Men had many epithets, some of which denote location. He appears on coins from Galatia; one of these, which dates to Trajan’s reign, may depict a cult statue of Men in a temple in the Galatian capital Ankyra. See Rainer Vollkommer, “Men,” Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, 8 vols. in 16 (Zürich: Artemis, 1992), 6.1.462–73; here 462, 466–67, and 472. As far as I have been able to discover, however, the epithet “Gallikos” is not attested. I am grateful to Annewies van den Hoek for calling this important lexicon to my attention. 12 See Avery Cameron, “Inscriptions Relating to Sacral Manumission and Confession,” HTR 32 (1939): 143–79; here 154. 13  Buckler, “Some Lydian Propitiatory Inscriptions,” 182.

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Liogenes, whereas the word λύτρον (“ransom”) is placed immediately below the name Liogenes.14 Finally, in light of other inscriptions from this area, Buckler is convincing when he suggests that the λύτρον is a propitiatory “ransom,” given on behalf of Liogenes/Diogenes, who may have dedicated the stele himself; if, however, “Galliko” dedicated it, she apparently did so on behalf of Liogenes/ Diogenes, who may have been her father or husband.15 In 1994 Georg Petzl proposed that Λιογένου/Διογένου be taken as a subjective genitive. This interpretation implies that the female slave was the λύτρον of Diogenes, whom he dedicated to the sacred village or to the god as compensation for some offense of his own.16 The inscription mentioning “Galliko” or “Gallikos” is undated. Buresch published another inscription containing the word λύτρον, this one dated to 143 ce.17 It has been transcribed and translated as follows: Ἔτους σκζ´  Ἀρτεμίδω(ρος) Διοδότου καὶ Ἀμιὰς μετὰ τῶν συνγενῶν ἐξ ἰδότων καὶ μὴ ἰδότων λύτρον κατ’ ἐπιταγὴν Μηνὶ Τυράννῳ καὶ Διὶ Ὀγμηνῷ καὶ τοῖς σὺν αὐτῷ θεοῖ(ς). Year 227 (= 143 ce).  Artemidoros son of Diodotos and Amias with their relatives, both those who are aware and those who are not (?), [dedicated this as] a ransom, in accordance with an injunction, to Men Tyrannos and Zeus Ogmenos and the gods in his company.18

This translation implies that some, but not all, of the relatives were aware of something, perhaps the sin that had to be “ransomed” or the fact that a stele was being dedicated. In 1962, another inscription was published in which the phrase ἐξ εἰδότων καὶ μὴ εἰδότων occurs. In this second text, however, the phrase clearly does not modify the relatives.19 The inscription as a whole reads: Μῆνα ἐγ Διοδότου Ἀλέξανδρος Θαλούσης μετὰ Ἰουλίου καὶ τῆς ἀδελφῆς ἐλυτρώσαντο τὸν θεὸν ἐξ εἰδότων καὶ μὴ εἰδότων. Ἔτους σλγ´. “Alexander, son of Thalouse, with Julius and his sister paid to the god Men of Diodotos a ransom for things known and not known. Year 233 (= 148–149 ce).”20 Lane argued that, however awkward  Buresch, Aus Lydien, 88.  Buckler, “Some Lydian Propitiatory Inscriptions,” 183. 16  Georg Petzl, ed., Die Beichtinschriften Westkleinasiens, Epigraphica Anatolica: Zeitschrift für Epigraphica und historische Geographie Anatoliens 22 (Bonn: Rudolf Habelt, 1994), xi n. 16. 17  Buresch, Aus Lydien, 87. This inscription is no. 61 in Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 1.41–42. 18 Transcription and trans. from Horsley, New Documents 1977, 90 no. 58. 19  Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 1.44 no. 66. See the discussion in the third volume of this work (3.22–23). 20 Transcription and trans. are from Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1978 (North Ryde, Australia: Macquarie University Press, 1983), 3.72 no. 46. 14 15

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and difficult it may seem, the only proper explanation involved taking the active participles “knowing” and “not knowing” passively.21 The inscription thus attests a ritual act by means of which people secured their release from the effects of deliberate and unwitting sins. The ritual act may have involved the payment of a sum of money to functionaries of the cult of Men founded by Diodotus, or it may simply have been identical with the process of setting up the stele itself. Another difficulty of the inscription found in 1962 is that the name of the deity appears in the accusative case instead of the dative. G. H. R. Horsley argued that the middle form of the verb implies that Alexander and the others are ransoming themselves, and thus he translated the accusative Μῆνα as if it were dative. The syntax of the inscription, however, implies that the notion of “ransom” was not always present. In other words, the verb λυτροῦμαι in this case is synonymous with ἱλάσκομαι, with the meaning “propitiate, cause a deity to become favorably inclined.” The implication is that Alexander, Julius, and his sister had lost divine favor because of some offense for which the ritual act serves as expiation.22 Many of the inscriptions using the word λύτρον and its cognates appear to belong to a larger group known as “the confessional inscriptions of western Asia Minor.”23 The sequence of offense, misfortune interpreted as punishment for the offense, and “ransoming” or propitiation, sometimes involves persons other than the offending individual. In cases involving death, relatives make amends, either to the gods alone or to the gods and people harmed by the offense. The punishment likewise could fall upon other members of the family.24 Finally, it is interesting to note that later Christian inscriptions use the word λύτρον in the same way as these Lydian inscriptions. For example, a fifth or sixth century ce inscription from Cilicia speaks of two painted wooden icons that the clergy have dedicated λύτρου χάριν (“as a ransom” or “as propitiation”) for some offense. Similarly, a seventh-century inscription from the Mount of Olives attests that a certain Symeon built and dedicated an oratory for “our master, Christ” (ὑπὲρ λύτρου τῶν αὑτοˆυ ἁμαρτιῶν κ(αὶ) ἀναπαύσεως τῶν αὑτοˆυ ἀδελφ(ῶν) (for a ransom of his sins and to set his brothers at rest”).25

 Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 3.22–23.  Compare the discussion by Klauck (“Die kleinasiatischen Beichtinschriften,” 79–82), in which he shows that normally the words λύω, λύτρον, and λυτροˆυμαι represent the act of atonement (that is, the removal of the problem), whereas the terms ἱλάσκομαι and ἐξιλάσκομαι are used to express the result of the process. Terms from the two word groups seem to be synonymous in two inscriptions in Petzl’s collection (Beichtinschriften, 54.16 and 65.27–32 on pp. 63, 89). 23  Note the title of Klauck’s article cited in the previous note, in which he follows Franz Seraph Steinleitner, Die Beicht im Zusammenhange mit der sakralen Rechtspflege in der Antike (Munich: Wild, 1913); and Petzl, Beichtinschriften. 24  See the examples cited and the discussion in Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 3.30. 25  See Horsley, New Documents 1978, 3.74. 21 22

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The Usage and Meaning of λύτρον As already indicated, scholars usually translate λύτρον as “ransom.” This translation implies that the donors of these inscriptions understood their ritual acts by analogy with the practices of ordinary and sacral manumission.26 The verb ἀπολύειν, for example, appears in an inscription regarding the act of manumitting two female slaves by dedication to a goddess.27 Deissmann referred to three documents from Oxyrhynchus relating to manumission dating from the years 86, 100, and 91 or 107 ce that use the word λύτρον.28 Two of these use the phrase ἐπὶ λύτροις (“by ransom”) to indicate that the slave has obtained freedom through the payment of a sum of money, probably at his or her own initiative.29 In the third document, one of two brothers emancipating a slave says that he has received “the ransom” (τὰ λύτρα), that is, a sum of money.30 If the logic of the ritual act derives from the social practices associated with manumission, the practice implies that human beings, by committing offenses against the gods, make themselves slaves of the gods and must pay a sum or perform a ritual act to free themselves. Thereafter they can resume good relations with the deity.31 A closely related set of social practices has to do with the ransoming of prisoners of war.32 A peace treaty between Miletos and Magnesia from the second century bce states that the Magnesians gave the Milesian prisoners of war to the Rhodians “without ransom” (ἄνευ λύτρου).33 An inscription from Delphi, also in the context of war and dating to the first century bce, states that Ammia released (ἀπέλυσε) Synphoros from service (τᾶς παραμονᾶς) after having achieved [her

 So Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 327–28; so also Klauck (“Die kleinasiatischen Beichtinschriften,” 80), who mentions Steinleitner, Die Beicht, and Franz Bömer, Untersuchungen über the Religion der Sklaven in Griechenland und Rom, vol. 2, Die sogennante sakrale Freilassung in Griechenland und die δοῦλοι ἱεροί, Abhandlungen der Academie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur in Mainz, Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftliche Klasse 1960/1961 (Mainz: Steiner, 1960). As well as Deissmann and Cameron, “Sacral Manumission and Confession,” Klauck also mentions S. R. Llewelyn and R. A. Kearsley, eds., New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity 1980–1981 (North Ryde, Australia: Macquarie University Press, 1992), 6.70–81; I was, however, unable to find the word group λύτρον in the documents cited and discussed there. 27  Cameron, “Sacral Manumission and Confession,” 154. 28  Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East, 327–28. 29 See Bernard P. Grenfell and Arthur S. Hunt, eds., The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, 63 vols. (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1989–1966), 1.105–7. 30  Grenfell and Hunt, Oxyrhynchus Papyri, 4.199–203. 31 This is the interpretation proposed by Steinleitner, Die Beicht, which is summarized by Lane, Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 3.22 n. 20. 32  Wilcox (“On the Ransom Saying,” 178) argues that the term λύτρον in Mark 10:45 should be interpreted in relation to payment for release of prisoners or hostages. He supports this conclusion with reference to the use of the term by Josephus. 33  SIG3 588.68–69, cited in Horsley, New Documents 1978, 3.74. 26

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own] ransoming from the enemy (λαβοῦσα λύτρα ἐκ πολεμών).34 The logic of the ritual act from this perspective is that human beings who have committed offenses are captives of the gods, suffering disease or other punishment, and that they must pay a sum or perform a ritual act to move the gods to free them from this captivity.35 Petzl included two inscriptions in his collection that imply that the offender is held captive by the god. One of these quotes the god Men as saying, “You may open the prison (φυλακή), I release (ἐξαφίω) the offender.”36 The other inscription notes that the gods have confined a woman to a temple as divine punishment.37 Petzl leaves open the possibility that these confinements were literal but notes that Ender Varinlioglu has interpreted them metaphorically.38 The inference that the confinement was literal finds support in evidence from the collected papers of Ptolemaios, son of Glaukias, an archive from the Sarapieion in the Egyptian city of Memphis. These papers date from the middle of the second century bce.39 This man came to the Sarapieion in 172 bce and, like a number of his contemporaries, was “held” there by the god. This κατοχή (“captivity”) involved physical confinement to a pastophorion (a storeroom or a priest’s cell shared with another detainee); this one was located in the Astartieion.40 Since the evidence is limited, various interpretations of this “possession” or “detention” have been proposed. In 1927 Ulrich Wilcken published almost all of the Greek evidence relevant to the discussions, and some of the Demotic.41 Some scholars have argued that the detention had a legal origin, arising from debt or misdemeanor.42 Others have concluded that the detention was primarily religious, following an omen or sign and involving some form of self-dedication of the detainee.43 Referring to Canaanite precedents, Lienhard Delekat adopted elements from both approaches.44 Since the detainees in Memphis were involved in the cult of Astarte, it may be that the practice of detention derived from  SIG2 863.4, cited in Horsley, New Documents 1978, 3.74. (Corpus Monumentorum Religionis, 3.22) has proposed an explanation of this type. 36  Petzl, Beichtinschriften, 5.24 (p. 8). 37 Petzl, Beichtinschriften, 33.2–3 (p. 39). 38 Petzl, Beichtinschriften, pp. 10–11, 39. 39 Dorothy J. Thompson, Memphis under the Ptolemies (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 212–65. I am grateful to Janet Johnson for referring me to Thompson’s work on this subject. 40 This shrine dedicated to Astarte was part of the Sarapieion complex. See Thompson, Memphis, 214, 215–18. 41  Cited by Thompson, Memphis, 217. Ulrich Wilcken, ed., Urkunden der Ptolemäerzeit (ältere Funde), vol. 1: Papyri aus Unterägypten (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1927). Lienhard Delekat and Willy Clarysse have reassessed some of the evidence; see Thompson, Memphis, 217. 42  K. Sethe (1913); F. von Woess (1923), and others; see Thompson, Memphis, 217 with n. 26. 43 See Wilcken, Urkunden der Ptolemäerzeit, and earlier scholars whom he cites; for full bibliographical information, see Thompson, Memphis, 217–18 with n. 27. 44  See Thompson, Memphis, 217 n. 27. 34

35 Lane

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Phoenicia or Canaan.45 The custom of detention in western Asia Minor may have derived from or been influenced by similar practices in Phoenicia, Canaan, or Egypt. The confessional inscriptions from western Asia Minor collectively suggest, then, that such detentions had both legal and religious aspects. Carolyn Osiek has shown that Christians in the second century were more concerned with ransoming prisoners than with freeing slaves. Moreover, they adapted to changing circumstances the traditional exhortation to ransom prisoners so that the focus came to be upon efforts to secure the release of Christians imprisoned for their faith. Such release was obtained by bribing minor officials in whose custody the condemned “criminals” were kept.46 A passage from the Didache shows, however, that the understanding of ransom expressed in the inscriptions of Asia Minor was also familiar to Christians of this period: Be not one who stretches out his hands to receive, but shuts them when it comes to giving. Of whatsoever you have gained by your hands you shall give a ransom (λύτρωσιν) for your sins. You shall not hesitate to give, nor shall you grumble when you give, for you shall know who is the good paymaster of the reward.47

The cultic act has been transformed into the practice of giving alms or contributing to the common chest, but the symbolic framework of meaning is the same: sins are to be “ransomed” or “expiated” by some act that pleases the deity.

Magical and Religious Usage of λύτρον The word group λύειν also plays a role in the Greek magical papyri. Many spells make use of the language of binding, for example, a spell recommended as a “wondrous spell for binding a lover.”48 Other magical texts use language of loosing. A fragmentary text that may be a horoscope mentions a “spell of release.”49 Similarly, a bilingual Greek and Coptic spell for revelation contains the following statement in the instructions for the Phylactery: “Here is what is to be written (ἔστιν δὲ τὰ γραφόμενα): I bind and loose (Shteit Chien Tenha).”50  Thompson, Memphis, 218 with n. 32.  Carolyn Osiek, “The Ransom of Captives: Evolution of a Tradition,” HTR 74 (1981): 365–

45 46

86.

 Did. 4.5–7. IV.296–466. The Greek title is Φιλτροκατάδεσμος θαυμαστός (line 296). The ET is by Edward N. O’Neil in The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation including the Demotic Spells, Hans Dieter Betz, ed., 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 44–47. The Greek text is from Karl Preisendanz, ed., Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1928), 1.83–88. 49  PGM III.275–81. The Greek term is ἀπόλυ(σιν) (line 279). Trans. by O’Neil, Greek Magical Papyri, 26. Greek text in Preisendanz, Papyri Graecae Magicae, 1.44. 50  PGM IV.52–85. The citation is from lines 82–83. Trans. by Hubert Martin, Jr., and Marvin W. Meyer in Betz, Greek Magical Papyri, 38. Text in Preisendanz, Papyri Graecae Magicae, 1.70. 47

48 PGM

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In another text the would-be magician is told: “If you want to break spells (ἐὰν πρὸς λύσιν φαρμάκων): having written the Name on a page of hieratic papyrus, wear it.”51 Finally, a charm to counter enchantment contains the words, “dissolve every enchantment against me, NN, for I conjure you by the great and terrible names which the winds fear and the rocks split when they hear it [sic].” The opening words of the command read, λύσατε πᾶν φάρμακον (“break every spell”).52 These magical texts reflect viewpoints similar to those that some scholars find in the confessional inscriptions. Some of the inscriptions may be understood to mean that human beings who are suffering misfortune consider themselves to be captives of the gods who send adversity as punishment for offenses. The ritual act releases humans from such captivity. Analogously, the magical texts suggest that human beings may suffer misfortune because they are bound by a spell. Such spells are the work of other human beings, usually with divine or at least suprahuman assistance. Just as magicians can bind by casting spells, they can also loose, break, or dissolve those spells by means of a ritual act. Also relevant are two gold leaves discovered in a burial in Thessaly, dating to the end of the fourth century bce.53 The text presupposes that the deceased initiate is to stand before the judgment seat of Persephone to answer her questions. The initiate is able to say, “I have been released by Bakchios himself ” (Βάκχιος αὐτὸς ἔλυσε).54 The release apparently occurred during the lifetime of the deceased through the proper sacrifices and rites.55 Dionysos is one of the λύσιοι θεοί and is variously called Λύσιος, Λυσεύς, and Λυσαῖος, which may mean “deliverer from curse of sin.” His rites were called λύσιοι.56

51  PGM XIII.1–343. The citation is from lines 253–54. Trans. by Morton Smith in Betz, Greek Magical Papyri, 172–82. Text in Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2nd rev. ed., ed. Karl Preisendanz and Albert Henrichs (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1974), 2.87–105. See also PGM XXXVI.178–87: “a charm to break spells” (Λυσιφάρμακον); and PGM LXX.26–51, esp. line 26: “against fear and to dissolve spells” (πρὸς φόβον καὶ ἀναλύων). 52  PGM XXXVI.256–64. Trans. by Morton Smith in Betz, Greek Magical Papyri, 275. Text in Preisendanz and Henrichs, Papyri Graecae Magicae, 2.171. The text of an exorcistic phylactery from Xanthos (dating from the fourth to the sixth century ce), adjures the demon to release (ἀλλάσσω and ἀπαλλάσσω) the living one (perhaps the one who wears the phylactery) from him who (or that which) holds him (συνέλοντος); see David R. Jordan and Roy D. Kotansky, “Two Phylacteries from Xanthos,” RAr (Fasc. 1 1996): 161–74; here 168, 171. 53  The gold leaves were published by K. Tsantsanoglou and George M. Parássoglou, “Two Gold Lamellae from Thessaly,” Hellenica 38 (1987): 3–16. 54  See the discussion by Reinhold Merkelbach, “Zwei neue orphisch-dionysische Totenpässe,” ZPE 76 (1989): 15–16. I am grateful to Hans Dieter Betz for this reference. 55  Tsantsanoglou and Parássoglou, “Two Gold Lamellae from Thessaly,” 12. 56  Tsantsanoglou and Parássoglou, “Two Gold Lamellae from Thessaly,” 12.

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Conclusion The confessional inscriptions describe and presuppose interactions between human beings and the gods. In this complex of ideas, the λύτρον word group has several layers of meaning, including ransom from slavery, ransom from captivity, and release from hidden bonds that cause misfortune. The saying in Mark 10:45 differs from the confessional inscriptions in that the “ransom” it describes did not occur by means of a ritual act. I use the word “ritual” in the restricted sense of a procedure regulated by an established cult. Those familiar with such ritual acts in the first few centuries of the Common Era, however, probably would have perceived the same layers of meaning in this saying that were present in the inscriptions. The “many” could be those enslaved to God because of their offenses. The death of Jesus could then be interpreted as an act that won God’s favor for the many by compensating for those offenses. On another level of meaning, the “many” are those in captivity to or bound by misfortunes, such as demon possession or illness. The ancients viewed such misfortunes as God’s direct punishment for sin or the work of evil spirits and demons permitted by God. This level of meaning could emerge from the broader context of the entire Gospel of Mark, in which exorcism and healing play a major role. Finally, the word λύτρον could be understood as a synonym of ἱλαστήριον (“expiation or “propitiation”). In the inscriptions both word groups may be associated with sacrifice, but not necessarily.57 In 4 Macc 17:22, the deaths of Eleazar, the mother, and her seven sons are described as an expiation (ἱλαστήριον). Since blood is mentioned in the immediate context, the passage evokes the notion of sacrifice.58 An analogous understanding of the death of Jesus informs Rev 1:5–6, “To the one who loves us and ‘ransomed’ (λύσαντι) us from our sins by his blood … to him be glory and power forever. Amen.”59 The significance of the confessional inscriptions and the related texts that I have discussed lies in their demonstration that, in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, the word group λύειν served to speak of transactions between human beings and gods in which sins were forgiven and offenses expiated, and thus, not only in the contexts of the manumission of slaves and the ransoming of captives. The evidence suggests that the notion of the Son of Man giving his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45) belongs to the same complex of ideas as the saying over the cup (Mark 14:24), according to which the blood of Jesus was poured out for many. At least from the point of view of their reception among gentiles  See Klauck, “Die kleinasiatischen Beichtinschriften,” 79–82.  Note the complementary use of ἀπολύτρωσις and ἱλαστήριον in Rom 3:24–25 and of ἐξιλασμός and ἀπολύειν in 2 Macc 12:45. 59  Τῷ ἀγαπῶντι ἡμᾶς καὶ λύσαντι ἡμᾶς ἐκ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν ἐν τῷ αἵματι αὐτοῦ … αὐτῷ ἡ δόξα καὶ τὸ κράτος εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας. ἀμήν. 57 58

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familiar with Hellenistic cults, both sayings interpret the death of Jesus by describing it in a metaphorical way as a ritual expiation of the offenses of many.

E. The Empty Tomb and Its Significance

The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark The narrative concerning the empty tomb in the Gospel of Mark is related to the phenomenon we call “the resurrection of Jesus.” A number of interpretations of the resurrection of Jesus have been articulated, each based on a different set of fundamental presuppositions.

Perspectives on the Resurrection of Jesus Some Christians argue, “Since the resurrection of Jesus is the heart of Christian faith, if he was not raised, Christian faith is a delusion.” This argument is a restatement of 1 Cor 15:12–19. Others assert, “What is impossible with humankind is possible with God.” This is a reformulation of a widespread ancient idea that appears in the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane according to Mark (14:36).1 This approach to the resurrection of Jesus is based on the authority of individual passages of Scripture that function as principles. For some, such a principle solves everything as far as the resurrection is concerned. With regard to the first example, one could dispute that the restatement accurately reflects Paul’s argument. Or one could dispute that the resurrection of Jesus is the heart of Christian faith. On the latter point, one could show that entire books of the New Testament do not use resurrection language. The problem with the second example – that all things are possible for God – is that it does not help us much in most of the rest of life (keeping a house clean, getting a meal on the table, solving family problems). Another approach is what we might call the canonical perspective. The underlying argument is basically: “The New Testament says that Jesus was raised, therefore he was.” At present, this perspective has a growing number of adherents. A sophisticated version of it implies that we cannot know for certain whether Jesus was raised, or prove that he was, but the New Testament provides the language or symbol system of Christian belief. To be Christian means to experience oneself and one’s world in its terms.2 The problem with this approach becomes ap1 On the widespread character of this notion in the ancient world, especially in Greco-Roman culture, see Sharyn Echols Dowd, Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering: Mark 11:22–25 in the Context of Markan Theology (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 78–94. 2  This general perspective is that of the post-liberal, cultural-linguistic school of theology, which characterizes the work of George Lindbeck, Stanley Hauerwas, and others. See the discussion of this point of view (in general, not in relation to the resurrection in particular) by

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parent as soon as one recalls that the New Testament also says that slavery is to be accepted as part of Christian life. One could object that the resurrection of Jesus is foundational to Christianity, whereas acceptance of slavery is not. Such an objection, however, changes the rules of the game. The canonical perspective should take the entire canon into account. If one is to pick and choose, then criteria must be articulated for determining what is foundational and what is not. A kind of pastoral perspective is often expressed: “People need assurance about life after death; therefore, I will tell them that the resurrection of Jesus gives them such assurance.” It may well be that human beings need to believe in life beyond the grave. But most of us, except perhaps in foxholes and their equivalents want to know that our beliefs are reliable. Some, even among the terminally ill, when presented with this argument will respond, “If that is all you can say, turn on the TV.” Many of the more reflective approaches, which we may call philosophical, share as a starting point the profound idea that death is not the end. Various formulations have been proposed. One posits individual, conscious afterlife in some form. Another affirms immortality through one’s children, their children, and so on. A third envisions the extension of the individual into later time by the effects of one’s deeds, writings, or other accomplishments. Along these lines, process theology speaks of a kind of objective immortality through one’s chemical remains and the effects of one’s deeds on society. Another type of approach reflects the apparent importance of the natural sciences for thinking about the resurrection of Jesus. One point of view says that resurrection is physically impossible. No corpse could be resuscitated. Those who take this point of view reason from an alleged general law of nature to a specific historical situation. The position taken by Rudolf Bultmann is an example of this point of view, one that has been enormously influential in New Testament studies and theology in the twentieth century.3 This position is not based on the actual results of research in any one of the special sciences. It is rather the product of a general world-view in which the natural scientific focus on the empirical has been made into an absolute and functions as a secular myth.

Frederic B. Burnham, “The Bible and Contemporary Science,” Religion & Intellectual Life 6 (1989): 55–67; here 60–61. 3  Rudolf Bultmann, “Neues Testament und Mythologie: Das Problem der Entmythologisierung der neutestamentliche Verkündigung,” Offenbarung und Heilsgeschehen, BEvT 7 (Munich: A. Lempp, 1941); reprinted in Kerygma und Mythos, vol. 1, ed. H. W. Bartsch (Hamburg: Herbert Reich, 1948), 15–48; ET: “New Testament and Mythology: The Mythological Element in the Message of the New Testament and the Problem of Reinterpretation,” in Kerygma and Myth: A Theological Debate, ed. H. W. Bartsch, rev. ed. Reginald Fuller (New York: Harper & Row, 1961), 1–16.

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Another perspective of this general type interprets the resurrection as the transformation of matter from one form into another. Jesus’s physical body was transformed into a spiritual state as water becomes steam.4 Whereas Bultmann assumed that historical inquiry must work within the limits set by the natural sciences, another position is that the point of view of the historian need not be determined by the natural sciences. A historical event is always particular: all the elements of one event will never be repeated exactly. For example, Richard R. Niebuhr asks whether it is not within the realm of historical probability that the elements of the resurrection of Jesus were present only once.5 Recently there has been more interest in the implications of the social sciences for understanding the resurrection of Jesus than the natural sciences. A sociological perspective begins with the function of the resurrection of Jesus for the group of his disciples. An old and negative form of this approach is the theory that the disciples consciously and deliberately fabricated the story of the resurrection to cope with the death of Jesus and to continue his work. A more psychological approach has been taken by those who argue that the appearances of the risen Jesus were individual and, in some cases, collective visionary or hallucinatory experiences. A socio-psychological theory of cognitive dissonance is very persuasive for some today. Cognitive dissonance may be defined as conflict between one’s view of reality or one’s expectations of the future and what seems on the surface to be the case. In more technical terms, it consists of dissonant or inconsistent relations among cognitive elements.6 Dissonance or tension among perceptions of beliefs creates pressure to resolve or reduce that tension. The means of reducing the tension include changes in behavior, changes in cognition, and the seeking out of new information. This theory was applied first to apocalyptic expectations in the United States in the mid-twentieth century.7 Before long, it was used to explain phenomena in the ancient world, including the resurrection of Jesus.8 This theory could provide a psychological explanation for the appearances of the risen Jesus: they were visions produced unconsciously in order to resolve the tension created by the death of Jesus. The arrest and crucifixion of Jesus seemed to be disconfirming events of his disciples’ belief that he was the definitive agent of God. Most applications of the theory to biblical literature, however, have focused on 4   C. F. D.  Moule, “Introduction,” in The Significance of the Message of the Resurrection for Faith in Jesus Christ, ed. C. F. D. Moule, SBT series 2/8 (Naperville: Allenson, 1968), 1–11; here 9–10. 5  Richard R. Niebuhr, Resurrection and Historical Reason (New York: Scribner, 1957). 6 Leon Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1957). 7  Leon Festinger, When Prophecy Fails: A Social and Psychological Study of a Modern Group that Predicted the Destruction of the World (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1956). 8  Hugh Jackson, “The Resurrection Belief of the Earliest Church: A Response to the Failure of Prophecy,” JR 55 (1975): 415–25.

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changes of behavior, such as increased missionary activity, and changes in beliefs attested by hermeneutical activity.9 Two final perspectives should be mentioned: the historical and the literary. The historical approach is the attempt to determine what probably – not possibly  – took place. Anything conceivable is possible; for example, that Jesus rode out of the tomb on a giant turtle. The historian asks the question, What can we construct from the evidence? The best discussion of the resurrection of Jesus from this point of view is that by Van Harvey in The Historian and the Believer.10 The literary perspective has come into its own most recently.11 The literary approach raises the question of the form and nature of the claims being made in the sources. Are they scientific, mythological, historical, metaphorical, psychological, or what? New Testament scholarship begins with the historical and literary approaches for several reasons: 1. The resurrection of Jesus is said to have taken place in the first century. Only those who debate this claim can avoid the historical approach. 2. The evidence about the resurrection is found in literary texts. 3. Christianity has always claimed to be a historical religion. It is not founded on timeless insight or deep experience in the Jungian sense. It is founded on events among people. Therefore the literary and historical perspectives are essential. 4. All the other approaches depend on these two.

The Oldest Text: 1 Corinthians 15 In taking a historical and literary approach to the resurrection of Jesus, it is most appropriate to begin with the oldest text that refers to it in some detail, namely, Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. This letter was written in the early 50s of the first century. Very few New Testament scholars today would date the earliest Gospel before 66 ce. In chapter 15, beginning in v. 3, Paul cites pregospel tradition about the resurrection of Jesus. The terms received and handed over in vv. 1–3 are technical terms that show he is reporting tradition.12 The use of non-Pauline words and phrases in vv. 3–5 supports the conclusion that we  9 John G. Gager, Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early Christianity (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1975), 37–43; Robert P. Carroll, When Prophecy Failed: Cognitive Dissonance in the Prophetic Traditions of the Old Testament (New York: Seabury, 1979), 124–28. 10 Van A. Harvey, The Historian and the Believer (New York: Macmillan, 1966). 11  See, for example, Norman Perrin, The Resurrection according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). 12 All translations from the Greek New Testament are by the author unless otherwise noted. Compare 1 Cor 11:23 in which the same verbs are used in citing the words of Jesus over the bread and wine at the last supper. That these terms were technical in the Hellenistic and Roman

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have tradition here.13 Paul has clearly elaborated this tradition at least by adding comments about his own experience in vv. 8–11. Whether he added comments to tradition preserved in vv. 3–7 is debated.14 First Corinthians 15 is an important historical source not only because it is early but also because it is written by a participant in the phenomenon under discussion. Paul’s language shows clearly that he considered his experience of the risen Lord to be of the same nature as those of Peter and the rest of the Twelve: “He appeared to [or was seen by] Cephas … he appeared also to [or was seen by] me (vv. 5, 8).15 Further, in this passage Paul does not simply repeat the tradition and state his experience. He goes to considerable lengths to explain how the notion of resurrection is to be understood (vv. 35–50). Paul’s understanding of the resurrection of Jesus does not involve the revival of his corpse. The resurrected person has a “spiritual body” (v. 44) that is not a slightly modified form of the physical body. The spiritual body is as different from the physical body as the plant is from the seed (vv. 36–37). The physical body is terrestrial whereas the spiritual body is celestial (vv. 40–41). Figurative use of language about seeds and plants was very common in the ancient world. To understand Paul’s intention in using this figurative language, we must look very closely at his argument. The most important thing to notice is that Paul emphasizes the discontinuity between the seed and the plant: “You do not sow the body which is to be … But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body” (vv. 37–38). In other words, for Paul the seed “dies” and God creates a plant in its place. Paul seems to have in mind here the phenomenon whereby the sprout of a new plant springs forth from that which is planted, such as a bean or a potato, and the “seed” itself shrivels. Of course, for Paul there is continuity between the dead person buried and the person who is raised. This is not, however, primarily material continuity in the sense of a relatively slight transformation of the body. It is rather the continuity of the person. According to this interpretation, the phrase “that which you sow” in v. 36 refers figuratively to the whole (dead) person who is buried. It is the whole person who periods is shown by Hans Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 195. 13  See John Kloppenborg, “An Analysis of the Pre-Pauline Formula in 1 Cor 15:3b–5 in Light of Some Recent Literature,” CBQ 40 (1978): 351–67; here 351–52 and the literature cited there. 14 See the discussion by Pheme Perkins, Resurrection, New Testament Witness, and Contemporary Reflection (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984), 99–91. 15  The remark that Jesus appeared to Paul “last of all” (1 Cor 15:8) is not evidence that he distinguished the type of experience he was granted from those of Peter and the Twelve. On the contrary, it marks his experience as the last in a series of the same type of experiences. The remark that Jesus appeared to him “as one prematurely born” (v. 8) does not imply that the nature of the appearance was any different. It was Paul who was different – he was not even a disciple yet. This interpretation is supported by the remark in the following verse that he was persecuting the church of God (i. e., even at the time that Jesus appeared to him).

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“is not made alive unless one dies.” In v. 37 the referent of “that which you sow” has shifted a bit. Such a shift is not uncommon elsewhere in Paul’s letters. In v. 37, “that which you sow” refers figuratively to the physical, earthly body. It is not the same as “the body that will come into being,” the spiritual, resurrected body. In vv. 42–44 there is a series of verbs, all of which are in the third person singular. The implied subject of these verbs needs to be expressed in an English translation. The possibilities include “he,” “she,” “one,” and “it.” The Greek is somewhat ambiguous. The antecedent of the implied subject could be the “seed” (κόκκος) mentioned in v. 37 or “that which you sow” (ὃ σπείρεις) mentioned in vv. 36–37. Both of these are rather distant from the series of verbs that begins in v. 42. Since v. 42 begins with the statement “So also [is] the resurrection of the dead [plural],” the most appropriate subject to supply is “[one of ] the dead.” Thus the following statements should be translated, “One is sown in corruption, one is raised in incorruption; one is sown in dishonor, one is raised in glory; one is sown in weakness, one is raised in power; one is sown as a body characterized by the principle of earthly life (σῶμα ψυχικόν), one is raised as a body characterized by spirit (σῶμα πνευματικόν).”16 The translation “one is sown as a body” seems odd only if one is unaware that Paul sometimes used the word body (σῶμα) to characterize the whole human person, albeit from a specific point of view (Phil 1:20; 1 Cor 6:15 [cf. 1 Cor 12:27]; 7:4; 9:27; 13:3; 2 Cor 10:10; Rom 6:12; 12:1).17 Paul’s understanding of resurrection is like that of Daniel 12. Most English translations of Dan 12:2 are misleading. For example, the RSV refers to “those who sleep in the dust of the earth.” This translation is supported by the versions, but not by the MT. The Hebrew phrase is best translated “those who sleep in the land of dust.”18 This expression is not an allusion to bodies in graves. “The land of dust” is a description of Sheol or Hades, where the shades of the dead are confined.19 Those who “awake” are not reunited with their physical bodies, but “shine like the brightness of the firmament,” “like stars” (v. 3). In other words, they are given celestial bodies, like those of the heavenly beings. That Paul’s understanding of resurrection was similar to that expressed in Daniel 12 is supported by Paul’s comparison of resurrected bodies to the sun, moon, and stars in 1 Cor 15:40–42. Both Daniel 12 and 1 Corinthians 15 express the notion of

 Or “A dead person is sown in corruption and raised in incorruption etc.”

16

17 See the classic study of the range of meaning of σῶμα in Paul’s letters by Rudolf Bultmann,

Theology of the New Testament, 2 vols. (New York: Scribner, 1951–1955), 1.192–203. 18  The NRSV gives this translation in a note to Dan 12:2. 19 R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel, ICC (Oxford: Clarendon, 1929), 327–28; see also George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jr., Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 17.

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resurrection in terms of astral immortality.20 Neither the book of Daniel nor Paul shows any interest in what happens to the physical body. Presumably it decays and has no importance for the resurrected person. This interpretation of Daniel 12 is supported by the description of personal afterlife for the righteous in the book of Jubilees: “And their bones shall rest in the earth, and their spirits shall have much joy” (Jub. 23:31).21 It is important to note that both Daniel 12 and the book of Jubilees are of Palestinian provenance.22 In Paul’s understanding Jesus was transformed into a completely different kind of existence. The remark in v. 50, “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, and the perishable does not inherit the imperishable,” implies that the resurrection “body” is not material in the same way that the earthly body is. This interpretation is confirmed by the contrast in 2 Corinthians 5 between the earthly body as a “tent” that is to be folded up or destroyed and the heavenly “body” as an eternal building waiting for us in the heavens.23 Thus for Paul, and presumably for many other early Christians, the resurrection of Jesus did not imply that his tomb was empty.

Appearances and Empty Tomb Thus it is not surprising, although it is noteworthy, that the tradition Paul cited does not mention the empty tomb. In his own elaboration and discussion of the theme, Paul also does not mention the empty tomb. The summaries of the gospel in the book of Acts, which some scholars believe are older than the book of Acts itself, also fail to mention the empty tomb.24 The fact that Paul, especially, 20  On the notion of astral immortality in the ancient world, see Franz Cumont, Lux Perpetua (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1949). 21  Translation by R. H. Charles and C. Rabin in The Apocryphal Old Testament, ed. H. F. D. Sparks (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984), 77. 22  On the variety of conceptions of resurrection and other forms of personal afterlife in Palestinian Judaism, see Friedrich Schwally, Das Leben nach dem Tode: Nach den Vorstellungen des alten Israel und des Judentums einschliesslich das Volkglaubens im Zeitalter Christi (Giessen: J. Ricker, 1892); K. Schubert, “Die Entwicklung der Auferstehungslehre von der nachexilischen bis zur frührabbinischen Zeit,” BZ n.f. 6 (1962): 177–214; H. C. C. Cavallin, Life after Death: Paul’s Argument for the Resurrection of the Dead in I Cor. 15, Part 1, An Enquiry into the Jewish Background (Lund: Gleerup, 1974), 33–101. 23  Paul’s language about being “further clothed” rather than “naked” does not imply material continuity from earthly body to heavenly “body” (2 Cor 5:2–4). Rather it expresses his opposition to the notion that the soul is completely immaterial and can exist without any kind of body. 24 Acts 2:22–24; 3:13–15; 4:10–12; 5:30–32. The book of Acts is, of course, considerably later than the Gospel of Mark. Whether we can reconstruct sources used by the author of Acts is disputed. It is generally agreed that no continuous source was used in chs. 1–5; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 81–90. The empty tomb may be presupposed in Acts 2:25–31 and 13:34–37. These passages may be dependent on

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does not mention it has led some scholars to argue that the tradition about the empty tomb was an apologetic invention intended to support the early Christian proclamation about the resurrection.25 This theory has several problems. If such were the origin of the tradition, it is odd that it is not used apologetically in the book of Acts. Further, if the empty tomb story was invented to “prove” the resurrection of Jesus, it is odd that the only witnesses to the emptiness of the tomb, at least in Matthew and Mark, are women.26 The status of women in the ancient world was such that a story fabricated as proof or apology would probably not be based on the testimony of women. The empty tomb story is difficult for everyone, regardless of perspective. There is a major textual problem regarding the original ending of Mark. Textcritical principles and linguistic studies indicate that the original ending was 16:8.27 Another difficulty is that the list of women varies among the Gospels. Within Mark, why do the women intend to anoint Jesus on the second day after his death? Assuming that Mark ended with 16:8, the women are told to tell but they do not. Why not? Was the empty tomb tradition new with Mark? Is their silence meant to explain why the tradition about the empty tomb was not known before Mark was written? Another problem is who really buried Jesus. According to Acts 13:29 it was his enemies. According to the Synoptic Gospels it was Joseph of Arimathea. It is quite credible that Acts 13:29 is as precise a historical report of the burial of Jesus as can be reconstructed. The Joseph story may be an apologetic legend; at least it seems to grow into one, as is evident from a comparison of the four canonical Gospels. Some argue that the very fact that the empty tomb tradition is only loosely related to the tradition of appearances of the risen Jesus is evidence that the empty tomb tradition is equally old.28 Most New Testament scholars at present accept the argument that the Gospel of Mark is the oldest Gospel. In the opinion older tradition, but it is not clear that such tradition is as old as the Gospel of Mark (Haenchen, Acts, 3–4, 409, 411). The passages in question may represent a strand of tradition unknown to Mark and Paul. 25  Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, trans. John Marsh, rev. ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), 290. 26  In Matthew, of course, the guards see the angel and know that the tomb is empty. It is generally agreed, however, that the story of the guards at the tomb and the lie that they spread about the disciples stealing the body is later than the empty tomb story and is definitely apologetic. One of the problems the story addresses indirectly is the reliability of women as witnesses. 27 At least these studies indicate that the material that follows Mark 16:8 in many manuscripts is not original. Some scholars argue that the original ending of Mark has been lost or suppressed. See, e. g., Bultmann, History, 285 n. 2. In this essay, the assumption is made that the Gospel ended with 16:8, since that is the earliest recoverable ending. Any attempt to reconstruct an earlier ending would be unduly speculative. 28  So, e. g., Perkins, Resurrection, 90.

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of this majority, Mark 16:1–8 is therefore the oldest attestation of the tradition that the tomb was empty.29 One’s judgment about the age of the empty tomb tradition will depend on the literary question regarding the origin of this passage.30 The options are: (1) it is based on a pre-Markan passion narrative; (2) it is based on another source; (3) it was composed by the author of Mark.

The Literary History of Mark 16:1–8 Those who assume a pre-Markan passion narrative that included some form of the empty tomb story explain the agreements and continuities between chapters 15 and 16 as evidence for the use of the same source for the two chapters. Those who dispute the existence of such a source, or who think it ended with the death or burial of Jesus, explain the elements of continuity as the result of composition or editing by the author of Mark. I have concluded that there was a pre-Markan passion narrative that ended with the account of the death of Jesus.31 The statement about the women in 15:40–41 was placed there by Mark to prepare for the narrative about the discovery of the empty tomb. The story about the burial (15:42–46) may be based on tradition, but at least its placement is due to Mark. It lacks the topographical specificity of the pre-Markan passion narrative; the vagueness about the location of the tomb is not in keeping with the character of the older narrative. The second statement about the women in 15:47 is also due to Mark. It too prepares for the empty tomb story. Several types of arguments are brought forward as evidence that the author of Mark made use of a brief, self-contained source in composing 16:1–8. The burial scene at the end of chapter 15 and the empty tomb story are said not to “match.”32 The names of the women are said to differ in the two chapters.33 The burial de29 P. Benoit has argued that John 20 contains an older form of the empty tomb tradition (cited by Joachim Jeremias, “Die älteste Schicht der Osterüberlieferungen,” in Resurrexit: Actes du symposium international sur la resurrection de Jésus, ed. E. Dhanis [Rome: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1974], 189–90; ET J. Jeremias, New Testament Theology: The Proclamation of Jesus [New York: Scribner, 1971], 304–5); but this hypothesis is unlikely; see John Dominic Crossan, “Empty Tomb and Absent Lord (Mark 16:1–8),” in The Passion in Mark: Studies in Mark 14–16, ed. Werner H. Kelber (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 138–45. 30  As Crossan puts it, there may have been a presumption that the tomb is empty prior to the formulation of Mark 16:1–8 (or its source), but a presumption is not a tradition (“Empty Tomb,” 136). 31 Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Passion Narrative of Mark,” The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 92–118. 32  E. g., Perkins, Resurrection, 115. 33 Bultmann argued that Mark 16:1–8 was independent of the sections of Mark that went before. If the narrative about the empty tomb had followed upon the narratives of the crucifixion and burial, he argued, the names of the women would not have needed to be given again in 16:1 (History, 284–85). Given the importance of the events being narrated, however, it is understand-

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scribed in 15:46 is said not to be incomplete. Thus there is tension between the account of the burial and the motivation for the women’s visit to the tomb. It is also claimed that, from the point of view of the author of Mark, Jesus was already anointed for burial by the anonymous woman as stated in 14:3–9. Early form critics saw the passage about the woman anointing Jesus as an insertion by the author of Mark into the pre-Markan passion narrative. The names of the women are given for the first time in 15:40 as Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and Joses, and Salome. There is no compelling reason to think that the three women referred to in 16:1 are not the same three mentioned in 15:40. It is true that the references to them are not verbally identical. But the differences may be explained perfectly well as stylistic variations that avoid monotonous repetitions. It is the wording of the reference to the second woman that varies. In the second two instances the reference is shortened, first in one way, then in another. Such shortening is understandable given the lengthiness of the full reference in the first instance (15:40). Thus these differences are not evidence for the use of a source in 16:1–8.34 The account of the burial of Jesus by Joseph of Arimathea in chapter 15 does not mention anointing of the body with aromatic spices. Raymond Brown has made a credible case that, from the point of view of the author of Mark, this burial is a dishonorable burial, of the type afforded a criminal.35 He argues that Joseph performs it not out of reverence for Jesus but in order to observe the commandment of Deut 21:22–23: “When someone is convicted of a crime punishable by death and is executed, and you hang him on a tree, his corpse must not remain all night upon the tree; you shall bury him that same day, for anyone hung on a tree is under God’s curse. You must not defile the land that the Lord your God is giving you for possession.”36 The relevance of this commandment, or one like it, is implied in Mark 15:42–43: “And when evening had come, since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the Sabbath, Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council … went to Pilate.” The implied reference to sunset (ὀψίας γενομένης in v. 42) supplies the motivation for Joseph’s request that Pilate allow him to bury the body. In the case of a dishonorable burial, anointing was not necessarily customary and should not be supplied by the modern reader. If this is an accurate reading of the burial story in its historical and literary context, this burial would have seemed incomplete to the disciples of Jesus. Thus able that the names would have been stated each time. The repetition is softened by variation in the form of the name of the second woman (see above). But this repetition does not necessarily imply the use of a source. 34  The fact that the third woman, Salome, is not mentioned as a witness to the burial is not significant for the question of sources. It does not seem to be sufficient evidence to warrant the conclusion that the pericope about the burial was once a separate anecdote. 35  Raymond E. Brown, “The Burial of Jesus (Mark 15:42–47),” CBQ 50 (1988): 233–45. 36  Trans. NRSV.

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within the narrative of Mark the coming of the women to the tomb to anoint the body would be motivated and would fit with the previous narrative. The argument that Mark would not have composed a narrative involving women going to the tomb to anoint Jesus, because he had already been anointed by the anonymous woman, is not strong. The relationship between the two passages may be understood in terms of Markan compositional technique. In the first place, the intention of the women is ironic: there will be no body to anoint, since Jesus has not remained in the grave.37 Second, the appearance of the motif of anointing in chapter 16 reminds the reader of the earlier passage and encourages reflection on its significance. Another argument brought to bear is that certain verses in this passage are “overloaded” with particular kinds of markers. The point is that the source had its markers and the author of Mark added his own. For example, 16:2 is said to “pile up” temporal indicators.38 The first such indicator is λίαν πρωΐ (“very early”). Since a similar Greek phrase appears also in 1:35 (πρωΐ … λίαν), its use here is attributed to the author of Mark.39 The second is τῇ μιᾷ τῶν σαββάτων (“on the first day of the week” or “on the first day after the Sabbath”). It has been argued that this temporal expression is a Semitic phrase that Mark has retained from his source.40 If this is a Semitic expression obscure enough to warrant the use of a source here, it is odd that the author of Luke preserves it without correction in the parallel to this passage (Luke 24:1) and also uses it in Acts 20:78, when, presumably, composing freely.41 The third indicator is ἀνατείλαντος τοῦ ἡλίου (“after the sun had risen”). A “double step” compositional technique has been recognized elsewhere in Mark, in which a second phrase qualifies the first.42 If one rejects the theory that the phrase “on the first day of the week” comes from a source, then the first two indicators may be seen as one: “very early on the first day of the week.” Then the phrase “after the sun had risen” may be seen as a second phrase, qualifying the first in typical Markan fashion. More significantly, the temporal markers in 16:1–2 may be seen as the author’s attempt to explain why the women did not try to anoint Jesus sooner. They had to wait until the Sabbath was over to purchase the spices (v. 1); then they went to the tomb at the earliest feasible time, as soon as it was light (v. 2). Another kind of “overloading” has been perceived in 16:8. This verse has several references to fear. The second clause states that τρόμος (“trembling”) 37  See the discussion of irony in David Rhoads and Donald Michie, Mark as Story: An Introduction to the Narrative of a Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 59–62. 38  Perkins, Resurrection, 117. 39  E. g., R. Pesch, cited by Perkins, Resurrection, 117. 40  J. Kremer, cited by Perkins, Resurrection, 117. Crossan argues that this phrase fits the Markan chronological framework (“Empty Tomb,” 147). 41  See Haenchen, Acts, 586. 42  Perkins, Resurrection, 117 and 140 n. 13, citing Rhoads and Michie, Mark as Story, 47–49.

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and ἔκστασις (“astonishment”) seized the women. The word τρόμος does not appear elsewhere in Mark. It appears four other times in the New Testament in the combination φόβος καὶ τρόμος (“fear and trembling”). The word ἔκστασις is used in Mark 5:42 to express the astonishment of the onlookers when Jesus raises the daughter of Jairus from the dead. Some argue that these two words expressing fear are rare, whereas the verb used in the last clause (“and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid [ἐφοβοῦντο]) and the related noun (φόβος) occur often in Mark in connection with the disciples.43 Against this argument it must be pointed out that τρόμος is hardly a rare word. In addition, the word ἔκστασις appears twice in Mark, in both cases in the same sense, and both times the context is related to resurrection. Linguistic arguments alone do not compel the conclusion that the “overloading” of this verse with references to fear is evidence for the use of a source. Both cases of alleged “overloading” may be understood as features of composition rather than of editing. The several indications of time in v. 2 may be understood in various ways, for example, as an attempt at verisimilitude. The several expressions of fear in v. 8 may have been used for dramatic effect. It may well be that the last two clauses link this incident with an aspect of the theme of discipleship in the Gospel. But such a link does not necessarily imply that the preceding clause comes from a source. These linguistic arguments, weak in themselves, are meant to bolster a formcritical argument against the unity of this passage.44 Legendary elements in the passage have been pointed out, such as the motif of the large stone and the implicit quest for a helper to remove the stone.45 Similarly, apocalyptic elements relating to narratives about the appearance of an angel, the genre “angelophany” or “angelic epiphany,” have been noted. The discernment of both legendary and apocalyptic elements in Mark 16:1–8, however, does not warrant the conclusion that they could not occur together in a single, unified narrative.46 Some see the command of the angel to the women to go and tell the disciples and Peter that “he goes before you to Galilee” in v. 7 as secondary and thus as evidence of a source. For example, Bultmann argued that the speech of the angel originally functioned simply to point out the empty tomb as evidence for the  Perkins (Resurrection, 121–22) and those cited by her.  E. Bickermann attempted to define a literary form that could be called “translation story” or “removal story” and then to argue that the source used by the author of Mark in 16:1–8 was such a story (“Das leere Grab,” ZNW 23 [1924]: 281–92). Bultmann rightly disagreed and concluded that there is insufficient evidence that such a story lies behind Mark 16:1–8 (History, 290 n. 3). The conclusion that the literary form “translation story” does not define Mark 16:1–8 or its alleged source does not mean that such stories or the notions they express had no influence on the passage. 45  Perkins, Resurrection, 118. 46  F. Neirynck has written an extensive survey of attempts to reconstruct the source used in Mark 16:1–8 (cited by Perkins, Resurrection, 138 n. 2 and 139 nn. 9 and 10). 43 44

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resurrection (v. 6). In his view the author of Mark added the command in v. 7 to link the empty tomb tradition connected with Jerusalem to the tradition of appearances in Galilee.47 This argument, however, is bound up with Bultmann’s opinion that the Gospel of Mark could not have ended with 16:8. His reconstruction of how the Gospel “must have ended” is overly speculative. Nevertheless, many scholars have agreed with him that v. 7 was added to an existing story.48 The most obvious reason for seeing this verse as Markan composition is its connection with 14:28. Soon after Jesus and the disciples arrive on the Mount of Olives, Jesus tells them that after he is raised he will go before them to Galilee. In chapter 16 the angel asks the women to remind the disciples of this promise. The link between 16:7 and 14:28 is obviously insufficient evidence by itself to require the conclusion that a source was used in 16:1–8. A deeper reason for seeing 16:7 as redactional, rather than as part of a unified composition by the author of Mark, is the perceived tension between the command of the angel and the response of the women. Wilhelm Bousset argued long ago that the statement in v. 8, “and they said nothing to anyone,” referred originally to the discovery of the empty tomb (v. 6), not to the command that they give the disciples the message about Galilee (v. 7). According to Bousset, the point of their silence was to explain why the story of the empty tomb had remained unknown for so long.49 A number of scholars have contended that the reminder that Jesus goes before the disciples to Galilee implies the restoration of Peter after his denial and of all the disciples after their flight.50 Pheme Perkins concluded that the implication of restoration may be the import of 16:7 as pre-Markan tradition, but not of the passage as a whole in the intention of the author. She seems to imply that the tension between v. 7 and the context supports the hypothesis that a source was used.51 At the same time, however, she admits that the element of restoration may be seen as a feature of Markan redaction. Her own interpretation of the passage as a whole makes sense of the tension as a paradoxical affirmation that the disciples will be Jesus’s witnesses, in spite of their incomprehension and fear, combined with an implicit warning to the readers not to repeat the pattern of both the male and the female disciples.52 Another possibility is that the silence of the women is not to be taken literally but as a conventional expression of the human reaction to the numinous. In any case, it should be apparent that the hypothesis of a source is unnecessary to explain or resolve the tensions in the passage. 47  Bultmann, History, 285, 287. So also J. Delorme (cited by Perkins, Resurrection, 121, 143 n. 41). But see the reservations of Fuller and Pesch (Perkins, Resurrection, 143 n. 41). 48  E. g., J. Kremer, J. Delorme, R. H. Fuller, and A. Lindemann (cited by Perkins) and Perkins herself (Resurrection, 116, 120, and 140 nn. 16 and 17). 49  Wilhelm Bousset, cited by Bultmann, History, 285. 50 Fuller, E. L. Bode, Rhoads and Michie (cited by Perkins, Resurrection, 121, 143 n. 42). 51  Perkins, Resurrection, 121. 52  Perkins, Resurrection, 121 and 122–23.

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Mark 16:1–8 as a Unified Composition Mark 16:1–8 may be seen then as a unified and effective composition. It continues chapter 15 logically and appropriately. Joseph buried the body of Jesus just before or just as the Sabbath was beginning. It is implied, however, that the women do not accept that burial as adequate. As soon as the Sabbath ends, presumably at sunset or shortly thereafter, the women purchase the aromatic spices needed to anoint Jesus (v. 1). Then they wait, presumably for the sake of safety or propriety, until sunrise to go to the tomb (v. 2). Their question to one another on the way to the tomb, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb,” creates dramatic tension and leads the reader to expect something extraordinary to occur (v. 3). The arrival of the women at the tomb is narrated very strikingly. They see that the stone has already been rolled away from the entrance to the tomb. The extraordinary character of this situation is brought out by the remark that the stone was very large (v. 4). Some scholars have argued that the removal of the stone is significant for how the reader of Mark is intended to conceive of the resurrection of Jesus. We shall return to this point later. The next verse builds dramatically on the previous one. The extraordinary situation of the stone is followed by an even more uncanny incident. When the women enter the tomb, a young man is there dressed in a white robe (v. 5). It is clear that this young man, in spite of the parallel with the young man in 14:51–52, is not presented as a human being.53 It is a well known apocalyptic convention to speak of angelic beings as “men.”54 The white robe is also a conventional attribute of heavenly beings.55 The reaction of the women is described in very strong terms: ἐξεθαμβήθησαν (“they were amazed”).56 The description of the appearance of the angel is so restrained that it does not seem appropriate to characterize the passage as an angelic epiphany. More importantly, the focus of the passage is on the empty tomb, not the angel; his role is to point out its significance. Thus the young man plays the role of the angelus interpres (“an angel-interpreter”), a narrative role common in apocalyptic literature and other texts influenced by it.57 His exhortation to the women that they not be amazed (v. 6) is a typical angelic reassurance relating to the consternation 53 If the author of Mark had intended to imply that the “young man” of 16:5 was identical with “a certain young man” mentioned in 14:51, he would have used the definite article in 16:5. 54 E. g., Dan 8:15–16; 9:21; 10:5. The term translated “young man” in Mark 16:5 is νεανίσκος. A related word, νεανίας, is used of angels in 2 Macc 3:26 and 33 and in Josephus, Ant. 5.277. 55 E. g., Dan 7:9; 2 Macc 11:8–10; Acts 1:10. 56 The author of Mark is the only writer in the New Testament who uses this word. It may express surprise (9:15) or the deepest kind of emotion (14:33); see Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1966), 396, 552, 606. 57 So, e. g., Bultmann, History. 287, 290. The angelus interpres sometimes interprets a vision (Dan 7:15–18; 8:15–26) and sometimes explains a situation (Dan 9:21–23; 10:2–14). Note that the same device is used to comment on the significance of the ascension in Acts 1:10–11.

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and fear of the human recipient of revelation.58 The rest of the speech of the angel, including v. 7, has the narrative function of interpreting the empty tomb. The remarks following the reassurance, from “You seek Jesus, the Nazarene, who was crucified” to “see the place where they laid him” (v. 6), have at least the implicit function of making the point that the women have come to the right place. They have not confused the grave of Jesus with another empty grave. In the center of this first pronouncement is the key interpretation of the empty tomb, “he has been raised” (ἠγέρθη). In the narrative context of Mark 16, the announcement of the resurrection of Jesus served to interpret the empty tomb. As I shall argue, in the history of the tradition their relationship is the opposite: the author of Mark has interpreted the early Christian proclamation of the resurrection of Jesus by composing a narrative about the empty tomb.59 The second pronouncement of the angel, “But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He goes before you into Galilee; there you will see him, just as he said to you’” (v. 7), indicates the significance of the empty tomb for the disciples. It is the first stage in the fulfillment of the prophecy Jesus gave them on the Mount of Olives. At the moment in which the angel is speaking to the women within the narrative, the first part of Jesus’s prophecy, “after I am raised up” (14:28), has been fulfilled. Some scholars have argued that the renewed promise ”there you will see him” (16:7) refers to the parousia, that is, to the return of Jesus on the clouds as Son of Man.60 This interpretation is unlikely because language of “power” and “glory” associated with the parousia elsewhere in Mark (9:1; 13:26; cf. 14:62) does not occur here. The parousia and Galilee are not associated anywhere else in the Gospel. It is more likely that the promise alludes to the same tradition of appearances that Paul recounts in 1 Cor 15:5.61 It was standard practice in the ancient world to allude to well known events that occurred after those being narrated in a text without actually narrating those later events.62 The Iliad is perhaps the best known example of this technique.63 Thus the fact that the appearances are not narrated in Mark does not necessarily mean that the author believed that they did not occur or wanted to suppress

58 Compare,

e. g., Dan 8:17–18; 10:8–12. the discussion by Perkins (Resurrection, 119) of the kerygmatic elements in Mark 16:6. 60  Theodore J. Weeden, Mark: Traditions in Conflict (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 111–16; and N. Q. Hamilton, “Resurrection Tradition and the Composition of Mark,” JBL 84 (1965): 415–21. Werner Kelber and John Dominic Crossan hold this view but understand the parousia in Mark in terms of the realization of the kingdom of God in the activity of the followers of Jesus in Galilee: Kelber, The Kingdom in Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 105, 107, 146; Crossan, “Empty Tomb,” 146, 148–49. 61  Perkins, Resurrection, 120. 62  J. Lee Magness, Sense and Absence: Structure and Suspension in the Ending of Mark’s Gospel (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986). 63  Magness, Sense and Absence, 30–31. 59 See

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them. The main problem is how to interpret the relationship between the angel’s announcement and the conclusion of the narrative in v. 8. The first part of v. 8, “And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and amazement had seized them,” is understandable as an example of the typical human reaction of terror to the presence of the numinous. The second part of the verse, “and they said nothing to any one, for they were afraid,” is a stupifyingly abrupt ending to the Gospel. Werner Kelber has historicized this ending, claiming that it means that the Twelve and the members of Jesus’s family rejected his intention that the kingdom of God on earth, the Christian community, be established in Galilee. The Twelve never got the massage. In any case, they and the family of Jesus preferred to stay in Jerusalem, closer to the center of power as they understood it and the place with which their own eschatological expectations were associated.64 It is surprising that a scholar with so much literary sensitivity, who has argued that the Gospel of Mark is “parabolic,”65 should insist on defining the meaning of v. 8 so absolutely. It seems more appropriate to see this ending as deliberately provocative and open-ended, as numerous scholars of the twentieth century have taught us to read the parables of Jesus. The abrupt ending lures the reader to reflect on the events narrated and on one’s own relation to those events. The disciples function in a complex way as both positive and negative examples of role models. With regard to the eschatological events, the lack of narration of the appearances makes the impression on the reader that the chain of eschatological events is not yet completed. The narratives of the appearances of the risen Jesus in Matthew, Luke, and John round off the story. Matthew and Luke still express eschatological expectation, but it is balanced by the sense of the presence of the risen Lord with the community. Mark lacks such a satisfying denouement. One result is that the readers are asked to complete the story not only by imagining the fulfillment of the promise of appearances, as 14:28 and 16:7 should probably be interpreted, but also by imagining the fulfillment of the dramatic and vivid promise that the Son of Man would return (13:24–27; 14:62).

The Ancient Notion of Translation The idea that a human being could be removed from the sphere of ordinary humanity and made immortal is very ancient. The oldest narrative known to me of such an event is found on a tablet excavated in Nippur that contains part of the Sumerian flood story.66 The hero of this story is the king Ziusudra. A deity in64 Werber

H. Kelber, Mark’s Story of Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 83–87.  Werner H. Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 117–29. 66  See S. N. Kramer’s translation in ANET, 43–44. 65

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forms him that there will be a flood and instructs him to build a huge boat. After the flood Ziusudra offers sacrifice. Near the end of the passage that is preserved, it is said that the gods Anu and Enlil cherish Ziusudra. They give him life like a god. They give him breath eternal like (that of ) a god. They cause him to dwell at the place where the sun rises. These honors are granted him apparently because he is the preserver of vegetation and the seed of humankind. In the Akkadian Gilgamesh Epic, Gilgamesh journeys through a great mountain range and over the Waters of Death to reach the flood hero, who in this epic is named Utnapishtim.67 The purpose of the quest is to obtain the secret of immortality. In tablet XI of the epic, Utnapishtim recounts the story of the flood for Gilgamesh. At the end of the story he tells how the god Enlil announced, “Henceforth Utnapishtim and his wife shall be like unto us gods. Utnapishtim shall reside far away, at the mouth of the rivers.”68 Earlier in the epic it was said that Utnapishtim had “joined the Assembly (of the gods).”69 In the Atrahasis Epic, which includes a Babylonian version of the flood on tablet III, a similar story is told about the flood hero Atrahasis and his wife.70 In the Hebrew Bible it is not the flood hero Noah who was translated but the patriarch Enoch. His destiny is tersely related in Genesis 5. It is said that “Enoch walked with God” (vv. 22 and 24) and that “he was not, for God took him” (v. 24). It is not said that Moses was translated. The book of Deuteronomy states that he died in the land of Moab (34:5). But it also states that God buried him and that no one knows the place of his burial (v. 6). These latter remarks suggested to later readers that Moses had in fact been translated. The translation of Elijah is described in vivid detail in 2 Kings 2. This translation, unlike that of Enoch, is explicitly said to have been witnessed (by Elisha). The oldest Greek texts that speak of translations of human beings are the Iliad and the Odyssey. According to the Iliad, Tros, the lord of the Trojans, had three sons. One of these, Ganymede, because of his unsurpassed beauty, was caught up to the gods to themselves, made immortal, and appointed the cupbearer of Zeus (20.230–235). The mortal Tithonos is mentioned in this context as the descendant of one of Ganymedes’s brothers (20.237). Earlier the epic referred to his translation by the goddess Dawn (11.1). This allusion presupposes a tradition that Dawn had made Tithonos immortal to be her spouse and to dwell by the River Okeanos where Dawn rises (cf. 19.1–2).71

 See E. A. Speiser’s translation in ANET, 73–97.  Speiser, ANET, 95. 69  Speiser, ANET, 88. 70  Speiser, ANET, 104–6. 71  The story of Kleitos, the mortal son of Manios, has similarities with both the story of Ganymede and that of Tithonos. Kleitos was carried off by Dawn to live among the gods because of his beauty (Od. 15.248–252). 67 68

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In book four of the Odyssey, Menelaos, the husband of Helen, tells Telemachus how he tricked the god Proteus into advising him how to make his way home and giving him news of his companions. Proteus’s revelations include a prophecy that Menelaos will not die; rather the gods will cause him to dwell on the Elysian Plain at the (spatial) end of the world, where life is as pleasant as on Mount Olympos. The reason given for this great blessing is that he is, as husband of Helen, a son of Zeus (4.560–570).72 Menelaos is to join Rhadamanthys, who, according to tradition, was transported earlier to the Elysian Plain. The details of his story are lost, but it is interesting to note that he was also said to be a son of Zeus (Il. 14.321–322). The similarity between “son of Zeus” and “son of God” should be noted. All these traditions imply that the human beings translated became gods, that is, immortal. They seem to assume that in these cases the soul (ψυχή) was never separated from the body.73 In some cases, however, the human being in question dies first and then is made immortal. The Aithiopis, a continuation of the Iliad that survives only in references in other authors, tells how Memnon, the Ethiopian prince, brought help to the Trojans. He is slain by Achilles, whereupon Memnon’s mother, Dawn, obtains permission from Zeus to carry his body to the end of the earth in the East and there to grant immortality to her son.74 According to the same epic poem, when Achilles was slain and placed on his funeral pyre, his mother, the divine Thetis, carried his body from the pyre to White Island. The extract does not say so, but the story probably continued with an account of how she restored him to life there and made him immortal.75 All the traditions discussed so far involve immortal life in regions on the surface of the earth, most of which are normally not accessible to humanity. Another type of translation story involves removal beneath the earth and subterranean immortality, often in a cave.76 This type of immortality is analogous to that of the “heroes,” who died, were buried, and from their graves gave proof of a higher existence and powerful influence.77 It is noteworthy that the later belief in heroes required a grave at which the continued existence and potency of

72 Women, as well as men, were said to have been translated. There is a tradition that Helen herself was made immortal and caused to dwell on the White Island or in the Islands of the Blest: Erwin Rohde, Psyche: The Cult of Souls and Belief in Immortality among the Greeks (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1925), 83 n. 21. The Nereid (sea nymph) Leukothea was once the mortal Ino (Od. 5.333–335). There was also a tradition that Iphigeneia, the daughter of Agamemnon, was not sacrificed but translated by Artemis and made immortal in the land of the Taurians (related to a mountain range called Taurus in southern Turkey): Rohde, Psyche, 64. 73 Rohde, Psyche, 57. 74  Rohde, Psyche, 64. 75  Rohde, Psyche, 64–65. 76  Rohde, Psyche, 89–92. 77  Rohde, Psyche, 97.

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the hero was localized.78 Erwin Rohde’s reconstruction of one of the traditions associated with the hero Hyakinthos is instructive. Originally a chthonic deity, he was later transformed into a hero, who died, was buried, and then was translated to heaven.79 The case of Asklepios as hero is also instructive. According to this tradition, he was a mortal who was transformed into an immortal by a flash of Zeus’s lightning.80 This tradition includes the burial of Asklepios.81 Thus his story is that of a hero who died, was buried, and then was translated. The focus on the tomb in Mark may have been inspired by the importance of the graves of the heroes in the Greco-Roman world. Even if the location of the tomb of Jesus was unknown to the author of Mark, and even if there were no cultic observances at the site of the tomb, it would still be important as a literary motif in characterizing Jesus as hero-like.82 An example that does not involve the death of the hero but is instructive for the role of the angel in Mark 16 is the case of Kleomedes of Astypalaia, related by Pausanias and several other writers. Kleomedes killed his opponent in the boxing match at the seventy-first Olympic festival (485 bce) and was therefore disqualified. In his anger at this turn of events, he behaved destructively upon his return home and caused the death of some boys. He fled to the temple of Athena and hid in a chest. When his pursuers forced open the chest, Kleomedes was not inside. Envoys were sent to inquire of the oracle. They were told that he had become a hero and must be honored with sacrifice. The oracle is able to explain a supernatural occurrence to human inquirers because the oracle sees such events as one spirit sees another.83 This perspective is instructive both for the role of the angel at the empty tomb and for the role of the demons or unclean spirits in Mark who know that Jesus is the Son of God. Finally, the case of Herakles should be mentioned. In agony because of the poison on his garment, he made his own funeral pyre and mounted it. Apollodorus says, “While the pyre was burning, it is said that a cloud passed under [Herakles] and with a peal of thunder wafted him up to heaven. Thereafter he obtained immortality, and being reconciled to Hera he married her daughter Hebe, by whom he had sons.”84 The traditional mythic view is obviously that immortal life is much like mortal life and that Herakles was embodied in his afterlife. Another  Rohde, Psyche, 98.  Rohde, Psyche, 99–100. 80  Rohde, Psyche, 100, 582. 81 Rohde, Psyche, 101. 82  On the hypothesis that there were cultic observances performed at the tomb of Jesus from an early date, see Perkins, Resurrection, 93–94, 119. 83  Rohde, Psyche, 129–30. See also the story of Aristeas, related by Herodotus and discussed by Arthur S. Pease, “Some Aspects of Invisibility,” HSCP 53 (1942): 1–36; here 29. 84  Apollodorus, The Library 2.7.7 (Frazer, LCL). 78 79

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interpretation is that the pyre burned away the mortal part of his nature (inherited from his mortal mother), so that the immortal part (inherited from his father Zeus) could ascend to the gods.85 The Pythian priestess had promised Herakles immortality upon completion of the ten labors or tasks (Apollodorus, Library 2.4.12). Later writers interpreted this as an honor granted because of his great benefactions to humankind. In the Hellenistic and early Roman periods these traditions of translation and deification were widespread. The Hellenistic Babylonian historian Berossus, writing in Greek, retold the ancient flood story. In his version the flood hero is named Xisouthros. In recounting the hero’s translation, Berossus says that he “disappeared,” a term that had become almost technical in describing such occurrences.86 A new element in the account is Berossus’s explanation of the event: he was translated because of his piety. Josephus describes Enoch’s translation with the words “he returned to the divinity” (Ant. 1.85). He uses an expression similar to Berossus’s in describing the translation of Elijah: “Elijah disappeared from among human beings.” A little further on, he says of both Enoch and Elijah that “they became invisible and no one knows of their death” (Ant. 9.28). The expression “become invisible” is synonymous with “disappear” and is also typical of Hellenistic accounts of translation.87 The terminology used by Josephus makes clear that he was presenting Enoch, Moses, and Elijah as Jewish forefathers who had not died but had been translated alive and made immortal, like the forefathers of the Greeks and Romans.88 Another Jewish writer who wrote in Greek shows that the idea of resurrection could be associated with the Greco-Roman ideas of translation and deification. Phocylides was a Greek poet from Miletus who lived in the sixth century bce. Around the turn of the era, a Jewish poet wrote a work under the name and in the style of Phocylides (hence he is known as Pseudo-Phocylides), possibly in Alexandria.89 A section of this poem is devoted to death and afterlife. The author advocates moderation in grief (lines 97–98) and the duty of burying the dead  So Lucian, Hermotimus 7.  Berossus, Babyloniaca 2.2.2; trans. from Stanley Mayer Burstein, The Babyloniaca of Berossus, Sources and Monographs, Sources from the Ancient Near East 1.5 (Malibu, CA: Undena Publication, 1978), 20. For a Greek text of Berossus, see Felix Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, part 3: Geschichte von Staedten und Voelkern, C. Autoren ueber einzelne Laender (Leiden: Brill, 1958), 380; for other examples of the use of this term, see G. Lohfink, Die Himmelfahrt Jesu, SANT 26 (München: Kösel, 1971), 41 n. 58. 87 On the passages from Josephus, see Christopher Begg, “‘Josephus’s Portrayal of the Disappearances of Enoch, Elijah, and Moses’: Some Observations,” JBL 109 (1990): 691–93. Begg’s note is a response to an article by James D. Tabor, “‘Returning to Divinity’: Josephus’s Portrayal of the Disappearances of Enoch, Elijah, and Moses,” JBL 108 (1989): 225–38. 88  In spite of the statement in Deuteronomy that Moses died, Josephus did not believe that he did (see Begg, “Some Observations,” 692). 89  P. W. van der Horst, The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 81–83; van der Horst dates the work between 30 bce and 40 ce. 85 86

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(99). He then advises against opening the graves of the deceased (100–102). The rejected practice may be secondary burial90 or the removal of bodies from their graves in order to dissect the corpses.91 The following statement is given as the reason: “For in fact we hope that the remains of the departed will soon come to the light again out of the earth. And afterwards they become gods” (103–104).92 The coming to light of the remains of the departed out of the earth is a clear expression of hope in the bodily type of resurrection, which will be discussed below. The statement that the dead become gods after being raised is an expression of the idea of resurrection in Greco-Roman terms. The word for god in Greek is synonymous with the word for immortal. So Pseudo-Phocylides is using typically Greek language of the blessed dead to express the idea that the resurrected faithful are exalted to the angelic state. We should recall at this point that the community at Qumran referred to angelic beings as “gods” (elim).

The Resurrection of Jesus in Mark At the time the Gospel of Mark was written, two basic notions of resurrection were current: one that emphasized its heavenly character and one that emphasized its bodily character. The heavenly type was expressed in Daniel 12, as was pointed out above.93 The bodily or physical type is attested by 2 Maccabees. This work contains the story of seven brothers and their mother who were tortured and killed during the persecution of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Among the tortures were the cutting out of the tongue and the cutting off of hands and feet. Regarding the torture of the third son, the text reads, “When it was demanded, he quickly put out his tongue and courageously stretched forth his hands, and said nobly, ‘I got these from Heaven, and because of his laws I disdain them, and from him I hope to get them back again’” (2 Macc 7:10–11).94 There is no sign in the book of Daniel of a belief in bodily resurrection of the type present

90  The placement of bones in an ossuary was a common form of secondary burial in the ancient world: Jack Finegan, The Archaeology of the New Testament (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), 216–18. 91  van der Horst, Pseudo-Phocylides, 82, 183–84. 92  Trans. by van der Horst, Pseudo-Phocylides, 95; the Greek text is given on 94; see also the discussion on 186–88. 93 The heavenly notion of resurrection is also expressed in the Epistle of Enoch (chs. 91–104 of 1 Enoch). The righteous “will shine like the lights of heaven” and the gate of heaven will be opened to them. They will “have great joy like the angels of heaven” and will “be associates of the host of heaven” (1 En. 104:2, 4, 6; the trans. is by M. A. Knibb in Apocryphal Old Testament, ed. Sparks, 312.) See also the Similitudes of Enoch, in which it is said that the resurrected righteous “will become angels in heaven” (1 En. 51:4; Apocryphal Old Testament, 231). 94  See also 2 Macc 14:37–46.

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in 2 Maccabees. In the later period, however, the two types could be combined, as the example of Pseudo-Phocylides shows.95 Two elements, however, are constant in Jewish literature of the time, namely, that resurrection is a collective event and that it is an event of the future.96 The notion of resurrection did not necessarily imply its universality.97 The picture of Daniel 12 is collective but not universal: “Many … shall awake” (v. 2). In 2 Maccabees the emphasis is on the restoration of individuals because of the narrative context. Nevertheless, the implicit context of the resurrection is the apocalyptic notion of the renewal of all creation.98 Thus one of the innovations of the Christian movement was the claim that God had raised a single individual, Jesus. Paul explained the resurrection of Jesus as the beginning of the renewal that would soon be followed by the resurrection of those who belong to him (1 Cor 15:20–23, 51–52). The author of Mark was heir to the shocking but simple Christian proclamation that God had raised Jesus from the dead and to the tradition that the risen Jesus appeared at least to Peter and to the Twelve. In writing an extended narrative that expressed the good news (εὐαγγέλιον, 1:1) of God’s activity through Jesus, this author was faced with the challenge of narrating the resurrection. I have argued elsewhere that the genre of Mark is history in the apocalyptic mode.99 My working hypothesis in this essay is that Mark 16:1–8 is fiction. In composing the story of the empty tomb, the author of Mark interpreted the proclamation that Jesus had been raised. I am aware that objections have been raised to the notion that evangelists made up episodes and speeches.100 With regard to speeches, it is widely known that Thucydides, the ancient historian with the most rigorous standards of evidence, stated explicitly that he constructed the speeches in his history of the Peloponnesian War by giving “whatever seemed most appropriate to me for each speaker to say in the particular circumstances, keeping as closely as possible to  95  Pseudo-Phocylides incorporates several different understandings of afterlife with little concern for systematic coherence (see van der Horst, Pseudo-Phocylides, 188–89).  96  The idea that individual human beings who had been translated would return to the earth at the end was widespread in Jewish literature of the Second Temple period, but these were men who had not died and thus did not need to be raised from the dead (e. g., Mal 4:5 [MT 3:23]; 1 En. 90:31).  97  Many texts speak only of a resurrection of the just, e. g., Pss Sol 3:10–12 (3:13–16).  98 On the apocalyptic background of the resurrection in 2 Maccabees and the reasons for its muted character, see Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 93–109.  99 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Narrative, History, and Gospel: A General Response,” Genre, Narrativity, and Theology, in Semeia 43, ed. Mary Gerhart and James G. Williams (1988): 145– 53; see also Adela Yarbro Collins, Is Mark’s Gospel of Life of Jesus? The Question of Genre, The Père Marquette Lecture in Theology (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1990). 100  Eleonore Stump, “Visits to the Sepulcher and Biblical Exegesis,” Faith and Philosophy 6 (1989): 353–77; here 367–68.

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the general sense of what was actually said” (1.22).101 I submit that the author of Mark did something analogous. He was convinced that what actually had happened was that Jesus had been raised from the dead. In composing 16:1–8, he described the event in what seemed to him the most appropriate way. So I am not arguing that the author of Mark made up this episode out of whole cloth. He regarded the resurrection of Jesus as an event attested by those to whom the risen Jesus had appeared. Since he did not have evidence for the details regarding how Jesus was raised, he supplied those details in accordance with his sense of what must have happened. Because the male disciples had fled from the scene of the arrest, presumably to avoid being arrested themselves, and since the author apparently assumed that they were in hiding at the time of the crucifixion and burial, it seemed most appropriate to have female disciples discover the empty tomb. The creation of the empty tomb story shows that the author of Mark had a notion of resurrection closer to that of 2 Maccabees than to that of Daniel 12. Resurrection for Mark is not the giving of a new, spiritual body to the inner person in a way that the former body does not matter. For Mark it is either a revival or transformation of the earthly body. If the text implies that Jesus pushed the stone away from the tomb and walked out, the resurrection is understood as the revival of the body.102 But such is not a necessary implication. The stone had to be rolled aside so that the women could enter the tomb and see that Jesus was not there. The stone could just as well have been removed by the angel. At least this is how the author of Matthew seems to have understood Mark (Matt 28:2).103 If the text does not imply that Jesus walked out of the tomb, his resurrection is best understood, according to Mark, as a transformation of his earthly body. If the risen Jesus is not pictured as walking out of the tomb, the alternative, in the language of the modern Western Christian exegete, is that he ascended to heaven immediately.104 It has been pointed out that the ascension of Jesus, as narrated in the book of Acts, is similar to the Greco-Roman narratives of translation.105 I am suggesting that this tradition also influenced how Mark narrated the resurrection.106 The Christian affirmation was that a single individual, Jesus, 101  Cited by Oswyn Murray, “Greek Historians,” in The Oxford History of the Classical World, ed. John Boardman, Jasper Griffin, and Oswyn Murray (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 193–94. 102 Bultmann implies that the position of the stone when the women come to the tomb indicates that Jesus pushed it aside (History, 290 n. 3). 103  Compare the Gospel of Peter in which the stone rolls away by itself, presumably by divine power (Gos. Pet. 37). An English trans. is given in David R. Cartlidge and David L. Dungan, Documents for the Study of the Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 85. 104  Bultmann, History, 290 n. 3. 105  Hans Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 7 n. 26; Haenchen, Acts, 149 n. 5. 106  Citing a brief suggestion by F. Pfister, Pease notes that the disappearance of the body of Jesus from the tomb is like certain pagan traditions, but he does not attempt to explain the likenesses or to reconstruct the process by which they arose (“Invisibility,” 29).

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had been raised from the dead. Apart from the usual collective context of the Jewish notion of resurrection, this affirmation seemed quite similar to the claim made in some Jewish circles that Enoch had been taken up to heaven and to the claims made in Greco-Roman circles regarding the translation or apotheosis of heroes, rulers, and emperors.107 I am not claiming that the empty tomb story was created with an apologetic purpose in the narrow sense. It was not meant to prove to outsiders that Jesus really was raised. Rather, the narrative pattern according to which Jesus died, was buried, and then was translated to heaven was a culturally defined way for an author living in the first century to narrate the resurrection of Jesus. One could object that it is hard to find much influence of Greco-Roman literature in Mark. The first response that must be made to such an objection is to remind the objector that the Gospel of Mark was composed in Greek. This simple fact speaks volumes about the cultural milieu in which the text was written. One does not learn and use a language without being influenced by the culture of which it is part. Similarly, one does not address people competent in a certain language without drawing upon the thought-world for which that language is a vehicle. Recent studies have supported older suggestions that there are significant similarities between Mark and Greco-Roman literature in form, content, and style.108 If, according to Mark, Jesus was translated from the grave to heaven, then there was no period of time during which the risen Jesus walked the earth and met with his disciples. The book of Acts states that he did so for forty days. The Gospels of John and Luke also imply that he did so, but, in the case of John at least, for a shorter period. Even Matthew recounts a scene in which the women meet the risen Jesus and take hold of his feet (28:9). If, as previously concluded, the author of Mark accepted the tradition that the risen Jesus had appeared to Peter and to the Twelve, this appearance (or appearances) was probably of a more heavenly type, like the apocalyptic visions of heavenly beings. The appearance to eleven disciples in Galilee according to Matthew (28:16–20) may be understood in this way. The appearance to Paul as it is narrated in Acts is definitely of this type.

 On the translation of rulers and emperors, see Pease, “Invisibility,” 16–17.  Hubert Cancik, “Die Gattung Evangelium. Markus im Rahmen der antiken Historiographie,” in Markus-Philologie: Historische, literargeschichtliche und stilistische Untersuchungen zum zweiten Evangelium, ed. Hubert Cancik, WUNT 33 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1984), 85–113; Hubert Cancik, “Bios und Logos: Formengeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Lukians ‘Leben des Demonax’” in Markus-Philologie, 115–30; Marius Reiser, “Der Alexanderroman und das Markusevangelium,” in Markus-Philologie, 131–63; Gerd Lüderitz, “Rhetorik, Poetik, Kompositionstechnik im Markusevangelium,” in Markus-Philologie, 165–203; David E. Aune, The New Testament in Its Literary Environment (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 17–76; Vernon K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984; 1992). 107 108

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Conclusion The effect of this understanding of the resurrection of Jesus is to place the accent on the absence of Jesus more than on his presence during the time of the first readers and listeners. As noted earlier, this accent is related to apocalyptic expectation. The disciples have a mission in this world (Mark 13:9–13; 8:34–37) and they will be judged on the basis of their fulfillment or non-fulfillment of that mission (8:38). The interpretation of the resurrection of Jesus as a type of translation affects one’s reading of the apocalyptic discourse of chapter 13. That discourse has its climax in the prediction of the coming of the Son of Man in clouds with great power and glory. The result of his appearance is his sending out the angels to gather the faithful “from the four winds, from the end of the earth to the end of heaven” (13:27). It is likely that this prediction refers to the same event that Paul described in 1 Thess 4:17 and 1 Cor 15:52. As their master was translated, so will his faithful disciples be.

Ancient Notions of Transferral and Apotheosis in Relation to the Empty Tomb Story in Mark This study concerns the divinization of Jesus of Nazareth in Mark. The process of divinization appears to have two stages. From the baptism until the death of Jesus, he is divine in the sense that he has more authority and power than ordinary human beings, but is not yet on a par with the God of Israel. With his resurrection, he is exalted to the same level as God in terms of power and authority. This exaltation is predicted in the passage that opens with Jesus’s question, “How can the scribes say that the messiah is a son of David?”1 The exaltation of Jesus to divine status is implied in the next verse by the citation of Ps 110:1 and its application to the messiah: “The Lord said to my Lord, sit on my right until I put your enemies under your feet.” It is also predicted in Jesus’s reply to the high priest at his trial before the Sanhedrin. When the high priest asks Jesus if he is the messiah, he responds, “I am, and you will see the Son of Man sitting on the right of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.”2 Both of these passages imply that, with the resurrection, Jesus is exalted to a divine status as God’s primary agent in ruling and judging. The fulfillment of these predictions is implied by the discovery of the empty tomb and by the words of the young man sitting in the tomb, who is surely meant to be an angel.3 He says, “He is risen; he is not here.”4 In the context of the Gospel as a whole, this statement implies that Jesus has been transformed, has left the world of human beings, and has been transferred to the heavenly world. My aim is to put this portrayal of the divinization of Jesus in Mark in its cultural contexts by proposing that the evangelist had two primary models for this portrait. The first is the story of Elijah in 1–2 Kings. The other is the complex of traditions related to the apotheosis of the Roman emperor. Let us begin with Elijah. Elijah is explicitly mentioned a number of times in Mark. In 6:14 the narrator remarks that Jesus’s name and mighty deeds had become known. The next verse states that some of the people thought that Jesus was Elijah. This idea recalls the prophecy at the end of Malachi that God would send Elijah “before the great  Mark 12:35. All translations from the Greek NT are by the author unless otherwise noted.  Mark 14:61–62. 3  Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 795–96. 4  Mark 16:6. 1 2

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and terrible day of the Lord comes.”5 It could signify either the returned Elijah himself or an Elijah-like figure. Similarly, when Jesus asks the disciples in 8:27 who people say that he is, one of their responses is “Elijah.” Furthermore, Elijah appears with Moses at the transfiguration of Jesus. After the transfiguration, Jesus tells the three disciples that Elijah has already come.6 It is probably implied here that John the Baptist was Elijah returned. Nevertheless, there are many prophetic features in Mark’s depiction of Jesus, and some of his miracles recall mighty deeds of Elijah.7 As Elijah caused a jar of meal and a jug of oil to feed a few people for many days, so Jesus caused a few loaves and fishes to feed thousands for one meal.8 As Elijah raised the son of a widow from the dead, so Jesus raised the daughter of Jairus.9 In the books of Kings, one clue to the source of the power of Elijah is the statement “But the hand of the Lord was on Elijah; he girded up his loins and ran in front of Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel.”10 This description is impressive because Ahab was traveling in his chariot! Another is the request of Elisha, when Elijah was about to be taken up by the whirlwind, “Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.”11 It is likely that “your spirit” means “the spirit with which God has endowed you.” As Elijah’s power to work miracles and prophetic authority were granted to him by God through a gift of the divine spirit, so also Jesus was endowed with the spirit of God at his baptism. The narrative sequence of Mark implies that it was Jesus’s possession of this spirit that allowed him to teach authoritatively and to perform mighty deeds. As noted earlier, Elijah appeared at the transfiguration of Jesus. As they walked down from the mountain, Jesus instructed the three disciples who had witnessed the event “to tell no one what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead.”12 This instruction suggests that Elijah appeared in order to reveal to the disciples and to the audience of Mark that Jesus’s resurrection would be analogous to the transferral of Elijah in a whirlwind to heaven.13 The main points of similarity between the resurrection of Jesus and the transferral of Elijah are that the events occur by the will and power of God and that nothing remains on earth from their bodies. The main differences are that Elijah does not die, as Jesus does, and is not exalted to the same degree as Jesus. Elijah  5 Mal 4:5; trans. NRSV; MT 3:23. All translations from the Hebrew Bible are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.  6  Mark 9:13.  7  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 44–52.  8 Compare 1 Kgs 17:8–16 with Mark 6:30–44 and 8:1–10.  9 Compare 1 Kgs 17:17–24 with Mark 5:21–24a, 35–43. 10 1 Kgs 18:46. 11  2 Kgs 2:9. 12 Mark 9:9. 13  2 Kings 2; see Yarbro Collins, Mark, 402–3, 429.

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is divinized only in the sense that he is made immortal and transported to heaven, presumably into the presence of God. Scholars who study ruler cults and the imperial cult also discern two types or stages of divinization. Some who write in German use the term “Vergöttlichung” for the first stage and the term “Vergottung” for the second.14 In relation to Rome, “Vergöttlichung,” being made god-like, refers to the approval and exercise of honors that were similar to those usually accorded the gods, but which did not legally elevate the honorand to one of the gods of the state.15 Rather, they gave the honorand a certain elevation of status in the human-political realm. “Vergottung,” being made a god, in contrast, means the official reception of a human being into the ranks of the gods of the state in accordance with the laws relating to the sacred. To speak of “Vergottung” in a Roman context, the criteria must be fulfilled that are given with the other gods of the state: a cult-name, a cult-place, a functioning cult, that is, one particularly related to Rome, and an official state priest. These criteria are clearly fulfilled in the creation of a new god in the consecratio or apotheosis of the (deceased) emperor.16 The pre-republican kings and the later triumphators were living human beings treated as god-like in Rome. Both the early kings and those who later celebrated triumphs appeared as an earthly Jupiter. They wore the typical dress of Jupiter, that is, a purple cloak, later replaced by the embroidered toga picta. They carried a scepter with the figure of an eagle on the top and wore a golden wreath upon their heads. Most strikingly, their faces were painted red, as was the face of the image of Capitoline Jupiter. The question whether these men were divine or human was not the issue. “The dress of the triumphator was simply the emblem of supreme power or status.”17 Living emperors were sometimes portrayed with attributes of Jupiter in discreet court portraiture or in places outside Rome.18 A relief from Aphrodisias in Asia Minor portrays the living Augustus with the eagle of Zeus/Jupiter beside 14  Kostas Buraselis, “I. Einleitung: Terminologische Vorklärung,” in “3.d. Heroization, Apotheosis,” in Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum (ThesCRA), 6 vols. (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2004–2006); 3.d = 2.125–214, I. = 2.126–29; here 128, col. 1; Helga Gesche, Die Vergottung Caesars, Frankfurter Althistorische Studien 1 (Kallmünz: Michael Lassleben, 1968), 9–10. 15  According to Ittai Gradel, the depiction of the living emperor with divine attributes in sculpture and other media “had the advantage of fruitful ambiguity, since it could be interpreted anywhere on a scale from complete identification to merely a parallel between the heavenly and the earthly monarch, and hence cater for several views of the emperor and his position”: “III. Apotheose. B. Roman apotheosis, 1–3,” in “3.d. Heroization, Apotheosis,” ThesCRA, 2.186–198; here 189, col. 2. 16  Gesche, Vergottung, 9–11. 17  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 188, col. 2. 18  Christopher H. Hallett, The Roman Nude: Heroic Portrait Statuary 200 bc–ad 300 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 230–31.

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him.19 The living Tiberius is presented in the “Jupiter costume” on a sardonyx cameo in five layers.20 The living Claudius is portrayed in the same way by a statue from Lanuvium (a city of Latium, southeast of Rome).21 Another example was the living Julius Caesar. Cicero, Suetonius, and Dio Cassius all report that, during his lifetime, images of Caesar were placed in temples along with the image of a traditional, state god.22 He was not yet an official Roman state god, but he was honored as god-like, as σύνναος θεοῖς. Cicero attests that, during his lifetime, Caesar’s image was carried in procession with those of the gods.23 Dio distinguishes between the image of Caesar, which he calls an ἀνδριάς or εἰκών, and the cult statue of a god, which he calls an ἄγαλμα. Nevertheless, the inclusion of Caesar’s image in the procession implied that he was more similar to the gods, or enjoyed their favor to a higher degree, than other human beings.24 Analogously, Jesus is portrayed during his lifetime as exercising an activity normally reserved to God when he declares to the paralytic that his sins are forgiven.25 Although the epithet “Son of God” does not necessarily imply full divinity,26 its use by a heavenly voice at the baptism and transfiguration implies divine favor beyond the ordinary. The transfiguration itself is ambiguous. Although its purpose in Mark is probably to anticipate Jesus’s transformation in resurrection, it is open to the interpretation that Jesus was a divine being or at least a god-like being walking the earth.27 As the resurrection of Jesus is previewed in the account of the transfiguration, divine honors were actually voted for Julius Caesar during his lifetime, although these would take effect only after his death.28

19  Hallett, Roman Nude, 162, plate 92. The relief dates to the early 1st c. ce. Hallett argues that statues of the nude or partially nude emperor do not necessarily depict deceased Divi, because the Divi were normally portrayed wearing the toga (225). 20 Hallett, Roman Nude, 171, plate 97; for discussion, see 225. 21 Hallett, Roman Nude, 168, plate 96. 22  Cicero, Letters to Atticus 12.45.2; 13.28.3; Suetonius, Lives of the Caesars, The Deified Julius 76.1; Dio Cassius, Roman History 44.4.4; 44.6.4; compare Appian, Roman History, The Civil Wars 2.106. For discussion, see Gesche, Vergottung, 26–27. 23 Cicero, Letters to Atticus 13.44.1; 13.28.3; Gesche, Vergottung, 28–29. According to Kostas Buraselis, the last historical act of Philip II of Macedon, the father of Alexander the Great, was to have a statue of himself as a god made part of a procession along with the twelve (traditional) gods: “III. Apotheose. A. Die griechische und hellenistische Apotheose, 1. through 4.a.iii,” in “3.d. Heroization, Apotheosis,” ThesCRA, 2.158–74; here 166, col. 2. 24  For references and discussion, see Gesche, Vergottung, 26–29. 25 Mark 2:5; Yarbro Collins, Mark, 185. 26  Adela Yarbro Collins, “Jesus as Messiah and Son of God in the Synoptic Gospels,” in Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins, King and Messiah as Son of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 123–148. 27  Yarbro Collins, Mark, 418–19. 28  Gesche, Vergottung, 40–55.

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The practice of deifying (some) dead emperors began with the deification of Julius Caesar by the senate in 42 bce with clear reference to the precedent of Romulus.29 Like the story of Elijah, the story of Romulus may be characterized as legend or even myth. Romulus and his twin brother Remus were the sons of the priestess Rhea Silvia and the god Mars. The brothers are the traditional founders of Rome, and Romulus, according to tradition, its first king. One of the oldest accounts of the transferral and apotheosis of Romulus is that of Livy.30 According to him, Romulus was about to review the army near the swamp of Capra when “suddenly a storm came up, with loud claps of thunder, and enveloped him in a cloud so thick as to hide him from the sight of the assembly; and from that moment Romulus was no more on earth.”31 The senators, who had been standing beside Romulus, asserted that he had been caught up on high in the blast. Then, when a few men had taken the initiative, they all with one accord hailed Romulus as a god and a god’s son, the King and Father of the Roman City, and with prayers besought his favour that he would graciously be pleased forever to protect his children.32

There was a rumor that the senators had rent the king in pieces due to their growing dissatisfaction with his rule. This rumor, however, did not become widely accepted, in large part due to the following incident: And the shrewd device of one man is also said to have gained new credit for the story [of Romulus’s apotheosis]. This was Proculus Julius, who … addressed the assembly as follows: “Quirites, the Father of this City, Romulus, descended suddenly from the sky at dawn this morning and appeared to me … ‘Go,’ said he, ‘and declare to the Romans the will of Heaven that my Rome shall be the capital of the world; so let them cherish the art of war, and let them know and teach their children that no human strength can resist Roman arms.’ So saying,” he concluded, “Romulus departed on high.”33

An interesting similarity between this account and the narrative of Elijah’s transferral is that the removal from earth takes place during a storm. According to the Greek version, Elijah is taken up in a whirlwind or hurricane (συσ­σεισμός).34 According to Livy, the setting is a storm (tempestas), and Romulus is taken up by a cloud (nimbus).35 The appearance to Proculus Julius is similar to the

29  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 187, cols. 1–2; Gesche, Vergottung, 84, 94. On the connections between Augustus and Romulus, see Mary Beard, John North, and Simon Price, Religions of Rome, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 1.182–84. 30 Livy 1.16.1–8. 31 Livy 1.16.1 (Foster, LCL). 32  Livy 1.16.3 (Foster, LCL). 33 Livy 1.16.5–7 (Foster, LCL). 34  2 Kgs 2:11. 35  Livy 1.16.1.

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appearance stories in Matthew, Luke, and John, especially to the commissioning of the eleven.36 For comparison with Mark, it is important to note that the account of Livy presupposes that Romulus had definitively left the earth and been transferred to heaven. Nonetheless, he could return briefly to appear to Proculus Julius. Similarly, the empty tomb in Mark implies that Jesus had been transferred definitively from earth to heaven. This implication is not undercut by the prediction of Jesus in 14:28 and the reminder of the angel in 16:7 that Jesus “would go before (the disciples) to Galilee.” These statements refer to the resurrection appearance story or stories that the evangelist (and his audience) knew, but which he does not narrate.37 Since Mark does not narrate appearances of the risen Jesus, it is impossible to determine whether he would have portrayed them as theophanic or as realistic. The appearance of the risen Jesus to the eleven in Matt 28:16–20 is of the theophanic or visionary type, like the appearances to which Paul refers in 1 Cor 15:5– 9.38 The author of Luke-Acts depicts the appearances of the risen Christ to Paul as Christophanies.39 The appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene in John may also be theophanic, since she does not recognize him until he addresses her.40 The appearance of the risen Jesus to Mary Magdalene and the other Mary in Matt 28:9–10, however, is realistic since they recognize him immediately and take hold of his feet. His appearances to the disciples in John are also realistic, since 36  Matt 28:16–20. John E. Alsup’s study is marred by his reliance on an inappropriate use of the category of the θεῖος ἀνήρ: The Post-Resurrection Appearance Stories of the Gospel Tradition: A History-of-Tradition Analysis with Text-Synopsis, Calwer Theologische Monographien 5 (Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag; London: SPCK, 1975). He may be right that the “Hellenistic” apotheosis stories “offer little help in making precise the actual origins of the gospel appearance story Gattung” if there is such a thing (270; emphasis original). But they provide rich cultural comparative material that suggests how the Gospel accounts may have been read and understood by their audiences in the first few centuries ce. Wendy Cotter, in contrast, argues that the Gospel appearance stories belong to the same basic genre as the Greco-Roman apotheosis accounts: “Greco-Roman Apotheosis Traditions and the Resurrection Appearances in Matthew,” in The Gospel of Matthew in Current Study: Studies in Memory of William G. Thompson, S. J., ed. David E. Aune (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 127–53; here 129–30. 37  On 14:28 and 16:7 as allusions to the appearances of the risen Jesus, see Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark,” The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 119–48; here 136–37. The latter essay is included in this volume. See also Yarbro Collins, Mark, 667, 670–71, 801. On the resurrection of Jesus in Mark as a translation or transferral of Jesus from earth to heaven, see Yarbro Collins, “The Empty Tomb,” 138–48; Mark, 791–94. 38 Paul’s description of God’s “revealing” (ἀποκαλύψαι) the risen Christ to him in Gal 1:15– 16 is similar. 39  Acts 9:3–9; 22:6–11; 26:12–18; compare Turid Karlsen Seim, “The Resurrected Body in Luke-Acts: The Significance of Space,” in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body, and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, ed. Karlsen Seim and Joruun Øklund, Ekstasis 1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 19–39; here 33. 40  John 20:11–18.

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he invites Thomas to put his finger in the wounds of his hands and his hand into the wound of his side.41 Even if he is not portrayed as eating in John 21, he cooks breakfast for the disciples and serves them.42 The appearances to the disciples in Luke 24 and Acts 1 are also realistic. It seems that in the Emmaus story43 and in the third appearance of Jesus in John,44 the ritual meals of the community are (re-)founded and associated with Jesus’s role as host. In the appearances in Luke-Acts the risen Jesus instructs the disciples and prepares them for their role as apostles.45 Let us return now to Romulus. Another early account of his apotheosis is that of Ovid,46 who begins with Mars addressing Jupiter, arguing that the time had come “to grant the reward which was promised to me and to thy worthy grandson, to take him from earth and set him in the heavens.”47 When Jupiter then hid the whole “sky with his dark clouds” and “filled the earth with thunder and lightning,” Mars descended in his chariot and caught Romulus up. “His mortal part dissolved into thin air, as a leaden bullet hurled by a broad sling is wont to melt away in the mid-heavens. And now a form clothes him, worthier of the high couches of the gods, such form as has Quirinus, clad in the sacred robe.”48 It is noteworthy that Romulus is taken up in a chariot, as is Elijah. More importantly, this text is evidence for the identification of Romulus with Quirinus, the god associated with the site of Rome.49 Although the identification is not historically reliable, it was accepted from the third century bce onward.50 This case and others provide evidence that the Romans, like the Greeks (sometimes), linked a change of name to deification. Julius Caesar became Divus Iulius, and Caesar Augustus became Divus Augustus.51 One could argue that Jesus

 John 20:26–29. 21:9–13. 43 Luke 24:13–35. 44 John 21:9–14. 45  Karlsen Seim, “Resurrected Body,” 24–25. 46  Ovid, Metamorphoses 14.805–828. 47  Ovid, Metam. 14.810–811 (Miller and Goold, LCL). All further citations from Ovid’s Metamorphoses are from Miller and Goold, LCL. 48  Ovid, Metam. 14.816–828. Immediately following, the transferral of Romulus’s wife is narrated (829–851). The latter account may have served as a precedent for the apotheosis of the wife of the emperor and other relatives. 49 Cicero, de re publica 2.20; Buraselis, “Einleitung,” 128, col. 2. 50 Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 187–88. The identification was present in Ennius; on his fragments, see Alsup, Appearance Stories, 233 n. 661. 51 E. g., Ino and her son Melikertes become Leukothea and Palaimon; Kostas Buraselis, “III. Apotheose. A. Die griechische und hellenistische Apotheose,” 2.158–74; here 159–160. A change of name at deification is also attested for Aeneas, who became Indiges: Ovid, Metam. 14.581–608; here 608; Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 187–88. 41

42 John

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of Nazareth also has a change of name at his resurrection or apotheosis by becoming Jesus Christ or Jesus (the) Messiah. The name “Jesus Christ” appears in the introductory titular sentence of Mark in association with “the gospel.” One could argue that this is not his name in the text of Mark itself, but is used here to refer to the risen Christ. In 8:29, Peter says to Jesus, “You are the Christ.” Jesus’s rebuke in the following verse “that they might speak to no one concerning him” may be interpreted as an indication that he is indeed the messiah designate, but has not yet begun to exercise that role in the full sense. In 9:41, Jesus says “For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink on the basis that you belong to Christ, truly I say to you, he will surely not lose his reward.” The saying presupposes a missionary situation in the future.52 Thus the title or new name, “Christ,” pertains to the time after Jesus’s resurrection. As mentioned earlier, in 12:35 Jesus asks, “How can the scribes say that the messiah is a son of David?” His quotation of Ps 110:1 in the next verse makes clear that the issue is the post-resurrection status of Jesus.53 Similarly, when the high priest asks Jesus if he is the messiah, he responds, “I am, and you will see the Son of Man sitting on the right of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.” His positive response may be understood as indicating that he is the messiah designate, since the elaboration of that response concerns the exaltation of Jesus after the resurrection. The last time the name “Christ” or better, the epithet “messiah” is used in Mark is in the mocking of Jesus by the chief priests in 15:32, “Let the messiah, the king of Israel, come down now from the cross, in order that we may see and believe.” The ironic portrayal of Jesus as a king in chapter 15 is an important part of Mark’s reinterpretation of the concept of “messiah” or “king of Israel.”54 The predictions of the coming of the Son of Man in glory and power, however, make clear that, after the resurrection, Jesus, as “Jesus Christ” or “Jesus the Messiah,” will exercise his messiahship or kingship. Another early account of the apotheosis of Romulus, the oldest one in Greek, is that of Dionysius of Halicarnassus.55 Like Livy and Ovid, he places the disappearance of Romulus in the setting of a storm.56 He notes that some writers “believe that he was caught up into heaven by his father, Mars.”57 He states at first that the “more plausible accounts say that he was killed by his own people” and gives a lengthy account of the political reasons for his assassination, concluding with the remark that he seemed “to be exercising his power more like a tyrant than a king.”58 A bit later, however, he says: 52 The

Twelve have already been sent out and have returned; see 6:7–13, 30. is irrelevant, since the reference is to false messiahs, as the next verse makes clear. 54 Yarbro Collins, Mark, 53–72. 55  Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 2.56.2–7; 2.63.4. 56 Ant. Rom. 2.56.2. 57  Ant. Rom. 2.56.2 (Cary, LCL). Further citations of this work are also to Cary, LCL. 58  2.56.3. 53 13:21

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Be that as it may, the incidents that occurred by the direction of Heaven in connexion with this man’s conception and death would seem to give no small authority to the view of those who make gods of mortal men and place the souls of illustrious persons in heaven.59

He then goes on to tell how, “when his mother was violated, whether by some man or by a god, there was a total eclipse of the sun and a general darkness as in the night covered the earth, and that at his death the same thing happened.”60 In his discussion of the kingship of Numa, Dionysius says that the latter ordered that Romulus, under the name of Quirinus, be honored with a temple and sacrifices throughout the year. In this context, he mentions that: while the Romans were yet in doubt whether divine providence or human treachery had been the cause of his disappearance, a certain man, named Julius, descended from Ascanius [a son of Aeneas], who was a husbandman and of such a blameless life that he would never have told an untruth for his private advantage,61 arrived in the Forum and said that, as he was coming in from the country, he saw Romulus departing from the city fully armed and that, as he drew near to him, he heard him say these words: “Julius, announce to the Romans from me, that the genius to whom I was allotted at my birth is conducting me to the gods, now that I have finished my mortal life, and that I am Quirinus.”62

Dionysius differs from Livy in placing the appearance of Romulus to Julius when Romulus is about to be transferred to heaven, rather than after he had been taken up.63 Plutarch, like Livy, describes the appearance experienced by Julius Proculus as an epiphany of the one who had already ascended into heaven.64 Dionysius’s presentation of Romulus in transit is analogous to the appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene in John, when he had not yet ascended to the Father. The later appearances to the disciples in John appear to be analogous to the epiphanies of Proculus in the accounts of Livy and Plutarch. Plutarch also emphasizes that “Romulus disappeared suddenly, and no portion of his body or fragment of his clothing remained to be seen.”65 Another distinctive element in Plutarch’s account is Romulus’s revelation to Proculus that Romulus had come from the gods and was destined to be with humankind only a short time. After founding the city destined to be the greatest on earth,

 2.56.6.  2.56.6. 61  A later Greek writer says that Livia, Augustus’s wife, bestowed a million sesterces upon a certain Numerius Atticus, a senator and ex-praetor, because he swore that he had seen Augustus ascending to heaven after the manner of which tradition tells concerning Proculus and Romulus: Dio Cassius 56.46.1–3. 62 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 2.63.3–4. 63  Gerhard Lohfink, Die Himmelfahrt Jesu: Untersuchungen zu den Himmelfahrts- und Erhöhungstexten bei Lukas (Munich: Kösel Verlag, 1971), 35. 64 Plutarch, Lives, Romulus 28.1–3; Lohfink, Himmelfahrt, 35. All further citations from Plutarch’s life of Romulus are from Perrin, LCL. 65  Plutarch, Romulus 27.5. 59 60

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he was to dwell once again in heaven.66 Plutarch also criticizes the whole tale, and others like it, because, in his view, “to mix heaven with earth is foolish.” Something within human beings comes from the gods and returns to them, “but only when it is most completely separated and set free from the body, and becomes altogether pure, fleshless, and undefiled.”67 Plutarch also knows the conjecture that the senators slew Romulus.68 This is an opportune time to mention that a number of early Christian writers alluded to the Romulus legend, including Tertullian, Minucius Felix, Arnobius, and Augustine.69 Arnobius, a Christian apologist who flourished during the reign of Diocletian, assumed that Romulus had been torn in pieces by the senators and noted that the Romans affirm that he then ascended into heaven. He uses this example to support Christian beliefs about Jesus’ death and resurrection or ascension.70 As noted earlier, the transferral and apotheosis of Romulus was an important precedent for the apotheosis of the emperors. The ideas and practices associated with the divinization of the emperors were surely familiar to the author and ancient audiences of Mark. The imperial cult was widespread in the East, including cultic honors given to the living emperor. It was practiced even in Palestine, where Herod the Great built temples dedicated to Augustus and Roma in Caesarea on the sea, Banias, and Sebaste. These temples were maintained and updated by his sons. Thus even though there is no explicit mention of the imperial cult or the deification of the emperors in Mark, these traditions were part of the cultural scene in the Mediterranean world. The transferral of Jesus differs from that of Elijah, as noted above, and from that of Romulus in that neither Elijah nor Romulus, in the main version of the story, dies before being taken to heaven. The emperors, however, did experience death before becoming divine. The death of Julius Caesar is a dramatic example. Ovid includes in his Metamorphoses an account of Caesar’s death and apotheosis.71 In this account, Ovid honors the living Augustus by honoring Caesar: It was not so much his wars triumphantly achieved, his civic deeds accomplished, and his glory quickly won that changed him, illustrious in war and peace, to a new heavenly body,

 Plutarch, Romulus 28.2.  Plutarch, Romulus 28.6–7. On the distinction between “earthly” bodies and “heavenly” bodies, see the discussion of 1 Cor 15:36–44a in Troels Engberg-Petersen, “Complete and Incomplete Transformation in Paul  – a Philosophical Reading of Paul on Body and Spirit,” Metamorphoses, ed. Seim and Øklund, 124–25. 68  Plutarch, Romulus 27.5–8. 69  Cotter, “Apotheosis Traditions,” 136–38. 70  Cotter, “Apotheosis Traditions,” 137. 71  Ovid, Metam. 15.745–870. 66 67

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a flaming star; but still more his offspring deified him. For there is no work among all Caesar’s achievements greater than this, that he became the father of this our Emperor.72

After elaborating this point, he adds “So then, that his son might not be born of mortal seed, Caesar must needs be made a god.”73 When Venus saw that an armed conspiracy against her son was forming, she tried to prevent Caesar’s death.74 “The gods were moved indeed; and although they were not able to break the iron decrees of the ancient sisters, still they gave no uncertain portents of the woe that was at hand.”75 “Yet even so, the warnings of the gods were unable to check the plots of men and the advancing fates.”76 When Venus tries to protect Caesar by hiding him in a cloud, as she had protected Paris and Aeneas, Jupiter speaks to her as follows, “Dost thou, by thy sole power, my daughter, think to move the changeless fates?”77 Jupiter then tells her that in the abode of the three sisters, there are tablets of brass and solid iron on which all that happens, including the future, is inscribed.78 He says that he has read them and will tell her what is to come. The years that Caesar owed to earth are finished, “That as a god he may enter heaven and have his place in temples on the earth, thou shall accomplish and his son.”79 Jupiter then “prophesies” the accomplishments of Augustus, ending with the remark, “and not till old age, when his years have equalled his benefactions, shall he attain the heavenly seats and his related stars.”80 Returning to Caesar’s fate, he instructs Venus, “Meanwhile do thou catch up this soul from the slain body and make him a star in order that ever it may be the divine Julius who looks forth upon our Capitol and Forum from his lofty temple.”81 The narrative then continues: Scarce had he spoken when fostering Venus took her place within the senate-house, unseen of all, caught up the passing soul of her Caesar from his body, and not suffering it to vanish into air, she bore it towards the stars of heaven. And as she bore it she felt it glow and burn, and released it from her bosom. Higher than the moon it mounted up and, leaving behind it a fiery train, gleamed as a star.82

Ovid’s account differs from Mark in its polytheism and its rich detail. Yet the two accounts share the idea that a violent death at the hands of enemies is divinely  Ovid, Metam. 15.746–751. Metam. 15.760–761. 74 Ovid, Metam. 15.780–842. 75 Ovid, Metam. 15.781–782. These portents are described in 15.783–798. 76 Ovid, Metam. 15.799–800. 77 Ovid, Metam. 15.803–808. 78 Compare the (heavenly) “book of truth” in Dan 10:21. 79  Ovid, Metam. 15.808–819. 80  Ovid, Metam. 15.819–839. 81  Ovid, Metam. 15.840–842. 82  Ovid, Metam. 15.843–850. 72

73 Ovid,

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ordained and “must” happen. In both cases, the one who suffers violence and death is vindicated by God or the gods and exalted to heaven. During Caesar’s lifetime, it was voted that he would be buried inside the pomerium, the sacred boundary of the city of Rome.83 An ancient tradition, however, prohibited burial within that boundary. The traditional rule held sway and Caesar’s ashes were buried in his family tomb.84 The fact of Caesar’s burial raises the question whether it is the body or the soul that is deified. Elias Bickermann took as his point of departure the evidence that Helvius Pertinax in the late second century and Septimius Severus in the early third were cremated twice.85 In the first funeral, the emperor’s physical body was cremated. Afterward, his bones or ashes were buried in the usual way. In the second, a wax model or effigy of his body was cremated.86 Bickermann concluded that the rite of consecration or deification of the emperor was identical with the traditional notion of Entrückung, that is, the transferral from earth to heaven of the entire body of the one so favored. In the second funeral of the emperor, the effigy, representing the whole body of the deceased, was burned and disappeared entirely. Like the friends of Herakles who found no bones on his pyre when it ceased burning,87 so the wax image would leave no bodily elements behind. Bickermann interpreted this second cremation as a magical ritual that effected transferral. Florence Dupont argued, following Bickermann in part, “that the apotheosis of the emperor had to do with the body, not the soul.”88 Dupont is right that the notion of apotheosis was not necessarily connected with the Platonic idea of the immortal soul. As Ovid’s account of the apotheosis of Julius Caesar shows, however, it was not necessary that the whole body of the emperor disappear entirely. It was the soul, the anima, of Caesar that was transformed into a star. Without the assistance of the gods, the soul would have vanished or dissolved into air.89 The narrative of the empty tomb in Mark, however, does depict the total disappearance of his body. What Dupont affirmed of the second cremation of some emperors applies even more forcefully to the empty tomb story in Mark: “What, then, in the imaginary funeral corresponds to the imago of the human funeral? There is only one answer: absence. An absence expressing an else-

 Gesche, Vergottung, 50–53.  Beard, North, and Price, Religions of Rome, 1.180. 85  Elias Bickermann, “Die römische Kaiserapotheose,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 27 (1929): 1–31; reprinted in Römischer Kaiserkult, ed. Antonie Wlosok, Wege der Forschung 372 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1978), 82–121; here 86–92. 86 See Herodian’s account of the two funerals of Severus: 4.1–2. 87  Diodorus Siculus 4.38.5; cited by Bickermann, “Die römische Kaiserapotheose,” 99. 88  Florence Dupont, “The Emperor-God’s Other Body,” in Fragments for a History of the Human Body, Part Three, ed. Michel Feher et al. (New York: Urzone; Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989), 396–419; here 398. 89  Ovid, Metam. 15.843–846. 83 84

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where.”90 Although Jesus died, unlike Elijah and Romulus, his body disappears entirely, as theirs also do.91 An analogy to the empty tomb of Jesus may be found in Plutarch’s Life of Numa, the second king of Rome according to tradition. Plutarch says that Numa’s body was not burned because he did not wish it to be. Instead, “they made two stone coffins and buried them under the Janiculum,” a hill west of the Tiber and outside the boundaries of the ancient city. “One of these held his body, and the other the sacred books which he had written out with his own hand, as the Greek lawgivers their tablets.”92 After some discussion of the reason for burying the books, Plutarch goes on to say that: about four hundred years afterwards, when Publius Cornelius and Marcus Baebius were consuls, heavy rains fell, and the torrent of water tore away the earth and dislodged the coffins. When their lids had fallen off, one coffin was seen to be entirely empty, without any trace whatsoever of the body, but in the other the writings were found.93

Plutarch does not comment on the significance of the discovery of the empty coffin. The reason may be that it was clear to his audience that this “absence” implied an “elsewhere,” that is, Numa’s deification. When Augustus died in 14 ce, the senate voted his deification immediately after the funeral.94 According to Ittai Gradel’s reading of Dio Cassius, “the funeral differed in scale, but not in kind from traditional noble funerals, with the interesting exception that an eagle was let loose from a case on the pyre, when it was lighted.”95 Some modern scholars have doubted that the eagle rite was part of Augustus’s funeral, since Suetonius does not mention it.96 Gradel has argued persuasively, however, that Suetonius, whose account is much shorter than that of Dio Cassius, only mentioned details that were unique to Augustus and omitted elements that would have been familiar to his urban Roman audience. Dio Cassius, in contrast, needed to give a full account since his Greek audience would

 Dupont, “The Emperor-God’s Other Body,” 417.  The implication is probably that both the soul and the body of Jesus become immortal, as is also implied in Acts 2:24–31; 13:34–37. See the discussion by Karlsen Seim in “Resurrected Body,” 19. 92  Plutarch, Lives, Numa 22.2. 93  Plutarch, Lives, Numa 22.4–5. 94  The fullest description is that of Cassius Dio 56.31.2–43.1; see also Suetonius The Twelve Caesars, Divus Augustus 2.100; Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 196, col. 1 through 197, col. 1. See also Beard, North, and Price, Roman Religion, 1.208–9. 95 Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 196, col. 1. See also Ittai Gradel, Emperor Worship and Roman Religion, Oxford Classical Monographs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002), 271–82, 298–99, 305–20. 96 E. g., Bickermann, “Die römische Kaiserapotheose,” 93; S. R. F. Price, “The Consecration of the Roman Emperor,” in Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies, ed. Simon Price and David Cannadine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 56– 105; here 95. 90 91

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have been less familiar with the details.97 Gradel also argues that the eagle ritual was invented for the occasion of Augustus’s funeral.98 After Augustus’s funeral, a junior senator, Numerius Atticus, swore in public that he had seen the late emperor ascending to heaven.99 Some scholars have inferred from this oath (and the one following the deification in 38 ce of Diva Drusilla, Caligula’s sister) that deification was contingent upon some kind of proof of this sort that the emperor had actually been transferred to heaven.100 Gradel has pointed out, however, that these oaths played no role in the legal process of deification and that they seem to rely solely upon individual initiative. It is likely, as he suggests, that these oaths were inspired by the tradition of Proculus’s oath that he had seen the deified Romulus.101 Tiberius and Caligula were not deified, although Caligula was able to persuade the senate to deify his sister Drusilla. Claudius, Vespasian, and Titus were also deified. In my view, Mark’s Gospel was written before Vespasian and Titus were deified, but the author may have known about the apotheosis of Claudius.102 The Markan Jesus is similar to the emperors in dying before being exalted to heaven. He differs from Julius Caesar and Augustus in the circumstance that each of the two emperors was believed to have one divine parent. Mark mentions nothing of a virginal conception implying that Jesus was the Son of God in a relatively strong sense, as Matthew and Luke describe him.103 Another difference is that the power and authority of the emperors were greater when they were alive, as Jupiter on earth, than after they had died, as just one god among many. The Markan Jesus, in contrast, has a far more powerful position after death, in being seated at the right hand of God. His power will become manifest when he returns as Son of Man. Since the Gospel of Mark was written at a time when Roman power and influence were massive facts of life, it is to be expected that, in describing the role of Jesus in the events of the last days, the author would position himself indirectly and Jesus directly vis-à-vis Rome and the emperor. The point at which this positioning is most clear is the acclamation of the centurion at the foot of the cross.104 He says, “This man really was God’s son.” The phrase used, υἱὸς θεοῦ,  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 196, cols. 1–2.  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 196, col. 1.  99  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 197, col. 1; Suetonius says that an ex-praetor swore that he had seen Augustus’s spirit ascending to heaven; Divus Augustus 2.100. 100  Bickermann, “Die römische Kaiserapotheose,” 84, 121; Price, “Consecration;” Cotter, “Apotheosis Traditions,” 134. 101 Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 197, col. 1. See also Gradel, Emperor Worship, 295–97. 102  On the deification of Claudius, see Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 197, cols. 1–2; Donna W. Hurley, ed. (with commentary), Suetonius: Divus Claudius (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 14, 241–42. See also Gradel, Emperor Worship, 299–304. 103  I am grateful to Denise Buell for calling this difference to my attention in this context. 104  Mark 15:39.  97  98

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was familiar in the eastern Mediterranean world as the Greek translation of the Latin divi filius, an official title of Augustus as son of the deified Caesar.105 Placing this saying in the mouth of a gentile, a provincial officer in the Roman army,106 was equivalent to placing the living Jesus on a par with the emperor as Jupiter on earth. It is not clear whether “really” creates a contrast with the emperor or with the centurion’s previous opinion about Jesus. In tracing the theme of Jesus’s divinity in comparison with that of the Roman emperors and their prototype Romulus, we have seen the way in which a subject of imperial Rome both imitates the practices of deification current in Rome and portrays Jesus as a competitor with the emperors. It is important to keep in mind that during the Hellenistic and Roman periods, worship of a living human being expressed and was a symptom of the power of the person being so honored in relation to his or her worshippers.107 This culturally based union of the political and the religious no doubt affected how ancient audiences received the Gospel of Mark. The analogies between the divinization of Jesus and that of some emperors suggest that ancient audiences perceived the role of the risen Christ in terms of political power as well as religious significance.

 Yarbro Collins, Mark, 767–68. Collins, Mark, 764–65. 107  Gradel, “Roman Apotheosis,” 194, col. 2. Compare S. R. F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 105

106 Yarbro

Acknowledgements The original publications of the essays in this volume are listed below. They are reprinted with the gracious permission of the publishers. A.1. “Composition and Performance in Mark 13,” in Zuleika Rodgers, ed., with Margaret Daly-Denton and Anne Fitzpatrick McKinley, A Wandering Galilean: Essays in Honour of Sean Freyne, Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements 132 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 539–60. A.2. “Genre and the Gospels: A Review Article on Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels?: A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography,” Journal of Religion 75 (1995): 239–46. Copyright is held by the University of Chicago Press. B.3. “Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water (Mark 6:45–52),” in Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World: Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi, Supplements to Novum Testamentum 74, ed. Lukas Bormann, Kelly Del Tredici, and Angela Standhartinger (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 207–27. B.4. “Mark and his Readers: The Son of God among Jews,” Harvard Theological Review 92 (1999): 393–408. Copyright is held by Cambridge Journals. B.5. “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans,” Harvard Theological Review 93 (2000): 85–100. Copyright is held by Cambridge Journals. B.6. “Jesus’s Action in Herod’s Temple,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 45–61. B.7. “Messianic Secret and the Gospel of Mark: Secrecy in Jewish Apocalypticism, the Hellenistic Mystery Religions, and Magic,” in Rending the Veil: Concealment and Secrecy in the History of Religions ed. Elliot R. Wolfson, New York University Annual Conference in Comparative Religions (New York: Seven Bridges Press, 1999), 11–30. B.8. “What Sort of Jew is the Jesus of Mark?” in Torah, Temple, Land: Constructions of Judaism in Antiquity, ed. Markus Witte, Jens Schröter, and Verena M. Lepper, Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 184 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 197–227. C.9. “The Genre of the Passion Narrative,” Studia Theologica 47 (1993): 3–28. Copyright is held by Taylor & Francis. C.10. “The Flight of the Naked Young Man Revisited,” in “Il Verbo di Dio è vivo” Studi sul Nuovo Testamento in onore del Cardinale Albert Vanhoye, S. I., ed. J. E. Aguilar Chiu, F. M. Filippo Urso, and C. Z. Estrada, Analecta Biblica 165 (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2007), 123–137. C.11. “From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah,” New Testament Studies 40 (1994): 481– 503. Copyright is held by Cambridge Journals.

296

Acknowledgements

D.12. “Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus,” Journal of Religion 78 (1998): 175–96. Copyright is held by the University of Chicago Press. D.13. “ The Signification of Mark 10:45 among Gentile Christians,” Harvard Theological Review 90 (1997): 371–82. Copyright is held by Cambridge Journals. E.14. “The Empty Tomb and Resurrection according to Mark,” in Adela Yarbro Collins, The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 119–48. Reprinted in Hermes and Athena: Biblical Exegesis and Philosophical Theology, ed. Eleonore Stump and Thomas P. Flint (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993), 107–140. E.15. “Ancient Notions of Transferral and Apotheosis in Relation to the Empty Tomb Story in Mark,” in Metamorphoses: Resurrection, Body, and Transformative Practices in Early Christianity, ed. Turid Karlsen Seim and Jorunn Økland, Ekstasis: Religious Experience from Antiquity to the Middle Ages 1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 41–57.

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Wills, Lawrence M. The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John, and the Origins of the Gospel Genre. London: Routledge, 1997. Winston, David. The Wisdom of Solomon. AB 43. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1979. Wise, Michael Owen. A Critical Study of the Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11. SAOC 49. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1990. Wise, Michael Owen. “The Life and Times of Ananias bar Nedebaeus and His Family.” Pages 51–102 in Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language, and Literature of Second Temple Palestine. JSPSup 15. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994. Wrede, William. Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangelium. 1901. Reprint: Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963. ET: The Messianic Secret. Cambridge, UK: J. Clarke, 1971. Wright, M. R.  Empedocles: The Extant Fragments. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Daniel 7 and the Historical Jesus.” Pages 187–93 in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins. Edited by Harold W. Attridge et al. College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1990. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Establishing the Text: Mark 1:1.” Pages 111–27 in Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts: Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman. Edited by Tord Fornberg and David Hellholm. Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Is Mark’s Gospel a Life of Jesus? The Question of Genre.” Pages 1–38 in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Jesus as Messiah and Son of God in the Synoptic Gospels.” Pages 123–48 in Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins. King and Messiah as Son of God. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Yarbro Collins, Adela. Mark: A Commentary. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Mark 13: An Apocalyptic Discourse.” Pages 73–91 in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Mysteries in the Gospel of Mark.” Pages 11–23 in Mighty Minorities: Minorities in Early Christianity – Positions and Strategies: Essays in Honour of Jacob Jervell on His 70th Birthday. Edited by David Hellholm, Halvor Moxnes, and Turid Karlsen Seim. Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1995. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Narrative, History, and Gospel: A General Response.” Pages 145– 53 in Genre, Narrativity, and Theology. Semeia 43. Edited by Mary Gerhart and James G. Williams. (1988). Yarbro Collins, Adela. “Polemic against the Pharisees in Matthew 23.” Pages 148–69 in The Pharisees. Edited by Joseph Sievers and Any-Jill Levine. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2021. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “’Remove This Cup’: Suffering and Healing in the Gospel of Mark.” Pages 29–61 in Suffering and Healing in Our Day. Edited by Francis A. Eigo. Villanova, PA: Villanova University Press, 1990. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Apocalyptic Rhetoric of Mark 13 in Historical Context.” Biblical Research 41 (1996): 5–36. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Apocalyptic Son of Man Sayings.” Pages 220–28 in The Future of Early Christianity: Essays in Honor of Helmut Koester. Edited by Birger A. Pearson et al. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Composition of the Passion Narrative in Mark.” Sewanee Theological Review 36 (1992): 57–77. Repr. as “The Passion Narrative of Mark.” Pages

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92–118 in Yarbro Collins. The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Eschatological Discourse of Mark 13.” Pages 1125–40 in vol. 2 of The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck. Edited by Frans Van Segbroeck, Christopher M. Tuckett, Gerald Van Belle, and Jos Verheyden. BETL 100. Gembloux: Leuven University Press/Peeters, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Influence of Daniel on the New Testament.” Pages 92–96 in John J. Collins, Daniel. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Origin of the Designation of Jesus as Son of Man.” HTR 80 (1987): 391–407. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Passion Narrative of Mark.” Pages 92–118 in The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The ‘Son of Man’ Tradition and the Book of Revelation.” Pages 536–68 in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992. Yarbro Collins, Adela. “The Worship of Jesus and the Imperial Cult.” Pages 234–57 in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism. Edited by Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis. JSJSup 63. Leiden: Brill, 1999. Yarbro Collins, Adela and John J. Collins. King and Messiah as Son of God. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Zeller, Dieter. “Die Menschwerdung des Sohnes Gottes im Neuen Testament und die antike Religionsgeschichte.” Pages 141–76 in Menschwerdung Gottes  – Vergöttlichung von Menschen. Edited by Dieter Zeller. NTOA 7. Freiburg, Schweiz: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988. Ziegler, Joseph, ed. Duodecim prophetae. Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Societas Litterarum Gottingensis 13. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1943. Zimmerli, Walther. Ezekiel 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979.

Index of Ancient Sources Old Testament Genesis 1:27 145 2:2–3 136 2:24 145 5:5 199 f. 5:22, 25 271 5:24 271 6:1–4 69 f., 115 19 77 f. 35:8 199 f. 39:6–20 186 f., 194 f. 47:28–50:14 199 f. 49 215 f. 50:24 215 f.

Deuteronomy 5:16 LXX 141 f. 18:15 71 18:18–19 71 18:18 71 21:22–23 264 31–34 199 f. 32 215 f. 34:5, 6 271

Exodus 3:6 133 f. 3:15–16 133 f. 14:21–29 53 21:16 LXX 141 f. 24:3–8 221 24:6 222 f. 27:3 98 f. 29:12 222 f. 30:27–28 98 f. 34–35 106

Judges 6–8 40

Leviticus 1:5, 11 222 f. 3:2, 8, 13 222 f. 4:7 222 f. 4:18 222 f. 4:25 222 f. 4:34 222 f. 16 227 16:19 225 f. 16:21–22 222 f., 227 f. 16:22 MT 222 f. 17:11 MY 223 f.

Joshua 3:7–4:18 53 23 215 f. 23:1–24:31 199 f.

2 Samuel 7:12–14 132 f. 7:14 65, 73–74 12:24–25 66 f. 12:25 66 22 212 f. 23 39 1–2 Kings

11

1 Kings 2:9 281 f. 2:10–12a 199 f. 6–7 105 15:5 135 f, 17:8–16 281 f. 17:17–24 281 f. 18:12 130 f. 18:46 281 f. 19:4–8 130 f. 19:16 67 f., 130 f.

322 19:19–21 22:24

Index of Ancient Sources

130 f. 68 f.

3 Kingdoms (= LXX of 1 Kings) 8:4 98 f. 2 Kings 2 271, 281 f. 2:8 53 2:9 67 f., 130 f. 2:11 284 f. 2:15 67 f., 130 f. 2:16 130 f. 23:4 96 f. 23:6–7 96 f. 23:11–12 96 f. 2 Chronicles 20:5 24:20–22

4 105 f. 4 f., 164

Ezra 7:11

24 f.

Nehemiah 8:1–4 Job 9:8 9:11 38:16

24 f. 51, 62 5, 62 51 f.

Psalms 2 76 2:7 65, 66, 75 2:9 68 f. 8:5 LXX 137 f. 17:7 LXX 212 f. 17:17–20 LXX 212 f. 18 178, 212 18:6–19 178 f. 18:6 RSV 212 f. 18:7 MT 212 f. 18:16–19 RSV 212 f. 18:17–20 MT 212 f. 21:2 LXX 213 f. 21:7–9 LXX 210 f. 21:17 LXX 210 f. 21:19 LXX 210 f.

22 (21 LXX)

178 f., 210 f., 211 f., 214 22:1 RSV 213 f. 22:2 MT 213 f. 22:6–8 178 f. 22:6–8 RSV 210 f. 22:7–9 MT 210 f. 22:16 RSV 210 f. 22:17 MT 210 f. 22:18 178 22:18 RSV 210 f. 22:19 MT 210 f. 35:11 182 f. 37:14–15 LXX 208 f. 38 208 38:11 NRSV 176 38:13–14 NRSV/RSV 176 f., 208 f. 38:14–15 MT 208 f. 41:6, 12 LXX 205 f. 41:11 LXX 206 f. 42–43 205 42 MT 209 f. 42 LXX 209 f. 42:5 LXX 205 f. 42:10 RSV 206 f. 42:11 206 42:11 MT 206 f. 42:5, 11 RSV 205 f. 42:6, 12 MT 205 f. 43:5 MT 205 f. 43:5 RSV 205 f. 49:1 RSV 175 f. 45:6 RSV 65 45:7 MT 65 68:30 205 f. 69 (68 LXX):1 175 f. 69:4 182 f. 69 (68 LXX):13–15 175 f. 69 [68 LXX):17, 20, 29 175 f. 74:12–17 51 77:16 51 77:19–20 51 77:19 51–52 89:26–27 65 f. 94:21 182 f.

Index of Ancient Sources

109:2–3, 6–7 182 f. 110 92 110:1 78, 196, 280, 287 110:3 65, 66 Isaiah 1:11, 17 238 f. 5:1–7 72 5:7 72 11:1–5 68 11:2–4 68 f. 11:3 68 f. 11:4 68–69 f. 11:1–3 68 11:2 68 13:10 123 f. 29:13 140 40:3 145 42:1 65, 66, 67 43:16–21 52 43:16–17 51 f. 43:16 52 43:18–19 52 43:19b–21 52 44:1–2 67 50:6–7 209 f. 51:9–11 51, 52 51:9–10 51 f. 51:10 51 53:10 MT 243 f. 52:7 147 52:11 98 f. 52:13–53:12 208–9, 209 f. 53 8, 222 53:4–6 MT 223 f. 53:6, 11 MT 223 f. 53:7 176 f., 208 53:8–9, 12 224 f. 53:10 224 f. 53:11 LXX 242 53:12 178, 207–8, 223 f. 53:12b MT 223 f. 53:12b LXX 223 f. 56:7 150 61:1–11 67 61:1 67 f.

Jeremiah 7:11 150 52:18 98 f. Ezekiel 3:12–15 130 f. 8:3 130 f. 11:1 130 f. 11:24 130 f. 32:7–8 123 f. 36:25–28 146 37:1 130 f. 40–48 105, 150–51 40:17–47 105 f. 40:42 98 f. 40:44–47 105 f. 42:1–14 105 f. 43:5 130 f. 43:18–27 105 f. 44:5–9 105 f., 150 f. 44:10–14 105 f. 44:15–31 105 f. 46:1–3 105 f. 46:19–20 105 f. 47:13–48:29 105 f. 48:15 105 f. 51:7 206 f. Daniel 2 116 f., 117, 123 2:18–19 117 f. 2:28–29 30 2:31–35 20 3 162, 167 f. 6 162, 167 f. 7 92, 129, 137, 156 7–12 117 7:7–27 20 7:9 71 f., 268 f. 7:13–14 78 7:13 27, 28, 78, 123, 129 7:15–18 268 f. 8:9–26 20 8:15–26 268 f. 8:15–16 268 f. 8:17–18 269 f. 9:21–23 268 f. 9:21 268 f.

323

324

Index of Ancient Sources

9:24–27 20 9:26–27 28 10:2–14 268 f. 10:5 268 f. 10:8–12 269 f. 10:21 290 f. 11:21–12:4 20 11:33 117 f. 11:36 74 f. 12:2 260, 276 12:3 72 f., 260 12:7 28 12:9 117 f. 12:10–12 22 f. 12:11–12 33 12:13 20 Joel 2:10 2:31

123 f. 123 f.

Amos 2:12–16 194

2:12–16 LXX 2:16 MT 2:16 LXX 8:9

195 f. 187, 194 f., 195 187 187, 195, 211

Jonah 1–2 52 2:7 (2:8 LXX) 212 f. 4:9 206 Habakkuk 3:3b–4 52 3:8 52 3:15 52 Haggai 2:15–16a LXX

153 f.

Malachi 3:23–24 MT 3:23 MT 4:5–6 RSV 4:5 RSV

71 f. 276 f., 281 f. 71 f. 276 f., 281 f.

Deuterocanonical Books of the Old Testament Tobit 13:4

67 f.

Wisdom of Solomon 1–5 71 2 162, 163, 180 2:10 66 2:13 66–67 2:16 67 f. 4 162 5 162, 163, 180 10:18–19 53 f. 14:3 53 f., 67 Sirach Prologue 24 22:27–23:6 67 f. 23:1 67 f. 23:4 67 f. 24:5–6 53 f.

2 Maccabees 3:26, 33 268 f. 5:21 5 f., 57 f. 6 170 6–7 199 f., 224 6:12–7:42 170 6:18–31 161 f., 167 f. 6:18 225 f. 6:19 167 f., 168 f. 6:21–23 167 f. 6:23 167 f. 6:24 167 f. 6:25 167 f. 6:26 167 f. 6:28 167 f. 6:28b 168 f. 6:30 168 f. 6:31 167 f. 7 161 f., 170 7:1–5 168 f.

325

Index of Ancient Sources

7:3–5 169 f. 7:3, 12, 24, 39 169 f. 7:6, 9, 11, 14, 18 169 f. 7:10–11 275 7:18 224 f. 7:23, 29, 32–33, 36a 169 f. 7:32 224 f. 7:37–38 224 f., 225 f. 11:8–10 268 f. 11:12 195 f. 12:45 251 f. 14:37–46 199 f., 275 f. 3 Maccabees 6:3 6:8

67 f. 67 f.

5–18 199 f. 5:1–7:23 161 f. 5:1 170 f. 5:4 225 f. 5:22–24 171 f. 6:1–11 171 f. 6:6:24–26 171 f. 6:27–29 171 f., 175 f. 6:28 225 f. 6:29 182 f., 225 f. 8:1–18:24 161 f. 17:20–22 225 f. 17:21–22. 182 f. 17:21 225 f. 17:22 251 1 Esdras 8:63

4 Maccabees 1:1–3:18 170 f. 1:11 225 f. 3–18 170

222 f.

2 Esdras (chapters 3–14 = 4 Ezra) 7:19 98 f. 13:32 209 f.

Other Ancient Jewish Sources 1 Enoch 1–36 1 2–5 6–11 10:16–11:2 12–36 12:3–4 15:3–4 15:8 16:3 22

8 115 f. 115 f. 69, 115 f. 116 f. 116 f. 116 f. 69 f. 69 f. 116 f. 116 f.

1 Enoch 37–71 37:3–5 38 48:6–7 49:3 51:4 62:2 62:7 62:10

8 117 f. 118 f. 118 f. 68 f. 275 f. 68 f. 118 f. 188 f.

62:14 69:26 71:16–17

78 f. 118 f. 78 f.

1 Enoch 90:31

276

1 Enoch 91–104 104:2, 4, 6 275 f. 1QHa 12:9–11 12:13–18 17:35–36

12, 141 f. 141 f. 67 f.

1QM 5:1–2 11:6–7 17:7–8

146 f. 147 f. 146 f.

1QpPs frg. 9.1–2

205 f.

326 1QS 2:25–3:5 4:16–23 4:18–23 5:7–12 8:12–16 9:10–11 9:11 9:17–20

Index of Ancient Sources

112 f. 146 f. 146 f. 117 f. 145 f. 68 f., 146 f. 73 f., 148 f. 145 f.

1QSa (Rule of the Congregation) 146 f. 1QSb (Rule of Benedictions) 146 f. 1Q28a 2:11–12

75 f.

4Q 166 ii 5–6

141 f.

4Q174 (Florilegium) 1:11–12 74 f. 4Q174 + 4Q477 (Eschatological Midrash) 146 f. 4Q175 (Testimonia) 71 f., 146 f. 5–8 148 f.

11QMelch 2:4 2:7 2:15–16 2:16 2:18–19 2:24–25

147 f. 147 f. 147 f. 148 f. 148 f. 147 f.

11Q19 (11QTa; see also Temple Scroll) 19:5–6 107 f., 151 f. 29:8–10 153 f. 30–45 151 f. 32:10–12 107 f., 151 f. 37:8–14 107 f., 151 f. 38:12–39:11 107 f., 151 f. 40:5–6 107 f., 151 f. 46:5–12 107 f., 151 f. 47:3–7 107 f. 4 Baruch/Paralip. Jer. 3:9 98 f. b. Hag. 16a

70 f.

b. Git. 68a

70 f.

b. Pesahim 57a

103 f.

4Q246

74, 76, 79

4Q265 5 6–7

b. Shabbat 109a

139 f.

139 f.

b. Yoma 85b

137 f.

CD 4:19–5:2 6:11 7:19–21 7:18–21 10:22–23 12:23–13:1 14:19 16:7–9 19:10–11 20:1

145 f. 71 f. 146 f. 147 f. 135 f. 73 f. 73 f., 146 f. 12, 141 f. 73 f. 73 f.

4Q271 frg. 3, lines 10–15 145 f. 4Q301 4–5 141 f. 4Q371–372 67 f. 4Q385 (Pseudo-Ezekiel) 147 f. 4Q521 67 f. 4QpIsaa 68 f.

327

Index of Ancient Sources

4 Ezra 4:21 4:52 14:1–6 14:21–22 14:37–48

33 f. 33 f. 118 f. 119 f. 119 f.

Jubilees 7:21 69 f. 10:1 69 f. 23:31 261 Josephus Antiquities 1.18, 24 24 f. 1.85 274 2.34 103 f. 5.277 268 f. 9.28 72 f., 274 11.68 24 f. 13.297 140 f. 13.298 140 f. 14.218 24 f. 14.265 24 f. 18.16 132 f. 18.26 103 f. 20.103 103 f. 20.131 103 f. 20.162–163 150 f. 20.197 103 f. 20.205–207 104 f. Against Apion 2.108–109 2.106 Jewish War 2.57–59 2.60–65 2.119–166 2.162 2.165 2.166 2.243 2.254–256 2.305–308 2.433–448 5.212–214

98 f. 98 f. 179 f. 179 f. 128 f. 133 f. 132 f. 133 f., 134 f. 103 f. 104 f., 150 f. 177 f. 179 f., 213 f.

5.219 212 f. 5.446–451 177 f. 5.506 103 f. 6.228 154 f. 6.232 154 f. 6.236 154 f. 6.249–252 154 f. 6.256–258 154 f. 6.265–266 154 f. 6.277 154 f. 6.283–285 154 d. 6.388–389 98 f. 7.26–36, 153–157 179 f. 7.455 24 f. 20.162–163 104 f. Vita 27 189–194

24 f. 102 f.

Jubilees 1:17 1:29

153 f. 153 f.

Let. Aris. 298

140 f.

m. Hullin 1:5

102 f.

m. Kelim 29:1

186 f.

m. Kerithot 1.7

102 f.

m. Nedarim 5:6

142 f.

m. Qinnim

102 f.

m. Shabbat 14:3–4 22:6

138 f. 138 f.

m. Sheqalim 5:1 6:5

102 f. 109 f.

328

Index of Ancient Sources

m. Shevu’ot 3:8

142 f.

m. Yoma 8:6

139 f.

Pseudo-Phocylides 97–98 274 99 274–75 100–102 275 103–104 275

Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Shabbtha 137 f. 1 137 f. Philo Flaccus 36–39

177 f., 209 f.

Hypoth. 7.5 11–18

142 f. 128 f.

Legat. 150–151

108 f.

Life of Moses 37 2.22 135 f. Prob. 75–91

128 f.

Psalms of Solomon 3:10–12 (3:13–16) 276 f. 17:21–24 68 f. 17:21 73 f. 17:26–27 73 f. 17:37 68 f.

Sword of Moses 58 t. Shabbat 12[13].8–14 16[17].16 16[17].19

138 f. 138 f. 138 f.

t. Sheqalim 3:2–3

109 f.

Temple Scroll (see also 11Q19) Cols. 2–3 106 Cols. 3–13 106–107, 151 Cols. 30–45 107 Testament of Solomon 69 f. 5:5 70 f. 20:1–21 70 f. 20:12 70 f. y. Shabbat 14:4 14d

139 f. 139 f.

y. Yoma 8:5 45b

136 f. 136 f.

New Testament Matthew 12:39–41 206 f. 13:43 72 14:33 61 16:4 206 f. 17:24–27 101 21:12–17 96 f. 21:12 97 f. 24:2 100 f.

26:28 222 f. 26:60–61 100 f. 27:4, 19 180 f. 27:39–40 100 f. 28:2 277 28:3 71 28:9 277 28:9–10 285 28:16–20 277, 285

Index of Ancient Sources

Mark 1:1–15 1 f. 1:1 6, 40, 41, 64–65, 66 1:8 189 1:1–3 145 f. 1:2–15 147 1:L4–15 145 f. 1:9–11 236 1:10 67, 124 f., 130 f., 155 f. 1:11 65, 123 f. 1:12 130 f. 1:12–13 130 f. 1:14–15 130 f. 1:15 147 1:16–21 130 f. 1:21–28 123 f. 1:22 129 f. 1:23 124 f. 1:24 70, 124 f. 1:24–25 124 f. 1:27 124 f. 1:34 113 f., 124 f. 1:35 265 1:40–45 124 f. 1:44 113 f., 124 f., 148 f., 149 f. 2:5 283 f. 2:7 237 f. 2:10 78, 129 f. 2:13 130 f. 2:14 130 f. 2:15–17 133 f. 2:23–28 12 2:27–28 136–37 2:28 78, 129 f. 3:1–6 12, 138–39 3:5 62 3:7–12 69, 71 3:11–12 124 f. 3:11 69 3:12 113 f. 3:21–22 236 3:23 125 f. 4 123 4:1–34 124 f.. 125 4:1–2 130 f. 4:9 25 f. 4:11–12 113 f. 4:38 130 f.

329

4:39c 48, 62 5:7 70, 85 5:17 236 5:21–24a 281 f. 5:35–43 281 f. 5:37 127 f. 5:42 266 5:43 127 f. 6:1–6b 236 6:2 130 f. 6:3 236 6:6b 130 f. 6:7–13, 30 287 f. 6:30–44 61, 281 f. 6:32–34 130 f. 6:33–44 48 6:34 47 6:36 47 6:37–41 49 6:45 47 6:48–49 51 f. 6:48 48, 62 6:36–51 48 6:45 61 6:46 48 6:48 48 6:49 49 6:50 49 6:51b 48, 62 6:52 5, 48, 61, 63 7:1–23 12, 139–44 7:3 140 f. 7:4 140 7:5 140 7:8 12 f., 140–41 7:9–13 12, 141 7:9 141 7:11 141 7:12–13 142 f. 7:14–23 143 7:14–15 144 f. 7:14 142 7:15 12–13, 111 f., 142–43 7:17–23 144 f. 7:17 125 f. 7:18–19 13 7:18b–19a 143 f. 7:19b 98 f., 112 f., 143 f.

330

Index of Ancient Sources

7:32–37 61 7:36 127 f. 8–10 123 8:1–10 61, 281 f. 8:14–21 113 f. 8:17 62 8:22–26 61 8:26 127 f. 8:27–30 71, 129 f. 8:27–28 130 f, 8:27 280 8:29 128 f., 287 8:30 113 f. 8:30–31 128 f. 8:31–9:1 72 8:32 125 f. 8:34–9:1 71, 183, 189 8:34–37 279 8:34–38 127 f. 8:38 77, 78, 123 f., 129 f., 279 9:1 32, 147 f., 269 9:2–3 71 9:2–8 85 9:7 71, 123 f. 9:9 113 f., 281 f. 9:9–12 213 9:13 281 9:15 268 f. 9:20 23 f. 9:27 23 f. 8:38 130 f. 9:38–39 30 9:41 30, 287 9:42–48 77 f. 9:43–48 148 f. 10:1 130 f. 10:2–12 144–45 10:2–9 144 10:2 144 10:34 191, 192, 193 10:35 130 f. 10:38–39 189 10:38 242 10:41–44 242 10:45 7, 8, 77 f., 183, 227 f., 240 f. 11:14 149 f. 11:15 130 f.

11:17 130 f. 11:18 149 f., 152 f. 11:20–25 149 f. 11:27–33 153 f. 11:27–28 149 f. 11:27 130 f. 12:1–12 72 12:1 125 f. 12:1–37 130 f. 12:6 123 f. 12:9 77 f. 12:12–13 149 f. 12:12 153 f. 12:13–17 111 f. 12:18–27 12 f., 132 f. 12:35–37 196 f. 12:35 280 f., 287 12:36 78 f., 127 12:41 130 f. 13 2, 11, 19, 73, 77, 86, 87, 123, 279 13:1 130 f. 13:1–4 20 13:2–3 155 f. 13:4 28, 154 f. 13:1–2 19, 28 13:2 100 f., 153 13:3–37 28 13:3–31 19 13:5–8 20 13:5b–27 32 13:5b–23 32 13:5b–6 11, 20, 29, 32 13:5 30 13:5b 33 f. 13:6 19, 29, 30 13:7–8 19, 30 13:7 31 13:9–13 19, 20, 32, 73, 183, 279 13:9 31 f., 33 f. 13:10 31, 34 13:9–11 30, 31 f. 13:9 30 13:10 19 13:12–16 20 13:16 195 f. 13:14–23 32 13:14–20 19, 20, 77 f.

Index of Ancient Sources

13:14–20 188 f. 13:14–16 187 13:14 12, 21, 24, 31, 33. 34 13:16 187 13:19–22 20 13:21–27 20 13:21–22 19, 20, 32 13:21 286 f. 13:23 19, 32, 33 f. 13:24–27 11, 19, 20, 21, 25–27, 77 f., 123 f., 129 f., 147 f., 270 13:26 269 13:27 77, 127 f., 279 13:28–37 21 13:30–32 19, 33 13:30–31 32 13:32–36 32–33, 34 13:32 19, 33, 73 13:33–37 19, 20 13:33 33 13:34–36 19, 33, 73 13:37 33 14–16 3 14–15 175ß 14:1–16:8 1 f. 14:1–15:39 3 14:1–2 153 f., 237 f. 14:3–9 264 14:22–25 221 f. 14:23–24 183 14:24 8, 77 f., 221–22, 225 f., 240, 251 14:25 182 f. 14:28 3, 267. 269, 270, 285 14:33 268 f. 14:36 10, 132 f., 156 f., 190, 227 f., 255 14:41 195 14:46 186 14:50 187, 191 14:51–52 187, 188, 189, 190, 192 14:51 196 14:55 181 f. 14:56–59 237 14:57–58 155 f. 14:58 100 f. 14:61–72 10 14:61–64 237

14:61–62a 14:61–62 14:62

331

123 f. 280 f. 77 f., 78, 122 f., 123 f.. 127 f., 129 f., 214, 269, 270 15 287 15:2 75–76 15:6–15 76 f. 15:9 76 f. 15:12 76 f. 15:15–17 9 15:16–20 8, 76 f., 232, 240 f. 15:24 210 f. 15:26 76 f. 15:29–30 100 f., 155 f. 15:29 178 f. 15:30 178 d. 15:31 91 15:32 76 f., 178 f., 287 15:33 187, 195 15:34 212 f. 15:37–38 3 15:37 212 f. 15:38 155 f., 156 f., 212 f. 15:39 76–77, 76 f., 80, 88, 122 f., 293 f. 15:40–41 263 15:40 264 15:42–46 263 15:42–43 264 15:42 264 15:46 188, 190, 192, 264 15:47 263 15:50 190 16:1–8 3, 188, 263, 264, 266, 276, 277 16:1–2 265 16:1 264 16:2 265, 266 16:3 268 16:4 268 16:5 71 f., 185, 188, 189, 196, 268 16:6 266–67, 268–69, 269 f., 280 f. 16:7 3, 266, 267, 269, 270, 285 16:8 262, 265–66, 267, 270

332 Luke 3:2 103 f. 11:29–30, 32 206 f. 12:11–12 20, 31 f. 12:35–46 33 f. 19:12–17 33 f. 19:45–48 96 f. 19:45 97 f. 21:6 100 f. 23:47 180 24 286 24:1 265 24:4 71 f, 24:13–35 286 f. 24:13–32, 44–49 215 f. John 2:13–22 96 f. 2:14–15 97 f. 2:14 109 f. 2:19 100 f. 14:25–26 215 f. 18:13–24 103 f. 20:5–7 188 20:11–18 285 f. 20:12 71 f. 20:26–29 286 f. 21 286 21:9–13 286 f. 21:9–14 286 f. Acts 1–5 261 f. 1 286 1:10–11 268 f. 1:10 71 f., 268 f. 2:22–24 261 f. 2:24–31 292 f. 2:25–31 261 f. 3:13–15 261 f. 4:6 103 f. 4:10–12 261 f. 5:30–32 261 f. 9:3–9 285 f. 12:8 194 f. 12:12 19 13:29 262 13:34–37 261 f.. 292 f.

Index of Ancient Sources

20:78 265 22:6–11 285 f. 23:2 103 f. 23:8 133 f. 24:1 103 f. 26:12–18 285 f. Romans 1:3–4 92 f. 3:24–25 251 f. 6:12 260 12:1 260 1 Corinthians 6:15 260 7:4 260 9:14 27 f. 9:27 260 11:23 258 f. 12:27 260 13:3 260 15 3 15:1–3 258 15:3 203, 208 15:3–5 258 15:5 269 15:3–7 259 15:5–9 285 15:8–11 259 15:12–19 255 15:20–23 276 15:35–50 259 15:36–44a 289 f. 15:36–37 259 15:37–38 259 15:40–41 259 15:40–42 260 15:42–44 260 15:44 259 15:50 261 15:51–52 276 15:52 279 2 Corinthians 5 261 5:2–4 261 f. 10:10 260

333

Index of Ancient Sources

Galatians 1:15–16

Revelation 1:3 24 f. 1:5–6 251 2:7 25 f. 2:11 25 f. 2:17 25 f. 3:4 72 f. 4:4 71 f. 6:11 72 f. 6:15–16 188 f. 6:19–20 213 f. 7:9 72 f. 7:13 72 f. 10:19–20 213 f. 13:18 22 15:6 71 f. 16:15 187 17:9 22 f. 19:14 71 f. 21:5b 32 f. 22:6a 32 f.

285 f.

Philippians 1:20 260 2:6–11 92 Colossians 4:16

24 f.

1 Thessalonians 1:10 26 4:13–18 11, 25–27 4:17 279 5:1–6 33 f. 5:27 24 1 Timothy 4:13 24 2 Timothy 3:14–17

24 f.

Hebrews 2:10–18 9:21

216 f. 98 f.

Greco-Roman Literature Acta Alexandrinorum (Acts of the Alexandrians = Acts of the Pagan Martyrs) 161 f., 171–73, 209 Acts of Paul and Antoninus 209

Apollonius Rhodius

Antoninus Liberalis

Roman History, The Civil War 2.106 283 f.

Metamorphosen synagoge 25 230 f. Apollodorus The Library 1.4.3 54 f. 2.4.12 274 2.7.7 272 f.

Argonautica 1.179–184 54 Appian

Apuleius Metamorphoses 13 57 f. Artemidorus Oneirocritica 1.1

58 f.

334 1.3, 5, 7–8 3.16

Index of Ancient Sources

58 f. 58 f.

Berossus Babyloniaca 2.2.2

274 f.

Callimachus Aetia frag. 90

229 f.

Cicero De natura deorum 3.6.15 238 f. De re publica 2.20

286 f.

Letters to Atticus 12.45.2 283 f. 13.28.3 283 f. 13.44.1 283 f. Tusculan Disputations 1.118 174 f. 2.42–65 171 f. 7.71–74 198 f. Demosthenes Orations 21.216

194 f.

Dio Cassius Roman History 44.4.4 44.6.4 56.31.2–43.1 56.46.1–3 63.13 63.15

283 f. 283 f. 292 f. 288 f. 238–39 f., 242 f. 239 f.

Dio Chrysostom 11.129 58 f. 30.30–31 56 f. Diodorus Siculus 4.38.5 291 f.

Diogenes Laertius 1.72 215 f. 1.117–118 214 f. 1.118 215 f. 2.15 215 f. 2.112 200 f. 2.120 200 f. 2.144 200 f. 3.2 82 f. 3.40–41 215 f. 4.3 200 f. 4.44–45 200 f. 4.61 200 f. 4.64 215 f. 5.68 200 f. 6.90 194 f. 6.100 200 f. 7.164 200 f. 7.184 199, f. 9.26–27 170 f. 9.58–59 170 f. Dionysius of Halicarnassus Ant. Rom. 2.56.2–7 2.56.2 2.56.3 2.56.6 2.63.3–4 2.63.4

287 f. 287 f. 287 f. 288 f. 288 f. 287 f.

Empedocles Purifications frg. 112 frg. 102 frg. 399

84 f. 84 f. 84 f.

Epictetus Discourses 4.1.159–177

174 f.

Euripides Heraclidae 499

226 f.

335

Index of Ancient Sources

Iphigenia at Aulis 1383–1384 226 f. 1420, 1472–1473 226 f. Phoenician Women 948, 952 226 f. 997–998 226 f. Herodian De prosodia catholica 228 f. History of the Empire since the Death of Marcus Aurelius 4.1–2 291 f. Herodotus History 1.23–24 234 f. 1.30 165 f., 166 f., 198 f. 1.107–130 165 f. 1.177–188 165 f. 1.201–214 165 f. 3.61–66 165 f. 4.36 55 5.39–41 165 f. 6.34–38 165 f. 6:38 166 f., 181 f. 6.39–41 165 f. 6:73–84 165 f. 6.75 165 f. 6.103–104 165 f. 6.132–140 165 f. 7.33–57 55 7.35 56 f.

Theogony 1–35 47 940–942 943–944 950–955

233 f. 81 f. 81 f. 82 f. 82 f.

Homer Iliad 1.444 222 f. 1.544 81 f. 11.1 271 13.26–30 52 f. 14.321–322 272 16.843–854 214 f. 19.1–2 271 20.215–229 59 f. 20.230–235 271 20.237 271 22.303–305 198 f. 22.355–360 214 f. Odyssey 4.560–570 272 5.333–335 272 f. 15.248–252 271 f. 17.485–487 85 f. Homeric Hymns 1 82 f. 26 82 f. Hymn to Demeter 93–94 86 f. 478–479 119 f.

Hesiod

Hyginus

Catalogue of Women 63 84 f.

Fabulae 14.15

54 f.

Hymn to Demeter 101 86 f. 118–122 86 f. 211 86 f. 248 86 f. 268–274 86 f. 275–280 86 f.

De astronomia 2.34

54 f.

Iamblichus On the Pythagorean Way of Life 136 55 f.

336

Index of Ancient Sources

Isocrates Evagoras 37

Menander Frg. 924K

57 f.

Nepos

Julian

Atticus 37

Oration 7.219D

55 f.

Life of Homer 2

234 f.

Livy 1.16.1–8 1.16.1 1.16.3 1.16.5–7 8.9–10 33.36

284 f. 284 f. 284 f. 284 f. 238 f. 177 f.

Lucian

Nicander Theriaca 15

54 f.

Of the Origin of Homer and Hesiod and Their Context 315 234 f. 322–323 234 f. 323 233 f. 324–325 235 f. Ovid Fasti 6.743–762

85 f.

The Passing of Peregrinus 23, 42 215 f.

Metamorphoses 13.685–701 14.581–608 14.805–828 14.810–811 14.816–828 14.829–51 15.745–870 15.746–751 15.760–761 15.780–842 15.781–782 15.783–798 15.799–800 15.803–808 15.808–819 15.819–839 15.840–842 15.843–850 15.843–846

230 f. 286 f. 286 f. 286 f. 286 f. 286 f. 289 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 290 f. 291 f.

Lycophron

Papyri Graecae Magicae

A True Story 1.2 2.4

59 f. 59 f.

Alexander the False Prophet 59 200 f. Demonax 37 Hermotimus 7

274 f.

How to Write History 8 59 f. 40 57 f. Saturnalia 6 236 The Dead Come to Life 15–16 = The Fisherman 15–16

Alexandra 886

54 f.

I 119–121 42–195 130–132

58 f. 121 f. 121 f.

337

Index of Ancient Sources

192–193

121 f.

III 275–281

249 f.

IV 52–85 296–466 475–476

249 f. 249 f. 122 f.

XII 319–324

121 f.

XIII 1–343

250 f.

XXXIV 1–24

57 f.

XXXVI 256–264

250 f.

Pausanias 9.17

230 f.

Plato Apology 17D 32A–33B 37E–38C 37E 38C 39AB

167 f. 167 f. 167 f. 167 f. 167 f. 167 f.

Phaedo 115C–116A 115D 117C–118

168 f., 181 f. 169 f. 166 f.

Phaedrus 230D 260C 274E 275A–B

228 f. 216 f. 228 f. 229 f.

Pliny Letters 5.5 6.16 8.12

165 f., 173 f. 174 f. 174 f., 181 f.

Plutarch Lives: Caesar 69.3–5 88 69.4–5 178 f., 215 f. 69.4 181 f. Cato Minor 37 Comparison: Demostheses and Cicero 5 200 f. Numa 22.2 22.4–5

292 f. 292 f.

Pelopidas 21.4

239 f.

Romulus 27.5–8 27.5 27.6–7 28.1–3 28.2 28.6–7

289 f. 288 f. 89 f. 288 f. 289 f. 289 f.

Moralia: Dinner of the Seven Wise Men 19 (Moralia 162C–F) 233 f. Porphyry Life of Pythagoras 29 54 f.

Philostratus

Pseudo-Eratosthenes

Apollonius of Tyana 37 4.40–41 96 f.

Catasterismi 32

54 f.

Sallust Cataline 1

338

Index of Ancient Sources

15.44–64 15.62 15:64 16 16:11

Satyrus Euripides 37 Seneca Epistulae Morales 24.14 171 f.

Thucydides 1.22 276–77 2.49.5 186 f. 3.96 233 f. 6.28 120 f.

Hercules furens 322–324 55 796–807 202 f. Strabo 10.2.9 10.3.9

230 f. 85 f., 119 f.

Suetonius Lives of the Caesars 37 Divus Augustus 2.100

292 f.

Divus Julius Caesar 76.1 283 f. 80–82 181 f., 215 f. 84, 88 181 f., 215 f. Tacitus Agricola 37 Annals 4.68–70 6:47–48 11.1–3 11:3 14 15

174 f. 174 f. 174 f. 180 f. 174 f. 174 f.

174 f. 174 f. 180 f. 174 f. 180 f.

Virgil Aeneid 5.1057–1059 5.1081–1085

53 f. 53 f.

Georgics 1.463–468 1.468

88 f. 178 f., 215 f.

Vita Aesopi 127 132

237 f. 233 f.

Vita G 142

233 f.

Vita W 132 142

237 f. 233 f.

Xenophon Agesilaus 37 Memorabilia 2.2.13

222 f.

Other Early Christian Literature Acts of Pilate 15:6 188

[Pseudo-]Clement of Alexandria 191, 193, 195

Apostolic Tradition 21.3–20 189

Didache 4.5–7 249 f. 7 189

339

Index of Ancient Sources

Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.5

22 f.

Praep ev. 34.14–15

98 f.

Gospel of Peter 37

277 f.

Gospel of Philip 65.1–8 69 f. 66.2–4 69 f. Justin Martyr First Apology 66.3 6

Martyrdom of Polycarp 164 Origen Contra Celsum 2.9 2.24 2:34 2.38 2.42 3.1 6.10

197 f. 197 f. 210 f. 197 f. 197 f. 216 f. 197 f.

[So-called] Secret Gospel of Mark 191, 193

Index of Modern Authors Abrahams, Israel ​99, 103, 110 Achtemeier, Paul ​17 f., 18, 19, 47 Ådna, Jostein ​108 f., 109 f., 152 f. Alsup, John ​285  f. Baltzer, Klaus ​39–40 Barkun, Michael ​126 Bauckham, Richard ​101–103 Bauer, A. ​172 Beasley-Murray, G.  R. ​20 Benoit, P. ​263 Berger, Klaus ​165  f. Bertram, Georg ​194 Best, Ernest ​23 Betz, Hans Dieter ​96, 121, 250 f. ​ Bickermann, Elias ​291 Booth, Wayne ​210  f. Bousset, Wilhelm ​75 f., 80, 91, 93, 267 Brandenburger, Egon ​19 Brandon, S. G. F. ​99 Bremmer, Jan ​119, 120 f., 126, 231 f., 232 f. Brown, Raymond ​264 Brown, Schuyler ​114 Brown, Scott ​193 Brox, Norbert ​164 Buckler, William H. ​244, 245 Buell, Denise ​293  f. Bultmann, Rudolf ​17, 49, 62 f., 82, 114, 255, 260, 266 f., 266–67 Buraselis, Kostas ​283  f. Buresch, Karl ​243, 244, 245 Burkert, Walter ​120 Burkill, T. A. ​114 f. Burnett, Anne Pippin ​235 f. Burridge, Richard ​6, 36–38, 40–41, 42, 43 Cancik, Hubert ​41 Cancik-Lindemaier, Hildegard ​239 Clarysse, Willy ​248  f. Colani, Timothy ​22 Collins, John J. ​67 f.

Colwell, E. C. ​88, 91 Coppens, Joseph ​125  f. Cotter, Wendy ​51 f., 52, 53 f., 55, 59 f., 285 f. Cranfield, C. E. B. ​186 f. Crossan, John Dominic ​263 f., 265 f., 269 f. Culler, Jonathan ​36 Cullmann, Oscar ​201 Dalman, Gustaf ​75  f. Dauer, Anton ​175 Day, John ​51 Deissmann, Adolf ​95, 244, 247 Delekat, Lienhard ​248 Derrett, Duncan ​103 Dewey, Joanna ​18 Dibelius, Martin ​17, 48–49, 114, 123 Dihle, Albrecht ​41, 42 Doering, Lutz ​136 f., 138 Dölger, Franz Josef ​91 f., 93–94 Donahue, John ​22 f., 100, 102 f., 191 Dormeyer, Detlev ​4, 40–41, 163, 164, 171, 175, 236 f. Droge, Arthur J. ​166 f. Dubrow, Heather ​36 Dupont, Florence ​291–92 Ebeling, Hans Jürgen ​122 Ebner, Martin ​136  f. Eppstein, Victor ​104  f. Evans, Craig ​102  f. Evelyn-White, Hugh ​54 Farrer, Austin ​188 Fee, Gordon ​24  f. Field, Frederick ​194 Finnegan, Ruth ​17 Fitzmyer, Joseph ​64, 78–79 Fleddermann, Harry ​10, 190 Fowler, Alastair ​36, 161, 162 f. Fowler, Robert M. ​21 Fraade, Stephen ​144

Index of Modern Authors

Frankemölle, Hubert ​41 Freyne, Sean ​11 Frymer-Kensky, Tikva ​52  f. Gamble, Harry ​64  f. Geiger, Joseph ​37 Georgi, Dieter ​242  f. Gerhart, Mary ​1 Gnilka, Joachim ​187, 226 f. Gould, Ezra ​87 f., 99 f. Gradel, Ittai ​282 f., 292 Green, Joel ​2 Groff, Kent ​189, 190, 191 Hallett, Christopher ​283  f. Haren, M. and M. Haran ​187 Harrington, Daniel ​22 f., 191 Hartman, Lars ​6, 20, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31 f. Harvey, Van ​258 Hase, K. ​214  f. Hatton, Stephen ​191, 194 Hauerwas, Stanley ​255 Heil, John Paul ​62 f. Heitmüller, Wilhelm ​29 Henaut, Barry ​17, 25 ​ Hengel, Martin ​80–81, 88, 92–93, 197, 226 f. Henrichs, Albert ​239–40 Heschel, Abraham ​200 Hirsch, E.  D. ​36 Hoenig, Sidney ​104  f. Hölscher, Gustav ​22 Holtz, Traugott ​26  f. Hooker, Morna ​21 Horbury, William ​64, 75, 79 Horgan, Maurya ​205  f. Horsley, G. H. R. ​246 Horsley, Richard ​100–101 Johnson, Earl ​88, 91 Johnson, Janet ​248  f. Juel, Donald ​77 f., 210 f. Karlsen Seim, Turid ​11 Kelber, Werner ​17, 20, 31, 269 f., 270 Kellermann, Ulrich ​169  f. Kermode, Frank ​189–90

341

Kister, Menahem ​12, 135, 139, 141, 143, 144 Klauck, Hans-Josef ​243  f. Klein, Ralph ​164 Klostermann, Erich ​187, 194 f. Knibbeler, Lily ​227  f. Knox, John ​188, 190, 191 f. Koester, Helmut ​1, 7, 192, 193 Kramer, S. N. ​270 f. Kremer, J. ​265  f. Lalor, Brian ​109  f. Lambrecht, Jan ​21, 32, 33 f. Lane, Eugene ​244, 245–46 Lefkowitz, Mary ​234  f. Lessing, Gotthold ​36, 66 Lindars, Barnabas ​203 Lindbeck, George ​255  f. Linnemann, Eta ​187, 194 Litwa, M. David ​1 f. Lohmeyer, Ernst ​62, 62 f., 186 f. Lohse, Eduard ​224 Loisy, Alfred ​187 Lord, Albert ​17 Luz, Ulrich ​114 Malherbe, Abraham ​27 f., 42 Marcus, Joel ​31  f. Matera, Frank ​77  f. Meshorer, Yaakov ​110 Meyer, Marvin ​192 Milgrom, Jacob ​106  f. Millar, Fergus ​176 Momigliano, Arnaldo ​4 f., 39 Moule, C. F. D. ​30 f. Musurillo, Herbert ​172 Nagy, Gregory ​233  f. Neirynck, Frans ​194 f., 266 f. Nickelsburg, George ​4, 162, 163 Niebuhr, Richard R. ​257 Osiek, Carolyn ​249 Otto, Eberhard ​39 Parry, Milman ​17 Peddinghaus, C.  D. ​163 Perkins, Pheme ​267 Pesch, Rudolf ​19, 187, 191 f., 265 f.

342

Index of Modern Authors

Petzl, Georg ​245, 248 Price, Simon ​90, 93

Steudel, Annette ​106  f. Surkau, Hans-Werner ​224  f.

Räisänen, Heikki ​114 Ramsay, William M. ​243 Reimarus, Hermann ​36, 66, 99 Resch, Alfred ​25 Richter, Wolfgang ​40 Rigaux, Béda ​26 Robbins, Vernon ​27  f. Rohde, Erwin ​273 Roloff, Jürgen ​114 Ross, J. M. ​195 f. Ruppert, Lothar ​4, 162, 163

Tabor, James D. ​166 f. Taeger, Fritz ​92–93 Talbert, Charles ​37, 42 Tannehill, Robert ​190 Taylor, Vincent ​30 f., 186 f. Theissen, Gert ​22, 24 f., 49–50, 50 f., 114– 15, 124 f., 186–87

Saldarini, Anthony ​134 Sanders, E. P. ​17, 99, 100, 149 Schenk, W. ​188 f., 195 f. Schenke, Hans-Martin ​192 f., 193 Schenke, Ludwig ​205 Schiller, Friedrich ​201, 202 f. Schmidt, Karl Ludwig ​2, 17, 161 f. Schmithals, Walter ​114  f. Schneider, Gerhard ​187, 190 Schnellbächer, Ernst ​188  f. Schweizer, Eduard ​186–87  f. Scroggs, Robin ​189, 190, 191 Sethe, Kurt ​248  f. Sjöqvist, Erik ​109  f. Speiser, E. A. ​271 f. ​ Stegemann, Hartmut ​106  f. Steichele, Hans-Jörg ​75  f. Steinleitner, Franz ​247  f. Stern, David ​25

van den Hoek, Annewies ​244 f. van der Horst, P. W. ​274 f. Vanhoye, Albert ​10, 188–89 f., 190, 191 f. Vansina, Jan ​17 Varinlioglu, Ender ​248 Vellacott, Philip ​237  f. Versnel, H. S. ​227 f., 240 f., 243 f. Von Woess, F. ​248 f. Wanamaker, Charles ​26  f. Warren, Austin ​36, 162 f. Weizsäcker, Carl ​23 Wellek, René ​36 Wellhausen, Julius ​23, 24 Wenham, David ​26 Wente, Edward ​39 Westermann, Claus ​199  f. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. ​172  f. Wilcken, Ulrich ​172, 248 Wilcox, Max ​247  f. Wilkinson Duran, Nicole ​153 f. Williams, James ​1 Wrede, William ​113, 122