Divine Presence and Absence in Exilic and Post-Exilic Judaism (Forschungen Zum Alten Testament 2.Reihe) 9783161524332, 9783161524349, 3161524330

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Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe Edited by Konrad Schmid (Zürich) · Mark S. Smith (New York) Hermann Spieckermann (Göttingen)

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Divine Presence and Absence in Exilic and Post-Exilic Judaism Studies of the Sofja Kovalevskaja Research Group on Early Jewish Monotheism Vol. II edited by

Nathan MacDonald and Izaak J. de Hulster

Mohr Siebeck

Nathan MacDonald, born 1975; studied theology and classical Hebrew in Cambridge and Durham; currently University Lecturer in Hebrew Bible at the University of Cambridge; Leader of the Sofja Kovalevskaja Research Team, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen. Izaak J. de Hulster, born 1979; studied theology and art history in Utrecht; currently postdoctoral researcher, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-152434-9 ISBN 978-3-16-152433-2 ISSN 1611-4914 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament, 2. Reihe) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

© 2013 by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de 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, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed by Laupp & Göbel in Nehren on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

Preface The essays in this volume stem from a colloquium held in the Theologische Fakultät and the Paulinerkirche in the Georg-AugustUniversität Göttingen in May 2011. The theme of the conference was Divine Presence and Absence in the Persian Period. We are grateful to the Bundesministerium für Bildung und Forschung and the Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung who have funded the Early Jewish Monotheisms research group in Göttingen of which the conference was a part. The editors wish to thank Profs. Hermann Spieckermann, Mark S. Smith and Bernd Janowski for accepting the volume for publication in their series Forschungen zum Alten Testament and for their encouragement and advice. Similarly we are grateful to Dr Henning Ziebritzki for his help and support. Finally, we would like to thank Benjamin Prill and Philipp Strass for their work in making the conference a success, as well as Matthis Kreitzscheck and Martin Hallaschka for assistance in the preparation of the volume.



Contents Abbreviations …………………………………………………………….IX NATHAN MACDONALD Introduction ………………………………………………………………XI TREVOR HART Complicating Presence: Inter-disciplinary Perspectives on a Theological Question ………………………………………….…………….1 JOHANNES ZACHHUBER Transzendenz und Immanenz als Interpretationskategorien antiken Denkens im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert ………………………………………23 CLAUS AMBOS Überlegungen zu den Voraussetzungen für göttliche Präsenz im Alten Orient und zu den Gefahren ihrer Beeinträchtigung………………………55 ANGELIKA BERLEJUNG Divine Presence for Everybody: Presence Theology in Everyday Life…..67 NATHAN MACDONALD The Spirit of YHWH: An Overlooked Conceptualization of Divine Presence in the Persian Period ………………………………….95 STEPHEN COOK God’s Real Absence and Real Presence in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomism …………………………………………..……………….121 WILLIAM TOOMAN Covenant and Presence in the Composition and Theology of Ezekiel…. 151 J ILL MIDDLEMAS Divine Presence in Absence: Multiple Imaging as Literary Aniconism in the Prophets…………………………………………….………………183

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JOEL BURNETT The Anticipated Rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple as Reflected in the Elohistic Psalter and its Background in Mesopotamian Hymn Tradition …………………………………………………………………213 MICHAEL EMMENDÖRFFER Das Gebet in der Krise oder die Abwesenheit Jahwes als Thema der Psalmen …………………………………………………………………...255 BOB BECKING Silent Witness: The Symbolic Presence of God in the Temple Vessels in Ezra-Nehemiah ………………………………………………………..267 LISBETH S. FRIED The Torah of God as God: The Exaltation of the Written Law Code in Ezra-Nehemiah ……………………………………..………………….283

Contributors ………………………………………………………………301 Scripture Index …………………………………………………………...303 Author Index ……………………………………………………………..321 

Abbreviations The bibliographies use the system of abbreviations found in S.M. SCHWERTNER, Theologische Realenzyklopädie: Abkürzungsverzeichnis, Berlin 1994 2. In addition the following abbreviations are used: ABD BZAR CC COS DDD HCOT HerBS LHBOTS NET NKJV NSK.AT OBO.SA TA TDOT TLOT TOBITH

Anchor Bible Dictionary (ed. D.N. Freedman) Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte Continental Commentary Context of Scripture (eds. W.W. Hallo and K.L. Younger, Jr.) Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (ed. K. van der Toorn) Historical Commentary on the Old Testament Herders Biblische Studien Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies NET Bible (ed. W. Hall Harris) New King James Version Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar. Altes Testament Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Series Archaeologica Tel Aviv Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (eds. G.J. Botterweck, H. Ringgren and H.-J. Fabry) Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament (eds. E. Jenni und C. Westermann) Topoi Biblischer Theologie/Topics of Biblical Theology



Introduction NATHAN MACDONALD

The presence of the divine was an important concern for the inhabitants of the ancient Near East and is reflected in their cultic practice. Temples, sacrifices and rituals ensured the gods were near to those who revered them. The small Levantine kingdoms of Israel and Judah were no different. Around the time of the neo-Babylonian empire, however, the Israelite prophetic writings, begin to show unambiguous evidence of a changing attitude towards some widely shared assumptions about divine presence. In the idol polemic of Isaiah 40–48, for example, the ancient Near Eastern theology of images was rejected. In the ancient Near East it was apparent that the gods were not present in the same way that human beings are present to others and themselves. Consequently sophisticated theologies had developed to express the presence of the gods to the worshippers. The most important form of divine presence was embodiment in a cult image that resided in a temple. In Mesopotamia pƯt pî (‘mouth opening’) and mƯs pî (‘mouth washing’) rituals ensured the presence of the gods in the statues. The rituals recognized the earthly origins of the image, but insisted that in reality the statue had been born in heaven. The image received sacrificial worship and other forms of homage in the temple. It was ‘a body of the god, but it did not exhaust that god’s being’.1 The idol-polemic in Isaiah 40–48 ridicules the images of the Babylonian gods and the craftsmen who made them. The divine images remain what they always were: wood and stone. For the composer of this idol-polemic YHWH had no image. In this respect the uniqueness of YHWH was expressed in concrete cultic practice and a distinctive understanding of divine presence. How widely spread this altered sensibility was amongst ancient Judahites and Israelites is unclear and the extent to which it was rooted within traditional Israelite belief about representation of the divine. Many scholars hold that the decisive stimulus for a radical re-thinking of notions of divine presence was the fall of Jerusalem. In a significant contribution to the understanding of Israelite theologies of divine presence, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel, Sommer objects to giving too deci1

SOMMER, Bodies of God, 23.

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sive a role to the fall of Jerusalem in scholarly reconstructions of the development of ideas of divine presence. Thus, in his account of the priestly kabod theology, he speaks of a ‘religious sensibility, a certain way of struggling with conflicting perceptions of the divine’. This stands in contrast to those reconstructions that make the priestly theology of presence the ‘product of…one moment in history’ which results in ‘reducing it to nothing more than a historical reaction’.2 There is considerable merit to Sommer’s objection. The biblical texts show that scribes wrestled for centuries with how to describe Israel’s experience of YHWH’s presence. Indeed, the essays that follow describe some of that intellectual wrestling. Nevertheless, his strong contrast between attention to historical circumstances and perennial religious concerns is unhelpful. The book of Ezekiel’s account of the movement of YHWH’s kabod from the Jerusalem temple prior to the Babylonian attack on the city, for example, suggests that the events around the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE were a significant stimulus for thinking about divine presence. It is for these reasons that this volume focuses on divine presence and absence in the exilic and postexilic periods. The book begins with the larger issues of definition and theory with essays by two theologians. These are followed by two essays on the Old Testament’s wider ancient context which discuss the Near East and the material culture of Palestine. The largest number of essays is devoted to the Old Testament itself. After an essay on the divine spirit that draws upon a wide selection of Old Testament texts, the remaining essays are arranged according to the order of the Jewish canon.

Divine Presence and Hermeneutics Language of presence and absence is so ubiquitous in contemporary speech and writing that it is possible to forget just how tricky the concepts we use are; much more so when we talk about the presence or absence of God. No-one who has read even superficially in catholic sacramental theology could be in any doubt of this fact. For this reason the first two essays of the volume help provide some conceptual orientation, and raise many questions. They remind us that the language employed by biblical scholars does not have a self-evident meaning. In their concerns they anticipate some of the other essays in this volume that deal with subjects such as metaphor or symbolic presence.

2

SOMMER, Bodies of God, 96–97.

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Hart offers reflections on the nature of divine presence from a Christian theological perspective. Since the Christian theology of presence has its roots within the Old Testament Hart gently points out the value of a dialogue between the two areas of study. He observes how the idea of divine presence is both simple and also intellectually taxing. He develops a typology of the modes of divine presence from Dalferth. This typology articulates different modes of divine presence through a Trinitarian scheme. Hart’s essay implicitly invites readers to reflect upon those modes of divine presence in relation to the Old Testament. In the following essay Zachhuber offers some critical reflection on the categories of transcendence and immanence. He begins his investigation of the dialectical pair in the eighteenth century with Immanuel Kant, tracing something of their prehistory, but focusing especially on their use in nineteenth and twentieth century philosophical and theological thought. Zachhuber is careful to insist that he is not prohibiting the categories as useful for historical analysis. Nevertheless, his research reminds us that all our categories emerge from their own historical context, and their meaning is often far from self-evident.

Divine Presence in the Ancient Near East The theologies of divine presence we find in the Old Testament were not created ex nihilo, even when it was formulated in conscious opposition to common Near Eastern forms of presence theology, as is the case in Deutero-Isaiah. Laments about divine abandonment and beliefs about temples, idols and amulets have a long genealogy in the ancient Near East. This common Near Eastern background is reflected in many of the essays on the Old Testament in the final section of this volume, most especially in those essays on the Book of Psalms and Ezra-Nehemiah. For this reason two of the essays in this volume are devoted to sketching in something of this Near Eastern conceptual background. Ambos re-examines the Mesopotamian trope where kings claimed to restore a neglected or destroyed cult. Were these simply pious frauds or inventions of tradition as modern scholars have often asserted? Ambos examines three cases: the Akitu house of Aššur, the cultic image of Šamaš in Sippar, and the temple of Anu in Uruk. As Ambos shows the case for the temple of Anu being a pious fraud is less compelling than it has been thought to be. Berlejung examines the use of amulets in first-millennium Palestine as a means of ensuring the divine presence in daily life. She provides detailed typologies of the main sorts of amulets, including the kinds of representa-

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tions that appeared on them and the inscriptions they bore. Image and inscription acted together to fix positive powers to the wearer of the amulet and banish any evil powers. Examination of the amulets shows that they were not an autochthonous tradition, though the inhabitants of Palestine could freely combine elements from various neighbouring cultures. Berlejung identifies a new turn in amulet practice in the silver amulets from Ketif Hinnom and the practices described in Deut 6.6–9. They become vehicles for expressing right behaviour and teaching the official theology. They demonstrate how individual piety and official theology came to be bound together.

Divine Presence and Absence in the Old Testament The majority of the essays in this volume are devoted to theologies of divine presence in the Old Testament. The essays cover a diverse set of topics, which reflects the many different perspectives on divine presence in the Old Testament. MacDonald makes a case that the spirit of YHWH needs as much attention in discussions of exilic and post-exilic notions of divine presence as the classic ideas of the shem and kabod theologies. According to him this conceptualization of divine presence has been overlooked. MacDonald demonstrates that the vocabulary of spirit became more prominent in the post-exilic period, probably under the influence of the book of Ezekiel. He suggests that the spirit was seen as a constant presence with Israel through inspired leaders and argues that Israel’s primary history was edited with this principle in view. Visions of the role of the spirit in the future were somewhat more diverse. Different views can be discerned in the various prophetic books including Isaiah, Ezekiel and Deutero-Zechariah. Nevertheless, later scribes sought to orientate these different perspectives to one another. Cook tackles the familiar subject of Deuteronomy’s theology of divine presence. He contests the common opinion that the name is a means of distancing YHWH from Israel. Instead, YHWH is personally and immediately available to Israel. What is needed, argues Cook, is a closer analysis of how God is both present and absent to the Israelites. In particular, Deuteronomy seeks to articulate a paradox. God is free and a radical, impenetrable other, but he is also close to his people and speaks to them. This paradox is expressed through Deuteronomy’s theology of the divine name. God chooses where to place his name and be present to the people, but the name is a means by which a direct existential encounter with God occurred.

Introduction

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Tooman shows that whilst divine presence is a prominent concern in the visionary framework of Ezekiel, it is barely present in the oracular core. The questions that this raises takes us into the theological concerns of the book of Ezekiel and its redacational history. Tooman demonstrates that a closer examination of the oracles reveals a number of texts where divine presence is a significant concern. The restoration of the covenant – the central concern of the oracular core – is seen as coextensive with the restoration of the divine presence. This raises the natural concern that the people will again be disobedient leading to exile and further destruction of the temple. It is for this reason that the redacted form of Ezekiel emphasizes the spirit as a particular mode of divine presence that will ensure the maintenance of the covenant in perpetuity. Middlemas examines the subject of divine absence in the prophets. She shows how the prophet’s reconfigured the relationship between divine absence and images. Images no longer ensured divine presence, but the opposite: they drove YHWH from Jerusalem. The prophets resisted associating any imagery with YHWH within the cult. At the same time, the prophets explored a panoply of metaphorical images. Middlemas uses contemporary metaphor theory to show how Ezekiel and Hosea used metaphorical speech to convey divine presence. Two essays explore divine presence in the Book of Psalms. Burnett explores the theology of the Elohistic Psalter (Psalms 42–83) with the aid of West Semitic inscriptions. Both inscriptions and the Elohistic Psalter appeal to the deity to overturn reproach and the woe that has been inflicted upon the appellant. The Elohistic Psalter envisages a reordering of the heavenly and earthly powers that are familiar from West Semitic inscriptions. In this re-ordered cosmos YHWH will be present and vindicate his people. Emmendörffer examines those psalms that respond to the destruction of the kingdom and the temple by complaining about God’s distance from his people. These psalms use not only the pre-exilic complaint form to turn their appeals to God, but also show familiarity with the Mesopotamian laments over the destruction of the city. In their own way the psalms attest to the hope in God and the possibility of divine presence. Finally, two essays discuss the books of Ezra-Nehemiah. Becking draws our attention to ancient Near Eastern texts that identify cultic vessels as symbolic representations of the divine. Can the same be said for the cultic vessels that were taken from Jerusalem and later returned with the exiles? Becking observes that various biblical texts anticipate the return of YHWH from exile, and notes how the cultic vessels are described as making a similar journey from Babylon back to Jerusalem. This suggests we see the cultic vessels as a symbolic representation of the divine. Becking notes that this perspective is consistent with Ezra-Nehemiah’s view of God as

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present in history, but whose actions are indirect and instrumental. In her essay Fried focuses on the question of divine presence in the temple. EzraNehemiah depart from typical Near Eastern beliefs that YHWH is present in the temple, and reflect Greek notions of a deity in the sky. It is for this reason that an active altar could be present on the site without a temple building to house the deity. This altered perception of the divine had implications for how the Torah was understood. The Torah was a manifestation of YHWH. It was used for oracular guidance and received obeisance. In its own way each of the essays in this volume challenges our understanding of the theology of emerging Judaism. They force us to go back and reconsider what we mean by expressions such as transcendence, immanence, presence, absence, iconism, aniconism. They confront us with the many diverse perspective on divine presence that find expression during the Babylonian exile and Persian period. At the end of this volume we might have a better sense of the different things that the earliest readers of the end of Ezekiel might have understood when they read the words, ‘YHWH is there’.

Bibliography SOMMER, B.D., The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel, Cambridge 2009

Complicating Presence Inter-Disciplinary Perspectives on a Theological Question

TREVOR HART

1. Elusive Presence It is by now a commonplace, perhaps a truism, to suggest that the prevailing climate of thought and of feeling in contemporary (modern or postmodern) European culture is that of ‘a vivid sense of the absence of God’.1 God survives, according to his self-satisfied executioners, only by clinging to culture as ‘a phantom of grammar, a fossil embedded in the childhood of rational speech’.2 But in at least one sense, therefore, the suggestion can be seen to be misleading. The postulate or dogma of God’s non-existence, it seems, is not at all the same thing as the experience of God’s absence, a sense bound up closely with the postulate of his presence, or at least the possibility of his presence.3 In so far as the claim is true, furthermore, I want to suggest that far from being a consequence of the successful overthrow of our biblical heritage, the problem of God’s absence (or, as we might say somewhat inelegantly, God’s ‘absence/presence’) is bequeathed to us precisely by that same heritage, and in particular by its roots sunk deep in the soils of Hebraic and Judaic sensibility. For here, what we find is a theology of divine presence which is at once profound and problematic, which gives with one hand what it appears only to take away again with the other, compelling an epistemic and moral disposition which human beings ‘come of age’ have always found uncomfortable – namely, one of trust: trust in the God who makes himself present yet refuses to give himself over into human hands to be held onto or commandeered into our various programmes and agendas, who gives what is for us in his judgment sufficient, but never as much as we think we should actually like of his

1

DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 33. STEINER, Real Presences, 3. 3 Cf. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 51; STEINER, Real Presences, 39. 2

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presence (even though in reality it may often also be as much as, for the time being at least, we can bear).4 According to Terrien’s eponymous essay in the field of biblical theology5 it is a distinctive theology of divine presence (rather than one centred around the theme of covenant) which sets Israel apart most clearly from the religious cultures of her immediate neighbours, and provides the golden thread holding both the various stages of her historical development and the texts in her canon of Scripture identifiably together.6 The peculiarity of this sense of presence is, Terrien suggests, precisely its persistent complication by and compounding with an attendant awareness of absence, a sense of isolation from the proximity of God.7 It is a presence both undeniably real, and yet more often than not either remembered or (on the basis of divine promise) looked forward to, rather than experienced directly or ‘purely’. It is, in this sense, we might say, both dialectical and eschatological. Ingolf Dalferth characterizes the whole history of Israel as one of ‘suffering from the experience of God’s absence, and…longing for his definitive and real presence’. Jesus’ announcement of the kingdom of God, Dalferth suggests, must be understood in this light as the announcement that ‘the time of God’s absence had come to an end and that the longed for presence of God was about to begin here and now’.8 But while in some sense Christians must hold this to be true, the dialectic is not resolved here into any Hegelian higher synthesis: the pulse of Hebraic iconoclasm beats powerfully in the breast of the New Testament too, and maintains a tension, as Terrien puts it, ‘between divine self-disclosure and divine selfconcealment’. In many ways, indeed, the presence of Christ in the world sharpens and heightens the tension, the presence of the Risen Lord remaining ‘elusive’ rather than available on tap, communicated by the Spirit who blows where he wills, and arising not as ‘sheer presence’, but shaped from first to last by elements of narrated past and future, that is to say of remembrance and hope (including the abiding hope for an unambiguous

4

In related vein Kant refers to the ‘wise adaptation’ of our cognitive faculties to the demands of our ‘practical vocation’ rather than to ‘that power of insight or enlightenment which we would like to possess’ (KANT, Critique of Practical Reason, §IX, 151–152. Cf. B AILLIE, Presence of God, 162). Such considerations are, needless to say, hardly adequate by way of response in contexts where the sense of divine absence is one bound up inextricably with our suffering of life’s horrors and terrors. Despite this, though, for wider purposes they are important to bear in mind. 5 TERRIEN, Elusive Presence. 6 TERRIEN, Elusive Presence, 27, 31. 7 TERRIEN, Elusive Presence, 29. 8 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 50.

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presence, when God will be known to be ‘all in all’).9 If, as Dalferth properly insists, for Christian believers questions about divine presence and absence must be informed above all by considerations of Christology, therefore, we certainly should not expect the answers to those questions to be easily had, for at the heart of Christology we find events which serve precisely ‘to intensify the sense of the absence of God rather than disclose God’s presence’.10 Questions of presence and absence have spilled over identifiably from the explicit concerns of biblical religion and theology to generate some deep-seated anxieties in the patterns of our wider culture, and it is worth pausing at least to notice the resonances arising from their common (albeit often disputed or unacknowledged) paternity. Thus, according to Steiner,11 the postmodern ‘broken contract’ between word and world, sign and thing signified, deeply questioning whether any ‘presence’ (authorial, readerly or other sort) may in fact reliably be discerned through our engagements with ‘language’ in the widest sense of the word, may confidently trace its roots and antecedents (if not its warrant) in the same biblical matrix of ‘elusive presence’. Judaism, Steiner notes, is marked equally by its profound respect for the holiness of the divine presence and its attention to the sacred text as, in effect, an extension of the tent of meeting. One consequence of this, he argues, is the prominent phenomenon in Jewish culture of the textually secondary, keeping, as it were, a respectful distance from the qodesh qodashim, always preferring commentary – and commentary upon commentary – to those primary performances of the text which inevitably risk the idolatrous suggestion of semantic closure. Hermeneutic unendingness, ‘reading without end’, the midrashic gloss and marginalia not just on the sacred text but on all previous readings of it, deferring definitive resolution of questions of the text’s meaning, all sustain a dialectic precisely similar (because in reality wedded) to the interplay of divine presence and absence, self-disclosure and self-veiling. ‘The lamps of explication must burn unquenched before the tabernacle’,12 precisely because the presence discerned there is one not to be pinned down through the semantic, lexical and grammatical tools at our disposal, but always elusive and thus in a manner ‘absent’ (refusing more than a partial and fleeting let alone a final determination) even in the midst of its own elected presence. 9

Cf. Moltmann’s insistence that the experience of the Spirit’s presence with us is always ‘historical’ and ‘eschatological’, viz. shaped by the flow of time, situated (consciously rather than merely de facto) ‘between remembered past and expected future’ (MOLTMANN, Spirit of Life, 17). 10 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 50. 11 For what follows see STEINER, Real Presences, esp. 39–42. 12 STEINER, Real Presences, 40.

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Paradoxically, Steiner notes, the same religiously driven impulse toward the under-determination or de-stabilizing of textual meaning also liberates the sacred text both from ‘historical-geographical contingency’ and from ‘the threat of the past tense’, acknowledging its capacity to speak in ever new times and places. ‘In dispersion’, he notes, ‘the text is homeland’.13 But all this, Steiner admits, has in due course borne some strange fruit, and it should come as no surprise to anyone that some of the High Priests of textual deconstruction are to be identified among the tribe of Israel. Thus, post-structuralist versions of ‘reading without end’ and la différance, endlessly adjourning the sterile fixity of definition,14 are in their own way rooted in the selfsame theological concerns about potentially ‘idolatrous’ misappropriations of presence (‘logocentrism’); but, far from preserving the dialectic of ‘elusiveness’, deconstruction posits an aporia, a semantic ‘transcendence’ so radical as in effect to explode the dialectic, leaving available only the dubious consolation of the assurances of absence. So, Steiner writes, ‘Deconstruction dances in front of the ancient Ark. This dance is at once playful…and, in its subtler practitioners…instinct with sadness. For the dancers know that the Ark is empty.’ 15 Although he rejects the postulates of deconstructionism, Steiner insists that, on its own terms and planes of argument, like all forms of philosophical scepticism, its challenge is a difficult one to refute. In the final analysis, he suggests, the reality of any ‘presence’, i.e. of something other than ourselves and meaning-full ‘out there’ to be reckoned with, responded to and ‘made sense of’, is one which remains elusive, and thus, while we may have a grasp or sense of it sufficient for our practical needs (indeed it is difficult to see how these can be sustained in the teeth of its denial), resists our desire and attempts to master and possess it completely. It can only be known at all, he suggests, on the basis of a ‘wager’, a willingness to trust which is wedded both structurally and ontologically to the prior wager on the reality of God’s own elusive presence.16

2. Orientating Presence Despite the necessity for and importance of such disclaimers, ‘presence’ remains fundamentally a term of orientation rather than disorientation. Specifically, it indicates our attempt in language to locate and situate ourselves – in relation to everything that is (things, persons, thoughts, events, 13

STEINER, STEINER, 15 STEINER, 16 STEINER, 14

Real Presences, 40. Real Presences, 122. Real Presences, 122. Real Presences, 3–4 et passim.

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actions, facts and so on17) – in space and in time. Thus that which is ‘present’ to me18 is that which is here and now, not there or then. That which is ‘real’ we typically take to be characterized by its ‘thereness’19 (it is that which ‘presents itself’ to me from time to time and place to place, which I apprehend with a certain ‘psychical immediacy’20 and in the face of which I am compelled to respond),21 and by its being neither past (that which ‘is’ no longer) nor future (that which will or may in due course ‘come to be’ but ‘is’ not as yet).22 Such coordinates are, to be sure, often difficult to plot precisely in the manifold of experience – we draw the line between ‘here’ and ‘there’ variously as practical circumstance demands, and the ‘present moment’ is notoriously subject to slippage (like our shadow it shifts whenever we seek to step back and grasp it) and never pure (always interrupted and conditioned by the flashbacks of a remembered past and the particular hopes and aspirations regarding what may yet come to be).23 Nonetheless, what we refer to as ‘presence’ is, we might venture, a function of the way in which God himself situates us within his world, giving us (despite the vertigo-inducing infinity of cosmic time and space posited by modern physics, and notwithstanding the universalizing aspirations of various philosophical Idealisms to transcend the constraints of any and every par17

Cf. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 55. For a helpful discussion of the different kinds of things there are ‘present’ to us, and the different ways in which we are compelled (by what they are) to apprehend them, see LASH, On What Kind of Things There Are. See also B AILLIE, Presence of God, 41–59. 18 As Dalferth observes, ‘presence’ is always a matter of relativity, i.e. of that which is present to (though not necessarily apprehended by) someone in a particular spatiotemporal situation (DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 57). 19 MOLTMANN, Spirit of Life, 39. 20 See FARMER, World and God, 15. Farmer borrows the term from F. R. Tennant who uses it to refer to a mode of apprehension which, while anything but positivistic (again, we must learn to trust our apprehensions and to weigh them), is nonetheless distinct from that of logical inference. Hence, where our apprehension of non-material realities is concerned, even though it is mostly mediated by (given in, with and under) our experience of material things, it is nonetheless ‘immediate’ in the relevant sense. According to Tennant our apprehension of the reality (‘presence’) of other persons (i.e. as distinct from their bodily presentation) is of precisely this sort, and Farmer duly argues for something directly parallel in the case of our apprehension of the presence of God. 21 Dalferth notes that originally ‘presence’ signified ‘a specific mode of co-existence, a special way of being together of one thing with another’, viz. one involving the immediacy of an agent to the acts which he performs (DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 57). 22 So, e.g., B AILLIE, Presence of God, 33. The adequacy of so-called ‘presentism’ (i.e. the view that the present is the only time that actually exists) is challenged by the absolute, de-centred conceptions of modern physics, but it reflects well enough the patterns of our experience of temporality from the point of view of living. See the discussion in DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 52–55. Cf. B AUCKHAM AND HART, The Shape of Time. 23 MOLTMANN, Spirit of Life, 39.

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ticular time and place) both the ‘space’ and the time sufficient to live the lives he calls us each to live,24 lives which must be lived, furthermore, coram Deo – before the face of God himself, and thus in his presence.25 As theologians across the ages have reminded us time and space are themselves functions of God’s creation rather than conditions of it,26 and God’s own relation to us as such is strictly speaking neither spatial nor temporal, despite the inevitable ‘mythologizing’ of our religious language (‘he came down from heaven’ etc.). God relates to creatures existing in time and space, but is not himself spatially or temporally located in or related to his creation.27 Traditional claims concerning the ubiquity (or ‘omnipresence’) of God must therefore be interpreted with care lest they mislead. If God is in some important sense ‘everywhere’, it is not as a spatially extended backdrop which, as it were, (being ‘bigger, wider and deeper’ than the cosmos itself) runs over the edges of creaturely space and time so as to cover them completely with and swallow them within itself (‘God…the final frontier…’), but as a personally willed presence to every creaturely present as it arises, more helpfully pictured, perhaps, as the intersection between two otherwise quite incommensurate planes or dimensions.28 Thus Aquinas notes that, strictly speaking, it is no more correct to say that God ‘contains’ the cosmos than to suggest that the cosmos may contain God (i.e. that God may crop up as an object located ‘within’ it), except in that peculiar sense of the word ‘contain’ which means ‘to hold

24 See MOLTMANN, Spirit of Life, 148. In his helpful discussion of the notion of ‘tradition’ in theology, S. Holmes argues on these grounds that being situated in a particular time and place (and thus heir to a very particular past) is precisely a creaturely good rather than a constraint from which we should aspire to free ourselves. See HOLMES, Listening to the Past. 25 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 242. On theological construals of human life as a drama ‘performed’ (consciously or otherwise) in the presence of God see H ART, The Sense of an Ending. 26 Thus, for instance, T. F. Torrance appeals to the Nicene theologians in support of his own insistence upon ‘the transcendence of God over all space and time for (these) were produced along with His creation’. T ORRANCE, Space, Time and Incarnation, 2. Cf. also classically AUGUSTINE, Confessions XI and IDEM, City of God XI.6. 27 See, e.g., DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 75. I do not wish here to raise questions about whether God might have his own uncreated ‘space’ and ‘time’ analogous to but utterly distinct from those which he has invested in creation. My concern is limited to the latter, and God’s relation to them as the uncreated Creator. If the heavens ‘cannot contain him’, it is not because God is too big (though this may be a helpful way of picturing an idea which is otherwise difficult to grasp), but because God is not spatially situated relative to the cosmos at all. 28 So, e.g., T ORRANCE, Space, Time and Incarnation, 72. Cf. FARMER, World and God, 102–106.

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together’ (‘I could hardly contain myself’, etc.).29 In the latter sense, God does indeed ‘contain’ all things by his continual presence to them, such presence being the very condition for their existence, power and activity; but again this, Aquinas stresses, is a matter not of mere ontology but of moral agency – God acts (and thus chooses) to be present (in Dalferth’s phrase he becomes present to every present30) and thereby to hold the world in being from moment to waking moment of its creaturely existence. So, talk in the abstract of divine ‘presence’ may also mislead if it is taken to connote some essentially static state of affairs: for God to be, Dalferth reminds us, is, according to Christian theology at least, for God to be active, and therefore divine presence is always a matter of God’s becoming present as the one who acts,31 whatever the precise mode of that presence and action may be. This in turn draws our attention to a further potentially misleading abstraction: God’s ‘presence’ is not only of a single sort, but can be identified in various modes, and sometimes in more than one at the same time. Dalferth himself identifies for us three key modes of this divine presence-in-action, and he maps these conveniently onto the Christian naming of God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Thus God, he suggests, is present as Father/Creator as the one who is ‘time free present’32 in the same way to every presence (as the necessary condition for every occurring event and every person in whose presence it occurs); he is present, secondly, in a wholly distinct mode as the incarnate Son/Saviour (in whom he has ‘made himself temporarily present to us in a specific way in human history’33); and he is, in a different way again, ‘multi-present’ as Spirit/Perfecter, making his presence felt in a manner which will be unique to each individual circumstance, and drawing particular persons to faith as the pattern of life lived consciously in God’s presence. Without following Dalferth’s precise way of mapping these modes onto the Seinsweisen in the triune life, I shall, in the remainder of this essay, follow at least in broad terms his example of differentiating modes of God’s presence along identifiably Trinitarian lines.

29

AQUINAS, Summa Theologiae 1a.8.1. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 39. 31 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 39. Cf. Aquinas: ‘God exists in everything…as an agent is present to that in which its action is taking place’ (AQUINAS, Summa Theologiae 1a.8.1). 32 For what follows see DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 152–155. 33 Italics original. 30

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3. Creative Absence – God Makes Room for the World According to a familiar graffito ‘Time is God’s way of stopping everything from happening all at once’, in which case we might surmise that space is his way of avoiding the need for everything to be in the same place at the same time, a level of co-habitation the very suggestion of which is likely to send even the agoraphobic and the extrovert into a panic attack, and puts a whole new (and paradoxical) complexion on the phrase ‘You’re trespassing on my space’. God the Creator makes room for his creatures to exist and to co-exist fruitfully alongside one another, however they may subsequently choose to distribute that space. Unlike embodied creatures such as ourselves, though, Aquinas suggests, ‘God’s presence in a place does not exclude the presence of other things’.34 God, it seems, is the perfect cohabitee. This, we have already suggested, is precisely because God does not occupy any space (‘take up any room’) in the world, being related to it (except, we must now say, when he takes flesh in the economy of the Son) in an essentially non-spatial manner. Notwithstanding this, Moltmann insists that it is important to reckon with the claim that in a more profound sense God as Creator must and has ‘made room for’ the world itself to exist alongside himself, though what he has in mind, of course, is not a literal but precisely a metaphorical Lebensraum.35 Although we speak and think (and cannot do otherwise) of God’s various operatio ad extra, Moltmann notes, strictly speaking there is no extra Deum either before creation or after it. Yet, he suggests, it may nonetheless be theologically fruitful to stretch our language and our imagining of the primordial circumstance in this direction. ‘Prior to’ creation (again, we cannot help borrowing from the temporal conditions to which human speech is naturally fitted) God took up, as it were, all the available space, since God was all there was. God’s self-determination as Creator thus, we may suppose, necessarily involved a withdrawal or contraction of himself into himself, a divine ‘shoving up’ in order to make room for something genuinely other than himself to exist at all. In the first instance, this appropriation of the Jewish kabbalistic image of a divine zimsum (contraction) is offered as a way of imagining very concretely (albeit ‘mythologically’) what is entailed by the Christian doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, and avoiding the twin theological errors of monism and dualism. Moltmann presses further, though, playing on the image in a manner which foregrounds questions of divine presence (and divine absence) in a much more far-reaching manner. 34 35

AQUINAS, Summa Theologiae 1a.8.2. For what follows in this section see MOLTMANN, God in Creation, 72–93.

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Zimsum entails divine self-withdrawal, and thus divine absence from the ‘space’ freed up by it. What arises as a result of this deliberate action of God ad intra is precisely ‘Nothingness’. While Moltmann alludes to this new existent as something ‘created’,36 strictly speaking for him the space concerned exists precisely as a condition of the creation of something other than God. (In this sense it is, we should recall, a metaphorical and ‘logical’ rather than a literal space.) It is, Moltmann suggests, quite literally ‘Godforsaken’ space, space from which God is now absent in his presence and power. It is a ‘Nihil’, albeit one paradoxically and necessarily enfolded within God’s own otherwise omnipresent being. And it is into this same space or void that God subsequently creates, filling it not just with a cosmos, but thereby once again with his own presence, being present to it now, though, not as he is to his own being, but as the one who by an act of gracious will holds something other in being alongside himself. Yet the void remains, if only as the logical (and possible) alternative to our originated and continuing existence as contingent creatures in God’s presence. It is that which, should God ever withdraw his presence again, is all we may look forward to – disintegration and the abyss of non-being. As such, for now it exists or is present (it is precisely that which ‘waits over against’ us – die Gegenwart) only as a threat, the threat of absolute death and hell which has no purchase apart from the further fact of human sin and godlessness (which is not as such yet godforsakenness), but for that very reason has purchase. The possibility of ‘annihilating Nothingness’ is precisely the threat of divine absence in which the self-isolation of the creature in sin is met by God’s final turning of his face away from it, permitting the primordial chaos out of which it was created to rush in again and take its place. What, then, are we to make of all this? Is it anything more than a colourful (and speculative) re-mythologizing of a circumstance lying beyond the range of legitimate human (even theological) concern? Well, we cannot help, perhaps, imagining some state of affairs pertaining prior to, and in 36 IBID., 87. ‘He “creates” the preconditions for the existence of his creation’. Moltmann is paraphrasing the view of Scholem here, but he does so without demurral. The scare quotes suffice to indicate the ambiguity of the term’s use. Cf. SCHOLEM , Schöpfung aus Nichts. There is, of course, a long tradition of Jewish and Christian exegesis of Gen 1.2 which posits a ‘two stage’ creation, God first calling into being the tohu wabohu before displacing it with an ordered cosmos. So, e.g., Calvin: ‘The world was not perfected at its very commencement, in the manner in which it is now seen, but…was created an empty chaos’ (CALVIN, Commentaries on the First Book of Moses, I.70). Barth, meanwhile, interprets the tohu wabohu to signify imaginatively a possible state of affairs which God deliberately excludes, a creative option which, because it is hostile to his sovereign purpose, he does not choose, and thus does not permit to exist. See B ARTH, Church Dogmatics III/1, 102–110.

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and through God’s primordial creative act, even if we subsequently submit our imaginings to rigorous apophatic qualification and cleansing. Even discussions about God’s ‘freedom’ to create (or lack of it) entail some element of that. No doubt Moltmann’s ‘myth’ has its particular theological limitations and dangers. (Spatializing the relation between God and a ‘mystical primordial space’ of Nothingness, for instance, tends inevitably towards an imaginative reifying of the latter [as an ontological rather than merely logical space], and, duly incorporated into an account of evil, in the direction of at least a ‘soft’ dualism.37) What, then, are its gains, if any? We might list four: (1) It encourages a consistent portrayal of God’s character across the whole narrative of creation and redemption, as one who from first to last willingly undertakes a form of ‘self-limitation’ (kenosis) for the sake of the creature;38 (2) it furnishes a theological context in which human experiences of divine ‘absence’ may be taken radically seriously (as authentic felt approximations to or foreshadowings of a real creaturely possibility) within an overarching theology of Creatorly ubiquity (i.e. universal presence); (3) it holds the doctrine of creation together with Moltmann’s own distinctive account of the cross as a paradoxical divine sharing in the experience of ‘godforsakenness’; (4) it situates creation within a trinitarian narrative of expectation in which absence (the Nihil) will itself finally be annihilated as a meaningful threat to anyone, and God will at last become truly ‘all in all’.39 To see how, we turn to reckon next with yet another mode of God’s presence in the world.

37 I.e. a circumstance in which God permits (by limiting himself) something essentially destructive (non-being or anti-being) to exist in his presence, and to threaten the survival of his creation from the first, thus arguably compromising the notion of creation as such as something essentially good, and relativizing the significance of the Fall. (It was for reasons such as these that Irenaeus, for example, rejected all suggestion that God could ever have created a ‘formless void’ before creating the world itself. Such, he insisted, would be wholly unfitting of God.) 38 Thus ‘God’s self-humiliation does not begin merely with creation, inasmuch as God commits himself to this world; it begins beforehand, and is the presupposition that makes creation possible’ (MOLTMANN, God in Creation, 88). 39 ‘Creatio ex nihilo in the beginning is the preparation and promise of the redeeming annihilatio nihili, from which the eternal being of creation proceeds…So the resurrection and the kingdom of glory are the fulfillment of the promise which creation itself represents’ (MOLTMANN, God in Creation, 90).

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4. Incarnate Presence – God Makes Room for Himself in the World We have seen how Moltmann puts his finger on a seeming paradox whereby both divine absence and divine presence are in some sense necessary conditions of the world’s existence. It is not a genuine paradox of course, because we can recognize both presence and absence as existing in different modes (or, we might say, at different levels); and, whereas God must withdraw (be absent) in the mode in which he is otherwise present to his own being as God precisely in order to make room for the world’s existence alongside himself as a genuine ‘other’ (i.e. rather than a further form or ‘emanation’ of God’s own existence), in an equally fundamental sense (but at a different level of consideration) as the world’s Creator God can never be absent from it, since this would involve its inevitable and immediate disintegration and death. Christian theology, though, knows of yet further comings and goings on God’s part, the most radical of which, of course, lies at the heart of its own testimony to Jesus Christ as ‘Immanuel’, God with us. God with us now, that is to say (since in another sense God is always ‘with us’) in a wholly unprecedented manner, as one of us. As T. F. Torrance expresses it, the ‘flesh’ or humanity of Christ is ‘a place within our created and historical existence where God has made room for Himself’,40 becoming the IJȩʌȠȢ or locus in space-time where God is to be found present (and known to be so) most fully,41 accommodating himself to the full to the conditions of creatureliness while yet remaining ‘wholly present everywhere, for He became man without ceasing to be God’.42 Fortunately, we need not trouble ourselves here with all the complexities of incarnational Christology, it sufficing to note that this quite distinct and ‘new’ mode of God’s presence logically entails an act of self-distinction not just between two modes of presence but between two discrete ‘modes of being’ (hypostases or ‘persons’) within God’s own life. For, as Calvin notes, ‘The Son of God became man in such a manner that he had God in common with us.’43 Moltmann glosses this (following much of the tradition including Calvin himself, but offering his own distinctive account) to observe that the incarnate Son has not just God, but Godforsakenness (the experience of divine absence) in common with us too. If God’s incarnate presence in the world (the preposition being used for the first time with impunity and without qualification) is something unprecedented, it is not, Moltmann notes, wholly unanticipated. Already, he 40

T ORRANCE, Space, Time and Incarnation, 78. T ORRANCE, Space, Time and Incarnation, 16. 42 T ORRANCE, Space, Time and Incarnation, 13. 43 CALVIN, Commentary on Ephesians, on 1.16–18. 41

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insists, in the older Jewish accounts of God’s Shekinah (and the attendant theologies of Tabernacle and Temple) we find a foreshadowing of and natural prelude to the logic of incarnationalism – a presence of God which is special, willed and promised, God present at a particular place and at a particular time among particular people, and in a manner distinct from God’s essential omnipresence.44 The Shekinah, Moltmann insists, is no divine attribute, but God himself as present, yet present now in an earthly, temporal and spatial mode ‘at once identical with God and distinct from him’.45 Thus, already, he argues, we have to do with a ‘difference in God’ between two modes of presence which logically entail two modes of being, a ‘self-distinction’, a ‘difference in God between what distinguishes and what is distinguished, between the self-surrendering and the self-surrendered God’. For in sending his Shekinah into the world, God surrenders himself to and identifies with the conditions and the fate of his people, sharing in their exile, rejoicing in their homecoming. The Shekinah too, then, Moltmann suggests, even as a mode of divine presence, in some sense suffers from the absence of God by virtue of its solidarity with Israel: ‘It is now alienated from God himself. It is grieved and hurt…It suffers in the victims and is tormented in the perpetrators. It goes with sinners on the wanderings of their estrangement’ and ‘with every bit of self-seeking and self-contradiction which we surrender to the will of the Creator who loves us, the Shekinah comes close to God…is united with God himself’.46 Of course all this trespasses significantly beyond the limits of the biblical theology of God’s Shekinah, but Moltmann urges that it does so in a way which is a natural extrapolation of it. Whether we judge it to be helpful or fanciful, it at least serves as a further clarification of what it might mean for God to exist not just in two modes of presence, but in two modes of being which are, as it were, ‘present to one another’ at the same time. Whether or not any such notion is present (or even latent) in the theology of the Shekinah I leave for others better qualified to judge; but it is certainly an important component of the incarnational Christology which Moltmann sees as the natural heir to the Shekinah and Temple traditions. Indeed, as Ingolf Dalferth notes, where God is present and active in more than one way at once, both in Christo and extra Christum, the two activities may sometimes run not in parallel but contrary to each other,47 a difference between God and God exemplified supremely and decisively, at the point of Jesus’ suffering and death on Golgotha, to consideration of which we now turn. 44

MOLTMANN, The Spirit of Life, 48. MOLTMANN, The Spirit of Life, 48. 46 MOLTMANN, The Spirit of Life, 50. 47 See DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 143–144. 45

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According to Dalferth ‘what it means for God to be present is definitively shown in the life and death of Jesus Christ’.48 So, too, we might insist, what it means for God to be absent. The two belong naturally together, for, as we have already seen, the experience of divine absence is precisely a reflex or at least a reminder of the sense or apprehension of God’s presence rather than its contradiction or opposite. So: ‘the sense of the absence of God is tied to – at least the possibility of – God’s presence just as the sense of God’s presence is always contrasted to – at least the possibility of – God’s absence’.49 What we experience as God’s absence cannot be absence or at least not absolute absence (since there can be nothing to experience and no one to experience anything apart from God’s presence to us), but ‘hidden presence’,50 a loss of the apprehension of God as the one who is present to us and in whose presence we live our lives. Thus the dialectic between divine presence and divine absence is best understood through consideration of the life of the community of believers, for it is only those who confess God’s presence who can suffer his absence in the proper sense of the term, in the conflict between what faith believes and what experience of living so often suggests to be the case. The deeper the sense of God as a living presence is, the more constitutive it is of the very pattern and fabric of our way of being, the more acute the pain of his seeming absence is bound to be. For this very reason, we may suppose, the suffering of God’s absence in the death of Jesus on the cross is paradigmatic, and must inform and shape Christian faith’s experiences of absence in whatever context they may arise. In his discussion of providence and suffering, H. H. Farmer suggests that, given the nature of our experiences in life, there is only one way in which faith in the overshadowing wisdom and love of God can truly be succoured, and that is ‘for it to be able to grasp its object, or be grasped by it, out of the heart of those historical happenings which otherwise give it the lie’51 – all the ‘confusion and heartbreak and frustration of life, the sins, follies, accidents, disasters, diseases, so undiscriminating in their incidence, so ruthless in their working out’,52 all that is least patient of interpretation as a manifestation of divine meaningfulness or compatible with God’s presence and activity as one who loves us. But in the cross, Farmer suggests, this is precisely what faith grasps, not directly but precisely sub contrario, through an occurrence ‘including in itself something of almost every darkness to which human life is liable – sin, hatred, physi48

DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 50. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 51. 50 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 52. 51 FARMER, World and God, 243. 52 FARMER, World and God, 100–101. 49

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cal agony, premature death, the innocent suffering for the guilty, the bitter disappointment of high ideals’.53 Even here – no, precisely here – faith discerns and grasps unexpectedly the holy love of God present and working its purpose out, and doing so in more than one way at once. Thus, at the cross the eternal Son whose personal being is bound up inextricably with both the love of and love for his Father, experiences the darkness of absence, unable any longer to apprehend his Father’s face in the horror and awfulness of the circumstance he himself now faces. A post-resurrection, Trinitarian reading of the cross suggests, though, that far from being absent God was never and nowhere more fully present than in his ‘hiddenness’ in this same dark event: Present as the Father whose judgment on the Son remains even here the same as that promulgated at Jesus’ baptism – ‘This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased!’; present as the Holy Spirit who both drives Jesus to the cross and is in turn duly offered up by him to the Father as the climax of a supreme act of liturgical self-offering;54 and present as the incarnate Son himself, standing alongside us and in our place, making our ‘darkest hour’ (death without God) his own, and thereby robbing it (and us) of its perverse promise of sanctuary from the divine presence. Here, the psalmist’s words acquire a radical new surplus of meaning: ‘Even if I go down to the pit, Thou art there also’ (Ps. 139.7). Thus, Moltmann insists, the crucifixion is no mere paradigm, but the decisive point at which absence meets its Nemesis, the threat of death being emptied of its power, and the gates of hell finally broken open. ‘(B)y yielding up the Son to death in Godforsakenness on the cross, and by surrendering him to hell’, Moltmann writes, ‘the eternal God enters the Nothingness out of which he created the world…(and) pervades the space of Godforsakenness with his presence.’55 Here, and only here, in the divine ‘occupation’ of the Nihil as a human, he suggests, does God truly become ‘omnipresent’, present humanly and fathoming even his own absence, and thus exhausting it of its power to isolate us from him. Indeed, there is a sense in which, for Moltmann, we are never closer to God than in such profound experiences of seemingly ‘godless’ suffering, for God has made his own bed (pitched his own tent) there with us. Of course this is not the end of the story (that would be not good news, but the very worst news of all – that God loved us so much that he sent his only Son to be with us in the hellishness of life and death, and left him there). For Moltmann, as for Dalferth, therefore, it is precisely the resurrection which grants the experience of Godforsakenness on Golgotha and Holy Saturday its redemptive force. But in a vital sense Easter Day does not (and must 53

FARMER, World and God, 243. Jn. 1930: ੉ȘıȠȣȢ İੇʌİȞ IJİIJ੼ȜİıIJĮȚ, țĮ੿…ʌĮȡȑįȦțİȞ IJઁ ʌȞİ૨ȝĮ. 55 MOLTMANN, God in Creation, 91. 54

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not) undo or erase, but rather affirms, reveals and lays bare the reality and significance of what precedes it, enabling us now to look the very worst experiences of God’s hiddenness when they occur (whether to us or to others) fully in the face and yet remain creatures of hope rather than despair.56 For we know that even out of this – no, precisely out of this – God can and has and has promised again to bring forth something new, something of supreme value and benefit for which we hardly dare hope – life, and life in all its fullness, because life lived eternally in his presence. ‘Nothing comes of Nothing’ is the testimony of common sense, and based on all but global experience; yet faith’s testimony is precisely that at this point it knows better: neither the world itself nor its future in God’s hands can or will be made sense of in those terms, because in the peculiar interplay of divine absence and presence in the cross, creatio ex nihilo is matched precisely by a redemptio ex nihilo, anticipating and ‘earthing’ the miracle of God’s new creation, the miracle in which God himself will at the last be all in all.

5. Acknowledged Presence – Generosity, Response and Particularity ‘The truth of God’s presence’, Dalferth observes, ‘does not depend on whether it is believed, denied or ignored.’57 This is true whether what we have in mind is God’s presence to the world as its Creator, his incarnate presence in Christ, or some other instance and mode of God’s being together ‘with us’. From what we have seen thus far, though, it should be apparent that the ‘fact’ of God’s presence (in whatever mode) is far from self-evident.58 It is perfectly possible, and common enough for the reality of that fact to be obscured from us or to go unrecognized. This is true not just of faith’s lament (the felt ‘absence’ of one for whose presence we long) but equally of various shades and forms of ‘unbelief’. So, we are compelled to distinguish between presence itself and the acknowledgment of presence, and to ask who may legitimately be supposed to apprehend or respond to God’s presence (or as the matter is sometimes more broadly cast, to have a ‘sense’ of it) and how such apprehension/response arises. Where it occurs in its most developed form (so that we sense the difference it makes to live in God’s presence and articulate that difference to ourselves and to others in terms of some particular religious symbolics) it is, Dalferth argues, always a matter of God himself becoming present to us in 56

On the essential ambiguity and dialectical nature of the triduum at the heart of the Easter narrative see, authoritatively, LEWIS, Between Cross and Resurrection, passim. 57 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 36. 58 Cf. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 49.

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a further, new way, opening our eyes to something which is already true. This distinctive mode of divine presence and action, he suggests, is most naturally ascribed to the third Trinitarian person, the Holy Spirit.59 There are, though, Dalferth suggests, other ‘lower’ levels of apprehension or ‘sensing’ of God’s presence and our existence in God’s presence. Indeed, since God is ubiquitous, God’s presence is ‘somehow apprehended’ in (or as an aspect/dimension of) all experience (i.e. by everyone who has experience of any sort), though this is to be distinguished sharply from awareness or consciousness (and religious or theological ‘naming’) of what it is that we apprehend.60 Similar suggestions are theologically widespread, and often less determined in their insistence upon disentangling ‘apprehension’ from ‘awareness’, softening the distinction in the interests of globalizing the ‘sense of the presence of God’, and seeking thereby to address the awkward ‘scandal of particularity’ which otherwise haunts the proclamation of God’s essential goodness and redemptive purposes for all his creatures. A good example of this is the recent work of David Brown in which he seeks a ‘reinvigorated sense of the sacramental’ (yet another mode of presence which, if space and time had permitted, might have occupied us in this paper).61 Brown’s basic thesis is that ‘if God is truly generous,…we (might) expect to find him at work everywhere and in such a way that all human beings could…respond to him’.62 This duly becomes the basis of a new version of ‘natural religion’ in which aspects of the human experience both of nature and of culture are pursued as extra-ecclesial loci ‘where God can be encountered, and encountered often’.63 Such diverse phenomena as architecture, sport, horticulture, humour, the natural world and the arts are all explored as containing within them ‘a reflection of the divine, there to be experienced as such’,64 and thus interpretable as the initiatives of the God of grace, operating now beyond the limits of the gospel, in seeking and saving the lost. Comparable initiatives can be identified in the work of earlier British theologians. Thus, for instance, in his published Gifford Lectures John Baillie argues for a universally available ‘sense’ of God’s presence directly analogous to our apprehension of other non-material realities (e.g. personal, moral, aesthetic), and given in, with and through the complex mani59

DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 220, 241. See DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 130–132. 61 See B ROWN, God and Enchantment of Place; BROWN, God and Grace of Body; BROWN, God and Mystery in Words. 62 BROWN, God and Enchantment of Place, 8. 63 BROWN, God and Enchantment of Place, 9. 64 BROWN, God and Enchantment of Place, 33. 60

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fold and gamut of day-to-day experience which ‘presents itself’ to us. In particular, Baillie emphasizes personal and moral entities as among those of the reality of which (whatever empiricists and naturalistic positivists may insist) we are most fully assured in the living of life, and with which our sense of God as personal other is, he argues, most directly bound up. Whatever the place of a distinct ‘sense of the numinous’ such as that posited by Rudolf Otto,65 our apprehension of and dealings with God are, Baillie suggests, most solidly grounded upon and mediated by (and, when manifest in the form of faith, in their turn transfigure completely) our wider consciousness of dwelling in an objective personal and moral environment, and the particular demands made upon us by that. Since these are, so far as we know, universal human apprehensions, the Christian apologist, Baillie insists, rarely if ever faces the complete absence of any trace of a sense of God’s presence, whether this is acknowledged and named in terms proper to any religious or theological frame of reference or not. In almost all cases there will be at least the glimmer of something which the theologian or religious believer will identify as God’s presence and action, something apprehended as real by unbelief too, albeit unrecognized and sometimes even denied.66 H. H. Farmer also speaks of the conditions for a living apprehension of God as personal being given in and through our experience of the world as a morally significant environment.67 He identifies two strands in this: (1) Our experience of natural phenomena, processes and events as either frustrating or co-operating with our personal projects and purposes (e.g. apprehended as blessing or injury) or – at a more basic (largely unconscious) level of creaturely perception – as conflicting with or furthering the interests of our ‘immanent teleology’ as organisms; (2) our awareness of other persons as centres of will and activity who are present to us and whose presence impinges upon us, variously resisting and facilitating our own projects and (more importantly) placing us under certain moral obligations. In, with and under all this (our common human experience of natural and social environments), Farmer argues, God approaches us, ‘resistantly and savingly’,68 unveiling himself, giving himself to be known as a genuinely personal reality must if it is to be known at all,69 and giving himself to be known both as ‘absolute demand’ and ‘ultimate succour’. Significantly (in light of our earlier discussion of Steiner), Farmer suggests that the world becomes in effect God’s ‘language’,70 thus 65

OTTO, Idea of the Holy. B AILLIE, Presence of God, 83–84. 67 For what follows see, e.g., FARMER, World and God, 39–67. 68 FARMER, World and God, 81. 69 FARMER, World and God, 79. 70 FARMER, World and God, 73. 66

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necessitating precisely both a certain absence from and presence to it: language is precisely a medium, a means by which we communicate indirectly (and thus with attendant risk of misunderstanding or loss of meaning) rather than ‘forcing our meaning into’ our hearer or reader directly and thereby subverting the need and opportunity for responsible personal response.71 In Farmer, then, more completely than either Baillie or Brown, we find an emphasis upon ‘revelation’ as the necessary condition for a meaningful sense of the presence of God as personal other. Nor will he take easy refuge in the time-honoured category of ‘general revelation’. Revelation, Farmer insists, always arises as a ‘point of crisis’ in a particular life lived, an encounter (whether recognized and named as such or not) with the living God apprehended as ‘holy will’, viz. as ‘present within the immediate situation, asking obedience at all costs and guaranteeing in and through such asking the soul’s ultimate succour’.72 Each and every such encounter is one in which ‘the soul must take either a step forward or a step backward in understanding of God and in stature as a child of God’.73 While Farmer’s account certainly sees a fundamental continuity between such putative revelatory encounters and the lower level, universally available apprehensions of the world alluded to a moment ago, his account has the distinct advantage (certainly over that of Brown and, to some extent, that of Baillie too) of identifying specific criteria in terms of which such encounters might be identified as such. He is quite explicit: wherever and whenever God is apprehended as present within the immediate situation as both absolute demand and ultimate succour (whether he is identified and named as such or not), ‘there is revelation’.74 Clearly, though, while disentangling revelatory encounters from the infinite sum of human experiences (as though God were not just present but ‘available’ for encounter anywhere and everywhere in some undifferentiated manner), this account nonetheless identifies ‘revelation’ as both possible and actual well outside the boundaries of the Christian proclamation of Christ and its impact. Dalferth’s account is equally emphatic in its insistence upon revelation. Believers, he insists, are those who feel that their lives have in some sense been ‘broken into’, God having ‘made his presence felt’ in an unmistakable manner.75 Furthermore, for this sense of the presence of God to arise, there must be both divine self-presentation and acts of human re-presentation, responses to that presence in terms of some more or less appropriate 71

FARMER, World and God, 71. FARMER, World and God, 88. 73 FARMER, World and God, 88–89. 74 FARMER, World and God, 88. 75 DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 42. 72

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and adequate symbolics.76 Whereas Dalferth himself, of course, presents all this in terms of the particular symbolics of Christian faith (it is the Holy Spirit who interrupts us, ‘opening our eyes’ to God’s present reality in our lives and enabling our response of faith and obedience), his account too seems to permit the possibility of revelation and belief arising in other religious (and perhaps even non-religious) contexts, as what exists universally as the apprehension of life’s essentially precarious, contingent and ‘gifted’ nature77 breaks in now with new, interruptive and life-transforming force upon those who nonetheless, because of their particular culturallinguistic Sitz im Leben, symbolize it in terms of a set of ‘doxastic practices’ quite distinct from those proper to Christian faith as such. I end with a quotation and a question. The quotation is from Hendrik Kraemar who, having wrestled long and hard with the issues raised by Karl Barth at the Tambaram World Missionary Conference in 1938, expressed his considered view that ‘God is continuously occupying Himself and wrestling with man, in all ages and with all peoples’, and that ‘while the religious and moral life is man’s achievement’ it is ‘also God’s wrestling with him’.78 God, we have suggested, following Dalferth’s lead, is always present to every present and to every personal presence at that present. Furthermore, it is both God’s desire and his promise that he will finally be present as ‘all in all’. It is likely, therefore, that whether or not we single out the spheres of morality and religion for special consideration,79 most readers will nonetheless warm to Kraemer’s basic intuition of God as present to all not just as their Creator but equally as their Redeemer, doing whatever he can to draw them closer to that knowledge of himself and his presence in which salvation properly consists. And yet for Christians God, 76

‘Full awareness of God’s presence therefore involves both divine self presentation and human re-presentation. It is the former which determines the truth and appropriateness of the latter, and it is the latter which determines the mode and clarity of our sense of the presence of God…[and] the appropriateness of our apprehensions of God’s presence’ (DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 220). ‘Perspectives involve interpretation, and different perspectives different interpretations. Thus if we apprehend what we apprehend (feel, perceive, experience, believe etc.) with the horizon of the Christian doxastic practice, we apprehend it in a specific way and in a specific (re-) interpretation’ (DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 226). 77 See DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 130–132, 220, 226. 78 KRAEMER, Christian Message, 125–126. 79 As Lesslie Newbigin notes, there is no particular reason to assume ‘that it is religion among all the activities of the human spirit which is the sphere of God’s saving action’ (NEWBIGIN, The Open Secret, 195). One might say the same about ‘morality’, except insofar as it is shot through the texture of everything we do and suffer in the world. In this regard, theological reckonings with the wider spread of human experience (such as Brown’s) seem to me to be welcome and an important advance on concentration upon ‘theologies of religion’.

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we have also seen, is present in the world as Saviour in a manner that deliberately excludes ubiquity, concentrating his presence, his purposes and his actions in a very particular place and time in a manner which may seem, prima facie, to an age of globalization an uneconomic and highly inefficient way of securing a supposedly ‘universal’ purpose. But, as Lesslie Newbigin observes, in the pattern of scripture these two themes are typically woven together without any apparent sense of incompatibility or embarrassment, salvation being communicated in the final analysis (because by nature of the case it must be) not through a universal series of individual communications vertically ‘from above’ and regardless of time and place (or cultural-linguistic matrix), but through the undoubtedly messy, contingent and fragile dealings of human beings with one another reciprocally as bearers and receivers of a gift.80 My question, therefore, is whether theological reckonings with this question of ‘acknowledged presence’ of the sort we have considered may, without compromising the fundamental perception of God’s universal redemptive purposes and his wisdom to achieve those purposes, need nonetheless to face rather more squarely the implications of yet another mode of God’s flickering ‘presence’ and ‘absence’ in history – namely, that which is concluded under the rubric of the biblical doctrine of ‘election’. That God chooses some rather than others means that we must be willing to grasp the nettle of ‘absence’ and the scandal attendant upon it; that he chooses some for the sake of others means equally that such absence is only ever permitted to be temporary, and we may properly expect that in God’s good time it will indeed give way to an acknowledged presence corresponding precisely to that universal ‘truth of God’s presence’ which ‘does not depend on whether it is believed, denied or ignored’.81 In the meanwhile, the call to believers, it might reasonably be suggested, is not to draw our neighbours’ attention to something which they already apprehend (however accurate the putative re-identification of it may in fact be), but to bear into their presence the gift of that name by which alone access into the presence of the Father is finally granted.

Bibliography AQUINAS, T., Summa Theologiae (1a.2–11) (St Thomas Aquinas Summa Theologiae 2), ed. T. McDermott, London 1964 AUGUSTINE, City of God, trans. H. Bettenson, London 1984 — Confessions, trans. by H. Chadwick, Oxford 1991 80 81

NEWBIGIN, The Open Secret, 73–101. DALFERTH, Becoming Present, 36.

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B AILLIE, J., The Sense of the Presence of God, London 1962 B ARTH, K., Church Dogmatics III/1, trans. J. W. Edwards, O. Bussey and H. Knight, Edinburgh 1958 B AUCKHAM, R., AND T. HART, The Shape of Time, in: The Future as God’s Gift, ed. D. Fergusson and M. Sarot, Edinburgh 1999, 41–72 BROWN, D., God and Enchantment of Place: Reclaiming Human Experience, Oxford 2004 — God and Grace of Body, Oxford 2007 — God and Mystery in Words, Oxford 2008 CALVIN, J., Commentaries on the First Book of Moses called Genesis, 2 vols., trans. J. King, Edinburgh 1848 — Commentary on Ephesians, trans. T. H. L. Parker, Edinburgh 1965 DALFERTH, I. U., Becoming Present: An Inquiry into the Christian Sense of the Presence of God, Leuven 2006 FARMER, H. H., The World and God: A Study of Prayer, Providence and Miracle in Christian Experience, London 1936 HART, T., The Sense of an Ending: Finitude and the Authentic Performance of Life, in: Faithful Performances: Enacting Christian Tradition, ed. S. R. Guthrie and T. Hart, Aldershot 2007, 167–198 HOLMES, S., Listening to the Past: The Place of Tradition in Theology, Grand Rapids 2002 KANT, I., Critique of Practical Reason, trans. by L. W. Beck (The Library of Liberal Arts), Indianapolis 1956 KRAEMER, H., The Christian Message in a Non-Christian World, New York 1938 LASH, N., On What Kind of Things There Are, in: IDEM , The Beginning and End of ‘Religion’, Cambridge 1996, 93–111 LEWIS, A. E., Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday, Grand Rapids 2001 MOLTMANN, J., God in Creation: An Ecological Doctrine of Creation, trans. M. Kohl, London 1985 — The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation, trans. M. Kohl, London 1992 NEWBIGIN, L., The Open Secret: Sketches for a Missionary Theology, Grand Rapids 1978 OTTO, R., The Idea of the Holy: An Inquiry into the Non-rational Factor in the Idea of the Divine and its Relation to the Rational, trans. J. W. Harvey, London 1923 SCHOLEM, G., Schöpfung aus Nichts und Selbstverschränkung Gottes, Eranos Jahrbuch 25 (1956) 87–119 STEINER, G., Real Presences: Is There Anything In What We Say?, London 1989 TERRIEN, S., The Elusive Presence: Toward a New Biblical Theology, San Francisco 1978 TORRANCE, T. F., Space, Time and Incarnation, Oxford 1969



Transzendenz und Immanenz als Interpretationskategorien antiken Denkens im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert JOHANNES ZACHHUBER Die sich in vielfältige Bedeutungen verzweigende Begriffsgeschichte von „immanent“ und „Immanenz“ ist noch nicht erforscht, obwohl der gerade in historischen Untersuchungen oft völlig unhistorische, d.h. unreflektierte Gebrauch dieser Wörter das als dringend erscheinen 1 lässt.

Mit diesen weisen Worten begann Ludger Oeing-Hanhoff im Jahr 1976 seinen Artikel zum Stichwort „Immanent, Immanenz“ im Historischen Wörterbuch der Philosophie; das in ihnen formulierte Desiderat allerdings ist, sieht man von den im Artikel selbst folgenden gewichtigen Beobachtungen ab, weitgehend unerfüllt geblieben. Nach wie vor liegt es nahe, das Gegensatzpaar von transzendent und immanent als einen weitgehend kulturell invarianten Idealtyp zu gebrauchen, der sich dazu eignet, eine vermeintlich in vielen Kulturen und Religionen vorfindliche Spannung auf den Begriff zu bringen. Sofern sich dabei eine Entwicklung beobachten lässt, dann die einer Zunahme dieser Tendenz, wie ein Blick in einen beliebigen Bibliothekskatalog zeigt. Die fundamentale Prämisse solcher Untersuchungen wurde, ohne nähere Begründung, in Liselotte Richters 1955 erschienener Arbeit zu Immanenz und Transzendenz im nachreformatorischen Gottesbild so ausgedrückt: Theologie, Philosophie und Geistesgeschichte sind an der Begriffsklärung des durch jahrhundertelangen Bedeutungswandel seiner echten Wirkung beraubten Sinngehaltes von Transzendenz und Immanenz in gleicher Weise interessiert. Ist doch der seit Mitte des vorigen Jahrhunderts immer sichtbarer werdende Schwund einer rechten Glaubensmitte für die Menschen unseres Zeitalters in mehr als einer Hinsicht verhängnisvoll: Die Krise der Kultur, die Krise des Menschen, die Krise der weltgeschichtlichen Entwicklung enthüllt sich dem forschenden Eindringen aller drei Wissensdisziplinen als eine Krise des 2 Transzendenzgedankens.

Es ist die Grundthese meines Beitrags, dass in diesen Sätzen tatsächlich etwas Grundlegendes über das Aufkommen und die Popularität des binären 1 2

OEING-HANHOFF, Immanent, Immanenz, 219–238. R ICHTER, Immanenz und Transzendenz, 7.

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Gebrauchs von Immanenz und Transzendenz ausgesagt wird – dann allerdings, wenn man Richters Aussage gewissermaßen gegen den Strich liest: In der Tat haben wir es im Wesentlichen mit einer Entwicklung des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts zu tun – wie es bereits der oben zitierte Artikel von Oeing-Hanhoff nahe legt – und diese Entwicklung hängt nicht zuletzt mit einer bestimmten Konstellation der religiösen Debatte zusammen, die Richter hier als „Schwund einer rechten Glaubensmitte für die Menschen unseres Zeitalters“ bezeichnet, die sich freilich auch anders benennen und beschreiben ließe. Es ist genau diese Transformation der Diskurse über Metaphysik und Religion, die in jenem Zeitraum zur Zuspitzung des Verständnisses von Transzendenz als dem Anderen der Immanenz und insofern zur Suggestion einer fraglosen Dualität der beiden geführt hat. Diese Grundannahme konnte sich umso erfolgreicher als fraglos gültig etablieren, als sie mit radikal unterschiedlichen Positionierungen innerhalb dieser Diskurse und selbst mit fundamental differenten Einstellungen zu ihrer Emergenz kompatibel war. Diese philosophisch-theologische Pointierung hat sodann, so lautet der zweite Teil meiner These, dazu geführt, dass eine ebensolche Dualität im Denken vormoderner, nicht zuletzt antiker Autoren postuliert wurde. Sofern ein solches Postulat – wie exemplarisch in Richters Einleitung – pauschal und ohne historische Reflexion erfolgt, impliziert meine These eine Kritik. Diese näher auszuführen, ist Sache des Aufsatzes als Ganzem; um jedoch Missverständnisse zu vermeiden, möchte ich an dieser Stelle sogleich deutlich machen, was mit ihr nicht gemeint ist: Es geht mir weder darum, pauschal zu bestreiten, dass Transzendenz und Immanenz hilfreiche Kategorien zur Interpretation antiken Denkens und antiker Religion sein können, noch auch darum, die jeweils faktische Abhängigkeit historischer Analyse von philosophischen oder theologischen Leitgedanken als verhängnisvoll zu beklagen. Es gehört zu den Eigenheiten historischer Forschung (unabhängig davon, innerhalb welcher Disziplin diese betrieben wird), dass sie nolens volens mit ihrerseits historisch gewordenen Kategorien operiert und operieren muss. Die Leistungsfähigkeit solcher Kategorien erweist sich insofern nicht daran, dass sie un- oder übergeschichtlich gültig sind – das ist nicht möglich – sondern an ihrem Erschließungspotenzial hinsichtlich des vorliegenden empirischen Materials. Gleichwohl macht dieser Sachverhalt eine permanente Metareflexion über historische Arbeit erforderlich, die nach der Bedingtheit der gebrauchten Kategorien fragt und deren Ergebnisse bei der historischen Interpretation zu berücksichtigen sind. Zu einer in diesem Sinn kritischen Reflexion soll hier beigetragen werden.

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1. Nähert man sich der Problematik zunächst begriffsgeschichtlich, dann scheint klar, dass ein belastbarer Gebrauch des Paares „immanent“ und „transzendent“ nicht vor dem späten 18. Jahrhundert nachweisbar ist. Das hat nicht zuletzt darin seinen Grund, dass die Karriere des Begriffs „immanent“ in Philosophie und Theologie kaum früher ihren Anfang nahm. Oeing-Hanhoff verweist im bereits erwähnten HWPh-Artikel darauf, dass Diderot in seiner Enzyklopädie zwar einen Artikel zum Stichwort „immanent“ verfasst, das Stichwort jedoch kurz und ohne besondere Emphase behandelt.3 Es handelte sich Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts offenbar um einen zwar etablierten, nicht jedoch sonderlich populären philosophischen und theologischen Terminus. Die Beispiele, die Diderot für seinen Gebrauch anführt, sind dementsprechend spezifisch – es gebe „actions immanentes et transitoires“; außerdem unterschieden die Theologen das „immanente“ Wirken Gottes, nämlich die innertrinitarische Hervorbringung von Sohn und Heiligem Geist, von seinem nach außen gerichteten schöpferischen Handeln. Diese beiden Bedeutungen entsprechen tatsächlich einem bis ins 13. Jahrhundert zurückreichenden scholastischen Sprachgebrauch.4 Auf diesen Hintergrund kann hier nicht ausführlich eingegangen werden, jedoch sind zwei Beobachtungen von Interesse: Erstens: Der Gebrauch von „immanent“ zielt offenbar von vornherein auf ein eindeutiges Gegenüber ab. Die binäre Struktur, die unserer Rede von „Immanenz und Transzendenz“ eigen ist, scheint hier vorgebildet. Ohne dass die Möglichkeit von Übergangsformen definitiv ausgeschlossen wird, ist doch deutlich, dass der Begriff „immanent“ auf einen eindeutigen Gegenbegriff abgestellt ist. Das ist deshalb bemerkenswert, weil der vorneuzeitliche Sprachgebrauch von „transzendent“, der über Augustinus und Ps.-Dionysius Areopagita im Mittelalter rezipiert worden war, diese Struktur nicht hat. Ausdrücke für Transzendenz gibt es in großer Zahl; sie haben den Zweck, die verschiedenartigen Aspekte einer Realität zum Ausdruck zu bringen, die jenseits der Alltagswelt liegt, aber von dieser in der Regel nicht kategorisch geschieden ist, sondern mit ihr durch ein wie auch

3 D IDEROT u.a., Encyclopédie, 570: „IMMANENT, adj. (Philos. Théolog.) qui demeure dans la personne, ou qui n’a point effet au-dehors. Les Philosophes ont distingué les actions en immanentes & transitoires. Les Théologiens ont adopté la même distinction. L’action immanente est celle dont le terme est dans l'être même qui l’a produite. La transitoire est celle dont le terme est hors de l’être qui l’a produite. Ainsi Dieu a engendré le Fils & le Saint Esprit par des actions immanentes; & il a créé le monde & tout ce qu’il comprend, par des actions transitoires.“ 4 OEING-HANHOFF, a.a.O., 221–223.

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immer abgestuftes ontologisches und religiöses Schema zusammengehalten wird.5 Gleichzeitig fällt jedoch auf, zweitens, dass sich das vom Autor des ungezeichneten Artikels in der Encyclopédie im Anschluss an die Scholastik gebrauchte Begriffspaar nicht auf eine Abgrenzung von Seinsbereichen bezieht, sondern auf das handelnde Subjekt. Immanent wird von ihm definiert als „das, was in der Person verbleibt oder das, was keine externe Wirkung hat“. In diesem Sinn sind Handlungen „immanent“, wenn sie in der Person des Handelnden verbleiben, „transeunt“ wenn sie diese überschreiten. Dabei kann das solcherart agierende Subjekt ein Mensch, es kann aber auch Gott sein. Wenn Gottes Erschaffung der Welt daher ein „transeunter“ Akt genannt wird, soll damit nicht ausgedrückt werden, dass Gott gegenüber der Welt transzendent ist – was immer das heißen mag – sondern dass das Ziel dieser Handlung eine außer Gott gelegene Wirklichkeit sei. Genau diese These wird von Spinoza im berühmten 18. Satz der Ethik bestritten: Deus est omnium rerum causa immanens, non vero transiens.

6

Dass sich Spinoza hier für die „Immanenz“ Gottes und gegen seine Transzendenz ausspricht, mag man für eine angemessene Interpretation dieses Satzes halten,7 es ist jedoch nicht das, was der Amsterdamer Philosoph sagt, und es ist ebenso wenig in diesem Sinn, dass er das Begriffspaar „immanent“ und „transeunt“ gebraucht. Vielmehr wendet er auf die Schöpfung diejenige Terminologie an, die traditionell der Trinität vorbehalten war – indem Gott die Welt hervorbringt, bleibt er gewissermaßen bei sich selbst; er überschreitet sich nicht in ein anderes hinein.

2. Diese zwei Beobachtungen helfen, so meine ich, den Schritt zu verstehen, der in der terminologischen Prägung Immanuel Kants vorliegt. Kant ist, so 5 Vgl. HALFWASSEN, Transzendenz/Transzendieren., 1442–1447. Die Substantivierung „Transzendenz” ist eine Bildung des 17. Jahrhunderts, jedoch wird die verbale Form transcendere mit dem Partizip transcendens von Augustin und später von Johannes Scotus Eriugena, Ambrosius Traversari und anderen für eine große Zahl griechischer (platonischer) Äquivalenzausdrücke gebraucht, u.a. für ਕȞĮȤșોȞĮȚ, ਕȞĮȕĮȓȞİȚȞ, ਕȞĮȕİȕȘțȩȢ, ȝİIJĮȕĮȓȞİȚȞ, ȝİIJĮIJĮȤșોȞĮȚ, ʌĮȡĮIJȡĮʌોȞĮȚ, ਫ਼ʌİȡȑȤİȚȞ, ਫ਼ʌİȡȕĮȓȞİȚȞ, ਫ਼ʌİȡțİȚȝȑȞȠȢ, ਥȟȘȡȘȝȑȞȠȢ, und ਥʌȑțİȚȞĮ. 6 SPINOZA, Ethica, 120. 7 Ein solches Verständnis hat für die Debatte im 19. Jahrhundert eine gewisse Rolle gespielt. Vgl. z.B. SPAETH, Welt und Gott, 209–214.

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weit ich sehen kann, derjenige, der die heute gebräuchliche binäre Formel von Immanenz und Transzendenz eingeführt hat. In der Einleitung zur Transzendentalen Dialektik heißt es programmatisch: Wir wollen die Grundsätze (sc. des reinen Verstandes), deren Anwendung sich ganz und gar in den Schranken möglicher Erfahrung hält, immanente, diejenigen aber, welche 8 diese Grenzen überfliegen sollen, transzendente Grundsätze nennen.

Die Reichweite der Erfahrung bildet hier eine Grenzlinie, die es erlaubt, klar zwischen immanent und transzendent zu unterscheiden. Kant übernimmt offenbar die binäre Struktur der älteren Entgegensetzung von „immanent“ und „transeunt“, und er übernimmt ebenfalls die subjektbezogene Perspektive. Denn auch an dieser Stelle bezieht sich das Paar „immanent“ und „transzendent“ nicht primär auf Seinsbereiche, sondern auf einen Akt des Subjekts, wenngleich dieser Akt hier ein Erkenntnisakt ist. Gleichzeitig jedoch geht es ihm, ganz ähnlich wie Spinoza zuvor, ausdrücklich um eine gegenüber der traditionellen Metaphysik und Theologie kritische Stoßrichtung. Transzendente Verstandesgrundsätze sind solche, die uns zumuten, alle jene Grenzpfähle niederzureißen und sich einen ganz neuen Boden, 9 der überall keine Demarkation erkennt, anzumaßen.

Hier wird deutlich, dass Kant die Zweiheit von Immanenz und Transzendenz nur einführt, um den einen der beiden Begriffe gründlich zu diskreditieren. Die Scheidelinie zwischen beiden ist so gezogen, dass das Transzendente dem menschlichen Erkennen von vornherein unzugänglich bleiben soll. Denn die Vernunft verwickelt sich unvermeidlich in Widersprüche, wenn sie den Versuch unternimmt, das, was jenseits empirischer Erfahrung ist, zu bestimmen oder gar zu erforschen. Ihr „immanenter“ ist insofern ihr einzig berechtigter Gebrauch. Dass es Kant in dieser Hinsicht darum ging, polemisch eine bestimmte philosophische und theologische Tradition abzulehnen, wird besonders deutlich, wenn man sich das Begriffsumfeld zu „transzendent“ ansieht.10 Denn von den Prolegomena an wird der Terminus regelmäßig mit dem alten Mystikerwort „überschwänglich“ wiedergegeben. Dieses Wort jedoch gehört zu einem semantischen Feld, das bei Kant außerdem Begriffe wie „schwärmerisch“, „mystisch“ u.ä. umfasst und das als Ganzes für ihn deutlich negativ konnotiert ist. Einige Beispiele können das illustrieren. So fällt der Begriff mehrmals in Kants Polemik gegen die Gefühlsphilosophie Friedrich Christoph Schlossers,11 die von dem Königsberger eindeutig der

8

KANT, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A 295 f./B 352. Ebd. 10 Vgl. für das Folgende ZACHHUBER, Überschwänglich, 139–154. 11 KANT, Ton in der Philosophie, 1796. 9

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„mystisch-platonischen“ Tradition zugeordnet,12 und d.h. auf Pythagoras und besonders auf Platon, „den Vater aller Schwärmerei mit der Philosophie“,13 zurückgeführt wird. In ähnlicher Weise verteidigt er 1798 im Streit der Fakultäten die moralische Schriftauslegung der Aufklärungsphilosophie als …das einzige Mittel, die Mystik (z.B. eines Swedenborgs) abzuhalten. Denn die Phantasie verläuft sich bei Religionsdingen unvermeidlich ins Überschwengliche, wenn sie das Übersinnliche (was in allem, was Religion heißt, gedacht werden muß) nicht an bestimmte Begriffe der Vernunft, dergleichen die moralischen sind, knüpft, und führt zu einem Illuminatism innerer Offenbarungen, deren ein jeder alsdann seine eigene hat und 14 kein öffentlicher Probirstein der Wahrheit mehr Statt findet.

Der Philosophie Jacobis wird der Vorwurf gemacht, eine „überschwengliche Anschauung unter dem Namen des Glaubens“ zu sein.15 In der Kritik der Urteilskraft schließlich bezeichnet Kant es als Merkmal der Theosophie, sich in „vernunftverwirrende überschwengliche Begriffe“ zu versteigen.16 Das Begriffspaar Immanenz/Transzendenz in dem heute in der Regel vorausgesetzten Sinn ist also ein Produkt der dualistisch konzipierten kritischen Philosophie, und das scheint kein Zufall zu sein. Denn erst unter der Voraussetzung, dass es Aufgabe redlichen Denkens sei, den ihm zugänglichen Bereich der Wirklichkeit von all dem abzugrenzen, was jenseits liegt, weisen Transzendenz und Immanenz wechselseitig aufeinander zurück: Transzendent ist in einem solchen System all das, was nicht immanent ist; immanent ist all das, was nicht transzendent ist. Dabei ist klar, dass für Kant selbst „transzendent“ zumindest im Bereich der theoretischen Philosophie nur mehr eine negative Funktion erfüllt: es ist derjenige Bereich, von dem sich die Vernunft fernzuhalten hat, auch wenn – oder gerade weil – sie stets versucht ist, sich in ihn vorzuwagen. Gleichwohl wäre es eine Fehleinschätzung, meinte man, das philosophische Problem von Transzendenz und Immanenz wäre mit seiner Thematisierung bei Kant auch gleich wieder erledigt. Nicht nur, dass die vom Königsberger Philosophen vertretene Abgrenzung beider in der Folge immer wieder bestritten und variiert wurde, auch bei Kant selbst stellt sich die Sache in ihren Konsequenzen keineswegs eindeutig dar. Denn die Tatsache, dass er die Ausflüge der Vernunft in den Bereich der Transzendenz 12

A.a.O., in: Akademie-Ausgabe, Bd. 8, 398. Ebd. 14 KANT, Streit der Fakultäten, 46. 15 KANT, Sich im Denken orientieren (hier: Akademie-Ausgabe, Bd. 8), 134. Schelling berichtet, Jacobis Philosophie sei schon zu seinen Lebzeiten oft der Vorwurf des Mystizismus gemacht worden: SCHELLING, Zur Geschichte, 192. 16 KANT, Kritik der Urteilskraft, 459. 13

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geißelt, ändert ja nichts daran, dass Kant zumindest dies zu wissen scheint – dass es diesen Bereich gibt! Und seine Kritik an „Mystik“ und „Schwärmerei“ kann man natürlich in der Tradition eines lutherisch geprägten Rationalismus deuten; man kann sie aber auch als Kritik an einer Verwischung der Grenzen von Immanenz und „wahrer“ Transzendenz in den Bereich theologischer Selbstkritik rücken. Es gab deshalb von Anfang an nicht nur liberale, sondern auch konservative Theologen, die den Anschluss an Kant attraktiv fanden, gerade sofern sein Denken Anlass gab, die Jenseitigkeit Gottes radikal zu denken. Das trifft bereits auf den so genannten Supranaturalismus an der Wende vom 18. zum 19. Jahrhundert zu, der maßgeblich von Gottlob Christian Storr vertreten wurde;17 es ist aber ebenso deutlich in den frühen Werken von Karl Barth zu beobachten, dessen Römerbrief mit seinem Insistieren auf Gottes radikaler Andersartigkeit ein regelrechtes Manifest eines theologischen Kantianismus ist.18 Das ist kein Zufall. Denn wenn man an dieser Stelle den Blick ausweitet, dann lässt sich zumindest die Vermutung formulieren, dass Kants Philosophie ihrerseits sich einreiht in die religionsgeschichtliche Dynamik, die Max Weber die Entzauberung der Welt genannt und ursächlich mit dem Monotheismus in Verbindung gebracht hat.19 Danach hängen die Exklusivität des einen, schlechthin transzendenten Gottes und die „Erschaffung“ einer gewissermaßen „säkularen“ Welt direkt miteinander zusammen. Wie immer es sich mit dieser These verhält, es scheint mir nicht abwegig zu vermuten, dass Kants kategorische Scheidung zwischen „Immanenz“ und „Transzendenz“ sich gerade deshalb als so wirkmächtig erwiesen hat, weil sie mit einem durch die jüdisch-christliche Tradition heraufgeführten „Weltbild“ eng zusammenhängt.

3. Mit diesen Überlegungen haben wir der historischen Entwicklung allerdings vorgegriffen. Interessanterweise nämlich kommt ein verbreiteter und vergröbernder, pauschaler Gebrauch des Duals von Immanenz und Transzendenz weder im unmittelbaren Umfeld Kants noch auch in der nachfolgenden Generation auf. Bezeichnend ist der Eintrag zum Stichwort „immanent“ in Wilhelm Traugott Krugs vielbändigem Allgemeinem Hand17

Vgl. STORR, Bemerkungen. Dazu: P ANNENBERG, Problemgeschichte, 35–45 und HEIT, Versöhnte Vernunft, 69–71. 18 B ARTH, Der Römerbrief, XIV, und MCCORMACK, Dialectic Theology, 245–262. Cf. a.a.O., 245: „Barth’s theological epistemology in Romans II stands everywhere in the long shadow cast by Immanuel Kant.“ 19 WEBER, Protestantische Ethik, 94–95. Vgl. SCHLUCHTER, Entzauberung der Welt.

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wörterbuch der philosophischen Begriffe, das auf kantianischer Grundlage verfasst ist. Dieser Artikel fügt zwar zu der bei Diderot genannten Bedeutung zwei weitere hinzu, bleibt dabei aber streng analytisch und nimmt keine Verallgemeinerung oder Systematisierung vor: Immanent…heißt eigentlich drinbleibend. Es hat aber einen doppelten Gegensatz und bekommt dadurch auch verschiedene Bedeutungen. Wenn es dem Transcendenten entgegensteht, so bedeutet es das, was sich innerhalb des gesetzmäßigen Erkenntniskreises hält, z.B. der immanente Verstandesgebrauch, während der darüber hinausgehende transcendent heißt…Wenn es aber dem Transeunten entgegensteht, so heißt es soviel als innerlich, im Gemüthe beschlossen, theoretisch…Im pantheistischen Systeme bekommt das W[ort] immanent noch eine andre Bedeutung, indem man da Gott den immanenten Grund der Welt nennt, wiefern er von derselben nicht wesentlich verschieden, sondern alle Dinge in der Welt nur Accidenzen einer und derselben Grundsubstanz sein sollen. Diese 20 Art der Immanenz ist also von den beiden vorigen gar sehr verschieden.

Krug ist hier offenbar darum bemüht, die verschiedenen Traditionen und Nuancen des Wortgebrauchs separat zu halten. „Transzendent“ und „transeunt“ werden als gleichwertige Gegenbegriffe eingeführt, die ein jeweils unterschiedliches Verständnis von „immanent“ signalisieren. Signifikant freilich ist sein Hinweis auf den Gebrauch von „immanent“ im „pantheistischen System“. Spinoza hatte, wie oben gezeigt worden war, von „immanent“ gerade nicht in dem hier angezeigten Sinn der Leugnung der „Transzendenz“ Gottes gesprochen, sondern das Wort als Gegenbegriff zu „transeunt“ gebraucht; insofern würde sein Sprachgebrauch einigermaßen eindeutig mit Krugs zweiter Bedeutung zusammenfallen. Jedoch geht es Krug kaum um die präzisen Details der Philosophie Spinozas, dessen Namen er im Artikel nicht erwähnt. Vielmehr verweist seine Wortwahl auf die seit dem späten 18. Jahrhundert geführte Debatte um den Pantheismus, der überhaupt erst seit jener Zeit mit dem Denken Spinozas in Verbindung gebracht wurde.21 Der Streit war durch die von Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi mit Verve vertretene These ausgelöst worden, dass „Pantheismus“ und damit die Leugnung der Möglichkeit eines persönlichen Gottes ebenso wie der menschlichen Freiheit, die von Spinoza zum Ausdruck gebrachte, letzte Konsequenz jeglicher rationalistischer Philosophie sei.22 Trotz aller zum Teil vernichtenden Kritik an Jacobis Argumentation bestimmte dieser Verdacht die weitere Diskussion entscheidend mit, und der Vorwurf des Pantheismus wird, von Jacobi ausgehend, Teil des polemischen Arsenals philosophisch-theologischer Kontroversen im 19. Jahrhundert.23 20

KRUG, Immanent, 447. Für die (Vor)-Geschichte des Begriffs vgl. SCHRÖDER, Pantheismus, 59–60. 22 J ACOBI, Lehre des Spinoza. Für den Kontext vgl. SCHOLZ, Hauptschriften zum Pantheismusstreit, bes. die Einleitung des Hg. 23 Vgl. SCHRÖDER, Pantheismus, 60–62. 21

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Dabei spielen die Begriffe Immanenz und Transzendenz bei Jacobi selbst noch keine Rolle; erst von der Diskussion um die idealistischen Systeme Schellings und Hegels an wird die Verbindung von Pantheismusvorwurf und Bestreitung der Transzendenz Gottes regelmäßig hergestellt. In diesem Diskurs kommt ein Kant gegenüber geradezu umgekehrtes Bedenken zum Ausdruck: Wenn selbst Gott als „immanent“ in der Welt betrachtet wird, geht der Bereich des Transzendenten vollkommen verloren. Insofern hat Krug durchaus recht mit seiner Behauptung, der pantheistische und der kritizistische Gebrauch von „immanent“ seien „gar sehr verschieden“. Für diejenigen jedoch, die von einer mehr traditionell-religiösen Warte urteilten, mussten sich die Dinge anders darstellen, sofern beide als gewissermaßen nur zwei Seiten derselben Medaille erschienen, die jedoch darin übereinkamen, die Beanspruchung einer transzendenten Sphäre im religiösen und theologischen Denken radikal in Frage zu stellen.24

4. Krugs Artikel erschien 1827; Hegel starb 1830. Die darauf folgenden 15 Jahre gehören zu den bewegtesten, wenn nicht turbulentesten der deutschen Geistesgeschichte. Es hat den Anschein, dass der bis heute selbstverständliche, pauschale Gebrauch des Begriffspaars immanent/transzendent eine von zahlreichen einflussreichen Prägungen ist, die aus diesem Schmelztiegel erwachsen sind. Für diesen Prozess ist eine Zusammenschau dreier Größen grundlegend: die kantische Philosophie, die Philosophie des Idealismus, der vermeintliche „Pantheismus“. Maßgeblich ist zunächst weithin der Rahmen des hegelschen Systems, ganz gleich ob dieses als gültig akzeptiert oder abgelehnt wird. Unter seinen Befürwortern hatte Karl Friedrich Göschel bereits 1828 in seinen Aphorismen über Nichtwissen und absolutes Wissen den Namen „die Immanenten“ für diejenigen beansprucht, die in der Wissenschaft, d.h. in der Form des Wissens, das wirklich wieder finden, was sie vorhin im Glauben, d.h. in der Form der Vorstellung als absolute Wahrheit gehabt 25 haben.

Gleichzeitig wird von Hegels Kritikern auf der Rechten die These entwickelt, dass von seiner Philosophie her der Gedanke der Person undenkbar wird. Im Gegensatz zu seinem Anspruch, absolute Substanzphilosophie und Subjektphilosophie zu versöhnen, ist Hegel vielmehr der Erneuerer 24 Für eine solche Sichtweise – unter Rekurs auf die Begriffe Immanenz und Transzendenz – vgl. VON ESCHENMAYER, Grundzüge der christlichen Philosophie, 90–94. 25 GÖSCHEL, Aphorismen über Nichtwissen, 8.

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Spinozas und somit auch des Pantheismus. Immanuel Hermann Fichte, einer der Wortführer dieser Bewegung, macht vom Begriffspaar Immanenz/Transzendenz in seiner grundlegenden Schrift Beiträge zur Charakteristik der neueren Philosophie ausgiebig Gebrauch, um die Entwicklung von Spinoza über Kant zu Hegel und Schelling zu schildern und insbesondere Hegel scharf zu kritisieren.26 Unter ausdrücklichem Bezug auf I.H. Fichte und seine Mitstreiter kann der ansonsten kaum bekannte Philosoph Karl Hermann Scheidler 1839 in der monumentalen Enzyklopädie von Ersch-Gruber die These vertreten, dass ...der Begriff des Immanenten nebst seinem Gegensatze des Transcendenten den eigentlichen Kern oder Mittelpunkt des Kriticismus [sc. der kantischen Philosophie] enthält. Ebenso verhält es sich mit demselben im Hegel’schen System, nur dass hier grade das Entgegengesetzte gelehrt wird, insofern diese Lehre behauptet, die volle adäquate Erkenntnis von Gott usw. zu besitzen, und Immanenz und Transcendenz in ihr zusammen27 fallen.

Hier erscheint das Begriffspaar als der Schlüssel zum Verständnis der neuesten philosophischen Entwicklungen in ihrer Gesamtheit: Nach dieser Lesart ist Kants Philosophie von einer radikalen Entgegensetzung von Transzendenz und Immanenz gekennzeichnet, der dann im Idealismus ihre Antithese entgegengesetzt wurde. Ging es Kant darum, die beiden Bereiche scharf voneinander abzugrenzen, richtete sich das Bestreben der nachfolgenden Generation darauf, diese Gegensätze wiederum miteinander zu vermitteln. Am hier logisch nahe liegenden Schluss, dass es sich daher bei beiden philosophischen Systemen um komplementär defektive Gebilde handelt, ist Scheidler zwar nicht interessiert. Jedoch ist deutlich, wie stark es religiöse Bedenken sind, die seiner Analyse zu Grunde liegen. Hegel bezeichne sein System selbst als das des „absoluten Idealismus“, „von Anderen“ werde es aber zurecht „pantheistischer Idealismus oder idealistischer Pantheismus“ genannt.28 Insofern schließt sein Artikel mit der Beobachtung, dass diese „immanente Philosophie des Diesseits...allen Glauben an ein höheres Dasein, an ein Jenseits, oder an die persönliche Unsterblichkeit der Seele durchaus leugnet“.29 Will man das religionsphilosophische Resultat dieser Entwicklung sehen, dann lohnt ein Blick auf die einflussreiche Schrift Das Wesen der Re26

F ICHTE, Charakteristik der neueren Philosophie, 450 (zu Jacobi), 601 (zu Schellings Spätphilosophie), 837–842 (zu Hegel). Die Begriffe finden sich allerdings erst in der zweiten Auflage der Schrift; in der Erstauflage von 1828 wird die Terminologie noch nicht verwendet. 27 STEIGLER, Immanenz, 315. 28 A.a.O., 316. 29 A.a.O., 317.

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ligion des liberalen Theologen Carl Schwarz, die 1847 erschienen ist. Hier wird der Widerspruch zwischen Immanenz und Transzendenz Gottes als eine philosophisch aufzulösende Antinomie betrachtet: Das Absolute darf nur als der Welt transcendent gedacht werden. 30 Das Absolute darf nur als der Welt immanent gedacht werden.

Die Lösung, die Schwarz für diesen Gegensatz anbietet, ist für unseren Zusammenhang weniger interessant als die Tatsache, dass hier nun ausdrücklich die Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz als fundamentales Strukturelement für die Interpretation der Rede von Gott oder dem Absoluten angesehen wird. Gott kann demnach mit guten Gründen einerseits als transzendent behauptet werden: Die Welt [ist nämlich] wesentlich zeiträumlich, damit endlich...eine Reihe bedingter Existenzen, der das Unbedingte enthoben sein muss. Es könnte gar nicht vom Unbedingten die Rede sein, wenn es in den Zusammenhang der sich gegenseitig Bedingenden hin31 ein fiele.

Andererseits gibt es jedoch ebenso triftige Gründe, ihn als immanent zu begreifen: Das Absolute [ist] nicht mehr absolut, wenn es die Welt außer sich hat. Es hat an dieser Welt, die es nicht ist, seine Schranke; durch die Schranke gegen die Endlichkeit wird es 32 selbst endlich.

Schwarz selbst ist nicht unmittelbar an einer religionsgeschichtlichen Auswertung dieser Gedanken interessiert, aber es lässt sich leicht sehen, dass eine solche attraktiv sein musste. Denn es handelte sich bei diesem Schema nicht nur um eine Typologie, die es erlaubte, bestimmte historische Phänomene zu beschreiben und zu interpretieren, sondern die in dieser „Antinomie“ liegende Spannung konnte darüber hinaus ein Moment liefern, religiöse Entwicklungen und Übergänge zu erklären, und gerade daran hatte die sich entwickelnde Geistesgeschichte großes Interesse.33

5. Dass die binäre begriffliche Scheidung von Transzendenz und Immanenz den hermeneutischen Effekt haben konnte, dieselbe Unterscheidung bei Denkern der Vergangenheit vorauszusetzen, hatte sich schon bei Kant 30

SCHWARZ, Wesen der Religion, 182 Ebd. 32 Ebd. 33 Eine verwandte Argumentation begegnet in Otto P FLEIDERERS 1869 erschienenem Frühwerk Die Religion, 221–225. 31

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selbst gewissermaßen en passant gezeigt, sofern dieser Pythagoras und insbesondere Platon für eine philosophische Tendenz verantwortlich machte, die den Bereich menschlicher Erfahrung in unkontrollierter Weise zu überschreiten sich anmaßt. Platon ist deshalb der „Vater aller Schwärmerei in der Philosophie“.34 Etwa 50 Jahre später, in seinem epochalen Werk Die Philosophie der Griechen, dessen erste Auflage von 1844 an erschien, wendet auch Eduard Zeller die binäre Dualität von Transzendenz und Immanenz systematisch auf die Geschichte der griechischen Philosophie an; sein Herangehen ist dabei allerdings von dem Kants sehr verschieden. Für Zeller ist die gesamte Periode des griechischen Denkens dadurch charakterisiert, …dass der Bruch zwischen Subjekt und Objekt, Geist und Natur noch nicht eingetreten ist, das Denken mit seinem Gegenstand, der Geist mit der Natur noch in unmittelbarer Einheit steht. Diese unmittelbare Einheit des Geistes und der Natur ist überhaupt der Charakter der alten Welt; die Natur ist hier noch nicht als das specifisch Andere des Geistes, das Subjekt noch nicht als für sich seiende Einzelnheit, als das Höhere gegen alles blos gegenständliche Sein, als absolut frei bestimmt; mit der Idee allgemeiner Menschenwürde und Menschenrechte fehlt auch in der theoretischen Weltanschauung der Begriff des Geistes als naturfreier 35 Allgemeinheit.

Dass hier nicht ausdrücklich von Transzendenz und Immanenz die Rede ist, darf nicht den Blick dafür verstellen, was Zeller im Sinn hat. Die Zweiheit von Natur und Geist entspricht im Grunde genau der Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz. Das Besondere an der griechischen Philosophie also und das, was sich bei allen Wandlungen von den Vorsokratikern bis zum Neuplatonismus durchhält, ist eine ursprüngliche Einheit beider; es ist ein Noch-Nicht-Getrennt-Sein von Subjekt und Objekt, Geist und Natur, Immanenz und Transzendenz. Das große Gegenstück hierzu bildet die christliche Welt; sie ist es auch, die – wie es Zeller zumindest in der Erstauflage noch ohne zu zögern ausspricht – das einzige philosophische Gegenstück zur antiken Philosophie hervorgebracht hat: „Nur diese zwei Formen giebt es überhaupt.“36 Sofern die christliche Philosophie die spätere ist, ist sie nicht mehr „unbefan34

S.o. Anm. 12 ZELLER, Philosophie, 17. Ich beziehe mich hier und im Folgenden auf die Erstauflage, die von Zeller selbst im Laufe der Zeit immer wieder bearbeitet worden ist. Über den Charakter dieser Modifikationen vgl. C. Horns Vorwort zur Neuausgabe in: ZELLER, Philosophie, XVI-XVII. Angesichts dessen ist instruktiv insbesondere ein Vergleich des hier zitierten Abschnitts Über den Charakter der griechischen Philosophie im Allgemeinen (§2 in der Erstausgabe) mit dem entsprechenden Kapitel der Ausgabe letzter Hand (a.a.O., 169–210), hier bes. 177–178. Im Folgenden zitiere ich die beiden Ausgaben als ZELLER, Philosophie (1844) und ZELLER, Philosophie (2006). Zu Zeller vgl. weiterhin die diversen Beiträge in: HARTUNG, Philosophie- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte. 36 ZELLER, Philosophie, 11. 35

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gen“,37 wie es die griechische war. Sie ist also nicht einfach eine Alternative, sondern eine Weiterentwicklung jener. Eine solche Weiterentwicklung jedoch wird notwendig durch das Aufbrechen des scharf gefassten Unterschiedes von Natur und Geist oder anders gesagt durch das Aufkommen eines klaren Konzepts von Transzendenz. Dieses entsteht auf der letzten Stufe der griechischen philosophischen Entwicklung, kann aber nicht mehr in ihre inhärente Logik integriert werden: Das dritte [Stadium der Entwicklung besteht darin], dass sich das Denken in dieser seiner Subjektivität ergreift, um sich in ihr als die absolute Wirklichkeit zu behaupten. Weil aber diese Richtung über das Princip der alten Welt hinausgeht, so kann sie sich nicht rein vollziehen, und so geräth das Denken in den Widerspruch, einerseits die Subjektivität als das Höchste und Letzte festzuhalten, andererseits ebenderselben das Göttliche in unerreichbarer Trans38 cendenz gegenüberzustellen; an diesem Widerspruch erliegt die griechische Philosophie.

Zeller operiert also mit einem Verständnis der Dynamik philosophiehistorischer Entwicklung, das auf der dialektischen Dualität von Natur und Geist beruht. In einer von Hegel inspirierten Denkfigur identifiziert er die griechische Philosophie mit einem geschichtlichen Stadium, in dem beide noch nicht radikal auseinander getreten sind. Dabei ist eine solche These für Zeller weit mehr als eine pragmatisch entwickelte Kategorie im praktischen Interesse der historischen Darstellung. Er grenzt sich ausdrücklich von dieser Auffassung ab; die bessere Ordnung des Stoffes ist eine solche, die die „objektiven Unterschiede und Verhältnisse der geschichtlichen Erscheinungen getreuer wiedergiebt“.39 Denn historische Epochen haben ebenso wie Individuen „einen verschiedenen Charakter“.40 Indem Zeller so die unterschiedliche Konfiguration von Immanenz und Transzendenz als Motor der geschichtlichen Abfolge philosophischer Systeme betrachtet, wird dieser Dualität selbst eine fraglos übergeschichtliche Gültigkeit zugesprochen. Nimmt man an, dass Zeller zur Zeit der Erstauflage der Philosophie der Griechen Hegelianer war – und das scheint die allgemeine Auffassung zu sein41 – dann muss man ihm allerdings zugute halten, dass die Validität dieses Rahmens ihrerseits philosophisch reflektiert war. Wie immer es sich damit jedoch verhalten mag, unbestreitbar ist 37

A.a.O., 16; Zeller bezieht sich auf HEGEL, Geschichte der Philosophie, 120. Auch die duale Auffassung der Philosophiegeschichte teilen beide, vgl. HEGEL, a.a.O., 119– 120. 38 ZELLER, Philosophie (1844), 48. Vgl. ZELLER, Philosophie (2006), 227. 39 ZELLER, Philosophie (1844), 28–29. 40 ZELLER, Philosophie (1844), 29. 41 HORN in: ZELLER, Philosophie (2006), XVI, und (auf verschiedene Weise) die Beiträge von Hartung, Menn und Schaede in H ARTUNG, a.a.O. (Anm. 35). Ich meine freilich, man muss an dieser Charakterisierung selbst für die 1840er Jahre erhebliche Einschränkungen vornehmen, kann dies aber hier nicht begründen. Vgl. ZACHHUBER, Theology as Science, 115

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ebenfalls, dass Zeller spätestens seit den 50er Jahren sich deutlich von Hegel distanzierte, ohne jedoch die Notwendigkeit zu verspüren, die Grundstruktur seiner historischen Darstellung zu modifizieren. Auch die späten Auflagen enthalten weiterhin Hinweise auf die „ungebrochene Einheit des Geistigen und Natürlichen“ als Kennzeichen des Griechischen.42 Das „harmonische Verhältnis des Geistes zur Natur“ wird als das „Ursprüngliche“ für die griechische Philosophie bezeichnet.43 Und auch noch 1892, in der letzten zu Zellers Lebzeiten erschienenen Auflage, ist es der „Dualismus“ von Natur und Geist, „dessen wissenschaftliche Überwindung ihr [sc. der griechischen Philosophie] nicht mehr möglich ist“,44 der „Widerspruch [an dem] die griechische Philosophie [erliegt]“ entsteht durch die Gegenüberstellung des Subjekts mit dem „Absoluten in unerreichbarer Transzendenz“.45 Gerade wenn man also die frühen und die späten Auflagen des großen Werkes vergleicht, kann man sehen, wie die Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz in der historischen Arbeit am antiken Denken gewissermaßen ein Eigenleben annimmt. Sie mag ursprünglich durch einen bestimmten philosophisch-spekulativen Rahmen motiviert gewesen sein, überdauert jedoch dessen Plausibilität und wird so zu einem anscheinend fraglosen gültigen Interpretament der überlieferten Texte.

6. Sucht man nach einem Zeller vergleichbaren Bezugsautor in der Theologie, wird man an Ferdinand Christian Baur denken, dessen Arbeiten zur Entstehung des Neuen Testaments, zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte die historische Theologie entscheidend geprägt haben. Baur und Zeller gehören verschiedenen Generationen an, sind dabei jedoch eng miteinander verbunden: in Tübingen war Baur nicht nur Zellers Lehrer, sondern wurde etwas später auch sein Schwiegervater. Noch lange nach seinem (nicht ganz freiwilligen) Übergang von der theologischen in die philosophische Fakultät verstand sich Zeller wenn es erforderlich war als wortmächtiger Verteidiger der Arbeiten Baurs und seiner Tübinger Mitstreiter. Ich werde im Folgenden Baurs Interpretation von Augustins Trinitätstheologie bedenken, mit der – wie Roland Kany kürzlich festgestellt hat46 – die moderne Forschung zu diesem Höhepunkt patristischer Theologie ei42

ZELLER, Philosophie (2006), 177. A.a.O., 195. 44 Ebd. 45 A.a.O., 227. 46 KANY, Typen und Tendenzen, 13. 43

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gentlich begann. Diese Darstellung findet sich auf mehr als 60 Seiten am Ende des ersten Bandes von Baurs groß angelegtem dreibändigem Werk Die christliche Lehre von der Dreieinigkeit und der Menschwerdung Gottes, das in den Jahren 1841/42 erschien – also beinahe zeitgleich mit der ersten Auflage von Zellers Philosophie der Griechen und im unmittelbaren Kontext der nachidealistischen Popularisierung des Begriffspaars von Immanenz und Transzendenz. Um seine Augustininterpretation allerdings in ihrem Kontext zu verstehen, sind einige Worte über Baurs historischtheologische Arbeit vonnöten. Baur (1792–1860) wird bis heute oft einfach als theologischer Hegelianer abgehandelt, was zweifellos falsch oder jedenfalls grob vereinfacht ist.47 Es ist jedoch richtig, dass er sich in seiner weitgehend historischen Arbeit bewusst von dem in der Philosophie des Idealismus erreichten Problemniveau bestimmen ließ. Dies schien ihm umso weniger ein Widerspruch zur historischen Methode, als er davon überzeugt war, dass erst durch eine geschichtsphilosophische oder geschichtstheologische Interpretation das Recht historischer Arbeit innerhalb der Theologie gesichert werden konnte. Nur sofern anzunehmen war, dass das Verständnis geschichtlicher Entwicklungen unmittelbar zur Wahrheitserkenntnis hinführt, ließ sich die exponierte Stellung historischer Wissenschaften innerhalb der Theologie oder der Philosophie überhaupt begründen. Von dieser Voraussetzung aus versuchte Baur seit den 20er Jahren, das Christentum im Rahmen der Religionsgeschichte zu verstehen, und bereits an diesem Punkt wird deutlich, wie fundamental die kantsche Problemkonstellation für ihn war – so sehr er nach Wegen ihrer Überwindung suchte. Denn das von Baur vorausgesetzte religionsgeschichtliche Schema beruht auf der Entgegensetzung von Natur- und Geistreligion, und der Unterschied zwischen beiden ist nicht überraschenderweise die Immanenz bzw. Transzendenz Gottes. Immanenz und Transzendenz werden also sogleich als Begriffspaar vorausgesetzt, um den fundamentalen Gegensatz zu beschreiben, der die Religionsgeschichte vorantreibt.48 Das fundamentale Modell ist also Zellers Verständnis der Philosophiegeschichte recht ähnlich, und das darf nicht verwundern; in einem geisttheoretischen und insofern eher intellektualistischen Verständnis der Religion, wie Baur es vertritt, stehen sich Religion und Philosophie zwangsläufig nahe. Beide, Baur und Zeller, setzen daher den engen und wechselseitigen Zusammenhang beider in den verschiedenen Stadien ihrer Entwicklung fraglos voraus.49 47

Zu Baur: GEIGER, Spekulation; HODGSON, Formation. GEIGER, a.a.O., 50–63. 49 ZELLER, Philosophie (2006), 53–88; Baurs Monographie Die christliche Gnosis oder die christliche Religions-Philosophie in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung (Tübin48

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Der Gegensatz von Natur und Geist fordert nun allerdings eine Überwindung, und hier kommt Baurs „idealistisches“ Interesse zum Vorschein. Letzte Wahrheit kann weder die Identifizierung Gottes mit der Natur noch seine abstrakte Entgegensetzung von ihr beanspruchen, sondern das Ziel der religionsgeschichtlichen Dynamik ist erreicht, wenn diese Dualität von einer beide Seiten verbindenden und über sie hinausführenden Einheit abgelöst wird. Hier sieht Baur die Rolle des Christentums als der Religion der Versöhnung. Auf Grund des Inkarnationsgedankens, in dem Baur ebendiese Idee angelegt fand, kann das Christentum als „absolute Religion“ erwiesen werden, und das heißt nicht zuletzt: als die Versöhnung des Gegensatzes von Immanenz und Transzendenz. Es ist allerdings so, dass Baur dieser Programmatik offenbar nie ganz getraut hat, und wenn man seine praktische Durchführung, die in Form historischer Arbeiten vorliegt, näher ansieht, dann zeigt sich oft, dass die faktische Unmöglichkeit absoluter Werturteile, die im historischen Arbeiten impliziert scheint, die idealistischen Theorien durchkreuzt. Wie dem im Einzelnen auch sei, Baurs Interesse an der Geschichte der trinitarischen und christologischen Dogmen ist durch diese Problemexposition bedingt. Denn natürlich ist das durch die Dualität von Natur und Geist, von Immanenz und Transzendenz, sich ergebende Problem mit der Entstehung des Christentums nicht gelöst. Vielmehr begleitet es seine Geschichte, und Baurs diverse dogmengeschichtlichen Monographien versuchen, wiederum auf dieser Grundlage, das komplexe und unübersichtliche Gebiet der christlichen Theologiegeschichte in den Blick zu bekommen. Insofern kann es kaum überraschen, dass er in seiner Darstellung der Geschichte von Trinitäts- und Inkarnationslehre das eigentliche „Thema“ der beiden eng miteinander verbundenen zentralen Dogmen so bestimmt, dass es ihnen um das Verhältnis von Gott und Welt geht: …die Lehre von Gott und dem Verhältnis Gottes zur Welt und zum Menschen, wie es durch 50 die Lehre vom Gottmenschen bestimmt wird.

Die Dynamik der Entwicklung entsteht also dadurch, dass dieses Verhältnis in verschiedenen Weisen aufgefasst wird, die letztlich zu der von Baur bevorzugten (wenn auch aus seiner Sicht keinesfalls unproblematischen) Lösung der Idealisten und insbesondere Hegels hinführt, nach der der Geist das Band ist, das die Dualität von Gott und Welt, von Immanenz und Transzendenz überwindet.

gen 1835) ist als Ganze ein Versuch, die Zusammenhänge von theologischer und philosophischer Entwicklung in der Geschichte des Christentums darzustellen. Speziell zu Baurs Einfluss auf Zellers Arbeit vgl. KRÄMER, Bewährung, 141–152. 50 B AUR, Dreieinigkeit, iii.

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Es ist von daher nicht überraschend, dass Augustins Trinitätslehre in seinen 15 Büchern De Trinitate eine besondere Stelle in dieser Darstellung zukommen muss, denn es lässt sich ja kaum bestreiten, dass die Auffassung des Bischofs von Hippo von der Trinität für eine solche Herangehensweise einiges zu bieten hat.51 Baur fasst seine Sicht auf Augustins Lehre so zusammen: Augustinus war es zuerst, der den…tiefen Gedanken aussprach, dass das absolute Verhältnis des Vaters und Sohns nur im Wesen des denkenden Geistes gegründet sein könne, dass es, soweit es überhaupt begriffen werden kann, nur als ein Verhältnis des denkenden Geistes zu 52 sich selbst zu begreifen sey.

Diese Interpretation sieht Baur einerseits durch die Versuche Augustins bestätigt, die tatsächlich den Geist als das verbindende Dritte von Vater und Sohn zu begreifen suchen, andererseits aber – und für unsere Frage interessanter – wegen der berühmten ‚psychologischen’ Analogien, mit denen Augustin das trinitarische Mysterium erläutert. Die Tatsache, dass Augustin in der Struktur des menschlichen Geistes die letztlich am besten geeigneten Vergleiche für die göttliche Dreieinigkeit findet, sind aus Baurs Sicht ein Hinweis darauf, dass der Kirchenlehrer einen Eindruck davon hatte, dass das Wesen des Geistes als solches den Schlüssel zum Verständnis des göttlichen Wesens enthält: So sehr Augustinus immer wieder daran zu erinnern sich gedrungen fühlt, dass das göttliche Trinitätsverhältnis, wie es ihm in der Form der kirchlichen Lehre erscheinen musste, für das vorstellende Bewusstsein ein völlig transcendentes sey, so wenig kann er auf der anderen Seite der im Wesen des menschlichen Geistes so tief begründeten Voraussetzung sich entschlagen, dass, wenn es einen Schlüssel gibt, das unerforschliche Geheimnis aufzuschließen, ein solcher nur in der denkenden Natur des Geistes selbst liegen könne. Der zunächst zwar endliche, aber in seiner Endlichkeit zugleich unendliche Geist des subjectiven Bewusstseins ist ihm der Spiegel des ewigen, absoluten, zu der Dreieinigkeit von Vater, Sohn und Geist 53 sich selbst bestimmenden Gottes…

An dieser Stelle lässt sich bereits sehen, wie stark die Fragestellung Baurs, das Interesse an einer Versöhnung von Endlichem und Unendlichem, von Transzendenz und Immanenz seine Lektüre Augustins bestimmt. Er selbst ist davon überzeugt, dass eine geisttheoretische Interpretation der Trinität notwendig ist, um das von ihm diagnostizierte Problem der Dualität von Natur und Geist zu lösen. Sein gesamter Zugang zu Augustins Trinitätsdenken ist von dieser Fragestellung bestimmt, in deren Rahmen er sowohl seinen Erfolg als auch, wie gleich zu sehen sein wird, seine Grenzen bestimmt.

51

Zu Baurs Interpretation von De Trinitate vgl. KANY, Trinitätsdenken, 311–314. B AUR, Dreieinigkeit, 868. 53 A.a.O., 869. 52

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Denn Baur ist sich natürlich der Tatsache bewusst, dass Augustin mitnichten die Einheit des endlichen und unendlichen Geistes gelehrt hat. Hätte er dies getan, er hätte wohl kaum den Status eines Kirchenlehrers erreicht. Charakteristischerweise sieht Baur in Augustins Insistieren auf der Transzendenz Gottes gegenüber dem Menschen seine Grenze, die ihm durch sein Verhaftetsein in der orthodoxen Kirchenlehre vorgegeben war. Baur spricht hier von Augustins „Dogmatismus“, der sich für ihn darin zeigt, dass der die Gültigkeit der kirchlichen Lehre als ein Faktum voraussetzt. Warum Gott eigentlich trinitarisch gedacht werden muss oder kann, ist deshalb für Augustin keine Frage. Dass es so ist, steht für den Sohn der Kirche fest, dessen Theologie sich auf das Nach-Denken von feststehenden Wahrheiten beschränkt.54 Diese Begrenzung ist aus Baurs Sicht dafür verantwortlich, dass Augustin sich konsequent darauf beschränkt, die psychologischen Analogien als reine Analogien zu behandeln.55 Für Augustin sind die triadischen Strukturen des menschlichen Geistes nichts weiter als Hinweise darauf, wie Gottes Trinität von uns begriffen werden kann. Lässt man freilich diese von der Dogmatik vorgegebene Schranke hinter sich, dann, so Baur, wird deutlich, dass in Augustins Ansatz viel mehr steckt, als ihm selbst bewusst ist. Denn dann liegt nahe, in der parallelen Struktur von menschlichem und göttlichem Geist die Ursache dessen zu sehen, dass wir Gott als Trinität erkennen können und letztlich müssen. Der von Augustin letztlich beibehaltene „Dualismus“ von Gott und Welt, von Transzendenz und Immanenz hindert ihn also daran, die in seiner Trinitätslehre angelegte Lösung dieses letztlich unbefriedigenden Dualismus zu erreichen.56 Baurs Interpretation von Augustins Text kann keinesfalls einfach als „Hineinlesen“ idealistischer Prämissen in einen antiken Autor abgetan werden. Denn jede nähere Beschäftigung mit der hier nur kurz skizzierten Darstellung macht deutlich, wie viel detaillierte und scharfsinnige Lektüre der Tübinger Theologe investiert hat. Ebenso wenig wird man, so meine ich, seinen impliziten hermeneutischen Grundsatz, dass man in wichtigen Texten der Vergangenheit auch heute Gültiges zu finden versucht, pauschal abwerten können. Es ist auch meines Erachtens keineswegs so, dass Baurs Lektüre nichts mit dem zu tun hat, worum es dem Bischof von Hippo in seinem Buch gegangen war. 54

B AUR, Dreieinigkeit, 877–881. Vgl. allerdings KANY, Trinitätsdenken, 314: „Baur wäre in diesem entscheidenden Punkt wahrscheinlich zu einer anderen Einschätzung gelangt, wenn er Augustins Analyse des Selbstbewusstseins eingehend betrachtet hätte. Doch ausgerechnet die Bücher IX und X von De Trinitate, in denen sich diese Analyse findet, scheint er beim Lesen überschlagen zu haben – er schweigt dazu.“ 55 B AUR, Dreieinigkeit, 882. 56 A.a.O., 880–881.

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Gleichwohl steht außer Frage, dass Baurs Erwartung an jenen Text von einer bestimmten Konstellation bestimmt war, die sich auf der Grundlage von Kants Kritizismus in den Debatten der nachfolgenden Jahrzehnte entwickelt hatte: Natur und Geist (und somit Immanenz und Transzendenz) erschienen als zwei kategorial getrennte Seinsbereiche, deren Überbrückung die zentrale intellektuelle Herausforderung war, vor der Religion, Philosophie und Theologie gleichermaßen standen. Ob dasselbe Anliegen hinter dem Werk des Kirchenvaters stand, fragt er nicht. Wie gesehen, gibt es Gründe, hier skeptisch zu sein.

7. Von den drei Faktoren, die in den 1830er und 40er Jahren das Aufkommen eines pauschalierenden Rekurses auf Immanenz und Transzendenz bewirkten, spielten für Baur und Zeller nur zwei eine erkennbare Rolle: ein Interesse für das Problem des „Pantheismus“ ist bei ihnen nicht auszumachen. Das ist dezidiert anders bei Baurs etwas jüngerem Schüler Albrecht Ritschl (1822–1889), der sich allerdings Mitte der 50er Jahre aus diesem und anderen Gründen quasi offiziell von der Tübinger Schule seines Lehrers lossagte.57 Die idealistische Spekulation, die für Baur den Schlüssel zur Integration von Theologie, Philosophie und Geschichte bildete, lehnte Ritschl radikal ab; sie führte aus seiner Sicht gerade nicht zu einer mit dem Christentum kompatiblen Weltsicht, sondern zum Pantheismus. Obgleich Ritschl heute in der Regel eher als systematischer denn als historischer Theologe angesehen wird, gilt für ihn wie für Baur, dass beide Dimensionen theologischen Arbeitens untrennbar miteinander verbunden sind. Philip Hefner hat geschätzt, dass im engeren Sinn historische Abhandlungen etwa 80% des von Ritschl publizierten Werkes ausmachen und – bei großzügiger Ansetzung der weitgehend verlorenen Vorlesungsmanuskripte – in jedem Fall mindestens zwei Drittel dessen, was er jemals geschrieben hat.58 Diese Verbindung setzt sich bei seinen Schülern fort; besonders über Adolf Harnack, für dessen Dogmengeschichte Ritschls Theologie von großer Bedeutung ist, haben seine Auffassungen immensen Einfluss ausgeübt und tun das mutatis mutandis immer noch. Ritschls Ausgangsposition ist in mancherlei Hinsicht sehr verschieden von derjenigen Baurs, dennoch ist auch für seine Sicht auf antike und insbesondere patristische Texte die Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz fundamental. Dabei sieht Ritschl, ebenso wie nach ihm auch Harnack, ins57

Zu Ritschl vgl. HEFNER, Faith and the Vitalities; RICHMOND, Ritschl; NEUGELotze und Ritschl; CHALAMET, Reassessing, 620–641. 58 HEFNER, a.a.O., 340.

BAUER ,

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besondere den Einfluss platonischen Denkens auf das Christentum mit großer Skepsis. Ein von ihm gern gebrauchter Schimpfname ist „Areopagitismus“ – damit ist die von dem spätantiken Theologen Ps.-Dionysius Areopagita maßgeblich vertretene negative Theologie gemeint, der es traditionell darum gegangen war, das Denken von Gottes radikaler Transzendenz im Rahmen der christlichen Theologie zu ermöglichen. Ein solches Verständnis von Gott, das ihn primär in seinem Gegensatz zur Welt betrachtet, entspricht jedoch aus Ritschls Sicht dem Christentum gerade nicht. Vielmehr muss es der christlichen Theologie darum gehen, Gott und seine Schöpfung durch den Gebrauch von Zielbegriffen zusammenzudenken.59 Von daher scheint es so, als sei Ritschl, der besonders in seiner späteren Phase einen starken Einfluss Kants anerkannt hat,60 geradezu ein Gegner jeglicher Transzendenz innerhalb der christlichen Theologie, als sei deren Aufgabe nicht nur – wie bei Baur, den scheinbaren Hiatus von immanenter Natur und transzendentem Geist zu überwinden oder versöhnen, sondern den Bereich der Transzendenz von vornherein als einen unnötigen und in gewisser Weise schädlichen Schein zu entlarven, der Christen zu „mystischer“ Schwärmerei verführt und von der gottgewollten ethischen Lebensführung abhält. Ein solches Bild wäre allerdings doch eine stark vereinfachende Karikatur, die zudem die eigentümliche Art und Weise verfehlen würde, in der gerade bei Ritschl die Spannung von Immanenz und Transzendenz dann auch wiederum grundlegend wird. Dass Ritschl sich letztlich nicht so weit von der bei Baur und Zeller diagnostizierten Problemlage entfernt, wird dann deutlich, wenn man sich vor Augen führt, dass auch er von der fundamentalen Dualität von Natur und Geist ausgeht.61 Diese fasst er in einer an Kant und vor allem an Leibniz erinnernden Weise als den Unterschied eines durch Kausalität bestimmten Bereiches von einem „Reich der Zwecke“ auf. Ganz wie Kant bestimmt er die existentielle Situation des Menschen als ein Spannungsverhältnis zwischen diesen beiden Bereichen. Anders aber als die Idealisten und Baur bezweifelt Ritschl, dass die Lösung dieser Dualität in einer Versöhnung durch ein Drittes liegen kann. Vielmehr liegen Natur und Geist im prinzipiell antagonistischen Konflikt miteinander, der nur in einer für den Menschen zuträglichen Weise entschieden werden kann, wenn die Natur durch den Geist überwunden wird. Erlösung besteht also – und hier ist Ritschl wiederum ganz nah an idealistischen Autoren wie Schelling oder Schleiermacher – in der Beherrschung der Natur durch den Geist.62 59

R ITSCHL, Rechtfertigung, 256–270. A.a.O., 208–211. WRZECIONKO, Wurzeln. 61 ZACHHUBER, Albrecht Ritschl, 54–57. 62 Vgl. ZACHHUBER, Friedrich Schleiermacher, 32–33. 60

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Gerade diese Aufgabe wird aber nun dort verfehlt, wo das Verhältnis geistiger Größen und nicht zuletzt das Verhältnis von Gott und Mensch wiederum in kausalen Kategorien gedeutet wird. Das ist, in Ritschls idiosynkratischer Terminologie, „natürliche“ Theologie, eine Form von Theologie, die ihre Aufgabe einer Selbstbehauptung des Geistes gegenüber der Natur geradezu pervertiert, sofern sie auf den Geist die Kategorien der Natur anwendet.63 Genau diesen Fehler hat nach Ritschl die metaphysische Tradition gleich ob aristotelischer oder platonischer Provenienz begangen, die Gott als die erste Ursache, causa sui, bezeichnet hat, und aus ebendiesem Grund lehnt Ritschl die aus dieser Prämisse resultierende Entgegensetzung von Gott und Welt ab. Platon, Dionysius und Thomas von Aquin denken in jeweils verschiedener Weise Gott als Natur, und deshalb kommen sie zu Formen von negativer Theologie. Das ist natürlich einerseits gut kantisch gedacht, sofern hier eine Verirrung in den dialektischen Schein konstatiert wird; es bedeutet aber andererseits, dass Ritschl letztlich die Tradition des „Areopagitismus“ nicht deshalb ablehnt, weil sie zu sehr an Transzendenz orientiert wäre, sondern weil sie dies zu wenig oder jedenfalls nicht in der richtigen Weise tut. Denn der eigentliche Gegensatz zwischen „Immanenz“ und „Transzendenz“ verläuft zwischen Natur und Geist; gerade dieser Gegensatz jedoch wird von der „natürlichen“ Theologie verleugnet. Im Gegensatz dazu ist für Ritschl das ethische Telos der Menschheit, ihre geistige Bestimmung, das Transzendente, das gegen die in kausaler Determiniertheit gefangene naturhafte Immanenz geglaubt und behauptet werden muss. Dementsprechend bedeutet Ritschls eigene, und dann auch Harnacks historische Kritik an der „Hellenisierung“ des Christentums nicht etwa – wie oft behauptet wird – eine grundsätzliche Ablehnung philosophischer Reflexion in der Theologie, sondern sie richtet sich spezifisch gegen die Rezeption einer Form von Philosophie, der das Entscheidende (und das entscheidend Neue) am christlichen Glauben gerade entgeht.64 Dies Neue ist aber nichts anderes als die Erkenntnis, dass das Andere zur Natur nicht durch einen Rückgang auf ihre erste Ursache verstanden wird. Vielmehr verbleibt ein solcher Versuch gerade in der Naturimmanenz. Dagegen wird Natur tatsächlich überschritten, wo der Bezug auf eine teleologisch strukturierte Geistigkeit hergestellt wird.

63

R ITSCHL, a.a.O., 8–14 u.ö. Klassisches Beispiel hierfür sind Ritschls Urteile zur ‚physischen’ Erlösungslehre der östlichen Kirchenväter in: RITSCHL, Rechtfertigung und Versöhnung, 8–9, und ZACHHUBER, Tübingen School, 52. 64

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8. Sucht man nach der historisch-theologischen Abhandlung aus dem Umkreis Ritschls, die am eindrücklichsten und bestimmtesten von der Antithese von Immanenz und Transzendenz Gebrauch macht, trifft man auf eine Schrift, deren Verständnis dieser Begriffe auf den ersten Blick mit dem zuletzt Dargestellten wenig zu tun hat: Harnacks späte Monographie Marcion. Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott. Harnack veröffentlichte die auf frühen Arbeiten beruhende Studie zum ersten Mal 1923 und dann in zweiter Auflage im folgenden Jahr.65 Abgesehen von der erheblichen philologischen und historischen Herausforderung, die durch die Rekonstruktion des ausschließlich in den Zitaten seiner Gegner vorliegenden Werkes des frühchristlichen Theologen gestellt war, galt Harnacks Interesse in diesem Buch der Entwicklung und Begründung der ebenso originellen wie kontroversen These, dass das Denken Markions richtig nur verstanden wird, wenn man ihn als einzigen Theologen des frühen Christentums würdigt, der die christliche Botschaft paulinisch und so in ihrer kategorialen Unterschiedenheit von der vorhergegangenen Religionsgeschichte (und zwar der paganen wie der jüdischen66) aufgefasst und vertreten hat. Dieses Neue und Andersartige ist nun aber nichts anderes als die radikale Transzendenz Gottes. Markions Gott ist, wie es im Untertitel des Buches heißt, der „Fremde“, sofern er nicht von dieser Welt und daher auch von der bisherigen Religionsgeschichte unerkannt geblieben ist: [Markion] verkündete…den fremden Gott mit einer ganz neuen „dispositio“: An Christus hatte er ihn erlebt und nur an ihm; daher erhob er den geschichtlichen Realismus des christlichen Erlebnisses zum transzendenten und erblickte über der dunklen und dumpfen Sphäre der Welt und ihres Schöpfers die Sphäre einer neuen Wirklichkeit, d.h. einer 67 neuen Gottheit.

Die Zuspitzung des Gegensatzes von Transzendenz und Immanenz im Christentum erinnert sogleich an Zellers Sicht auf die Unterscheidung von Griechischem und Christlichem. Harnack selbst stellt in einer Anmerkung zum gerade zitierten Passus zudem eine direkte Verbindung her zu zeitgleichen Entwicklungen in der Religionsphilosophie: Wenn heute die Religionsphilosophie wieder das Objekt der Religion („das Heilige“) grundlegend als das „ganz Andere“, als das „Fremde“ oder ähnlich definiert…und wenn 65

VON HARNACK, Marcion. Die Arbeit geht freilich zurück auf eine von Harnack bereits 1870 verfasste Preisschrift, die kürzlich zum ersten Mal editiert worden ist: HARNACK, Der moderne Gläubige. 66 Berüchtigt ist Harnacks Plädoyer im Rahmen der Schrift für die Ausscheidung des AT aus dem kirchlichen Kanon: A.a.O., 217, und dazu D ETMERS, Interpretation, 275– 292, und vor allem: K INZIG, Harnack. 67 A.a.O., 228 (Kursivstellen im Original gesperrt).

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[Forscher] von allen „Beweisen“ abzusehen lehren und allein das Phänomen für sich sprechen lassen wollen, so haben sie allen Grund, sich des einzigen Vorgängers in der alten Kirchengeschichte zu erinnern, der diesen fremden Gott kannte, bei Namen rief und 68 alle Beweise und „Bezeugungen“, damit man an ihn glauben könne, abgelehnt hat.

Hier ist offenbar nicht zuletzt an Rudolf Ottos 1917 erstmals erschienenes Werk Das Heilige gedacht, wie in Harnacks weiterer Darstellung noch deutlicher wird. Selbst Karl Barth äußerte sich im Vorwort zur zweiten Auflage seines Römerbriefes sichtlich irritiert über die Ähnlichkeiten zwischen seinem und Harnacks Buch.69 Lässt man sich jedoch durch manche eher vordergründige Parallelen nicht beirren, fällt schnell auf, dass Harnack die radikale Transzendenz, die Markion vermeintlich verkündigt hat, offensichtlich nicht im Sinn einer metaphysischen Jenseitigkeit versteht. Ansonsten wäre ja auch kaum verständlich, warum Markion und nicht die späteren Verkünder einer apophatischen oder mystischen Theologie unsere Aufmerksamkeit verdienen. Daran jedoch denkt Harnack nicht; vielmehr schreibt er davon, dass Markion „den geschichtlichen Realismus des christlichen Erlebnisses zum transzendenten“ erhoben habe. Ganz wie bei Ritschl also wird die Transzendenz gerade verfehlt, wenn sie in einer metaphysischen Hinterwelt gesucht wird! Die Fremdheit und Andersartigkeit Gottes, die Markion verkündet, besteht deshalb auch nicht in Gottes radikaler Weltferne, sondern in seinem Charakter als Liebe: [Die neue Gottheit des Markion] ist Liebe, nichts als Liebe; schlechterdings kein anderer Zug ist ihr beigemischt. Und sie ist unbegreifliche Liebe; denn sie nimmt sich in purem Erbarmen eines ihr ganz fremden Gebildes an und bringt ihm, indem sie alle Furcht austreibt, das neue, ewige Leben. Nunmehr gibt es etwas in der Welt, was nicht von dieser 70 Welt ist und über sie erhebt!

Wie bei Ritschl ist auch beim späten Harnack noch das Transzendente das Zukünftige: Zwar kann zur Zeit der fremde Gott, der tief das Innerste erregt „nach außen nichts bewegen“; als Elende und Gehasste müssen daher seine Gläubigen diese entsetzliche Welt noch ertragen; aber in Christus ist sie schon überwunden, und am Ende des großen Weltlaufs wird es sich zeigen, dass der, der jetzt in uns ist, größer ist als der, der in der 71 Welt ist.

Beide unterschieden sich jedoch, sofern bei Harnack das für die Zukunft Erhoffte und Erwartete nicht mehr das Ziel einer in sich kontinuierlichen, 68

A.a.O., 228–229, Anm. 3. B ARTH, Römerbrief, XXIV. 70 VON HARNACK, a.a.O., 229 (Kursivstellen im Original gesperrt). 71 Ebd. 69

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stetigen Entwicklung ist. Dieses Konzept eines Übergangs vom natürlichen zum geistigen Zustand, vom Reich der Immanenz zur Transzendenz, hat er zugunsten einer klarer dualistischen Auffassung aufgegeben. Das Reich Gottes ist nicht der Endpunkt der historischen und kulturellen Entwicklung der Menschheit, sondern seine Antithese: „Die Welt mitsamt ihrer Gerechtigkeit, ihrer Kultur und ihrem Gott wird vergehen: aber das neue Reich der Liebe wird bleiben.“72

9. Mit Harnacks Marcion hat unser Überblick bereits das 20. Jahrhundert erreicht. Alle bislang analysierten Motive für die binäre Verwendung der Begriffe Immanenz und Transzendenz und alle wichtigen Varianten, in denen mit diesem Paar gearbeitet wurden, kehren bis in die Gegenwart immer wieder. Hinzu treten weitere Impulse, die in dieselbe oder eine ähnliche Richtung wirken und auf die nur kurz hingewiesen sei. Zum ersten ist bemerkenswert, wie stark der binäre Gebrauch der beiden Begriffe seit dem Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts auf das katholische Denken übergreift. Zwar gibt es bereits im späten 19. Jahrhundert eine gewisse Analogie in der von Thomisten wie Matthias Joseph Scheeben systematisch verwendeten Dualität von Natur und Übernatur,73 aber das ausdrückliche Interesse an Immanenz und Transzendenz beginnt erst mit Maurice Blondels bahnbrechendem Versuch an der Wende zum 20. Jahrhundert, über eine Bejahung des von ihm so genannten „Prinzips der Immanenz“ zu einer Rückgewinnung der Transzendenz zu gelangen. Hier lässt sich insofern eine Parallele zur philosophischen Diskussion im Deutschland der 1830er und 40er Jahre ziehen, als es auch für Blondel der Pantheismus Spinozas ist, der als Negativfolie für die eigene Theorie herhalten muss. So heißt es in seinem Essay über Spinoza als „eine der Quellen des modernen Denkens“: Der Begriff Immanenz, den jener Rationalismus, den das moderne Denken in Beschlag nehmen möchte, zur Grundlage und zur Bedingung jeder Philosophie erhoben hat, schließt keineswegs aus, sondern verlangt – sofern nur völlig zu Ende gedacht – die transzendenten Wahrheiten, denen gegenüber er zunächst als durchaus feindselig er74 schien.

Dabei dürfte auch für Blondel gelten, dass wesentliche philosophische Impulse für sein Verständnis von Immanenz und Transzendenz seiner Rezep72

Ebd. Vgl. SCHEEBEN, Natur und Gnade, bes. 15–23. 74 B LONDEL, Quellen, 5–6. 73

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tion von Kant, Hegel und Schelling entstammen; Spinoza wird von diesen Voraussetzungen her im Grunde unter dem Einfluss von Jacobi gelesen.75 Die von Blondels Arbeit angestoßene Debatte dürfte zumindest indirekt für die kirchenoffiziellen Verurteilungen des „Immanentismus“ durch Pius X76 und Pius XII77 (ein bis dahin vom Lehramt nicht gebrauchter Terminus) verantwortlich sein; ihre Bedeutung jedoch reicht weit darüber hinaus: Nicht erst Karl Rahner,78 sondern schon Erich Przywara operiert selbstverständlich mit der Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz, um sich in der zeitgenössischen Diskussion zu orientieren,79 und vermittelt über diese wird die Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz zu einem Gemeinplatz katholischer historischer Theologie und Philosophie. Neben Blondel dürfte für Przywara allerdings auch schon Edmund Husserl eine große Rolle gespielt haben. Der Begründer der Phänomenologie – und das ist der zweite wesentliche Punkt, auf den es hier ankommt – macht in seinen Schriften ausgiebig Gebrauch von dem Begriffspaar, das für seinen Versuch einer neuartigen Bewusstseins- und Erkenntnistheorie von fundamentaler Bedeutung wird.80 Gerade durch die „phänomenologische Reduktion“, die das im Bewusstsein Gegebene von seinen intentionalen Gehalten scheiden soll, wird – so Husserls These – die Evidenz eines ihm gegenüber „Transzendenten“ evident, [das] wunderbare Bewussthaben eines so und so gegebenen Bestimmten und Bestimmbaren…das dem Bewusstsein selbst ein Gegenüber, ein prinzipiell Anderes, Irreelles, Transzendentes ist…[Hier ist] die Urquelle…für die einzig denkbare Lösung der tiefsten Erkenntnisprobleme, welche Wesen und Möglichkeit objektiv gültiger Erkenntnis von 81 Transzendentem betreffen.

Husserls Einfluss auf die weitere intellektuelle Entwicklung im 20. Jahrhundert, nicht zuletzt über seine französische Rezeption durch Émmanuel Levinas, Paul Ricoeur, Jacques Derrida, Jean-Luc Marion und andere, kann kaum überschätzt werden. Im Zusammenhang mit der jüngeren Debatte um das Verhältnis dieser Bewegung zur metaphysischen und religionsphilosophischen Tradition, die im Vorwurf einer „theologischen Wende“ (tournant théologique) der Phänomenologie gipfelte,82 wurde ge75

MCNEILL, Synthesis. DENZINGER und HÜNERMANN UND HOPING, Enchiridion, Nr. 3477–3483. 77 A.a.O., Nr. 3878. 78 RAHNER, Vollendung der Welt, besonders: 601. 79 PRZYWARA, Gott in uns, 343–362. Vgl. zum Kontext: M CCORMACK, Karl Barth’s Version, hier: 93–97, und DAHLKE, Die katholische Rezeption, 18–22. 80 Vgl. B OEHM, Immanenz und Transzendenz, 141–185. Boehm zeigt in seinem Beitrag allerdings auch die Spannungen in Husserls Gebrauch des Begriffspaars. 81 HUSSERL, Phänomenologie, 204 (§97). 82 J ANICAUD, Theological Turn, 16–103. 76

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rade die Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz zum Thema der Auseinandersetzung.83 Mehrere Teilnehmer dieser Debatte bezogen sich dabei ausdrücklich auf vorneuzeitliche Autoren, die auf diese Weise wiederum in einem von modernen Kategorien bestimmten Deutungsschema interpretiert wurden. Insbesondere ist hier an Jean-Luc Marion zu denken, der seine auf Husserl und Derrida beruhende philosophisch-theologische Argumentation auf die apophatische Theologie des Ps.-Dionysius Areopagita zurückführt und diesen gleichzeitig zu einem Vorläufer der postmodernen Neukonfiguration des Verhältnisses von Transzendenz und Immanenz macht: This quasi-deconstruction [sc. in Dionysius’ negativer Theologie] cannot be said simply to anticipate, unknowingly, the authentic deconstruction [durch Derrida und andere] since it claims to reach in fine what it deconstructs: It claims to put us in the presence of God in the very degree to which it denies all presence. Negative theology does not furnish deconstruction with new material or an unconscious forerunner, but with its first 84 serious rival, perhaps the only one possible.

Wichtig ist die Parallele zwischen Marions philosophischer und seiner theologischen Argumentation. So wie er in Weiterführung von Husserls Ansatz davon ausgeht, dass die radikalste denkbare Herausarbeitung immanenter Realität („dritte phänomenologische Reduktion“85) ein ebenso radikal transzendentes „reines Gegebensein“ (étant donné) freisetzt, ebenso destruiert die von der prophetischen Kritik des Alten Testaments her gedeutete negative Theologie den ‚transzendenten Schein’ von bildhaften oder begrifflichen Repräsentationen Gottes, um auf diese Weise Gott als den wirklich Anderen, als Liebe, zu gewinnen. Marions Deutung der apophatischen Theologie des Areopagiten ist von verschiedenen Seiten kritisiert worden – und aus Sicht historischer Forschung besteht diese Kritik sicherlich zu Recht.86 Gleichzeitig ist jedoch bemerkenswert, dass und wie sie sich präzise in die ideengeschichtliche Fluchtlinie einordnet, die von Kant über den Idealismus zu Husserl einerseits, zu Barth und von Balthasar andererseits führt. Dabei bestehen offensichtliche Parallelen nicht nur zu diesen Autoren, auf die Marion selbst sich ausdrücklich beruft, sondern eben auch zu Ritschls und Harnacks antimetaphysischer Beanspruchung von Gott als Liebe.

83

MARION, Phenomenology of Givenness, 71–74. MARION, In the Name, 22. 85 MARION, Reduction, 192–198. 86 JONES, Genealogy; ZACHHUBER, Marion’s Reading, 3–22. 84

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10. Jean-Luc Marions Dionysiusinterpretation kann deshalb hier sinnvoll am Ende eines skizzenhaften Überblicks stehen, dessen Zweck zwar nicht die Vereinheitlichung der verschiedenen philosophischen und theologischen Positionen der letzten zwei Jahrhunderte war, die zur Rechtfertigung einer kategorialen Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz gebraucht wurden, sehr wohl aber der Aufweis bemerkenswerter Kontinuität und zunehmender Konvergenz hinsichtlich dieses Erbes der kantischen Philosophie. Wenn sich die epochale Bedeutung philosophischer oder theologischer Weichenstellungen paradigmatisch daran zeigt, dass sie unterschiedlichen, ja gegensätzlichen Positionierungen gleichermaßen zugrunde liegen können, dann ist der Siegeszug des unhinterfragt binären Gebrauchs von Immanenz und Transzendenz zweifellos ein sprechendes Zeugnis für die bleibende Signifikanz der kantschen Philosophie. Gleichzeitig würde eine bloß philosophiehistorische Deutung des Befundes zu kurz greifen. Denn es hat sich gezeigt, dass die von Liselotte Richter 1954 mit den Stichworten „Verlust des Transzendenzgedankens“ und „Schwund der rechten Glaubensmitte“ evozierte Zeitdiagnostik tatsächlich seit den 30er Jahren des 19. Jahrhunderts ein wesentlicher (wenn nicht der wesentliche) Motor der Popularisierung des heute meist selbstverständlichen Duals der beiden Begriffe gewesen ist. Dabei diente seine Beanspruchung durchaus verschiedenen Zielen: Die Forderung nach einer Überwindung der Transzendenz im Sinne einer Bejahung der diesseitigen Welt87 findet sich ebenso wie die dem entgegengesetzte (und gleichzeitig komplementäre) Kritik am Verlust der Transzendenz unter den Bedingungen von Säkularisierung und Moderne. Jenseits solcher schrillen Töne ist die Diskussion jedoch bestimmt von dem Empfinden für das ambivalente Verhältnis von jüdisch-christlicher Tradition und neuzeitlicher Entwicklung, sofern Letztere zwar einerseits als Bedrohung, gleichzeitig aber eben auch als Verlängerung und Fortsetzung Ersterer erscheint. Die Attraktivität der kantschen, hegelschen oder husserlschen Version einer Binarität von Immanenz und Transzendenz für theologische oder jedenfalls religiöse Autoren ergibt sich dann aus der Einsicht, dass die angemessene Unterscheidung von Gott und Welt dieser Tradition aufgegeben, in ihrer Ausführung jedoch stets bedroht ist und keinesfalls als bleibende intellektuelle Errungenschaft betrachtet werden kann.

87

Ganz pointiert bei E. Comtes Schüler E. Littré (LITTRÉ, Paroles, 54): „Le long conflit entre l’immanence et la transcendence touche à son terme; la transcendence, c’est la théologie ou la métaphysique, expliquant l’univers par des causes qui sont en-dehors de lui; l’immanence, c’est la science expliquant l’univers par des causes qui sont en lui.“

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Von einer solchen theologischen Warte her erscheint es im Weiteren nicht unplausibel, die einmal auf den Begriff gebrachte Dualität von Immanenz und Transzendenz auch in solche historische Kontexte einzutragen, in denen sie nicht ausdrücklich reflektiert sind. Das dürfte zumindest implizit bei den hier untersuchten theologischen Autoren des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts der Fall sein, und auch bei Zeller in seiner frühen idealistischen Phase kann ein solches Motiv vorausgesetzt werden. Wo jedoch eine solche quasi geschichtstheologische Hintergrundtheorie nicht mehr vorhanden ist oder jedenfalls nicht mehr in das jeweilige wissenschaftliche Selbstverständnis integriert werden kann, stellt sich die Sache anders dar. Möglicherweise wird auch eine solche, rein historistisch sich rechtfertigende Arbeit nicht ohne Zuhilfenahme der Kategorien von Immanenz und Transzendenz auskommen, es ist aber dann notwendig, sich über Recht und Grenzen des Gebrauchs einer solchen Terminologie methodologisch Rechenschaft abzulegen. Wie immer diese aussieht, sie kann sich jedenfalls nicht auf langfristige begriffliche Konstanz und Kontinuität stützen. In diesem Sinn scheint es mir legitim, von diesen Begriffen als ‚modernen’ Interpretationskategorien zu sprechen, deren Gebrauch durch Historiker kritischer Reflexion bedarf. Dies freilich nicht in dem Sinn, dass das Resultat solcher Reflexion das Heraustreten aus dem eigenen Interpretationsort wäre, sondern so, dass die Kontextabhängigkeit jeden historischen Verstehens mit bedacht wird.

Bibliographie B ARTH, K., Der Römerbrief (Zweite Fassung) 1922, Zürich 151989 B AUR, F.C., Die christliche Lehre von der Dreieinigkeit und der Menschwerdung Gottes in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung, Vol. I, Tübingen 1841 B LONDEL, M., Eine der Quellen des modernen Denkens: Die Entwicklung des Spinozismus, in: DERS., Der Ausgangspunkt des Philosophierens. Drei Aufsätze, hgg. A. Raffelt und H.-J. Verweyen, Hamburg 1992, 5–6 B OEHM , R., Immanenz und Transzendenz, in: DERS., Vom Gesichtspunkt der Phänomenologie, Den Haag 1968, 141–185 CHALAMET, C., Reassessing Albrecht Ritschl’s Theology. A Survey of Recent Literature, in: Religion Compass 4 (2008) 620–641 DAHLKE, B., Die katholische Rezeption Karl Barths, Tübingen 2010 DENZINGER, H., HÜNERMANN, H., UND HOPING H., Enchiridion symbolorum definitionum et declarationum de rebus fidei et morum, Freiburg 432010 DETMERS, A., Die Interpretation der Israel-Lehre Marcions im ersten Drittel des 20. Jahrhunderts, in: G. May und K. Greschat (Hgg.), Marcion und seine kirchengeschichtliche Wirkung, Berlin und New York 2002, 275–292 D IDEROT, D. u.a. (Hg.), Encyclopédie, Bd. 8, Paris 1765 F ICHTE, I.H., Beiträge zur Charakteristik der neueren Philosophie, 21841

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GEIGER, W., Spekulation und Kritik. Die Geschichtstheologie Ferdinand Christian Baurs, München 1964 GÖSCHEL, K.F., Aphorismen über Nichtwissen und absolutes Wissen im Verhältnisse zur christlichen Glaubenserkenntnis, Berlin 1829 HALFWASSEN, J., Art. Transzendenz/Transzendieren. I. Antike; Mittelalter, in: HWPh 10, Basel 1998, 1442–1447 HARTUNG G. (Hg.), Eduard Zeller. Philosophie- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte im 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin und New York 2010 HEFNER, P H., Faith and the Vitalities of History: A Theological Study Based on the Work of Albrecht Ritschl, New York 1966 HEGEL, G., Geschichte der Philosophie I, in: Werke, Bd. 13, hg. K.L. Michelet, Berlin 1833, 120 HEIT, A., Versöhnte Vernunft. Eine Studie zur systematischen Bedeutung des Rechtfertigungsgedankens für Kants Religionsphilosophie, Göttingen 2006 HODGSON, P.C., The Formation of Historical Theology. A Study of Ferdinand Christian Baur, New York 1966 HORN, C., Vorwort zur Neuausgabe in: E. Zeller, Die Philosophie der Griechen in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung. Erster Teil. Erste Abteilung, Darmstadt 2006 (ND der 6. Auflage von 1919), XVI-XVII HUSSERL, E., Ideen zu einer reinen Phänomenologie und phänomenologischen Philosophie. Erstes Buch: Einführung in die reine Phänomenologie, Halle (Saale). 1913 J ACOBI, F.H., Über die Lehre des Spinoza in Briefen an den Herrn Moses Mendelssohn, Breslau 1785 J ANICAUD, D., The Theological Turn of French Phenomenology, in: Ders. u.a. (Hgg.), Phenomenology and the ‘Theological Turn’: The French Debate, New York 2000, 16– 103 J ONES, T., A Genealogy of Marion’s Philosophy of Religion: Apparent Darkness, Bloomington 2011 KANT, I., Der Streit der Fakultäten, in: Akademie-Ausgabe, Bd. 7, 46 — Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A 295 f./B 352 — Kritik der Urteilskraft, Akademie-Ausgabe, Bd. 5 — Von einem neuerdings erhobenen vornehmen Ton in der Philosophie, 1796 — Was heißt: Sich im Denken orientieren?, 1786 KANY, R., Typen und Tendenzen der De Trinitate Forschung seit Ferdinand Christian Baur, in: J. Brachtendorf (Hg.), Gott und sein Bild. Augustins De Trinitate im Spiegel gegenwärtiger Forschung, Paderborn 2000, 13–28 — Augustins Trinitätsdenken: Bilanz, Kritik und Weiterführung der modernen Forschung zu „De Trinitate“, Tübingen 2007 K INZIG, W., Harnack, Marcion und das Judentum, Leipzig 2004 KRÄMER, H., Die Bewährung der historischen Kritik an der Geschichte der antiken Philosophie: Eduard Zeller und Albrecht Schwegler, in: U. Köpf (Hg.), Historischkritische Geschichtsbetrachtung. Ferdinand Christian Baur und seine Schüler, Sigmaringen 1994, 141–152 KRUG, W.T., Art. Immanent, in: Allgemeines Handwörterbuch der philosophischen Begriffe, Bd. 2, Leipzig 1827, 447 LITTRÉ, E., Paroles de philosophie positive, Paris 21863 MARION, J.-L., Reduction and Givenness. Investigations of Husserl, Heidegger, and Phenomenology, Evanston 1998

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— In the Name. How to Avoid Speaking of ‘Negative Theology’, in: J. Caputo und M. Scanlon (Hgg.), God, the Gift, and Postmodernism, Bloomington 1999, 20–42 — Being Given. Toward a Phenomenology of Givenness, Stanford 2002 MCCORMACK, B.L., Karl Barth’s Critically Realistic Dialectic Theology: Its Genesis and Development 1909–1936, Oxford 1995 — Karl Barth’s Version of an „Analogy of Being“: A Dialectical No and Yes to Roman Catholicism, in: T.J. White (Hg.), The Analogy of Being: Invention of the Antichrist or Wisdom of God, Grand Rapids 2011, 88–144 MCNEILL, J.J., The Blondelian Synthesis. A Study of the Influence of German Philosophical Sources on the Formation of Blondel’s Method and Thought, Leiden 1966 NEUGEBAUER, M., Lotze und Ritschl, Frankfurt-am-Main 2002 OEING-H ANHOFF, L. Art. Immanent, Immanenz, in: HWPh 4 (1976), 219–238 P ANNENBERG, W., Problemgeschichte der neueren evangelischen Theologie in Deutschland. Von Schleiermacher bis zu Barth und Tillich, Göttingen 1997 P FLEIDERER, O., Die Religion, ihr Wesen und ihre Geschichte, Bd. 1, Leipzig 1869 PRZYWARA, E., Gott in uns oder Gott über uns? (Immanenz und Transzendenz im heutigen Geistesleben), Stimmen der Zeit 105 (1923) 343–362 RAHNER, K., Immanente und transzendente Vollendung der Welt, in: D ERS., Schriften zur Theologie, Bd. 8, Einsiedeln u.a. 1967, 593–609 R ICHMOND, J., Ritschl: A Reappraisal. A Study in Systematic Theology, London 1978 R ICHTER, L. Immanenz und Transzendenz im nachreformatorischen Gottesbild, Göttingen 1955 R ITSCHL, A., Die christliche Lehre von der Rechtfertigung und Versöhnung, Bd. 1, Bonn 1870 — Die christliche Lehre von der Rechtfertigung und Versöhnung, Bd. 3 41895 (= 31888) SCHEEBEN, M.J., Natur und Gnade. Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen Ausarbeitung der natürlichen und übernatürlichen Lebensordnung im Menschen, in: DERS., Gesammelte Schriften, Bd. 1, Freiburg 1941 SCHELLING, W.J., Zur Geschichte der neueren Philosophie. Münchener Vorlesungen, in: DERS., Sämmtliche Werke, hg. K.F.A. Schelling, Stuttgart 1856–1861, Bd. I/10, 192 SCHLUCHTER, W., Die Entzauberung der Welt. Sechs Studien zu Max Weber, Tübingen 2009 SCHOLZ H., (Hg), Die Hauptschriften zum Pantheismusstreit zwischen Jacobi und Mendelssohn, Berlin 1916 (ND: Waltrop 2004) SCHRÖDER, W., Art. Pantheismus, in: HWPh 7, 59–63 SCHWARZ, C., Das Wesen der Religion, Halle 1847 SPAETH, H., Welt und Gott. Grundzüge einer die Gegensätze der Neuzeit in sich verarbeitenden theistischen Weltanschauung, Berlin 1867 SPINOZA, B., Ethica ordine geometrico demonstrata, prop. XVIII, in: D ERS., Opera – Werke. Lateinisch und Deutsch, hg. G. Gawlick und F. Niewöhner und K. Blumenstock, Bd. 2, Darmstadt 41989 (ND 2008), 120 STEIGLER, K.H., Art. Immanenz, in: J.S. Ersch und J.G. Gruber (Hgg.), Allgemeine Encyclopädie der Wissenschaften und Künste, Bd. II/16, Leipzig 1839, 314–317 STORR, G.CHR., Bemerkungen über Kant’s philosophische Religionslehre, Tübingen 1794 VON ESCHENMAYER, C.A., Grundzüge der christlichen Philosophie mit Anwendung auf die evangelischen Lehren und Thatsachen, Basel 1840 VON HARNACK, A., Marcion. Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott, Leipzig 21924 (ND Darmstadt 1996)

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VON HARNACK, A. Marcion. Der moderne Gläubige des 2. Jahrhunderts, der erste Reformator. Die Dorpater Preisschrift (1870), hg. F. Steck, Berlin und New York 2003 W EBER, M., Die Protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus, in: DERS., Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie I, Tübingen 1920, 91988, 94–95 WRZECIONKO, P., Die philosophischen Wurzeln der Theologie Albrecht Ritschls. Ein Beitrag zum Problem des Verhältnisses von Theologie und Philosophie im 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin 1964 ZACHHUBER, J., Überschwänglich. Ein Wort der Mystikersprache bei Immanuel Kant, Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 42 (2000) 139–154 — Friedrich Schleiermacher und Albrecht Ritschl. Kontinuitäten und Diskontinuitäten in der Theologie des 19. Jahrhunderts, ZNThG 12 (2005) 16–46 — Albrecht Ritschl and the Tübingen School. A Neglected Link in the History of 19th Century Theology, ZNThG 18 (2011) 51–70 — Jean-Luc Marion’s Reading of Dionysius the Areopagite. Hermeneutics and Reception History, in: S. Douglass und M. Ludlow (Hgg.), Reading Forwards and Reading Backwards. Conversations about Reading the Church Fathers, Edinburgh 2011, 3–22 — Theology as Science in Nineteenth-Centuy Germany: From F.C. Baur to Ernst Troeltsch, Oxford 2013 ZELLER, E., Die Philosophie der Griechen. Ein Versuch über Charakter, Gang und Hauptmomente ihrer Entwicklung, Bd. 1, Tübingen 1844



Überlegungen zu den Voraussetzungen für göttliche Präsenz im Alten Orient und zu den Gefahren ihrer Beeinträchtigung CLAUS AMBOS

1. Die Präsenz der Götter unter den Menschen auf der Erde Gemäß altorientalischer Vorstellung hielten sich die Götter in Gestalt ihrer Kultbilder auf der Erde unter den Menschen auf. Das Kultbild wohnte in einem Tempel, wo es durch das Kultpersonal Hege und Pflege erfuhr. Einer im Alten Orient weit verbreiteten Ansicht zufolge hatten die Götter die Erde und die Menschen erschaffen, um ihre Versorgung zu gewährleisten. Ursprünglich hatten die Götter selbst in harter Arbeit ihren Lebensunterhalt sicherstellen müssen. Nachdem sie jedoch dieser Mühsal überdrüssig geworden waren, erschufen die Götter die Menschen, die ihnen die schwere Arbeit abnehmen sollten. Die Götter erschufen auch die Welt mit ihren Rohstoffen (Bodenschätze, Pflanzen und Tiere), damit immer genügend Material für die Ausstattung ihrer Heiligtümer und für ihre Versorgung mit Nahrungsmitteln zur Verfügung stand. Die Götter hielten sich also unter den Menschen auf, um sich von ihnen ernähren und versorgen zu lassen.1

1 Siehe dazu grundlegend M AUL, Den Gott ernähren. Eine wichtige Quelle ist beispielsweise der Atra-hasƯs-Mythos: LAMBERT UND MILLARD, Atra-পasƯs, 56, Z. 195– 197: „Erschaffe (gemeint ist die Göttin BƝlet-ilƯ) den lullû-Menschen, damit er das Joch trage; er soll das Joch tragen, das Werk des Enlil; den Frondienst des Gottes soll der Mensch tragen!“ Eine anschauliche Schilderung der Plackerei, die die Götter bis dahin hatten leisten müssen, bietet Z. 1–66 des Mythos. Vgl. weiterhin das babylonische Weltschöpfungsepos Ennjma eliš: LAMBERT, Enuma elisch, 592, und T ALON, Ennjma Eliš, 62 Tafel VI 7–8: „Ich (Marduk) will den lullûMenschen erschaffen, die Arbeiten der Götter sollen ihm auferlegt sein, damit sie ruhen können!“ lullû-Mensch ist die Bezeichnung des normalen Menschen. Von ihnen unterscheidet sich der König als überlegend-entscheidender Mensch (mƗliku amƝlu), der die Versorgung der Götter durch die übrigen Menschen koordiniert und verantwortet ( VON SODEN, Atramchasis, 623, zu Z. 195; M AYER, Mythos; CANCIK-KIRSCHBAUM, Konzeption).

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Das Heiligtum eines Gottes mit seiner Kultstatue und seinen Riten war somit von den Göttern selbst bei der Erschaffung der Welt eingerichtet worden, und es war Aufgabe der Menschen, Tempel und Statue unverändert zu erhalten und die Riten ohne Abweichungen und Fehler weiterzuführen. Dies wird beispielsweise in einer Beschwörung ausgedrückt, die beim Bau eines Heiligtumes vorgetragen wurde:2 Als An/Anu, Enlil und Enki/Ea Himmel und Erde erschufen, sie im Lande ihr Heiligtum zum Beruhigen ihres Herzens erbaut hatten, sie ihre Paläste erbaut und (darin) Wohnung genommen hatten, sie bei den schwarzköpfigen Menschen den Tragkorb [auferlegt hatten (o.ä.)], beriefen sie im Lande den Hirten (den König), der die Heiligtümer der Götter versorgt. Die großen Götter betraten freudig das Ubšukkinna (den Ort der Schicksalsbestimmung) u[nd] bestimmten ihm großartig das Schicksal, die Entscheidung zu fällen w[iesen sie ihm zu. (?)]

Das Gebet beschreibt anschaulich, wie der uranfängliche Tempel von den Göttern selbst als Wohnstatt erbaut worden war. Dann erschufen die Götter die Menschen, die durch ihre Arbeit die Versorgung der Götter gewährleisten und die Tempel instand halten sollten. Schließlich erschaffen die Götter den König, dessen Aufgabe es ist, die Versorgung der Götter durch die Menschen planmäßig zu leiten und zu organisieren. Das Mythologem vom in der Urzeit errichteten Tempel wird durch andere Texte bestätigt. Wie wir dem babylonischen Weltschöpfungsepos Ennjma eliš entnehmen können, erbauten die Götter in eigener Arbeit für Marduk sein Heiligtum Esagil und errichteten sich dann ihre eigenen Tempel (VI 51–68):3 „Wir wollen einen Tempel bauen, dessen Name bekannt ist, in deinem Heiligtum sei unsere Übernachtungsstätte, wir wollen darin ruhen! Wir wollen ein Heiligtum anlegen (und) darin einen Sockel! An dem Tag, da wir es vollenden, wollen wir uns darin ausruhen!“ … Die Anunnaki-Götter schlugen mit der Hacke, ein Jahr lang strichen sie seine Ziegel. Als das zweite Jahr herankam, erhöhten sie die Spitzen von Esagil, der Entsprechung des Apsû. Sie erbauten die hohe Zikkurat des Apsû (Etemenanki), für Anu, Enlil, Ea und ihn (Marduk) machten sie den Wohnsitz dauerhaft. … Nachdem sie Esagil erbaut hatten, sein Werk, errichteten sich alle Anunnaki-Götter ihre (eigenen) Heiligtümer.

2

MAYER, Rituale, 438–443; AMBOS, Baurituale, 193–195. Vergleichbare Schöpfungsberichte finden sich in vielen Beschwörungen in Tempelbau-Ritualen: AMBOS, Baurituale, 50–52. 3 LAMBERT, Enuma elisch, 593; T ALON, Ennjma Eliš, 64–65.

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Auch bei den Hethitern bestand die Auffassung, ein Heiligtum sei von den Göttern selbst errichtet worden, wie wir einem Tempelbauritual entnehmen können. Der zentrale Textabschnitt sei hier zitiert:4 Siehe, diesen Tempel, den wir dir, der Gottheit, erbaut haben – und er ruft den Namen derjenigen Gottheit, für die man ihn baut – haben nicht wir gebaut, (sondern) alle Götter haben ihn gebaut. Die männlichen Götter haben ihn als Zimmermannsleute gebaut. Die Fundamente unten hat Telipinu gelegt; darauf hat Ea, der König der Weisheit, die Mauern errichtet; Holz und Steine haben alle Berggötter hergebracht; den Lehm haben die Göttinnen gebracht. Sie haben unten die Fundamentsteine aus Silber und Gold gelegt. Das Gold haben sie aus der Stadt Piruntumiya hergebracht; das Silber haben sie aus dem Tempel (?) hergebracht; den Lapislazuli haben sie vom Berg Takniyara hergebracht; den Alabaster haben sie aus dem Lande Kanišপa hergebracht; den Bergkristall haben sie aus Elam hergebracht; den Diorit/Basalt haben sie aus der Erde hergebracht; das Meteoreisen haben sie vom Himmel hergebracht; Kupfer (und) Bronze haben sie aus Zypern vom Berge Takata hergebracht.

Ebenso wie der Tempel, in welchem es sich aufhielt, galt auch das Kultbild als von den Göttern erschaffen. Die menschlichen Handwerker, die es herstellten, erhielten das dafür benötigte Wissen von den Göttern (namentlich Enki/Ea) und arbeiteten unter deren Anleitung. Holzarbeiter, Steinfasser, Steinschneider, Schmied und Goldschmied waren gewissermaßen nur Werkzeuge der ihnen zugeordneten Handwerkergötter Ninduluma, Ninkurra, Ninzadim, Ninagal und Kusibanda. Bei diesen Gottheiten handelt es sich um Hypostasen des Gottes Enki/Ea. Das Mundwaschungsritual, im Zuge dessen ein Kultbild eingeweiht wurde, hatte den Zweck, das Bild der menschlichen Arbeit, die an ihm ausgeführt worden war, zu entrücken. Den Handwerkern wurden nach Abschluss ihrer Arbeit symbolisch die Hände mit einem Schwert aus Tamariskenholz abgehackt, und sie leisteten einen Eid, in dem sie erklärten, dass nicht sie selbst, sondern vielmehr die Handwerkergötter an dem Bildnis gearbeitet hätten.5

2. Die Beeinträchtigung der göttlichen Präsenz auf Erden Zahlreiche Quellen informieren uns darüber, dass die Menschen den von den Göttern an sie gestellten Anforderungen nicht gerecht wurden und korrekte Riten in Vergessenheit gerieten oder manipuliert wurden, alte Kultbilder verloren gingen oder entstellt wurden und ehrwürdige Tempel bis zur Unkenntlichkeit verfielen oder gar zerstört wurden. Dadurch wurde die

4

CTH 413; zitiert nach HAAS, Geschichte, 253–254. B ERLEJUNG, Theologie, 114–134; 431, 451 und 453–454. W ALKER UND DICK, Induction, 65–66, Z. 173–186 und 76, Z. 49–52. 5

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göttliche Präsenz beeinträchtigt und das Verhältnis zwischen göttlicher und menschlicher Sphäre empfindlich gestört. Ohne Tempel, Kult und Götterbild konnten die Götter keine Versorgung mehr durch die Menschen empfangen. Der assyrische König Assurbanipal berichtet, dass er die Götter des Landes Elam „zu einem Windhauch“ oder „zu Phantomen“ (ana zƗqƯqƯ) machte, indem er ihre Heiligtümer zerstörte und die Kultbilder nach Assyrien verschleppte:6 Selbige Götter und Göttinnen…führte ich nach Assyrien fort…Die Heiligtümer von Elam zerstörte ich bis zum Nichtvorhandensein. Seine Götter und Göttinnen rechnete ich zu den Phantomen.

Es ist ein Topos, dass fromme Könige oder Würdenträger aus dem 1. Jahrtausend berichten, dass sie von den Göttern auserwählt worden seien, die verfallenen Tempel und beschädigten oder verlorenen Kultbilder wiederherzustellen und die vergessenen alten Riten wiedereinzuführen. In der Tat konnten viele Heiligtümer Mesopotamiens und ihre Kultbilder und Riten auf eine wechselhafte jahrhunderte-, wenn nicht gar jahrtausendealte Geschichte zurückblicken.

3. Der Rekurs auf ein verlorenes Urbild von Tempel und Kultstatue als pia fraus? In einigen Fällen hat die moderne Wissenschaft aufzuzeigen versucht, dass der Rekurs auf die Wiederentdeckung des verlorenen oder vergessenen Urbildes eines Tempels und des in ihm ausgeübten Kultes eine pia fraus oder eine invention of tradition darstellt. Dies sei im folgenden anhand von einigen Beispielen illustriert, wobei ich aber bei einem dieser Fallbeispiele auch exemplarisch der Frage nachgehen möchte, ob die Bewertung durch moderne Forscher als frommer Betrug oder Erfindung einer Tradition angemessen ist oder nicht. I. Das Neujahrsfesthaus von Assur Als ein Beispiel für den Bezug auf ein verlorenes Urbild kann der Bericht des assyrischen Königs Sanherib (704–681 v. Chr.) angeführt werden, demzufolge er das in Vergessenheit geratene akƯtu-Festhaus des Gottes Assur außerhalb der Stadt Assur wiederaufgebaut habe:7

6

B ORGER, Beiträge, 54–55 und 241, F §32 V 31–33 und 42–43 // A §57 VI 44, 47, 62–64. 7 LUCKENBILL, Sennacherib, 136–137, Z. 24–28.

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…im Nisannu, dem ersten Monat des Vaters Enlil…des Festes des Banketts des Königs der Götter Assur, dessen akƯtu-Festhaus in der Steppe seit weit zurückliegenden Tagen wegen Wirren und Aufständen dem Vergessen anheimgefallen war – der Kult des Königs der Götter Assur wurde (statt dessen) inmitten der Stadt ausgeführt – zusammen mit jenem Werk (der Anfertigung von Kultbildern) trieb mich mein Herz dazu, das akƯtuFesthaus (wiederaufzu)bauen.

Archäologisch lässt sich ein eventueller Vorgängerbau zum Festhause Sanheribs (wenn er sich denn wirklich an derselben Stelle befunden hatte) nicht feststellen, was dazu geführt hat, den König der „invention of tradition“ zu zeihen.8 II. Das Kultbild des Šamaš in Sippar Ebenfalls als pia fraus gewertet wird der Bericht des babylonischen Königs Nabû-apla-iddina (ca. 887–855 v. Chr.) über die Wiederherstellung des alten Kultbildes des Sonnengottes Šamaš in seinem Tempel Ebabbar zu Sippar.9 Im 11. Jahrhundert v. Chr., während einer unruhigen und chaotischen Zeit, während die Sutäer das Land verwüsteten, war das anthropomorphe Kultbild im Heiligtum Ebabbar verlorengegangen. Der babylonische König Simbar-Šipak (1026–1009 v. Chr.) bemühte sich zwar darum, das Kultbild wiederherzustellen, jedoch konnte das genaue Aussehen der Statue nicht mehr ermittelt werden und auf diesbezügliche Orakelanfragen gab der Sonnengott keine Antwort. Dies war ein Anzeichen dafür, dass Šamaš gegenüber dem Land und seinen Einwohnern erzürnt war. Daher musste für lange Zeit eine Sonnenscheibe als provisorischer Ersatz dienen, bis sich Šamaš mit seinem Land versöhnte und dem König Nabû-apla-iddina den Auftrag zur Wiederherstellung des alten, verlorenen Kultbildes gab. Am westlichen Ufer des Euphrat wurde just zu diesem Zeitpunkt durch den Opferschauer Nabû-nƗdin-šumi ein Relief entdeckt, das das alte Kultbild darstellte und das dadurch originalgetreu wiederhergestellt werden konnte.10 3.3. Der Tempel des Gottes Anu in Uruk Als pia fraus wird auch die Gründungslegende des Tempels des Himmelsgottes Anu in Uruk betrachtet. Das Heiligtum trug den Namen rƝš oder bƯt rƝš. An diesem Tempel führten lokale Würdenträger in hellenistischer Zeit, 8

FRAHM, Sanherib, 285–286 W OODS, Sun-God Tablet; ZAWADZKI, Garments, 140–152. Siehe weiterhin auch B ERLEJUNG, Theologie, 141–149; W ALKER UND DICK, Induction, 22–24. 10 Das Objekt, das Nabû-nƗdin-šumi auffand, wird als u‫܈‬urti ‫܈‬almƯšu ‫܈‬irpu ša ‫ې‬a‫܈‬bi– „eine Zeichnung/ein Relief seiner Statue, (nämlich) ein Objekt aus gebranntem Ton“ bezeichnet. Möglicherweise handelte es sich dabei um einen aus Ton hergestellten Abdruck einer Darstellung der Kultstatue (W OODS, Sun-god Tablet, 85 iii 19–20 und 94). 9

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im 3. Jahrhundert v. Chr., umfassende Baumaßnahmen durch. Im Jahre 68 SÄ (= 244 v. Chr.)11 baute ein gewisser Anu-uballi৬, dem vom König der griechische Name Nikarchos verliehen worden war, einen bescheideneren Vorgängerbau zu einem monumentalen Heiligtum aus. Gut 40 Jahre später im Jahre 110 SÄ (= 202/201 v. Chr.) ließ ein lokaler Magnat, der ebenfalls Anu-uballi৬ hieß und der den griechischen Zweitnamen Kephalon trug, den aus Lehmziegeln errichteten Kernbau des Heiligtumes mit den Cellae von Anu und seiner Frau Antu abreißen und größer als früher mit Backsteinen wiederaufbauen.12 Gemäß einer Bauinschrift des Anu-uballi৬ Kephalon wurde der rƝšTempel des Gottes Anu ursprünglich von dem vorsintflutlichen Weisen U’an-Adapa errichtet.13 Dieser Weise ist in seiner gräzisierten Namensform Oannes auch durch den Bericht des auf Griechisch schreibenden babylonischen Gelehrten Berossos bekannt. Berossos zufolge entstieg ebenjener Oannes zu Beginn der Zeit dem Meer und unterrichtete die Menschen in den verschiedenen Zivilisations- und Kulturtechniken.14 Der Hinweis auf ein derart hohes, vorsintflutliches Alter des Heiligtumes wurde in der Sekundärliteratur gerne als Hinweis auf eine invention of tradition gewertet.15 Der archäologische Befund zwingt uns jedoch zu einer vorsichtigeren Bewertung: Auf dem Areal des späteren rƝš-Tempels lässt sich bereits seit der prähistorischen Ubaid-Zeit monumentale Architektur nachweisen.16 Ein monumentales Bauwerk war eine Hochterrasse, bei der sich zahlreiche Bauschichten nachweisen ließen.17 Das Gebäude aus der Uruk IV-Zeit (Gebäude B) wird in der Fachliteratur auch als „Weißer Tempel“ bezeichnet.18 11

SÄ = Seleukidenära. Zu den Bauherren siehe auch D OTY, Nikarchos and Kephalon und B OIY, Temple Building. 13 Die Inschrift von Kephalon ist auf beschrifteten Ziegeln überliefert; siehe FALKENSTEIN, Topographie, 6–7, Z. 6–7 und VAN D IJK, UVB 18, 47. 14 B URSTEIN, Babyloniaca, 13–14; VERBRUGGHE UND W ICKERSHAM, Berossos, 44; zu Berossos und seinem Werk siehe auch SCHNABEL, Berossos, und VAN DER SPEK, Berossus. 15 Siehe z.B. LENZI, Uruk List, 160; W AERZEGGERS, Ezida, 115. Diese Autoren vermuten, der rƝš-Tempel des Gottes Anu sei erst nach der Zeit der Chaldäer-Dynastie entstanden. 16 Zu der Baugeschichte siehe grundsätzlich EICHMANN, Uruk, und KOSE, Uruk. Siehe besonders den Überblick bei Kose in der Tabelle auf S. 133. Zum Tempel aus hellenistischer Zeit siehe weiterhin FALKENSTEIN, Topographie; HEINRICH, Tempel, 301–304 und 327–331; DOWNEY, Architecture, 15–28. Weitere Literatur bezüglich der archaischen Bauwerke wird in den folgenden Fußnoten angegeben. 17 EICHMANN, Uruk, 409–517. 18 HEINRICH, Tempel, 35–45 und 61–67; DERS., Propyläen Kunstgeschichte, 144–145, zu Fig. 6; SZARZYNSKA, Names, 269–270. 12

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In unmittelbarer Nähe zur Hochterrasse befand sich die sogenannte „Alte Terrasse“. Sie stammt aus der Uruk III- oder Uruk IV-Zeit. Auf der „Alten Terrasse“ waren keine Gebäudereste aus der Entstehungszeit erhalten.19 Die Perioden Uruk IV und III lassen sich in das ausgehende 4. Jahrtausend v. Chr. datieren. Für die folgende Diskussion wird der Sachverhalt von Interesse sein, dass es sich bei eben diesen Epochen um die Zeit der Schrifterfindung und frühen Schriftlichkeit in Mesopotamien handelt. Nach dieser Bebauung liegt das Areal ab ca. 3000 v. Chr. für mehr als 2000 Jahre brach, und die archaischen Gebäude verfielen zu einem Tell. Erst der assyrische König Asarhaddon tritt im 7. Jahrhundert v. Chr. in diesem Stadtteil wieder als Bauherr in Erscheinung. Asarhaddon versuchte offenbar, die längst verfallenen archaischen Gebäude wieder zu restaurieren. Der König baute auf der Ruine der archaischen Hochterrasse eine Zikkurat. Auch auf dem Gebiet der Alten Terrasse wird in neuassyrischer Zeit erstmals wieder gebaut; vermutlich dürfen wir auch hier Asarhaddon als Bauherrn vermuten. Das Gebäude auf der Alten Terrasse ist vermutlich der zur Zikkurat gehörige Tempel. Das Bauwerk Asarhaddons ist ein Vorgängerbau des späteren rƝš-Tempels: Die Zikkurat Asarhaddons wird einige Jahrhunderte später von der Zikkurat des rƝš-Tempels überbaut, der Tempel auf der Alten Terrasse wird von dem rƝš-Heiligtum selbst überbaut. Grundsätzlich ist bemerkenswert, dass alle Gebäude des 1. Jahrtausends eine Kontinuität zu den viel älteren archaischen Bauwerken aus der UrukZeit herstellen. Die archaische Hochterrasse wird zunächst durch Asarhaddon und dann durch die hellenistischen Bauherren überbaut; das Gebäude nebenan auf der Alten Terrasse wird zunächst durch den Asarhaddon-zeitlichen Tempel und dann durch das rƝš-Heiligtum überbaut. Dieser architektonische Befund macht deutlich, warum die Gründung des rƝš-Tempels auf den vorsintflutlichen Weisen Oannes zurückgeführt wurde. Die Perioden, die wir modernen Forscher als Uruk IV und Uruk III bezeichnen, fielen – gemäß den chronologischen Vorstellungen der Mesopotamier – in die Zeit vor der Flut. Dank der Bemühungen von Oannes konnten die Menschen aus der Zeit vor der Flut bereits schreiben. Inschriften, die aus der Zeit vor der Flut datierten, waren noch den Mesopotamiern des 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr. bekannt. Berossos schreibt, dass Xisouthros, der mesopotamische Noah, vor der Flut Tontafeln in Sippar vergraben hatte, um das in ihnen enthaltene

19

HEINRICH, Tempel, 36; EICHMANN, Uruk, 517–518; SZARZYNSKA, Names, 270; KOSE, Uruk, 96–106.

62

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Wissen vor der Zerstörung zu bewahren.20 Die Lektüre dieser Texte war freilich für die Menschen aus späterer Zeit sehr schwierig, weil sie in einem sehr altertümlichen Schriftduktus abgefasst waren. Der assyrische König Assurbanipal berichtet in einer seiner Inschriften: „Ich überprüfte die in Stein eingemeißelten Schriftzeichen aus der Zeit vor der Flut“. Assurbanipal studierte offenbar Texte, die in einem sehr archaischen Keilschriftduktus abgefasst waren und von denen er und die übrige Mesopotamier vermuteten, sie seien vor der Flut geschrieben wurden.21 Es existieren paläographische Versionen von Zeichenlisten, in denen Zeichenformen aufgeführt werden, die denen der frühen Stufen der Schriftentwicklung nachempfunden sind.22 Es existieren auch sogenannte „Number Syllabaries“, die neben zeitgenössischen auch archaischen Zeichenformen verwenden.23 Diese „Number Syllabaries“ enthalten nicht nur archaische Zeichenformen, sondern ahmen darüber hinaus auch das Aussehen archaischer Texte nach, indem die Zeichen in Kästchen angeordnet werden. Aus Kalপu aus neuassyrischer Zeit stammt ein Text offenbar historischen Inhalts, der versucht, den Duktus archaischer Tafeln nachzuahmen.24 Es wird ersichtlich, dass die Epochen der frühen Perioden der Schriftentwicklung vom Ende des 4. und Beginn des 3. Jahrtausends v. Chr. mit ihren archaischen Texten von den Mesopotamiern in die Zeit vor der Flut datiert wurden. Mit der Hilfe paläographischer Listen versuchten die Mesopotamier, diese alten Texte zu lesen oder gar Texte in diesem Duktus zu schreiben. Nun wollen wir uns in Erinnerung rufen, dass der rƝš-Tempel und seine Zikkurat sowie der Vorgängerbau Asarhaddons auf den Ruinen von Gebäuden aus den Perioden Uruk IV und Uruk III standen. Und diese Epochen der Schrifterfindung und frühen Schriftlichkeit waren ganz offensichtlich für die Mesopotamier die Zeit vor der Flut. Interessanterweise wurden bei modernen Ausgrabungen im Gebiet des „Weißen Tempels“ archaische Tontafeln gefunden.25 Archaische Texte wurden sicherlich auch von den Einwohnern von Uruk im Laufe der Antike immer wieder angetroffen. Für die Mesopotamier des 1. Jahrtausends mögen all diese archäologischen und epigrafischen Relikte in der Tat mit Oannes und der Zeit vor der 20

B URSTEIN, Babyloniaca, 20; V ERBRUGGHE UND W ICKERSHAM , Berossos, 49 STRECK, Assurbanipal, 256 Z. 18; EDZARD, Keilschrift, 560; GESCHE, Schulunterricht, 72–74. 22 MSL III S. 10, 96 und 131; siehe besonders Text CT 5 7. Siehe auch CTN IV Nr. 229 aus dem Nabû-Tempel aus Nimrud. 23 PEARCE, Number-Syllabary Texts, 454–455 Anm. 8 (zu Text D) und 473 Fig. 3. 24 CTN IV 235; FINKEL, Paleography. 25 GREEN UND NISSEN, Zeichenliste, 48–50. 21

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63

Flut in Verbindung gebracht worden sein. Von diesem Standpunkt aus betrachtet sollte die Aussage von Anu-uballi৬=Kephalon über eine Gründung des rƝš in einer weit zurückliegenden vorsintflutlichen Zeit nicht leichtfertig als pia fraus von der Hand gewiesen werden. Der Name des Heiligtumes, (bƯt) rƝš, nimmt sicherlich auf die Gründung des Tempels in frühester Vorzeit bezug: „Haus Anfang“.26 Die altorientalischen Vorstellungen von der göttlichen Präsenz unter den Menschen und die Gefahren ihrer Beeinträchtigung konnten in diesem Beitrag nur kurz umrissen werden. Ich werde an anderer Stelle auf diesen Themenkomplex anhand des Anu-Kultes in Uruk und der Geschichte des rƝš-Tempels ausführlicher eingehen.27

Bibliographie AMBOS, C., Mesopotamische Baurituale aus dem 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Mit einem Beitrag von A. Schmitt, Dresden 2004 B ERLEJUNG, A., Die Theologie der Bilder: Herstellung und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik (OBO 162), Freiburg (Schweiz) und Göttingen 1998 B OIY, T., Temple Building in Hellenistic Babylonia, in: From the Foundations to the Crenellations. Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible (AOAT 366), hg. von M. Boda und J. Novotny, Münster 2010, 211–219 B ORGER, R., Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals, Wiesbaden 1996 B URSTEIN, S.M., The Babyloniaca of Berossus (SANE I/5), Malibu 1978 CANCIK-K IRSCHBAUM, E., Konzeption und Legitimation von Herrschaft in neuassyrischer Zeit. Mythos und Ritual in VS 24, 92, WO 26 (1995) 5–20 CHARVAT, P., Mesopotamia before History, revised and updated edition, London und New York 2002 D IJK, J., van, Die Inschriftenfunde (UVB 18), Berlin 1962, 39–62 DOTY, L.T., Nikarchos and Kephalon, in: A Scientific Humanist. Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs, hg. von E. Leichty et al., Philadelphia 1988, 95–118 DOWNEY, S., Mesopotamian Religious Architecture. Alexander through the Parthians, Princeton 1988 EDZARD, D.O., Keilschrift, RlA 5, Berlin und New York 1976–1980, 544–568 26

Bislang war noch keine befriedigende Deutung des Namens vorgeschlagen worden. GEORGE, House Most High, Nr. 940, übersetzt den Tempelnamen (bƯt) rƝš als „Head Temple“. 27 In diesem Werk werde ich folgende Aspekte besprechen: Die Geschichte des rƝšHeiligtumes und des Anu-Kultes in Uruk gemäß der Ansicht der einheimischen Gelehrten; das Verhältnis zwischen Ištar und Anu im Pantheon von Uruk; die Politik assyrischer, babylonischer und seleukidischer Könige gegenüber dem Anu-Kult und dem rƝšTempel; die Beweggründe Asarhaddons für den Wiederaufbau der archaischen Gebäude; eine Einordnung der Aktivitäten der hellenistischen Bauherren Nikarchos und Kephalon in den historischen und politischen Kontext; Aspekte der im rƝš-Tempel ausgeführten Rituale: Die Einweihung des Bauwerkes und die Neujahrsfeste.

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EICHMANN, R., Uruk. Architektur I. Von den Anfängen bis zur frühdynastischen Zeit (AUWE 14), Rahden 2007 FALKENSTEIN, A., Topographie von Uruk. 1. Teil: Uruk zur Seleukidenzeit (ADFU 3), Leipzig 1941 F INKEL, I.L., Practical Political Paleography, NABU 1997/1 FRAHM, E., Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO Beih. 26), Wien 1997 GEORGE, A.R., House Most High. The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia (MC 5), Winona Lake, IN 1993 GESCHE, P., Schulunterricht in Babylonien im ersten Jahrtausend v. Chr (AOAT 275), Münster 2001 GREEN, M. UND H. NISSEN, Zeichenliste der archaischen Texte aus Uruk (ADFU 11, ATU 2), Berlin 1987 HAAS, V., Geschichte der hethitischen Religion (HdO I XV), Leiden u.a. 1994. HEINRICH, E., Architektur von der früh- bis zur neusumerischen Zeit, in: Der Alte Orient (Propyläen Kunstgeschichte 18), hg. von W. Orthmann, Frankfurt am Main u.a. 1985, 131–158 — Die Tempel und Heiligtümer im Alten Mesopotamien: Typologie, Morphologie und Geschichte (Denkmäler Antiker Architektur 14), Berlin 1982 KOSE, A., Uruk. Architektur IV: Von der Seleukiden- bis zur Sasanidenzeit (AUWE 17), Mainz 1998 LAMBERT, W.G., Enuma Elisch, in: Mythen und Epen II (TUAT III/4), hg. von O. Kaiser et al., Gütersloh 1994, 565–602 LAMBERT, W.G. UND MILLARD, A.R., Atra-পasƯs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood, Oxford 1969 (Neudruck Winona Lake, 1999) LENZI, A., The Uruk List of Kings and Sages and Late Mesopotamian Scholarship, JANER 8 (2008) 137–169 LUCKENBILL, D.D., The Annals of Sennacherib (OIP 2), Chicago 1924 MAUL, S.M., Den Gott ernähren. Überlegungen zum regelmäßigen Opfer in altorientalischen Tempeln, in: Transformations in Sacrificial Practices from Antiquity to Modern Times. Proceedings of an International Colloquium, Heidelberg, 12–14, July 2006. Performanzen: Interkulturelle Studien zu Ritual, Spiel und Theater Performances: Intercultural Studies on Ritual, Play and Theatre Vol. 15, hg. von E. Stavrianopoulou, A. Michaels und C. Ambos, Berlin 2008, 75–86 MAYER, W., Seleukidische Rituale aus Warka mit Emesal-Gebeten, OrNS 47 (1978) 431–458 — Ein Mythos von der Erschaffung des Menschen und des Königs, OrNS 56 (1987) 55– 68 PEARCE, L., The Number-Syllabary Texts, JAOS 116 (1996) 453–474 SCHNABEL, P., Berossos und die babylonisch-hellenistische Literatur, Leipzig und Berlin, 1923 SODEN, W. von, Der altbabylonische Atramchasis-Mythos, in: Mythen und Epen II, hg. von O. Kaiser et al. (TUAT III/4), Gütersloh 1994, 612–645 SPEK, R. van der, Berossus as a Babylonian Chronicler and Greek Historian, in: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern World View and Society Presented to M. Stol on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, 10 November 2005, and His Retirement from the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, hg. von R. van der Spek et al., Bethesda, MD 2008, 277–318 STRECK, M., Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergange Ninivehs. II. Teil: Texte. Die Inschriften Assurbanipals und der letzten assyrischen Könige (VAB 7/2), Leipzig 1916

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SZARZYNSKA, K., Names of Temples in the Archaic Texts from Uruk, ASJ 14 (1992) 269–287 T ALON, Ph., Ennjma Eliš: The Standard Babylonian Creation Myth (SAACT IV), Helsinki 2005 VERBRUGGHE G. UND W ICKERSHAM, J., Berossos and Manetho Introduced and Translated. Native Traditions in Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt, Michigan 1996 W AERZEGGERS, C., The Ezida Temple of Borsippa: Priesthood, Cult, Archives (Achaemenid History XV), Leiden 2010 W ALKER, C.B.F. UND D ICK, M., The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia. The Mesopotamian MƯs Pî Ritual (SAALT 1), Helsinki 2001 W OODS, Chr.: The Sun-God Tablet of Nabû-apla-iddina Revisited, JCS 56 (2004) 23–103 ZAWADZKI, St., Garments of the Gods: Studies on the Textile Industry and the Pantheon of Sippar according to the Texts from the Ebabbar Archive (OBO 218), Fribourg und Göttingen 2006



Divine Presence for Everybody Presence Theology in Everyday Life1

ANGELIKA BERLEJUNG

Introduction Amulets which mention or depict deities and supernatural beings are well known from Syro-Palestine and the neighbouring areas. The large number of pieces (of different types) which has been found in Syro-Palestine until today and the archaeological context of the finds in tombs, private houses etc. indicates that they accompanied the everyday life of the ancient people. They were obviously considered to be helpful, powerful and trustworthy. The pieces possessed a performative power which was rooted in the power of the gods, who were represented by their names, symbols or depictions. A major role was perhaps also played by the ritually correct production of an amulet by a temple craftsman followed with the consecration by a priest. We know from Egypt, for example, that ritual spells were used in order to activate golden amulets, and even today Muslim amulet producers have to undergo some purity requirements.2 Textamulets, which presuppose a scribal training, were apparently made by temple personnel. In this case they surely observed ritual rules, such as purity regulations. The material amulet itself was the representative and medium of the divine presence – and the mere presence of a deity was expected to be linked to its effectiveness. The divine presence could be marked in several ways: as an image or symbol, as an incantation or a spell, as a religious formula 1

I would like to thank Nathan MacDonald for his invitation to Göttingen and for the opportunity to contribute to this volume on Divine Presence and Absence. My paper is based on my project in Leipzig dealing with first millennium BCE text-amulets from Syria and Palestine. These little pieces fit perfectly into the topic of this volume, because amulets (of every kind and type) are always meant to attract positive powers and to repel negative ones. An effective and powerful amulet gets its power from the divine presence. This divine presence is represented in the amulet in a performative manner. 2 For the Egyptian ritual spells compare MUNRO, Ritualbuch (dated ca. 525–306 BCE). The rules of amulet production in the Muslim world is explained in S TAUBLI, VII. Muslimische Amulette, 203.

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of various lengths, as the written name of a deity or as a combination of two or more of these elements. According to the rule that more is better,3 people tried to intensify an amulet by combining different elements on a single piece or by wearing several amulets at the same time. Positive powers, as much as possible, should be attracted and permanently fixed to an individual. The background for this practice can be seen in the ancient Near Eastern worldview and in its anthropology. Human life was considered to be permanently endangered by human and supernatural enemies, diseases, famine, negative powers (e.g. demons, angry gods) and death. In this situation ancient people tried to subordinate liminal areas which were withdrawn from any human control and placed under divine control in the hope that the divine presence would intervene for their benefit. In addition, individuals tried to make sure that the threat of a possible divine absence (e.g. an enraged deity) would be ruled out. The presence of a god, especially a ‘personal god’, had a life-giving and life-stabilizing role for the individual, king or ‘man in the street’. Amulets served in everyday life as ‘portable divine presences’; since they were worn on the body, they ensured that the individual was always accompanied by their god. The amulets worked actively against any possible divine absence. How that could look in detail and what hopes were bound up with them will be the subject of the following paper. This contribution will: first, present a short introduction to the different amulet-types and to the amulet-practice of SyroPalestine/Israel in the first millennium BCE, as far as it is known today; second, present Deut. 6.6–9 and the silver amulets from Ketef Hinnom as part of Levantine amulet-practice, albeit introducing new accents; third, draw consequences which shed new light on the presence theology of everyday life.

1. Amulet-Types and Amulet-Practice in Syro-Palestine/Israel in the First Millennium BCE I. Amulet-Types In general the amulets which are attested in first millennium BCE Egypt, Syro-Palestine, and Mesopotamia can be divided into six groups. Usually they are classified according to optical criteria:4 1. Natural amulets (e.g. snails, shells, plants, bones, vegetable fibres); 2. gems/beads; 3. dropshaped pendants with a loop/drilling (here also coins); 4. seal-amulets and -rings; 5. figurative amulets; and, 6. text-amulets. In fact, nearly all can be 3 4

BERLEJUNG, There is Nothing, passim. Following DUBIEL, Amulette, 18–19.

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classified as iconic-figurative (with a depiction), epigraphical (with an inscription), or iconic-epigraphical combinations (with a depiction and an inscription). The last three groups need some further explanation. Seal-amulets are scarabs, conoids, roll- or stamp-seals; they all have a surface for the sealing. Figurative amulets are made in the shape of an object, a human body or parts of it, a deity or a demon (depending on the local iconography), an animal or parts of it, astral elements, sun, moon, plants, weapons, symbols or hieroglyphs. There can be overlap with small figurines, which are often classified as ‘votive figurines’. The line between figurative amulets and votive figurines can sometimes be difficult to draw. That lies in the nature of the thing: one can donate amulets as votives or use votives as amulets. Figurative amulets are usually made for practical and personal use, i.e. they have a drilling or a loop so that they can be fastened to a thread and be worn. Pure votives do not need that. Figurative amulets and sealamulets are amulet-types with iconic elements or made in an iconic shape. In addition, both types can be inscribed. The large majority of the sealamulets and –rings and the figurative amulets from Syro-Palestine (with or without inscriptions) reflect Egyptian religious symbols and iconography. If they are inscribed at all, hieroglyphs or even pseudo-hieroglyphs are usually used. There are also examples with Phoenician inscriptions,5 indicating that it is more appropriate to call them Egyptianizing (instead of Egyptian) amulets. Text-amulets are, by definition, non-figurative, miniaturized bearers of writings, which contain exclusively or mostly lettering with religious content.6 Text-amulets give us insights into the symbolic universes of ancient people. They mention explicitly the main topics which dominated the beliefs, thinking and actions of men and women. And they attest the names of the deities which played a major role not only in the academic knowledge of temples and priestly god lists but in everyday life. The formulas which are attested on these pieces are of limited complexity because they are already the result of a previous decision and selection. They were made for men, women and children and were thought to be useful in everyday life. Characteristic of these three groups of amulets is that they were very international, multicultural, multilingual, even using multiple scripts. They could combine iconographic traditions, scripts and languages from very different provenances. An amulet employing an Egyptian iconic motif 5 Compare the Ichneumon-amulet from Cagliari (Sardinia) with the Phoenician inscription: ‘Go away, evil!’ (see HÖLBL, Kulturgut, 134–135 with table 69.1). 6 Seals (usually scarabs), which only mention a personal name, do not belong to this group, because they do not contain a religious formula. Their function is to seal and to identify the owner of the seal.

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could be inscribed with a Phoenician script (or the other way around, see, for example, no. 24 below). This combination of iconographic traditions, languages and scripts with different origins makes clear that amulets, their depictions and their inscriptions are examples of the transfer of imagery, languages, scripts, cultures, religions and knowledge within the ancient world. The combination of elements from Egypt, Mesopotamia and the Levant (as well as Greece and Persia later on) was meant to increase the effectiveness of the amulet. The idea looks quite modern: multicultural interaction and cooperation increase power. The basic function of amulets has already been mentioned: they repel evil powers and attract positive ones (or divine presence) for an individual during his or her lifetime. Amulets served in all these respects. An amulet from the first third of the 7th century BCE with an unknown provenance illustrates these different aspects. This amulet is in the shape of a bulla made of clay and has an Aramaic inscription:7 No. 1

1. T‫[ۊ‬t] 2. šlm 3. tsb 4. [‫]ۊ‬lp 8 9 1. May you attrac[t] 2. welfare, 3. may you repel 4. [mis]fortune.

II. Amulet-Practice The question of who wore an amulet is quite easy to answer: everybody, adults and children. In addition, houses, doors and gates bore them. Men and women used them during their lifetime, and after death they were often buried together with their owner. There were special groups and types of amulets for the dead (usually fragile and without drilling or loop),10 but the larger number of amulets was used by the living (robust and with drilling or loop). Larger pieces are usually interpreted as house-amulets which were fixed to door-posts and gates. Finds from burials suggest that women and children especially had amulets, and this could hint to the fact that they were considered to be more vulnerable than adult men. Images, finds from burials or even written short instructions refer to special parts of the body where amulets for persons could be fixed.11 They were worn with long cords around the neck – that is, on the chest in the prominent neckchest-position, which lies over the heart – or they were worn on the arms

7

LEMAIRE, Nouvelles tablettes araméennes, 113–114 (No. 23). The clay has a drilling indicating that the piece could have been worn. 8 Or, ‘she attract’. n‫ۊ‬t Hafel. 9 Or, ‘she repel’. sbb Hafel. 10 For the Egyptian amulets on mummies, see DUBIEL, Amulette, 64, 77–78. 11 See DUBIEL, Amulette, 114.

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or wrists. Rare positions were the waist and ankles; some pieces were parts of headbands, but this did not include all amulet-types.12 Text-amulets seem mainly to have been fixed on the chest. Note the following seventh century BCE amulet from Nimrud which was in the shape of a bulla with a Neo-Assyrian and an Aramaic inscription: No. 2

bir-ti idi lìb-bi = byn ydy’ wlbb’ 13 Between the arms/sides and the heart.

These texts demonstrate that amulets were significantly body orientated; their specific relation to the human body was important. The positions which were chosen on the human body reflect a larger anthropological context:14 the heart was considered the centre of thinking, and was thought to be inspired by emotions; the arms or hands are the media of human actions. Amulets on the heart and arms or hands express the desire that the centre of the thinking (with the emotions) and the media of any human actions will be strengthened and protected by the amulet. The heart and the arms or hands of a human being were the points of his body which were worth of strong protection, since they described a human being quite comprehensively: his internal thinking and feelings and his external actions. When a certain amulet, and especially a specified amulet-text, was attached to these key positions of the human body, this expressed a programme. The wearer lived his life under this programme and under the protection of the deity which was represented or mentioned (implicitly or explicitly) on their amulet. They had a personal protective shield whose effectiveness could be increased by accumulation: several amulets could be combined. And necklaces with different combinations were possible.15 Sometimes clear traces of wear are recognizable on an amulet, proving that it had been worn permanently or at least had often been put on. The questions about what was written or depicted on the amulets and how they worked should be answered together. In particular the inscriptions on amulets can be taken as major source for the reconstruction of the

12

Compare DUBIEL, Amulette, 51–54, 102–112. According to DUBIEL, Amulette, 53 the neck-chest-position is a neutral position which refers to a human being as a whole. Different types of amulets can be worn there. 13 ND 2348; for the publication, see M ILLARD, Epigraphs, 132–133 (fig. 3); LEMAIRE, Deuteronomy, 526. 14 For the anthropology of the different parts of the body, see FREVEL, Körper, 280– 283. 15 Amulets of all kinds could be combined. There are, e.g., Egyptian amulet capsules which contain text-amulets together with other amulets, see also BERLEJUNG, There is Nothing.

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fears and beliefs of ancient people. But what in fact was written on the amulets? II.1 Seal-amulets or Seal-rings with Epigraphical Inscriptions The inscriptions on Egyptian or Egyptianizing seal-amulets and sealrings16 sometimes mention the name of the amulet holder or the name of a Pharaoh. Others refer to aspects of the Egyptian annual-festival; they will not be considered here. More interesting as a source for a history of the religions of ancient Palestine are pieces of seal-amulets whose inscriptions mention the name of a deity or short and general religious formulas. There are amulets which contain short wish-formulas without mentioning any divine name (e.g. ‘good luck!’), while others mention divine names only by writing the deity’s name in hieroglyphs (this is mostly the case for Amun). Another possibility is that the divine name is part of a religious formula (mostly from the 18th Dynasty: Ptah, Chonsu, Amun-Re, Horus, Re or Re-Harachte, Hathor, Thot, Osiris, less often: Isis). In this case the formulas can refer to veneration, request, supplication, petition or prayer. The hopes of the amulet wearer lie in divine blessing, protection, divine life-giving powers, ‘a name’ or descendants, and divine goodwill. Other formulas refer to praise, confession, the dedication of the personal life to a specific deity, and divine love (below nos. 15 and 16). Even ethical aspects can be included, when a deity is expected to reward a good deed, or ‘doing Ma’at’ (below nos. 3 and 14). The religious formulas attest that sealamulets establish a direct relationship between their wearer and a deity. The inscriptions can qualify this relationship in detail, indicating the special expectations from the human side, but also the gods’ theological profile. In addition, the seal-amulets and seal-rings always marked the identity of their wearer, since they could seal with them and assert their claims of ownership. Therefore the seal-amulets also had a juridical and legal function which was combined with their religious function. Last but not least, they expressed prestige and social status. The following are examples:

16 For the classification of the inscriptions on seal-amulets, see VERCOUTTER, Objets, 51–62. For inscriptions referring to the Egyptian annual-festival, see SCHLICK-NOLTE, Gedanken, 446–450.

Divine Presence for Everybody No. 3 No. 4 No. 5 No. 6 No. 7 No. 8 No. 9 No. 10 No. 11 No. 12 No. 13 No. 14 No. 15 No. 16

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Each good deed, Ptah rewards it plentifully (Tell Abu Faraۜ; 19 th–20 th Dy17 nasty). Amun-Re, rich in signs of favour, praises and all sweet things (Afek; 18th–20 th 18 Dynasty). 19 It is Ptah who gives life (Achsib; 26th Dynasty). 20 All (my) steps belong to Amun/Karnak (Achsib; 19th-20 th Dynasty). 21 th th Chonsu is protection (Achsib; 25 –26 Dynasty). 22 Chonsu life-power (Ashkelon; 25th-26 th Dynasty). Verily, Horus of the Horizon is powerful for Sechmet (Akko; 22nd–26 th Dy23 nasty). May your name last; may you have offspring; may you have the favour of your 24 god (Akko; 22 nd Dynasty). Amun-Re is lord (Ashkelon; 20 th/21 st Dynasty; Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul; 18 th Dy25 nasty; and more often). There is no refuge for the heart except Amun-Re (Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul; 18th Dy26 nasty). 27 Protection, if Re and Hathor guard (Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul; 19 th/20 th Dynasty). Whoever does Ma’at, will be blessed by each god/guarded and blessed by each 28 god (Tell as-Sa‫ޏ‬idiya; 19th-22 nd Dynasty). 29 Osiris loves he who loves him (Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul; 19th/20 th Dynasty). 30 th th Beloved of Thot, who lives the truth (Aseka; 18 /19 Dynasty).

II.2 Figurative Amulets with Epigraphical Inscriptions (Divine Promises) Figurative amulets are likewise mostly based upon Egyptian iconography, 31 and can bear short hieroglyphic inscriptions which quote divine promises. The formulas are quite stereotyped and short, promising the gift of life and protection. It seems as if these inscriptions are abbreviations of the divine promises of protection which are attested in the hieratic papyri 17 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Tell Abu Faraۜ No. 1. The same formula is also attested in combination with Amun instead of Ptah, see, e.g., K EEL, Corpus Katalog I, Aschdod No. 45, EGGLER AND KEEL, Corpus, Madaba No. 3. 18 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Afek No. 8. 19 Or, ‘may Ptah give life’. KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Achsib No. 27. 20 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Achsib No. 89. 21 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Achsib No. 4. 22 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Aschkelon No. 98. 23 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Akko No. 251. 24 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Akko No. 234. 25 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Aschkelon No. 75; Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul No. 231 & 243. 26 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul No. 224 & 274; a reference to Thutmosis IV’s throne name. 27 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul No. 334. 28 EGGLER AND KEEL, Corpus, Tell as-Sa‫ޏ‬idiya No. 3. 29 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Tell el-‫ޏ‬Aۜul No. 338. 30 KEEL, Corpus Katalog I, Aseka No. 338; 18 th/19 th Dynasty. 31 For the few Pazuzus which have been found in Syro-Palestine see below.

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of the 22nd and 23rd Dynasty in a substantially longer and more detailed form.32 It is well known that these hieratic papyri were used as amulets by individual (often children) whose name was written on the papyrus. The amulet was personalized and individualized, connecting a specified human being with a specified deity. The formula on the figurative amulets condenses these longer divine promises of protection into a much shorter form when we read: ‘Words spoken by the deity NN’, sometimes with the epithet: ‘I give protection’, ‘I give life’, ‘I protect’, ‘I give protection and life’ etc.33 The figurative shape of an amulet of this type can be related to the text, if the deity whose promise is quoted in the inscription is identical with the deity who is depicted. But this is not always the case. Figurative amulets establish a direct and personal relationship between the amulet wearer and the deity who is depicted (and sometimes even explicitly quoted). In contrast to seal-amulets and -rings, aspects of identification or of property claim do not play any role, since they cannot be used for sealing. The following are examples: No. 17 No. 18 No. 19 No. 20

No. 21 No. 22

No. 23

Amulet in the shape of a walking figure with the inscription: ‘I give all life, duration and power’ (Maresha, Hellenistic Period). Amulet in the shape of Hathmehit with the inscription: ‘Words spoken by Heti: “I give life”’ (BetßShemesh, Iron Age IIC). Amulet in the shape of Hathmehit with the inscription: ‘Words spoken by Bastet: “(I) protect (you)”’ (provenance unknown, Iron Age IIC). Amulet in the shape of Isis-Hathor with the inscription: ‘Words spoken by Isis, the (supreme) lady, the mother of god: “(I) give protection and life”’ (BetShean, Iron Age IIA). Amulet in the shape of Isis-Hathor with the inscription: ‘Words spoken by Isis, the lady of both lands: “(I) give life and protection”’ (Lachish, Iron Age IIC). Amulet in the shape of Isis-Hathor with the inscription: ‘(Words spoken by) Isis, the mother of god, the (supreme) lady: “(I) give life, protection to the righteous”’ (Bet-Shemesh, Iron Age IIB). Amulet in the shape of Isis-Hathor with the inscription: ‘Words spoken by 34 Mut: “(I) give protection”’ (Ashkelon, Persian Period).

II.3 Text-amulets with and without Iconic Elements (Miniaturized Bearers of Writings) Seal-amulets and figurative amulets are attested in Syro-Palestine from the Bronze Age on. Newcomers in the Levant are text-amulets which are attested from the 1st millennium BCE onwards, with an increasing popularity toward the end of this millennium. There are two types: First, rolled sheets 32

These texts are collected in E DWARDS, Papyri. See HERRMANN, Amulette, 81–82. 34 The examples are taken from HERRMANN, Amulette III, 40. 33

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of papyrus or lamellae of metal worn in a capsule; and, second, small tablets or tablet-like-shaped pendants with a loop. Since the origin of the first type can be located in Egypt,35 while the latter stems from Mesopotamia36 (also attested in Egypt from the 26th Dynasty onwards37), the cross-over of both types in Syro-Palestine suggests that older Mesopotamian and Egyptian amulet traditions were imported into the Levant and used side-by-side or even complementarily. The first type, rolled sheets of papyrus or lamellae of metal, are known from the second half of the 9th century BCE in Syro-Palestine (e.g. Sendshirli, Alalah).38 The text rolls were put into capsules which were mostly made of gold or silver, though from the 4th century BCE onwards they were increasingly made out of cheaper materials, such as bronze or lead, rarely bone. The majority of the amulet lamellae or capsules have been found in Carthage, Malta, Sardinia, Ibiza and Spain.39 The attestation there begins already in the 7th century BCE, whilst the earliest pieces from the vicinity of Tyre, Byblos or Sarepta, that is, from the Phoenician coast itself, date to the 6th century BCE with a heyday in the 6th/5th centuries BCE.40 The famous silver amulets from Ketef Hinnom close to Jerusalem belong to this tradition (see below). The second type, small tablets or tablet-like-shaped pendants made of clay or of stone, are known in Syro-Palestine from the 7th century BCE. Larger pieces are meant for houses and gates. A Syrian example of this type has been found in Arslan Tash (7th/6th century, Aramaic script and 35

With QUILLARD, Bijoux, 109, VERCOUTTER, Objets, 312–313, 343–344. The Egyptian roots do not rule out that the pieces were locally produced. Similarly REDISSI, Étude, 409–415 with pl. 55–57, H ÖLBL, Kulturgut, 345–353 with II., pl. 164–165. 36 One of the earliest attestations seems to be VAN BUREN, Amulet, 419–422. 37 For the tablet-shaped amulets in Egypt see MÜLLER-W INKLER, Objekt-Amulette, 461–465. 38 LEMAIRE, SMR, 323–327 (a capsule for an amulet?). Compare also MAXWELL HYSLOP, Jewelry, pl. 100 (a golden capsule?; Alalah Level IV; B.M. 125984). 39 For examples see VERCOUTTER, Objets, 311–337, pl. XXIX, Q UILLARD, Étuis, 5– 32, pl. I-V, QUILLARD, Bijoux, 1–11, 86–110, pl. I-V. XXVII-XXIX, PISANO, Gioielli, Nos. 138 (?), 144, 147 (?), 163–177, 437–444, P ISANO, Jewellery, 371, 388 and 692 nos. 639–643, 693 nos. 644–646 and 627 nos. 258–259. The material of Vercoutter, published in 1945, and Quillard, published in 1970, has been re-studied by REDISSI, Étude, 409–415 pl. 55–57 nos. 523–535. 40 From Tyre: MÜLLER, Kunstwerke, 118 No. A 169 ([empty] golden capsule with the protome of a ram; no. 170 [empty] golden capsule with lion and falcon faces; 5th century BCE? = Q UILLARD [Bijoux, pl. XXVIII fig. 8]). A capsule from Sarepta is depicted in CULICAN, Jewellery, 542 fig. 6 with 546 (a capsule with an illegible papyrus; 600–500 BCE). A silver capsule with a golden lamella was published by LOZACHMEUR AND PEZIN, De Tyr, 361–371 (from Tyre; 6th century BCE). The lamella was decorated with an Egyptian or Egyptianizing depiction of the 36 decans and a short Phoenician inscription, see B ERLEJUNG, Mensch, 54 no. 20.

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Phoenician language; limestone[?]), whose inscription refers to Mesopotamian traditions because it contains incantations.41 Also Mesopotamian amulets of the tablet-type are inscribed with parts of incantations (against different demons, such as Lamashtu, Pazuzu, utukki lemnuti or they are from Hulbazizi). Lamashtu-amulets which are mostly made of stone seem to be the oldest ones,42 while the figurative Pazuzu-amulets are only known from the 7th century BCE (some with inscriptions).43 The Mesopotamian tablet-shaped amulets against Lamashtu and the figurative Pazuzuamulets are only mentioned here briefly, because few examples of these types have been found in Palestine itself (one neo-Assyrian fragment of a Lamashtu-amulet with text from Nahal Guvrin/Shephela; four Pazuzus: a pendant from Bet-Shean, a bronze-head/figurative amulet from Horvat Qitmit and another piece from the antiquity trade, and a bronze fibula from Megiddo) or in Syria (Sendshirli, Ugarit). Their small number in SyroPalestine points to the fact, that these Mesopotamian evil beings and their rituals did not really become integrated into the symbolic universe of the Levant. Other newcomers from Mesopotamia of the 1st millennium BCE are tablet-shaped amulets with iconic or textual elements, or both, which do not contain an incantation against demons, but encouragements for gods44 and supernatural powers (e.g. Sirius) to support the owner of the amulet and to act in his favour. A bronze pendant dating from the 3rd century BCE and probably from Tyre should be mentioned in this context. It contains

41

BERLEJUNG, There is Nothing. See LAMBERT, Letter, 57–64 (end of the 3 rd/beginning of the 2 nd century BCE); see also TONIETTI, Incantesimo, 310–311. For stone amulets from Assur see PEDERSEN, Katalog, 5–6. For other Lamashtu amulets see FARBER, Töchterlein, 63–64; FARBER, Dämonen, 95–101; HEEßEL, Pazuzu, Nos. 24, 26, 28, 29, 31. A detailed discussion of Lamashtu is provided by W IGGERMANN, Lamaštu, 217–249. See also more recently: W ESTENHOLZ, Dragons no. 46 and MS2779 (http://www.schoyencollection.com/magical. html#2779 – accessed 4 April 2012). 43 See e.g. HEEßEL, Pazuzu, No. 1 (pseudo-cuneiform); No. 9 (Aramaic inscription, perhaps mentioning the owner); Nos. 6; 12; 14; 15; 20; 21 (incantation); No. 22 (unreadable Aramaic inscription). Attested are also Pazuzus with the name of the owner (No. 46) or the name of the artisan (No. 116). Further Pazuzu-heads with inscriptions are published in HEEßEL, Pazuzu, Nos. 91; 94; 98; 99; 106–109; 113; 119; 126; 155; 162; 163 (incantations); MS 2447 = http://schoyencollection.com/assyrianlit.htm; see further FARBER, Dämonen, 93–108 and pl. 12–15 (Lamashtu, Pazuzu and Hulbazizi-group); HEEßEL, Pazuzu (http://www.religionswissenschaft.uzh.ch). 44 E.g. W IGGERMANN, Demons, 102–103 = FARBER, Dämonen, 103–108; see further MAYER, Untersuchungen, 431. 42

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two short imperatives to preserve (šmr) and to protect (n‫܈‬r) the wearer of the amulet:45 No. 24

1. šmr 2. n‫܈‬r 1. Preserve! 2. Protect!

The name of the amulet holder is not legible. The addressed deity could be Horus as a child, since this is the visible iconic motif. It is quite obvious from this piece that the inscription of an amulet indicates quite clearly its function. In contrast to seal-amulets and seal–rings, text-amulets never served for the identification of their owner nor for sealing. They hardly played any role in inter-human relationships (indicating a membership or confession, prestige or status), since the small tablet-shaped amulets could hardly be deciphered from a distance, and text-lamellae which were inside capsules were not made for opening and re-reading. Therefore nobody knew precisely what his neighbour wore around his neck. The idea behind the text-amulets points instead to their meaning in the human-supernatural communication: the short inscriptions contained requests, supplications and petitions for divine blessing, protection, salvation and preservation.46 Repelling formulas against evil powers were also possible. Therefore, the amulet was meant as a personal protective shield for its wearer: its duty was to establish close proximity to the gods and distance from demons. This very general function of an amulet could be strengthened, specified and supported by an inscription. The text could define the deity/evil power which was directly addressed; it could specify special wishes and requests, individualize and personalize the amulet for its specific wearer. It could be clearly written which god should support which individual in which case or cases. Therefore text-amulets were pieces which established a close, individualized and personalized relationship between their wearer and a deity by their names. Both were linked to each other from the very first day when an amulet was worn by a person, during day and night and for the rest of their life. The following example from Granada will illustrate this. It has a Phoenician inscription on a sheet of gold, and dates to ca. 500 47 BCE with the decans as an iconic element.

45 Published by S ADER, Épigraphes, 318–321; re-evaluated by SCHMITZ, Reconsidering, 817–823; BERLEJUNG, Mensch, 54 no. 19; LEMAIRE, Deuteronomy, 526 (dated 6th/5 th century BCE); BERLEJUNG, 1. Amulett-Inschriften, No. 1.1. 46 For an overview see BERLEJUNG, Mensch, 37 –62. 47 LEMAIRE, L’inscription, 53–56.

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No. 25

n‫܈‬r wšmr Ҵyt Ҵšmnytn, bn Ҵmy, Ҵšmn zbl lym wll wbkl ҵt. 48 49 Protect and preserve Eshmunyaton, son of Immay, O prince Eshmun, during the day and the night and at all times.

Within the corpus of text-amulets to ‘protect’ (n‫܈‬r), to ‘preserve’ (šmr) and to ‘bless’ (brk) are the verbs which were mostly used. In imperatives and jussives they always address a deity or a supernatural power. There are some text-amulets which combine the call for divine blessing for the amulet wearer with a votive inscription for one or several deities. In these cases the text starts with the donation to the deity (sometimes only with ‘for god XY’), while the petition for blessing follows afterwards (e.g. nos. 26 and 27). There is thus an ‘advance payment’ for which humans expect a divine return. A good example is the pendant in the shape of a small tablet from the vicinity of Tyre made of lapis lazuli.50 It has no iconic element and can be dated to the 6th/5th century BCE. Clearly visible is the interface between amulet and votive offering: No. 26

Verso: 1. lbҵl ‫ ۊ‬2. mn wl 3. bҵl ‫܈‬p 4. [n] k yb Reverso: 1. Rknn: The remaining space was not inscribed. Verso: 1. For Baal ণa- 2. mon and for 3. Baal Saph- 4. [on], so that they truly blReverso: 1. -ess me!

Quite exceptional is an amulet in the shape of a rolled silver lamella, measuring 16 cm by 4.6 cm, presumably from Byblos. Today it is found in the Moussaieff collection, and according to the publisher, it was from inside a bronze capsule. This combination of materials is quite special and maybe secondary. The text lamella can be dated to the reign of king ShipitBaal III, thus ca. 500 BCE. The Phoenician text combines a votive, a vow with self-dedication, a call for blessing and the delivery of a considerable votive donation to the king Shipit-Baal of Byblos. Different text genres, such as e.g. votive inscription, donation record, have been combined here and written on the text lamella, which was an amulet made in order to establish and ensure Ashtarte’s blessing for RKB-ɓoš.51

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Lit. ‘Eshmun gave’. Lit. ‘my mother is god GN’; hypocoristic. 50 Published by B ORDREUIL, Attestations, 82–86 and re-evaluated by B ERLEJUNG, Mensch, 54 no. 21; LEMAIRE, Deuteronomy, 526; BERLEJUNG, 1. Amulett-Inschriften, no. 1.2. 51 Published by LEMAIRE, Amulette phénicienne giblite, 155–174, re-evaluated by B ERLEJUNG, 1. Amulett-Inschriften, No. 1.4. 49

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1. lrbt lҵštrt 2. rbt gbl ndҵr 3. ҵbdk rkbҴš 4. bn ҵbdҵštrt 5. hgbly Ҵš ndr 6. Ҵt ndr 52 53 54 Ҵz Ҵš 7. kn Ҵn‫ۊ‬n bn/t wss 8. l tbrk wt‫ۊ‬l‫܈‬Ҵ 9. Ҵt ҵbdk wbnyҴ 10. wҴštw wbt ҴbyҴ 1. For my mistress, for ‫ޏ‬Ashtarte, 2. mistress of Byblos, the vow 3. of your servant RKB-‫ގ‬oš, 4. son of ‫ޏ‬Abda-‫ޏ‬Ashtart, 5. the Byblian, who has vowed 6. this vow, which 7. he has made, (i.e.) that we, house/son and horse 8. belong to her. She may bless and save 9. your servant and his sons 10. And his wife/wives and this house of his fathers. (From line 11 the donation is mentioned).

The combination of different text genres or formulas on text-amulets has a long and old tradition. It is well known from Mesopotamian text-amulets which combined different incantations on one single piece in order to increase the amulet’s effectiveness. The same motivation can be supposed for this amulet from Byblos and for the two pieces from Ketef Hinnom which are the subject of the following section. In sum, the Syro-Palestinian amulet tradition, especially the outer shapes of text-amulets, was dominated by neighbouring cultures. There is no amulet type which can be considered to be autochthonous, and originally and exclusively coming from Palestine. The local Syro-Palestinian amulet tradition is characterized by mixing and combining elements which originated in neighbouring cultures. But, the inscriptions on Syro-Palestinian text lamellae and on the tablet-shaped amulets refer to local traditions, and gods or individuals, or both, of their local environment.

2. The Silver Amulets from Ketef Hinnom and Deut. 6.6–9 as Part of the Levantine Text-Amulet Practice Introducing New Accents The two silver lamellae from Ketef Hinnom, close to Jerusalem, can be dated to the 6th or 5th century BCE.55 They were found in the side-room of a tomb, therefore dislocated from their ancient wearer or wearers. In antiq52

LEMAIRE, Amulette phénicienne giblite, transcribes and translates ‘bt’, but his copy shows ‘bn’. Unfortunately the photo is of no help. 53 The aleph is clearly visible, maybe it is a dittography because of the aleph in the following line, see also LEMAIRE, Amulette phénicienne giblite, 161–162. 54 The final aleph is clearly visible on the copy of LEMAIRE, Amulette phénicienne giblite, but it is missing in his transcription on p. 155. In his commentary on pp. 162 and 169 it has been discussed (as suffix of the 3rd masc. sing.). 55 For the publication and discussions see BARKAY, Ketef Hinnom, IDEM , Priestly Benediction, I DEM , Excavations, 85–106, BARKAY et al., Challenges, 162–171, BARKAY et al., Amulets, 41–71, BERLEJUNG, Mensch, 37–62, BERLEJUNG, Programm, 204–230, BERLEJUNG, 1. Amulett-Inschriften, No. 1.5.

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uity they had been worn around the neck, perhaps hidden in capsules which are now lost. The names of the owners can no longer be deciphered. As already mentioned, they belong to the text-amulet type which originated in Egypt, but entered Syria and the Phoenician-Punic sphere of cultural and economical influence. No. 28 (KH 1) 1. [xx] Yahu [xx] 2. [xxxxxxxx] 56 3. [... the g]re[at god?, who keeps ] 4. the covenant and 5. [the] mercy for those, who lo[ve] 6. [him] and for those, who observe 7. [his commandments ...] 8. [...] the eternity [...] 9. [x] blessing, from each [tr-] 10. ap and from the evil. 11. Because redemption is with him. 12. Because Yhwh 13. [x] he brings us back [the] 58 (or: (is) our [r]estorer [and] ) 59 14. [li]ght (or: [ro]ck). He may bless 15. you Yhwh [and] 16. [he] may keep you. [He] may cause to 17. shine Yhwh 18. [his] fa[ce upon] 19. [you ...]. rest lost

No. 29 (KH 2)

1’ [For NN, son/daughter of] 57 1. [NN], bless[ed] be (or: is ) sh[e] (or: h[e]) 2. by Yhw[h], 3. the helper and 4. the repeller of the 5. [e]vil. He may bless you 6. Yhwh, he may 7. keep you. 8. He may cause to shine Yh9. [w]h his face 10. [upon] you and he gi11. ve you pe12. [a]ce. Ca. six(?) unreadable lines

Amulet 1 (KH1) shows an enormous density of religious statements, since it combines praise, confession and benedictions. It, therefore, goes far beyond the majority of the text-amulets from Syro-Palestine which have been discussed above. It is well known that the amulet contains passages which can be closely related to the Old Testament: in KH1, parts of Deut 7.9; Neh 1.5; Dan 9.4 and Num 6.24–25a have been identified. Also KH2 attests a version of the priestly benediction which corresponds closely to Num 6.24–26. Thus both amulets contain central theologoumena of the 56

This addition fits with Deut. 7.9; Neh. 1.5 and Dan. 9.4. For the translation of the formula compare MÜLLER, Segen, 6–7. 58 KH1 l. 13–14 is crucial, because the signs are not clearly identifiable. There are three possibilities which all make sense: (because YHWH) (1.) ‘brings us back the light’ (2.) ‘is our restorer and light’ (3.) ‘is our restorer and rock’. 59 Compare Pss. 80.4, 8, 20; see also Ps. 67.2. 57

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official Yhwh-theology of Jerusalem, just as it is attested in the Old Testament within Deuteronom(ist)ic and priestly literatures. But the two amulets are not completely identical. Some differences should be mentioned.60 The most important variant seems to be that the relationship of humans to Yhwh and the divine blessing are conceived differently: KH2 wishes the divine blessing to the amulet wearer without attaching any conditions. This piece is therefore more closely related to Num 6.24–26 and to the ‘usual’ Syro-Palestinian text-amulets which do not formulate any explicit conditions for divine blessings. They just ask for it with the confidence to get it. The amulet KH2 wants to catch up all the positive powers which are attributed to Yhwh (ll. 3–5) for the life of the amulet wearer, whoever he or she may be. KH1 differs in this respect considerably from Num 6.24–26 and from KH2. The very first lines of the amulet change the orientation of the benediction, since they unfold – in the spirit of the book of Deuteronomy – the praise of Yhwh as the god of the covenant, who only grants his covenant and mercy to the people who love and obey him. Thus the positive influences and powers of Yhwh are restricted to a limited number of people. This group is clearly defined. They are the only ones who trust in Yhwh and his help (KH1 ll. 9–10), and confess that redemption is with him (KH1 l. 11). Yhwh is also the god who is the focus of their hope for salvation from a collective disaster (l. 13; consider the change of the suffix to the 1st person plural!). The text is arranged in such a way that the individual is included both in the collective praise of and confession to Yhwh as well as in his promises, but also in their conditions. KH1 does not only ask for Yhwh’s benediction but also formulates a task for the amulet wearer: he has to love Yhwh and to observe his commandments, only under these conditions is he part of Yhwh’s covenant and grace. The combination of the demand to love god and to observe his commandments as conditions for his blessing links KH1 not only to Neh 1.5 and Dan 9.4, but also to Deut 6.4–9. KH1 is written in the spirit of the Deuteronom(ist)ic concept of a conditional divine blessing. In addition, the text arrangement of KH1 and Deut 6.4–9 shows some parallels: KH1 accompanies the reader from the collective of the group of obedient people (ll. 3–14 [‘those, who...’; ‘us/our’]) to the individual (ll. 14–19 ‘you’), who assigns themselves to this group. This direction of KH1’s text starting from the collective – Yhwh’s blessing is dependent on human love and obedience – to the individual perspective – with the individual sharing the divine promises but also their conditions – can also be observed in Deut 6.4–9: ‘Hear, O Israel...our god...you shall...’. KH1 and Deut 6.4–9 describe the group of ‘they/those who/Israel’, proceed to the ‘we/us/our’ and finally to the indi60

For the differences between KH1 and KH2 compare B ERLEJUNG, Mensch, 47–50.

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vidual ‘you’. KH1 realizes in fact and practice, what Moses had commanded to each single Israelite according to Deut 6.6–9: 6

And these words shall be, which I command you today, upon your heart! 7 And you shall enjoin them upon 61 (or: repeat them to) your children, and you shall talk with them 62 (or: to them; or: by means of them) when you stay in your house and when you go on a trip, when you lie down and when you rise up. 8 And you shall bind them as/for a sign upon your hand, 63 and they shall be as (or: for) markers between your eyes. 9 and you shall write them upon the posts of your house and on your gates!

ʤʬʠʤʭʩʸʡʣʤʥʩʤʥ ʭʥʩʤʪʥʶʮʩʫʰʠʸʹʠ ʟʪʡʡʬʚʬʲ ʪʩʰʡʬʭʺʰʰʹʥ ʭʡʺʸʡʣʥ ʪʺʩʡʡʪʺʡʹʡ ʪʸʣʡʪʺʫʬʡʥ ʟʪʮʥʷʡʥʪʡʫˇʡʥ ʺʥʠʬʭʺʸʹʷʥ ʪʣʩʚʬʲ ʺʴʨʨʬʥʩʤʥ ʟʪʩʰʩʲʯʩʡ ʭʺʡʺʫʥ ʱʟʪʩʸʲʹʡʥʪʺʩʡʺʦʥʦʮʚʬʲ

Deuteronomy 6.6–9 is placed directly after the most prominent text of the book of Deuteronomy, the ‘Hear, O Israel’ in v. 4 which is followed in v. 5 by the commandment to love god with all the heart. Deuteronomy 6.4, with or without v. 5,64 is often considered to be the original beginning of the

61

The verb can be derived fom šnn I ‘to enjoin’ (a modification from šnn I), or from Ugaritic tnn resp. šnh ‘to do a second time, to repeat’. The discussion is summarized in F INSTERBUSCH, Weisung, 240–241; F ISCHER/LOHFINK, Summen, 187 n. 17 (‘repeat”). 62 There are several interpretations for ±ʡ ʸʡʣ: 1. They talk with the children about them (= the commandments) (so B REITMAIER, Lehren 261–62; FINSTERBUSCH), 2. the Israelites recite them with themselves (F ISCHER/LOHFINK, Summen, 189; BRAULIK, Deuteronomium und die Bücher, 100; BRAULIK, Deuteronomium 1–16,17, 57–58; W EINFELD, Deuteronomy 1–11, 341), 3. the Israelites recite them in front of their children (T ALSTRA, Texts, 75), see the survey of the different interpretations in FINSTERBUSCH, Weisung, 241–247; F INSTERBUSCH, Identität, 104–107. ‘To talk about’ is dbr + ‘al see FISCHER/LOHFINK, Summen 185, in 17 cases dbr with b is used for ‘to talk over’. Another possibility is ‘to talk with/by means of them’, thus an instrumental meaning (2 Sam 23.2; Ezek 3.4; Ps 89.20; Deut 23.24; 2 Chr 6.4), ‘to talk in the name of’ (Jer 29.23; 1 Chr 21.19; Zech 13.3), ‘to talk to/with” (as addressee; Zech 1.9 (= angel of interpretation). ‘To talk with’ as addressee was the interpretation of Prov 6.22, a verse which alludes to Deut 6.7 suggesting that this meaning was already intended in Deut 6.7. 63 The etymology of this word (which is only attested in Exod. 13.16; Deut. 6.8 and 11.18) is unclear. For the discussion see K EEL, Zeichen, 163–164, KEEL, Geschichte, §754, W EINFELD, Deuteronomy 1–11, 334–335, 343. The LXX translates with the adjective ਕıȐȜİȣIJȠȞ ‘immovable’, introducing a spiritualization into the text. 64 V. 5 has been declared a deuteronomistic addition by VEIJOLA, Bekenntnis, RÜTERSWÖRDEN, Deuteronomium, 52, 54–55, G ERTZ, Tora, 249, 256.

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Urdeuteronomium (12–26*).65 Therefore, the importance of Moses’ order to the Israelites to bind his words upon the hand and to let them be upon the heart and between the eyes (and, thus, upon the forehead) cannot be overestimated. That ‘to be upon the heart’ is meant not merely as a metaphor can be checked with the concordance.66 For the formula ‘they shall be upon NN’s heart’ there is only one other attestation in the Old Testament:67 Exod 28.29–30, which refers to the Urim and Thummim, concrete objects which have to be placed on Aaron’s chest. Therefore, in my view the same formula in Deut 6.6 also refers to a concrete object, with inscription, which has to be worn upon the heart.68 According to Deut 6.8 it should also be placed upon the hand and between the eyes. Deuteronomy 6.6, 8 refers to 65

Thus, according to KRATZ, Komposition, 137–138, BREITMAIER, Lehren, 221, LEVIN, Color, 89–90, O TTO, Perspektiven, 331–332, B LANCO W ISSMANN, Er tat, 22–23, BRAULIK, Deuteronomium 1–16,17, 55, VEIJOLA, 5. Buch, 2–3, GERTZ, Tora, 248–249, 253–255; compare SÉNÉCHAL, Rétribution, 341–344, for a survey of the older positions starting with Puukko (1910) ending with Veijola (2004). 66 That Deut 6 (and Deut 11) refer to material amulets and not only to metaphors has already been pointed out (with different argumentation) by KEEL, Zeichen, 181, 217; KEEL, Geschichte, §753 (mainly arguing with seal-amulets); followed by WEINFELD, Deuteronomy 1–11, 342–343, WEINFELD, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 300–301, VEIJOLA, Höre, 536–537, CLEMENTS, Deuteronomy, 344. LEMAIRE, Deuteronomy, 530 refers to text-amulets, undecided is BREITMAIER, Lehren, 266. For contra concrete amulets (and pro the metaphorical interpretation) in Deut 6 and 11 see ACHENBACH, Israel, 109–110. 67 The formula in Songs 8.6 is ʡʬʬʲʭʩʹ. Even if a concrete object (= seal) is implied here, it is not an exact parallel to Deut 6. ʡʬʬʲʭʩʹ ‘to put upon the heart’ (and upon the throat) is the formula which is used in Deut 11.18, a text which presupposes, comments upon and spiritualizes Deut 6. 68 Contra EGO, Zwischen Aufgabe, 1; FINSTERBUSCH, Weisung, 240–241, the formula does not mean ‘to learn by heart’. This interpretation is deduced from the parenetical conception of the Deuteronomy and ignores the tradition of texts worn upon the heart, hand and forehead (= amulets). The same is valid for the interpretation as ‘to know by heart’, a proposal by F ISCHER/LOHFINK, Summen, 188, 190–191 n. 26 (to know by heart in Deut 6.6; to learn by heart in Deut. 11.18), B RAULIK, Deuteronomium und die Bücher, 96. It is often argued with Jer 17.1 (ʡʺʫ + ʬʲ + tablet of the heart) and Job 22.22 (ʭʩʹ ʡʬʡ), but these texts are formulated differently. In addition it has to be noted that all these proposals (which stress the didactical intention), only focus on v. 6 ‘upon the heart’, while they exclude the following v. 8, with the words bound ‘upon the hand’ and their being placed ‘between the eyes’. In my view all this belongs together in the biblical text as well as in the history of the traditions of texts worn upon central parts of the body. Texts upon the heart and other parts of the body imply a program, personalization (with ROSE, 5. Mose, 29), and internalization (VON RAD, Deuteronomium, 46). Of course these words should be internalized, so SPIECKERMANN, Liebe, 160. The neo-Assyrian parallels which had been quoted by W EINFELD, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 302– 303, for ‘they should be upon your heart’ in order to prove the connection to neoAssyrian oaths and contracts, are no exact parallels to the biblical formula and are, therefore, of no help.

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parts of the human body which are already known from the Levantine amulet practice as typical amulet locations. Sharing the same mentality and cultural sphere it can be supposed that these verses refer to the same anthropological conception. The heart and hands were understood as representatives of a person’s thinking and emotions, and their activities. Also the forehead (between the eyes) is a programmatic part of the body, the location for amulets and signs which qualify and protect their wearer (compare Exod 13.9, 16; 28.38; Ezek 9.4, 6; Rev 7.3; 9.4). Of course, it would be very important to know which words exactly should be worn on the Israelite’s bodies. But ‘these words’ of Moses remain unspecified.69 Therefore, it is hardly surprising that the later Tefilin and Mezuzot,70 which attribute their origin to these verses (and to Deut 11 and Exod 13), selected different biblical texts. In our view ‘these words... which I (Moses) command you today’ could only have referred to vv. 4 and 5 originally, that is, the combination of the ‘Hear, O Israel’ together with the commandment to love god with all the heart. This was, together with Deut 4.45, the original introduction to the Urdeuteronomium of 12– 26*. Deut 6.6–9 was introduced into this context with its claim to attach miniaturized bearers of writings to the body. Wearing the very first verses of the Urdeuteronomium upon the body expressed that the individual Israelite’s life was based on the confession to Yhwh (v. 4), love of god (v. 5), and that he accepted that he had to observe Yhwh’s commandments in the Deuteronomic law (chapters 12–26*) if he wanted to participate in Yhwh’s (clearly conditioned) benedictions and grace.71

69 Already VON RAD, Deuteronomium, 46 stressed that it is unclear to what v. 6 ‘these words’ refer. The current proposals are: a reference to the Decalogue in Deut 5, or to the verses v. 4, v. 5 or vv. 4–5, or to the following parenesis in vv. 10–15, vv. 20–25 or all of vv. 10–25. Another option would be all within the inclusio Deut 6.4–11.20, or to Deut 12–26*, or all the commandments of the book of Deuteronomy (the Decalogue and the Torah of Moses) with or without the parenesis, or to the book of Deuteronomy as a whole. Surveys of the options are offered by ACHENBACH, Israel, 105–106; BRAULIK, Worte, 209–215. That ‘these words’ are unspecified is intentional, with B REITMAIER, Lehren, 250, 266. 70 They are attested since the 3 rd/2 nd century BCE, see P ORTEN AND YARDENI, Textbook 3, C 3.28 Col. 9, Z. 106, KEEL, Zeichen, 166–178. 71 The final composition of the book of Deuteronomy today includes much more than that with ‘these words’ (including the Decalogue, parenesis); this indicates that it was very important to the biblical authors in the different epochs to specify and to extend ‘these words’ successively. The composition history of Deut 6.4–5, 6–9 in context is linked to theological decisions which should secure the identity of the people of God for all times.

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The same combination and program can be observed in KH1 implying that KH1 and Deut 6 belong to the same setting in Jerusalem and refer to similar discourses. However, KH1 stresses the relationship of the individual to their god, while Deut 6 is more focused on the collective. This can be seen with regard to the contents of the blessings. Within the context of the book of Deuteronomy Yhwh’s blessings of Deut 6 refer to the gift of the land, a successful conquest and to the promise that Israel may remain in the land. The individual Israelite can participate in these promises which had been given to the people collectively or to the forefathers, if they observe the Deuteronomic law. In contrast to this, KH1’s blessings do not refer to the collective of god’s people, to the promise of land or conquest, but to the blessing of the individual, in fact the protection of their personal life. Within the context of the Syro-Palestinian amulets KH1 is a singular piece, which is rooted in the traditional text-amulet practice, but which introduces new accents. These are closely related to Deut 6. Also the Deuteronomic theologians who inserted vv. 6–9 could easily link up with the traditional text-amulet practice, if the texts on the amulets conformed with their theology. They obviously saw the advantages of the text-amulets and wanted to use them for their purposes: they were an unproblematic medium which could communicate selected themes and programs of the official theology to individuals. As mediators between official theology and personal piety text-amulets had already been successful for centuries. From the Deuteronomic perspective text-amulets were not problematic at all, as long as the text referred to Deuteronomic theology only, and the pieces were purely epigraphical (thus did not touch the ban against images). The portability of the amulets, the fact that they were suitable for everyday life, and that they established a personal relationship between a human being and their god were important aspects which were adopted by the writers of KH1 and of Deut 6. KH1 and Deut 6 are connected to amulet practice, but they introduce a new orientation. Both texts not only establish the mobile, personalized and direct proximity between the amulet wearer and Yhwh, but also formulate clear conditions and tasks. The individual amulet wearer has to love god and to be obedient (for KH1 and Deut 6). Therefore, according to his own responsibility, he can count on Yhwh’s covenant and mercy. KH1 and Deut 6 were less concerned about Yhwh’s presence which was represented on the text-amulets close to the individual body, but rather about the divine commandments and conditions which had to be observed in order to get an intact relation to god. KH1 and Deut 6 were focused on the didactical, paraenetic and mnemo-technical aspects which were formulated according to the official theology. Each member of Yhwh’s people was asked to accept the Deuteronomic theology and to

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practice it in his ethics. KH1 and Deut 6 appropriate text-amulets and their function as portable protective shields and as portable markers of divine presence, but transform them into media of remembrance, teaching and behaviour control. The amulets from Ketef Hinnom and their references to the theologoumena from Jerusalem indicate that individual piety and official theology was linked within a mutual discourse. In this discourse topics of the official theology were taken over selectively from the Deuteronom(ist)ic as well as from the priestly-liturgical traditions, they were combined, actualized and oriented toward the religious needs of the individual. The silver amulets point to the fact that individuals in Jerusalem – in this case surely elites – could order, or make, text-amulets which included texts with formulas of Jerusalem’s official theology, and which were at the same time oriented toward the personal piety and therefore individualized. According to the text of KH1 the setting of the individual within god’s people was very important, because this was the framework of the personal orientation. It granted Yhwh’s blessings and clarified the divine conditions. KH1 reminded the wearer of these conditions; therefore, the piece is a practical example of how the didactical, paraenetic, mnemonic ideas of the book of Deuteronomy, or even just Deut 6.4–9, were realized in the practical life. Worn upon the heart, each Israelite should internalize and take to his heart that he was expected to love god and to observe his commandments each day. KH1 and KH2 are witnesses of the effort to penetrate the everyday life of the Israelites theologically and to shape their ethics. In KH 1 and Deut 6, though less so in KH2, Yhwh’s presence was not only a promise to the individual, but also a task!

3. Consequences for the Presence Theology in Everyday Life 1. Amulets and text-amulets were portable, material, performative representations of the divine presence which were suited for everyday use. They marked the divine presence within the life, body and house of individual human beings. The divine presence became independent from the official temple, meaningful and relevant for an individual. The texts upon the amulets could state explicitly which deity should do what for a specific man or woman. A specified deity and an individualized human being were linked to each other. 2. Amulets served for the mediation of presence theology in everyday life. The text on amulets could specify which deity and which theologoumenon was selected by an individual. It becomes obvious which theological aspects of a deity were considered as plausible and relevant in the

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everyday life. Divine presence became mobile and entered private houses. The increasing number of text-amulets containing the names of humans and their gods from the 6th/5th century BCE onwards can be connected with the increasing mobilization of antique societies in the Persian Empire, and the increasing demand for private, individualized and personalized relations to selected gods. Divine presence in daily business and on the personal level was not a privilege of the royal house, everybody wanted to share it. Presence theology for everybody at any time and place was possible, even during journeys. In the private sector it had its own media which were body-related and therefore relatively independent from stationary divine statues, temples, priests, but also from altars and cult niches in private houses. 3. Amulets were a performative sign of relationships. These relationships between gods or demons and human beings were clearly defined: the amulet created proximity to deities, and distance from evil powers. The divine presence was integrated into the everyday life of the amulet wearer who had a material sign of his relationship with a god. The text on the amulet specified the interrelated partners. 4. The divine presence which is represented by the amulet works as a portable protective shield. The inscriptions on text-amulets make clear what people expected for their everyday life from their gods. Any deity of the amulet-producer’s, client’s, or buyer’s choice was directly addressed and was motivated to help with imperatives and jussives but also with concrete material donations. In each case it was the protecting deity which was represented in the amulet, not the amulet itself, which provided aid for the amulet-wearer. The performative protective effect came from the deity’s presence which was embodied in the amulet. 5. The text-amulets presuppose that deities have to be motivated to intervene positively. This explains why amulets and votives are closely related or refer to each other (e.g. nos. 26, 27). Amulets could be acquired or manufactured on the occasion of a donation to a specific god or temple. In the sense of ‘gift circulation’ the human party expected a divine return, protection and blessing, in exchange for his donation. The donor had given something to the temple and in exchange he took the amulet as a marker of divine presence from the temple to his home. Everyday life and the sphere of the temple became interrelated. If one manufactured, bought or got an amulet on a special occasion, the piece remained a witness and souvenir of this special event with biographical meaning. 6. Amulet-iconography and amulet-epigraphy give a clear attestation if and how themes of the official theology or religious key-cultures influenced private, individual piety and religious discourse. Official theology and private piety were interrelated. In the official cult, divine presence was

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linked to and dependent upon priestly mediation; it was bound to the stationary and limited space of the urban temple. By means of amulets, the divine presence became suited for everyday life, mobile, and could survive political and cultic crises, including the destruction of the temple, as well as religious reforms. Just the divine name or a symbol engraved on an amulet was enough to ensure that a deity was close to their personal protégé. This connectivity could have a double meaning. Levantine amulets usually refer only to the first one: the individual human being stood personally and permanently under divine protection. Only KH1 and Deut 6.4– 9 point to the second aspect: this individualized nearness to a god can also be a burden and task for the amulet wearer, because it implies consequences for his ethics. The text of KH1 connects Yhwh’s blessing with the ethical conduct of the bearer, that is love of god and obedience. Therefore, it demands from the amulet wearer the orientation of their conduct to Yhwh’s ethos. Only then will they profit from divine benedictions. The motivation of the human being and the change of the personal behaviour is also the point of departure for Deut 6.4–5, 6–9, a text with a clear didactical and paraenetic intention. The individual is asked to confess, to love god and to observe his commandments, and to bind this item upon his heart, hands and forehead and to take it to his heart. KH1 and Deut 6 obviously share the same setting, which can be profiled within the traditional SyroPalestinian amulet practice and within Jerusalem’s theology, especially under the coinage of the Deuteronomic school. 7. Based on the iconography of the Palestinian amulets of the first millennium BCE one can observe that Egyptian deities constantly dominated private piety, 72 while deities from Mesopotamian or Persian descent were not accepted to any great degree – not even during their temporary political supremacy. The texts on the tablet-shaped amulets and the rolledlamellae amulets, however, show less Egyptian influence, and more local religious traditions and connections. The local deities which are mentioned here surely had an official cult within their urban centre, as it is well known for Ashtarte from Byblos, Eshmun from Sidon, different local Baalim and Yhwh from Jerusalem. Therefore there was a discursive relationship between the private and the official cult as is indicated by the amulet inscriptions with their selected theologoumena, and references to private vows, donations, votives and petitions to these deities by individuals. Each text-amulet producer, client, buyer and wearer could make their 72 This is quite surprising, since there is until today no clear evidence for temples of Egyptian deities in the 1 st millennium BCE in Palestine. There are discussions about a temple for Amun in Gaza and Ptah in Ashkelon, but this is far from being clear. Therefore it seems as if the plausibility of Egyptian deities on amulets was independent of their veneration in urban Palestinian temples.

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own choice. They could carry a quantum of official theology and divine presence by means of the amulet throughout their life. If they made, ordered, or bought an amulet at the temple of their choice they selected from the actual deities and religious-liturgical formulas on offer what seemed to them to be most convincing and helpful. Whether they kept the piece or presented it as a gift, the divine presence was expected to be part of the life of an individual and to grant blessing, protection, salvation, life and help.

Bibliography ACHENBACH, R., Israel zwischen Verheißung und Gebot: Literarkritische Untersuchungen zu Deuteronomium 5–11, EHS.T 422, Frankfurt-am-Main 1991 B ARKAY, G., Ketef Hinnom: A Treasure Facing Jerusalem’s Walls, Jerusalem 1986 — The Priestly Benediction on Silver Plaques from Ketef Hinnom in Jerusalem, TA 19, 1992, 139–192 (= English translation of I DEM , The Priestly Benediction of the Ketef Hinnom Plaques, Cathedra 52 [1989] 37–76 [in Hebrew]) — Excavations at Ketef Hinnom in Jerusalem, in: Ancient Jerusalem Revealed, ed. H. Geva, Jerusalem 22000, 85–106 B ARKAY, G., M.J. LUNDBERG, A.G. VAUGHN, B. ZUCKERMAN and K. ZUCKERMAN, The Challenges of Ketef Hinnom: Using Advanced Technologies to Reclaim the Earliest Biblical Texts and Their Context, Near Eastern Archaeology 66 (2003) 162–171 B ARKAY, G., M.J. LUNDBERG, A.G. VAUGHN, and B. ZUCKERMAN, The Amulets from Ketef Hinnom: A New Edition and Evaluation, BASOR 334 (2004) 41–71 [incl. CDRom] B ERLEJUNG, A., Der gesegnete Mensch: Text und Kontext von Num 6,22–27 und den Silberamuletten von Ketef Hinnom, in: Mensch und König: Studien zur Anthropologie des Alten Testaments (HerBS 53), eds. A. Berlejung and R. Heckl, Freiburg 2008, 37–62 — Ein Programm fürs Leben: Theologisches Wort und anthropologischer Ort der Silberamulette von Ketef Hinnom, ZAW 120 (2008) 204–230 — There is Nothing Better than More! Texts and Images on Amulet 1 from Arslan Tash, JNWSL 36 (2010) 1–42 — 1. Amulett-Inschriften aus Syrien und Palästina, in: TUAT N.F. 6, Gütersloh 2011, 325–334 B LANCO W ISSMANN, F., ‘Er tat das Rechte...’: Beurteilungskriterien und Deuteronomismus in 1 Kön 12–2 Kön 25 (AThANT 93), Zurich 2008 B ORDREUIL, P., Attestations inédites de Melqart, Baal ণamon et Baal ৡaphon à Tyr, Nouveaux documents religieux phéniciens II, in: Studia Phoenicia 4: Religio Phoenicia, eds. C. Bonnet, E. Lipinski and N. Marchetti, Namur 1986, 77–86 BRAULIK, G., Deuteronomium 1–16,17 (NEB), Würzburg 1986 — Das Deuteronomium und die Bücher Ijob, Sprichwörter, Rut: Zur Frage früher Kanonizität des Deuteronomiums, in: Die Tora als Kanon für Juden und Christen (HBS 10), ed. E. Zenger, Freiburg 1996, 61–138 (reprinted in: G. BRAULIK Studien zum Deuteronomium und seiner Nachgeschichte (SBAB 33), Stuttgart 2001, 213– 293)

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— ‘Die Worte’ (hadd ebªrîm) in Deuteronomium 1–11, in: ‘Gerechtigkeit und Recht zu üben’ (Gen 18,19): Studien zur altorientalischen und biblischen Rechtsgeschichte, zur Religionsgeschichte Israels und zur Religionssoziologie (FS Eckart Otto [BZAR 13]), eds. R. Achenbach and M. Arneth, Wiesbaden 2009, 200–216 BREITMAIER, I., Lehren und Lernen in der Spur des Ersten Testaments: Exegetische Studien zum 5. Buch Mose und dem Sprüchebuch aus religionspädagogischer Perspektive (Beiträge zum Verstehen der Bibel), Münster 2004 C LEMENTS, R.E., The Book of Deuteronomy: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections (The New Interpreter’s Bible 2), Nashville 1998 CULICAN, W., Jewellery from Sarafand and Sidon, in: I DEM , Opera selecta: From Tyre to Tartessos, Göteborg 1986, 541–547 DUBIEL, U., Amulette, Siegel und Perlen: Studien zu Typologie und Tragesitte im Alten und Mittleren Reich (OBO 229), Fribourg/Göttingen 2008 EDWARDS, I.E.S., Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum, IV: Oracular Amuletic Decrees of the Late New Kingdom I, London 1960 EGGLER, J. and O. KEEL, Corpus der Siegel-Amulette aus Jordanien: Vom Neolithikum bis zur Perserzeit (OBO.SA 25), Fribourg/Göttingen 2006 EGO, B., Zwischen Aufgabe und Gabe: Theologische Implikationen des Lernens in der alttestamentlichen und antik-jüdischen Überlieferung, in: Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung (WUNT 180), eds. B. Ego and H. Merkel, Tübingen 2005, 1–26 FARBER, W., Dämonen ohne Stammbaum: Zu einigen mesopotamischen Amuletten aus dem Kunsthandel, in: Essays in Ancient Civilization presented to Helene J. Kantor (SAOC 47), eds. A. Leonard and B.B. Williams, Chicago 1989, 93–108 and pl. 12–15 — MƗra/Ɨt Anim oder: Des Anu Töchterlein (in Singular und Plural, Text und Bild), in: Tikip santakki mala bašmu… (FS Rykle Borger [Cuneiform Monographs 10]), ed. S.M. Maul, Groningen 1998, 59–70 F INSTERBUSCH, K., Die kollektive Identität und die Kinder: Bemerkungen zu einem Programm im Buch Deuteronomium (JBTh 17), Neukirchen-Vluyn 2002, 99–120 — Weisung für Israel: Studien zu religiösem Lehren und Lernen im Deuteronomium und in seinem Umfeld (FAT 44), Tübingen 2005 F ISCHER, G. AND N. LOHFINK, ‘Diese Worte sollst du summen’: Dtn 6,7 wedibbartª bªm ein verlorener Schlüssel zur meditativen Kultur in Israel, in: N. LOHFINK, Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur 3 (SBAB 20), Stuttgart 1995 (1987), 181–203 FREVEL, C., Körper, in: Handbuch theologischer Grundbegriffe zum Alten und Neuen Testament, eds. A. Berlejung and C. Frevel, Darmstadt 2006, 280–284 GERTZ, J.C., Tora und Vordere Propheten, in: Grundinformation Altes Testament: Eine Einführung in Literatur, Religion und Geschichte des Alten Testaments, eds. J.C. Gertz et al., Göttingen 32009, 193–311 HEEßEL, N.P., Pazuzu: Archäologische und philologische Studien zu einem altorientalischen Dämon (Ancient Magic and Divination 4), Leiden/Köln 2002 — Pazuzu, in: http://www.religionswissenschaft.uzh.ch/idd/prepublications/e_idd_ pazuzu.pdf (accessed 2.2012) HERRMANN, C., Ägyptische Amulette aus Palästina/Israel (OBO 138), Fribourg/ Göttingen 1994 — Ägyptische Amulette aus Palästina/Israel III (OBO.SA 24), Fribourg/Göttingen 2006 HÖLBL, G., Ägyptisches Kulturgut im phönikischen and punischen Sardinien I. (Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’empire romain 102), Leiden 1986

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KEEL, O., Zeichen der Verbundenheit: Zur Vorgeschichte und Bedeutung der Forderungen von Dtn 6,8f und Par., in: Mélanges Dominique Barthélemy: Études bibliques offertes à l’occasion de son 60e anniversaire (OBO 38), eds. P. Casetti, O. Keel and A. Schenker, Fribourg/Göttingen 1981, 159–240 — Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel. Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit, Bd. I: Von Tell Abu Faraۜ bis ‘Atlit (OBO.SA 13), Fribourg/Göttingen 1997 — Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus (OLB IV,1), Göttingen 2007 KRATZ, R.G., Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments (Grundwissen der Bibelkritik), Göttingen 2000 LAMBERT, W.G., An Old Babylonian Letter and Two Amulets, Iraq 38 (1976) 57–64 LEMAIRE, A., SMR dans la petite inscription de Kilamuwa (Zencirli), Syria 67 (1990) 323–327 — Nouvelles tablettes araméennes (École Pratique des Hautes Études II. Hautes Études Orientales 34, Moyen et Proche-Orient 1), Genf 2001 — Amulette phénicienne giblite en argent, in: Shlomo : Studies in Epigraphy, Iconography, History and Archaeology (FS Shlomo Moussaieff), ed. R. Deutsch, Tel Aviv/Jaffa 2003, 155–174 — L’inscription phénico-punique de la lamelle magique de Moraleda de Zafayona, Or. 76 (2007), 53–56 — Deuteronomy 6:6, 9 in the Light of Northwest Semitic Inscriptions, in: Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Post-Biblical Judaism (FS Shalom M. Paul), eds. C. Cohen et al., Winona Lake 2008, 525–530 LEVIN, C., Über den ‚Color Hieremianus’ des Deuteronomiums, in: IDEM , Fortschreibungen: Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament (BZAW 316), Berlin/New York 2003, 81–95 LOZACHMEUR, H. AND M. PEZIN, De Tyr: un nouvel étui et son amulette magique à inscription, in: Études isiaques (FS Jean Leclant [Bibliothèque d’Étude 106/3]), eds. C. Berger, G. Clerc and N. Grimal, Kairo 1994, 361–371 MACDONALD, N., Deuteronomy and the Meaning of ‘Monotheism’ (FAT II/1), Tübingen 2003. MAXWELL HYSLOP, K.R., Western Asiatic Jewelry ca. 3000–612 B.C. (Methuen’s Handbooks of Archaeology), London 1971 W.R., Untersuchungen zur Formensprache der babylonischen MAYER, ‘Gebetsbeschwörungen’ (StP.SM 5), Rom 1976 M ILLARD, A.R., Some Aramaic Epigraphs, Iraq 34 (1972) 131–137 MÜLLER, H.-P., Segen im Alten Testament: Theologische Implikationen eines halb vergessenen Themas, ZThK 87 (1990) 1–32 MÜLLER, H.W., Ägyptische Kunstwerke, Kleinfunde und Glas in der Sammlung E. und M. Kofler-Truniger, Luzern (Münchner Ägyptologische Studien 5), Berlin 1964. MÜLLER-W INKLER, C., Die ägyptischen Objekt-Amulette (OBO.SA 5), Fribourg/Göttingen 1987. MUNRO, I., Ein Ritualbuch für Goldamulette und Totenbuch des Month-em-hat (Studien zum Altägyptischen Totenbuch 7), Wiesbaden 2003. OTTO, E., Perspektiven der neueren Deuteronomiumsforschung, ZAW 119 (2007) 319– 340. PEDERSEN, O., Katalog der beschrifteten Objekte aus Assur: Die Schriftträger mit Ausnahme der Tontafeln und ähnlicher Archivtexte (ADOG 23), Berlin 1997

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P ISANO, G.Q., I gioielli fenici di Tharros nel Museo Nazionale di Cagliari (Collezione di Studi Fenici 3), Rome 1974 — Jewellery, in: The Phoenicians, ed. S. Moscati, Milan 1988, 370–393 P ORTEN, B. AND A. YARDENI, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, 3: Literature-Accounts-Lists, Jerusalem 1993 QUILLARD, B., Les étuis porte-amulettes carthaginois, Karthago 16 (1970), 5–32 and pl. I–V — Bijoux carthaginois II. Porte-amulettes, sceaux-pendentifs, pendants, boucles, anneaux et bagues. D’après les collections du Musée National du Bardo et du Musée National de Carthage, Louvain-la-Neuve 1987 REDISSI, T., Étude des amulettes de type égyptien et égyptisant et divers aegyptiaca de Carthage (VIIe–IIe s. av. J.C.) et de la Méditerranée du Ier millenaire av. J.C., Paris 1987 ROSE, M., 5. Mose, Teilband 1: 5. Mose 12–25 Einführung und Gesetze (Zürcher Bibelkommentare AT 5), Zürich 1994 RÜTERSWÖRDEN, U., Das Buch Deuteronomium (NSK.AT 4), Stuttgart 2006 SADER, H., Deux épigraphes phéniciennes inédites, Syria 67 (1990) 315–322 SCHLICK-NOLTE, B., Gedanken zu Skarabäen aus Kition und ihren Typenreihen, in: Études isiaques (FS Jean Leclant [Bibliothèque d’Étude 106/3]), eds. C. Berger, G. Clerc and N. Grimal, Kairo 1994, 441–450 SCHMITZ, P.C., Reconsidering a Phoenician Inscribed Amulet from the Vicinity of Tyre, JAOS 122 (2002) 817–823 SENECHAL, V., Rétribution et intercession dans le Deutéronome (BZAW 408), Berlin/New York 2009 SPIECKERMANN, H., Mit der Liebe im Wort: Zur Theologie des Deuteronomiums, in: IDEM, Gottes Liebe zu Israel (FAT 33), Tübingen 2004, 157–172 STAUBLI, T., VII. Muslimische Amulette, in: 1001 Amulett: Altägyptischer Zauber, monotheisierte Talismane, säkulare Magie, eds. C. Herrmann and T. Staubli, Fribourg 2010, 199–208 T ALSTRA, E., Texts for Recitation: Deuteronomy 6:7; 11:19, in: Unless Some Guide Me... (FS K.A. Deurloo [Amsterdamse Cahiers vor Exegese van de Bijbel en zijn Tradities, Supplement Series 2]), eds. J.W. Dyk et al., Maastricht 2001, 67–76 TONIETTI, M.V., Un incantesimo sumerico contro la Lamaštu, Or. 48 (1979), 301–323 VAN B UREN, E.D., A Pictographic Amulet, Or. 18 (1949), 419–422 VEIJOLA, T., Das Bekenntnis Israels: Beobachtungen zur Geschichte und Theologie von Dtn 6, 4–9, ThZ 48 (1992) 369–381 — Höre Israel! Der Sinn und Hintergrund von Deuteronomium VI 4–9, VT 42 (1992) 528–541 — Das 5. Buch Mose, Deuteronomium. Kapitel 1,1–16,17 (ATD 8/1), Göttingen 2004 VERCOUTTER, J., Les objets égyptiens et égyptisants du mobilier funéraire carthaginois (BAH 40), Paris 1945 3 VON RAD, G., Das 5. Buch Mose. Deuteronomium (ATD 8), Göttingen 1978 W EINFELD, M., Deuteronomy 1–11: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AncB 5/1), New York 1991 — Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, Winona Lake 1992 W ESTENHOLZ, J.G. (ed.), Dragons, Monsters, and Fabulous Beasts, Jerusalem 2004 W IGGERMANN, F.A.M., Lamaštu, Daughter of Anu: A profile, in: Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting (Cuneiform Monographs 14), ed. M. Stol, Groningen 2000, 217–249

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— Some Demons of Time and their Functions in Mesopotamian Iconography, in: Die Welt der Götterbilder (BZAW 376), eds. B. Groneberg and H. Spieckermann, Berlin/New York 2007, 102–116



The Spirit of YHWH An Overlooked Conceptualization of Divine Presence in the Persian Period

NATHAN MACDONALD

It has often been argued that the catastrophic events at the beginning of the sixth century BCE resulted in a theological crisis for the Judean elite. During the time of the monarchy the Jerusalem temple had been celebrated as the place of YHWH’s residence upon earth. YHWH sat enthroned above the cherubim in the temple’s cella, the earthly instantiation of the divine throne room in the heavens. Various political misjudgements during the turbulent period that followed the collapse of the neo-Assyrian empire led eventually to the overrunning of Judah and the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple. The calamitous end of the only surviving Hebrew kingdom was explained by a theology of divine abandonment, a motif widely understood in the ancient Near East. Many years later though Jewish exiles would return from Mesopotamia to rebuild and settle Jerusalem. During their time in Babylonia and in the Persian period this group redefined the traditional understanding of divine presence and developed various new understandings that could explain YHWH’s commitment to Jerusalem as well as the cataclysmic events that they had experienced.1 In exploring Israelite conceptualizations of divine presence Old Testament scholars have understandably been drawn most especially to those theologies that sought to re-describe the divine presence at the Jerusalem temple: the so-called deuteronomistic shem-theology and the priestly kabod-theology.2 In the deuteronomistic shem-theology, as commonly portrayed, YHWH’s name was a hypostasis. The name was present in the temple, but the temple’s destruction did not mean that Israel’s God himself

1 See especially METTINGER, The Dethronement of Sabaoth. Mettinger describes the intellectual process as one of “cognitive dissonance” resulting from the events surrounding Judah’s defeat and Jerusalem’s fall. 2 For the standard accounts see VON RAD, Studies in Deuteronomy; CLEMENTS, God and Temple; METTINGER, The Dethronement of Sabaoth.

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was affected, since he dwelt in heaven.3 In the priestly kabod-theology, on the other hand, God’s presence was envisaged as a cloud and fiery pillar which accompanied the people through the wilderness and settled on the Tabernacle. According to Ezekiel the ʣʥʡʫ had abandoned the city of Jerusalem prior to its destruction, and would only return to it when the temple was restored.4 There are various criticisms that can be made against this classic presentation of Israelite theologies of divine presence – not least the tendency to present them as contrasting perspectives and associate them with an emphasis on transcendence and immanence respectively – but these are not my concern now.5 Rather, I want to draw attention to a relatively neglected conceptualization of divine presence that also rises to particular prominence during the neo-Babylonian and Persian periods: that of God’s spirit. The association between God’s spirit and his presence is made explicitly in some late Old Testament texts. A number of psalms provide clear examples of this since God’s spirit and his “face” or “presence” (ʭʩʰʴ) are often paired in parallelismus membrorum (Pss 51.11; 104.29–30; 139.7). There are also examples outside the Psalter. For the prophet Haggai the presence of God’s spirit offers comparable assurance to the divine affirmation “I am with you” (2.4–5).6 In Isa 63.10–14 God’s spirit is even described in a manner that suggests it might be equated with the pillar of fire experienced at the time of the exodus and wilderness wanderings. In contrast to the ʭʹ and ʣʥʡʫ, God’s ʧʥʸ as an expression of his presence is associated with persons, rather than the temple complex in Jerusalem. But what makes the spirit most interesting in comparison to ʭʹ and ʣʥʡʫ is its textual distribution in the Old Testament. Like ʭʹ and ʣʥʡʫ, the use of %#: as an expression of the divine presence is particularly evident in texts from the neo-Babylonian and Persian periods, an observation that had

3 Although this is, I think, a fair representation of the scholarly consensus, understandings of the deuteronomistic shem-theology do vary from those who think the presence of the name means YHWH is not there (BRUEGGEMANN, 1&2 Kings, 110; SOMMER, The Bodies of God, 63) to those who think the name is a mode of YHWH’s presence (MAYES, Deuteronomy, 225). In addition, the classic expression of name theology has come under criticism in recent years. See, inter alia, W ILSON, Out of the Midst; R ICHTER, The Deuteronomistic History; HUNDLEY, To Be. For further discussion see Stephen Cook’s essay in this volume. 4 For a slightly different reading of Ezek 8–11, where YHWH’s ʣʥʡʫ is envisaged as not just abandoning Jerusalem and the temple, but actively overseeing its destruction, see TOOMAN, Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge, and his essay in this volume. 5 For an account of the conceptuality see the essay by Johannes Zachhuber in this volume. 6 Note the omission of Hag 2.5a in LXX.

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already been made prior to recent tendencies to date biblical texts later.7 But whilst ʭʹ and ʣʥʡʫ are limited to distinct parts of the biblical literature – the deuteronomistic literature in the case of shem-theology, and the priestly literature and Ezekiel in the case of kabod-theology – references to the divine ʧʥʸ are found across a wide swathe of literature in the Old Testament. As a result of this generous distribution the idea of the divine ʧʥʸ is less systematized, making it a particularly interesting concept for investigation. Despite the potential value of studying the portrayal of YHWH’s spirit in texts from after the fall of Jerusalem the subject appears to lie very much on the edge of biblical scholarship. Monographs and articles are occasionally written on this topic,8 but it does not seem to command the attention of leading figures in the field. This presents a significant contrast to the situation in the first half of the twentieth century.9 In 1910 Paul Volz published an examination from the perspective of the history of religions, emphasizing particularly the Spirit of God as a hypostasis.10 Eichrodt devoted a whole chapter of his Old Testament Theology to the “Spirit of God” as the first instance of “The Cosmic Powers of God”.11 In an influential essay Mowinckel drew attention to the surprising absence of the term ʧʥʸ in the classical prophets, which he explained as due to their opposition to ecstatic prophecy. 12 Thus, major scholars though the subject demanded their attention and wrote extensively on it. Clearly there are a number of animating concerns in this earlier scholarship: the Christian doctrine of the Holy Spirit, the legacy of Hegelian 7

SCHÜNGEL-S TRAUMANN, Rûaত, 17. In the historical and prophetic books Lys judged there to be 103 pre-exilic occurrences of ʧʥʸ and 171 exilic or post-exilic occurrences (LYS, Rûach, 16–18, 330–336). Many of those texts that Lys dated to the pre-exilic period would now be dated later by many scholars. The importance of the post-exilic period for the development of a concept of ʧʥʸ was already appreciated by Volz who devoted most of his work to that period (V OLZ, Der Geist Gottes). Albertz and Westermann noted that “a concentration in the early historical books (Judg. 1 Sam.), an almost complete absence in the prophecy of the 8th cent. (occurrences in Isa., except for two passages, belong to later layers), and a marked increase in later salvation prophecy (beginning with Ezek.), in the Psa. and in wisdom is observable. rûaь reached the high point of its usage only in exilic/post-exilic times” (ALBERTZ and W ESTERMANN, Art. ʧʔ ˒ʸ 1203). 8 E.g. KOCH, Der Geist Gottes; MA, Until the Spirit Comes; ROBSON, Word and Spirit; SCHÜNGEL-STRAUMANN, Rûaত; FIRTH and W EGNER, Presence. 9 One need only contrast the attention given to the spirit in the Old Testament theologies of Eichrodt, Vriezen and Zimmerli with the relative lack of discussion in the theologies of Brueggemann, Childs, Goldingay, Kaiser and Rendtorff. 10 VOLZ, Der Geist Gottes. 11 EICHRODT, Theology, II: 46–68. 12 MOWINCKEL, The “Spirit”.

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idealism, and the impact of Freud’s psychoanalysis. This required of interpreters a rather complex task of disassociation from problematic elements alongside the embrace of others. The task of this essay will be somewhat less ambitious: we will explore the ways in which YHWH’s spirit was presented as a means of divine presence to persons during the neo-Babylonian and Persian periods.13 We will begin by making a number of observations about the Hebrew term ʧʥʸ and the reasons for its perceived suitability as an expression of the divine presence. We will then examine how the spirit is conceived in Israel’s past and its future. We will see how Israel’s history prior to the fall of Jerusalem began to be presented as an arena of YHWH’s spirit. We will then consider the different ways in which a future outpouring of the spirit was envisaged. In each section our examination will focus on the ways in which YHWH is present to persons through his spirit. Consequently, the ʧʥʸ of God as an expression of YHWH’s power will only be discussed as it touches upon YHWH’s presence to persons, rather than, say, creation as a whole.

1. The Spirit as a Mode of the Divine Presence In the neo-Babylonian and Persian periods the Hebrew term ʧʥʸ became one of the preferred ways to speak about YHWH’s presence to Israel and to the rest of creation. At the same time it is increasingly used for the human spirit and partially displaces related terms such as ʤʮʹʰ and ʹʴʰ. The sudden dominance of this term as an expression of divine presence and divine activity demands that we give some attention to its meaning and usage. In English versions of the Bible ʧʥʸ is most often translated with the word “spirit”. However, both “spirit” and ʧʥʸ have a broad semantic range, which are not identical with one another. We may distinguish two related uses of ʧʥʸ in the Old Testament. First, in the context of the natural world it is used of the wind. From this usage the meaning of the word was extended to express the four corners of the world, ʺʥʧʥʸʲʡʸʠ. Second, ʧʥʸ is used of the breath that living beings possess.14 Closely related to the latter 13

This naturally raises questions about the dating of the biblical texts examined. Since I shall be dealing with a number of texts from across the Old Testament canon it is not possible to discuss the various issues around dating of these texts. To do so would be to produce an essay encumbered with dense footnotes and digressions. Most of the texts that I discuss in detail are now dated by biblical scholars, particularly in continental Europe, to the neo-Babylonian or Persian periods, or in some cases to the Hellenistic period. The relevant commentaries and monographs can be examined for discussion of the issues. 14 These two semantic fields are not entirely distinct for the wind can be described as God’s breath (esp. Exod 15.8, 10).

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use is the developed idea of ʧʥʸ as the life within a person and, hence, their disposition or frame of mind.15 A number of associations appear to have contributed to the perceived suitability of ʧʥʸ as an expression of the divine presence. We shall examine three of these: the power of the spirit, the inability of humans to control the spirit, and the universal distribution of the spirit. First, in the Old Testament there is a close relationship between the spirit and power, but in two apparently contradictory directions. On the one hand, as a wind ʧʥʸ can be something that lacks substance, and the term can be used of that which is worthless and deceptive. This use is found most notable in Ecclesiastes, often in association with the similar term ʬʡʤ, but is also used in Isa 41.29 of divine images. The Babylonian idols are ʥʤʺʥ ʧʥʸ, which NRSV translates as “wind and confusion”. On the other hand, the wind is a powerful, but invisible, force in the natural world. In addition, since ʧʥʸ gives life, it is the animating power in people and animals. Numerous biblical texts trace the origins of this life back to God himself who also has a ʧʥʸ. God’s ʧʥʸ can be presented as a potent force or as the annulment of power and might. The power of God’s ʧʥʸ is expressed in what is often considered a genuine Isaianic oracle where the prophet contrasts the human to the divine and the flesh to the spirit: The Egyptians are human and not God 16 their horses are flesh and not spirit (31.3).

The prophet’s intent is not to articulate a flesh-spirit dualism, but simply to warn those who would seek support from Egypt. In comparison to the power of the spirit, the flesh is weak and feeble.17 Similarly in Zech 4.7 God’s spirit is the antithesis of reliance on human resourcefulness: “not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit”. The power of God’s spirit is also vividly depicted in the effect that it has on individuals. The prophet Ezekiel describes how the spirit lifts (ʠʹʰ) him from the ground and transports him to another place (Ezek 3.12, 14; 8.3; 11.1, 24; 43.5; cf. 37.1 [ʠʶʩ]). A possibly more violent version of the same imagery is found in the story of 15 The different uses of ʧʥʸ are discussed in the standard dictionaries, as well as the ™ TENGSTRÖM, books mentioned in n. 8 See, e.g., ALBERTZ and W ESTERMANN, Art. ´K:; Art. ´K:. ™ 16 For the oracle and its relationship to the ministry of Isaiah see, inter alia, W ILDBERGER , Isaiah 28–39, 205–215. 17 A play on “spirit” (ʧʥʸ) and “flesh” (ʸʹʡ) is also found in the composite narrative of Num 11. Some of the spirit on Moses is taken from him and placed on the seventy elders. In a parallel event the wind (also ʧʥʸ) brings flesh in the form of quail upon the camp. The final narrative gives little clue about how this play is to be understood by the reader (for discussion see RÖMER, Israel’s Sojourn).

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Elijah. He too can be miraculously lifted (ʠʹʰ) by the spirit and transported elsewhere (1 Kgs 18.12). When Elijah is taken into heaven by a whirlwind (ʤʸʲʱ), the prophetic band offer to look for him reasoning that he might have been lifted up by the spirit and thrown down on a mountain or in a valley (2 Kgs 2.16).18 The Elijah narratives emphasize not only the power of God’s spirit, but also its unpredictability. As an expression of the divine will, the activity of the spirit cannot be foreseen by human beings. The power and, arguably, the unpredictability of God’s spirit is ingredient to the stories in the book of Judges and 1 Samuel. The spirit of YHWH rushes (ʧʬʶ)19 upon Israel’s leaders enabling them to undertake their mighty acts of deliverance (Judg 14.6, 19; 15.14; 1 Sam 10.6, 10; 11.6; 16.13; 19.20, 23; cf. Judg 3.10; 6.34; 11.29; 1 Sam 19.20, 23). Niditch neatly summarizes the portrayal of the spirit in these books, “The Spirit of Yhwh” is powerful, empowering, dangerous, and difficult to control, endows the hero with the charisma to defeat his enemies and confront other challenges; it is a criterion of various kinds of leadership roles including judgeship, prophetic status, and 20 kingship.

The examples of Samson and Saul suggest not a permanent endowment, but an enabling that comes upon the leader for a specific purpose. In the case of Samson the spirit comes upon him time and again as he does his mighty deeds. Secondly, not only is the spirit powerful, but it also cannot be controlled by humans.21 In this respect it is rather like the wind. Numbers 11 is a clear example for the spirit comes upon Eldad and Medad even though they have not assembled with the other elders at the tent of meeting. The lack of human control over the spirit is emphasized through Joshua’s protest to Moses that he prevent Eldad and Medad from prophesying. Not only can the distribution of the divine spirit not be determined by human beings, but it also has an overwhelming effect on those under its power. The judges are overcome by its power (ʧʬʶ) and act under its influence. When the spirit comes upon Saul he cannot control his actions and strips off his clothes 18 Gray and Hobbs believes that the reference to the spirit in the Elijah narratives influenced Ezekiel (GRAY, I & II Kings, 348; HOBBS, 2 Kings, 23. Given the deuteronomistic colouring of so much of the Elijah narratives (see, most recently, BECK, Elia; KEINÄNEN, Traditions in Collision; OTTO, Jehu), this cannot be assumed. Keinänen identifies 18.12a as “a post-Deuteronomistic interpolation” (K EINÄNEN, Traditions in Collision, 53), and Beck as part of the post-exilic expansion of the Elijah material (Beck, Elia, 118–122; cf. OTTO, Jehu, 163–170). For the question of whether the ʧʥʸ in 2 Kgs 2.16 is God’s spirit or the mighty whirlwind that swept Elijah into heaven see now CHISHOLM, The “Spirit of the Lord”. 19 For discussion and bibliography see HAUSMANN, Art. ʧʬʶ. 20 NIDITCH, Judges, 133. 21 FIRTH, The Spirit and Leadership, esp. 264.

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in front of Samuel and goes into a trance (1 Sam 19.20–24). The spirit is able to lift the prophet away and deposit him somewhere, a relocation which neither the prophet nor his companions can determine (1 Kgs 18.12; 2 Kgs 2.16; Ezek 3.12 etc.). Thirdly, the activity of the spirit can be described as a distinctive presence of God to the prophet or Israel, but also as an expression of God’s universal presence to humanity. This universal perspective is expressed particularly in the description of YHWH as the “God of the spirits of all flesh” (Num 16.22; 27.16). This title reflects the dependence of all human beings on YHWH for the breath of life. This idea is reflected in a number of biblical texts (Isa 42.3; Ps 104.29–30; Job 27.3; 32.8; Eccl 12.7), but most especially in the final form of the narratives of creation and flood in Genesis 1–9. At the creation of humanity YHWH is represented breathing his spirit into human beings; at the flood God withdraws his breath from creation (6.3, 17; 7.22).22 The universal presence of YHWH through his spirit is also found in poignant form in Ps 139.7: “Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”

2. God’s Presence in Israel Prior to the Fall of Jerusalem In pre-exilic texts a strong association between prophecy and the activity of God’s spirit is lacking. It is a remarkable fact, often observed, that prior to Ezekiel the canonical prophets do not describe their prophecies as the activity of God’s spirit. Most references to the spirit are ambivalent, if not hostile. Jeremiah declares “the prophets are nothing but wind (ʧʥʸʬ), the word is not in them” (5.13). Positive references to the spirit in the earlier canonical prophets are rare and have often been judged as late additions. Thus, the mention of the “spirit of YHWH” in Mic 3.8 not only appears to overload the sentence, but is uncomfortably introduced by the direct object marker ʺʠ.23 One of the most interesting and ambiguous references to the spirit is the gnomic utterance that Hosea cites: “the prophet is a fool, the The non-priestly creation story represents humankind receiving the ʤʥʤʩʺʮʹʰ and in this way becoming a living creature (Gen 2.7). The priestly creation story makes no mention of an endowment of the spirit, only that humanity was created in the divine image (1.26). Nevertheless, elsewhere in the Primeval History texts identified as priestly speak of humans having ʭʩʤʬʠ ʧʥʸ. In 7.22 these various expressions are combined to produce the tautologous ʭʩʩʧʧʥʸʚʺʮʹʰ. 23 MCKANE, The Book of Micah, 4, 108–109. Fishbane discusses ʺʠ as a means of introducing an explanatory remark into the text (FISHBANE, Biblical Interpretation, 48–51). Note that the NKJV tries to resolve the problem by rendering ʺʠ as a preposition: “I am full of power by the Spirit of the LORD, and of justice and might” (my thanks to Lydia Lee for drawing this to my attention). 22

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man of the spirit (ʧʥʸʤ ʹʩʠ) is a maniac” (9.7). It is not entirely clear whether the utterance should be attributed to prophet or people, and whether or not the prophet identifies with the saying.24 The saying does suggest that although not a preferred term of the canonical prophets, the “man of the spirit” was a way of talking about prophets, or those very like them. The presentation of Israel and Judah’s pre-exilic history in the books from Joshua to 2 Kings presents a picture that is rather more complicated. The judges Othniel, Gideon, Jephthah and Samson experience the power of the spirit coming upon them and aiding them in their resistance to Israel’s enemies. The history of the early monarchy presents Saul and David in the same manner. Both experience the spirit as a result of Samuel’s anointing them to be king. An intriguing and informative detail of Saul’s royal anointing is the last of three confirmatory signs that Samuel gives the prospective king. He will meet a group of prophets and will join them in a prophetic trance. This notable event gave rise to the saying “Is Saul also among the prophets?” As commentators have observed this question requires of the reader the answer “no”, for the reader is aware that Saul does not number amongst the prophets, but has received the divine spirit as a result of his anointing to be Israel’s king.25 This would appear to suggest that the strongest association of the spirit is with the prophets rather than with Israel’s leaders. Further confirmation of this association would be found in the narrative accounts of the ninth century prophets. Although we have stories of other prophetic figures in Israel’s canonical history it is only in the Elijah-Elisha cycle (1 Kgs 17–2 Kgs 9) and the story of Micaiah ben Imlah (1 Kgs 22), that we have any mention of the spirit. The rather unusual distribution of references to the spirit in the Former and Latter Prophets calls for some explanation. Why is there an abundance of references to the spirit of YHWH in the stories of the judges, the early kings and the ninth century prophets, but not again until the post-exilic period? The force of this problem was felt by scholars such as von Rad who neatly describes the historical quandary. Strangely enough the prophets from Amos onwards do not think of themselves as bearers of the spirit, but as preachers of the word of Jahweh. For reasons at which we can only guess, the concept of the spirit, which was obviously still constitutive in making Elisha a prophet, lapses almost completely, and, as we might think, rather abruptly, into the back26 ground.

24

There is a long interpretative tradition, followed by most modern commentators, that associates these words with sinful Israel (see MACINTOSH, Hosea, 352–353). 25 W ILSON, Prophecy and Ecstasy; STURDY, The Original Meaning, 206–213. 26 VON RAD, Old Testament Theology, II: 56.

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Mowinckel’s solution to the problem was to argue that the pre-canonical prophets were ecstatics from whom the canonical prophets sought to distance themselves.27 This contrast now appears to be overdrawn. It overlooks the evidence for trances in the canonical prophets and creates too sharp a distinction between ecstatic behaviour and the delivery of prophetic speech.28 In addition, there is not sufficient evidence that the canonical prophets rejected the activity of the “spirit” amongst the prophets. A more difficult problem is the fact that the key textual evidence for earlier periods is found in books that were composed at a much later date and were also subject to subsequent redactional activity. A more satisfactory solution to the problem from the perspective of recent criticism would be to view Ezekiel’s emphasis on God’s spirit as a catalyst for later thinking on the spirit and prophecy. The centrality of the spirit in the book’s understanding of Ezekiel’s vocation as a prophet is striking. The prophet is said to have experienced the spirit entering him (ʠʥʡ; 2.2), falling upon him (ʬʴʰ; 11.5), bringing him out (ʠʶʩ; 37.1), and most common, lifting him up (ʠʹʰ; 3.12, 14; 8.3; 11.1, 24; 43.5). The same experience of spirit possession appears to be communicated by the phrase “YHWH’s hand was upon me” (1.3; 3.14, 22; 33.22; 37.1; 40.1; cf. 1 Kgs 18.46; 2 Kgs 3.15). As a result of the spirit’s action the prophet is able to see the appearance of God and to be transported in visions to the present or future Jerusalem as well as the valley of dry bones.29 The association is not new to Ezekiel – Hosea 9.7 being an important example from an earlier period as we have seen – but the emphasis in Ezekiel is striking and it is only after Ezekiel that God’s spirit becomes the characteristic way of speaking about prophetic inspiration. As a result later biblical writers begin to envisage the history of the Israelite kingdoms as the time when spirit-filled prophets operated. Zechariah describes the failure of the people to heed “the words that YHWH of hosts had sent by his spirit through the former prophets” (7.12). Ezra summarizes the history of the Israelite kingdoms in a similar manner. God continually warned his people “by your spirit through the prophets” (Neh 9.30). When we recognize Ezekiel as an important turning point and reexamine Israel’s canonical history, it is clear how many references to YHWH’s spirit are found in redactional contexts or in texts that were introduced into Israel’s history at a relatively late stage of its development. These redactional texts frequently represent the reception of the spirit at the investiture of someone to the office of prophecy or leadership, or the 27

MOWINCKEL, The “Spirit”. W ILSON, Prophecy and Ecstasy. 29 For a recent discussion of Ezekiel and the spirit see ROBSON, Word and Spirit. 28

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transfer of such an office from one individual to another, often at critical points in Israel’s history.30 As a result they suggest a succession of spiritfilled leaders. We shall examine these texts according to the order they appear in the canonical history. The first transfer of the spirit of YHWH concerns Moses. Numbers 11 describes how some of the prophetic spirit was taken from Moses and placed on the seventy elders, as a result of which they prophesy. This is probably the youngest version of a story that is also found in a different form in Exod 18 and Deut 1.31 Neither of the earlier versions refer to the spirit. The elders do not succeed Moses, but assist Moses in the task of leading the people; they need the spirit to undertake this task (Num 11.17). Since much emphasis is made on Moses’ incomparability (Deut 34.10–12), he has no true successor. Joshua is the nearest to Moses’ successor because he takes over the task of leading the people. According to Num 27.18 Joshua already has spirit (ʧʥʸ) within. Moses commissions him through the laying on of hands and transfers to him not some of “his spirit”, but some of “his majesty” (ʣʥʤ). Deut 34.9, on the other hand, portrays Joshua receiving the “spirit of wisdom” because Moses laid his hands on him. Whilst Deut 34.9 could be interpreted as presenting Joshua as the prophetic successor to Moses,32 Num 27 seems to offer an extended re-interpretation of the verse.33 Joshua is described with royal imagery and there is perhaps the intent to portray him as a proto-David.34 Whether prophetic or royal, the spirit is essential to the execution of office, and Joshua’s reception of the spirit ensures the continuity of God’s spirit in the midst of Israel. The next references to YHWH’s spirit are to be found in the book of Judges. As we have already seen various texts in the book of Judges and 1 Samuel describe how the spirit came upon Samson and Saul allowing them 30

FIRTH, The Spirit and Leadership, 260–261. See ACHENBACH, Die Vollendung der Tora. 32 Stephen Chapman observes that, although Joshua is not usually presented as a prophetic figure, this might be present in a late redactional layer found in Josh. 7–8 (CHAPMAN, The Law and the Prophets, 181–187). This would be part of a larger coordination of law and prophets. 33 See ACHENBACH, Die Vollendung der Tora, 557–567. 34 The royal imagery is especially clear in Num 27.17. “Going out and coming in” is martial imagery (cf. v. 21), and the shepherd imagery is a well known characterization of leaders and kings. Both images are found together not only here, but of David in 2 Sam 5.2. In addition, the shepherd and spirit are found together of the davidic Messiah in Isa 11.1–11. The reference to YHWH as the “God of the spirits” (ʺʤʥʸʤ ʩʤʬʠ) (Num 27.16) refers to YHWH’s ability to judge between the actions and motives of individuals. On this basis he chooses Joshua who has “spirit”. The idea is not so very different from that expressed in 1 Sam 16.7: “man looks at the outward appearance, but YHWH looks at the heart”. What Moses transfers to Joshua is not some of “his spirit”, but some of his royal splendour (ʣʥʤ). 31

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to perform mighty deeds (Judg 13.25; 14.6, 19; 15.14; 1 Sam 11.6; cf. Judg 11.29). The spirit is presented as an episodic endowment, and not a permanent one associated with office. A subtly different picture is found in the account of Othniel. As a result of his endowment with the spirit Othniel becomes Israel’s judge (3.10). The text describes a permanent bestowal of the spirit, in contrast to the use elsewhere in the book of Judges.35 It has frequently been observed that Othniel is the creation of a deuteronomistic redactor. The account of Othniel’s time as a judge establishes the deuteronomistic pattern and provides a paradigm for how to understand the stories of the following judges. The redactional placement encourages readers to understand subsequent judges in light of Israel’s first judge. Thus, the description of Othniel’s permanent endowment with the spirit provides a way for the references to YHWH’s spirit coming upon Gideon, Jephthah and Samson to be reinterpreted. A similar effect can be found in the account of Saul and David. A late addition to the story of Saul’s anointment by Samuel presents Saul coming under the power of the spirit as the third and final sign confirming Saul’s anointment as king.36 It would appear that here also the spirit is a permanent endowment, rather than a transitory gift that comes upon Saul in the moment of salvific action (1 Sam 11.6). Further evidence that this is the case is the anointment of David in 1 Sam 16: “Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the presence of his brothers, and YHWH’s spirit rushed 35

LINDARS, Judges 1–5, 134. In the stories of Jephthah, Samson, Saul the coming of the spirit is followed immediately by the mighty deed of salvation. In 3.10 the act of salvation still follows, but the reference to Othniel’s judging Israel has been inserted between (ʬʠʸʹʩʚʺʠʨʴʹʩʥ). Further evidence is found in the deuteronomistic introduction of 2.11–19, which closely parallels the story of Othniel. In the deuteronomistic pattern 2.18 parallels 3.10. There is no reference to the spirit, but instead an affirmation that YHWH was with the judge, and saved the Israelites throughout the duration of the judge’s life. This parallel likewise suggests that the gift of the spirit was a permanent bestowal. 36 There is disagreement amongst commentators about whether or not 1 Sam 10.5–6, 10–13 belonged to the original story of Saul’s anointment or not. Van Seters attributes these verses to the original folktale (VAN SETERS, In Search of History, 254). Scholars have generally attributed significance to the fact that 10.9 already describes the signs as having been fulfilled, and that only the fulfillment of the third sign is described in detail. In light of this second observation H.-C. Schmitt argues that only the fulfillment in vv. 10–13 is secondary (SCHMITT, Das sogenannte vorprophetische Berufungsschema, 209). Usually it is held that both vv. 5–6 and 10–13 are late additions to the narrative (KRATZ, The Composition of the Narrative Books, 212 n. 25; SCHMIDT, Menschlicher Erfolg, 97– 102; F. CRÜSEMANN, Der Widerstand, 57; cf. B IRCH, The Development of the Tradition). Although the story of Saul’s encounter with the prophetic band has sometimes been viewed as an independent story, Nihan has recently rejected this proposal (NIHAN, Saul Among the Prophets). Nihan attributes both 1 Sam 10.5–6, 10–13 and 19.18–24 to a postexilic interest in ecstatic prophecy.

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upon David from that day onwards” (v. 13). Not only is possession by the spirit not an immediate prelude to a mighty deed but it remains upon David despite that. In addition, we are immediately informed that YHWH’s spirit left Saul and was replaced by an evil spirit (v. 14). It would appear that there can only be one bearer of YHWH’s spirit.37 This suggests a paradigm for Israel’s kings where the reigning king is the recipient of the spirit. Perhaps the clearest example of the transfer of the prophetic spirit is that from Elijah to Elisha in 2 Kgs 2. Elisha asks to receive a double share of Elijah’s spirit (2 Kgs 2.9); the double share here is a reference to the eldest son’s inheritance (Deut 21.17). Elisha’s endowment with the spirit is confirmed by his parting the Jordan with Elijah’s cloak and is acknowledged by the prophetic company (2 Kgs 2.15). The transfer of spirit and authority from Elijah to Elisha on the other side of the Jordan and the miraculous crossing of the river should remind attentive readers of the transfer of leadership from Moses to Joshua.38 Finally, there is mention of the spirit in the story of Micaiah ben Imlah. Like the Elijah-Elisha material this is often judged to be a late insertion into Israel’s account of its history. In the exchange between conflicting prophets, Zedekiah demands that Micaiah tell him “which way did YHWH’s spirit go from me to speak to you?” Since 1 Kgs 22 appears to have been written in light of Deut 18 (esp. 1 Kgs 22.38), it may be that Zedekiah’s question is about the succession of prophets described in Deut 18.15. Zedekiah is the head of the assembled prophets and understands Micaiah’s words to be a claim to have succeeded him in the line of prophets. Although I do not think it is possible to ascribe the different references to the transfer of the spirit in the history from Deuteronomy to 2 Kings to the same redactional hand, they do point to a common understanding that YHWH’s spirit was transferred from prophet to prophet or leader to leader. In this way the spirit could be seen to ensure YHWH’s presence to Israel throughout its history from the time of Moses onwards.39 As such Israel’s history is made to offer a picture consistent with Zech 7.12 or Neh 9.30. On first appearances, the alternative account of the history of the Israelite monarchy in the book of Chronicles appears to offer a quite different understanding of prophecy and the spirit. In Chronicles the continuity of the Davidic dynasty is accompanied by a continuous stream of prophets

37

For the interpretative difficulties posed by 1 Sam 19.23 see FIRTH, Saul. CARROLL, The Elijah-Elisha Sagas; SCHÄFER-LICHTENBERGER, “Josua” und “Elischa”. 39 Consequently, it is possible to offer a synchronic reading of Israel’s canonical history with spirit endowment as a focusing element such as that offered in FIRTH, The Spirit and Leadership. 38

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who address the Judahite kings.40 These prophets are not described as being possessed by the spirit. The few references to God’s spirit in Chronicles describe its activity in relation to those who are not identified as prophets. Thus, the spirit comes upon the warrior Amasai (1 Chron 12.18), Azariah (2 Chron 15.1),41 Jahaziel the Levite (20.14) and Zechariah son of the priest Jehoiada (24.20). The particular role of these individuals is to exhort and admonish the people, rather than to explain and interpret the events for the king.42 Read as a whole these books describe how nonprophetic figures were possessed by the spirit. The prophets have the spirit ex officio whilst others receive it only as a temporary charismatic endowment. Thus, Chronicles has its own distinctive understanding of the spirit and prophecy, but one that can be understood as congruent with the history in Joshua to 2 Kings. In other words, the divine presence is guaranteed through the activity of God’s spirit in the succession of prophets, but is also granted to certain individuals for specific tasks.

3. The Hopes for YHWH’s Spirit in Persian Yehud As we have seen, writers in the Persian Period construed Israel’s earlier history as a time when God’s spirit was active through various individuals, both leaders and prophets. The transfer of the spirit ensures the continuous presence of YHWH to his people independent of the Temple. Yet, if YHWH’s ʧʥʸcan express the presence of Israel’s God to his people, it can likewise be an expression of divine absence, the longing for divine presence. As the Psalmist expresses it: “do not cast me from your presence, or take your holy spirit away from me” (Ps 51.13). Many of those who wrote in the Persian period had the sense that God’s presence had eluded them and that Israel’s experience fell short of what she had known prior to the fall of Jerusalem. Consequently, in this period the hope was expressed that God’s spirit would be active more widely, amongst all Israelites and perhaps even the whole world. This hope was typically expressed as something that would occur at, or as a precursor to, the breaking in of God’s final salva40

SCHNIEDEWIND, The Word of God; AMIT, The Role of Prophecy. For discussion of the textually difficult 2 Chron 15.8 see SCHNIEDEWIND, Word of God, 70–71. 42 For this observation see SCHNIEDEWIND, Word of God. Unfortunately Schniedewind goes beyond the text of Chronicles when he drives a wedge between prophet and inspired messenger. The former are the prophets of old, whilst the inspired messengers are represented in the Chronicler’s day. It is important to observe, though, that the Chronicler describes the inspired messengers with language drawn from Judges and 1 Samuel. For criticisms of Schniedewind see KNOPPERS, Review of W. Schniedewind. 41

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tion. There are a number of different visions in the Old Testament about what God’s gift of his spirit would entail. We shall examine three distinguishable hopes: the hope of widespread prophetic activity, the hope of justice, and the hope of a resolve to obey the law. Nevertheless, as we shall see, these should not be viewed as discrete categories since there is evidence of some cross-fertilization of ideas. I. The Hope of Widespread Prophetic Activity Despite earlier claims that prophecy declined or failed after the end of the neo-Babylonian exile, it is now clear that prophecy continued to flourish in the Persian period. Not only do we have the books of Haggai and Zechariah, but we also have accounts of prophets functioning in Nehemiah’s day (Neh 6.7, 12, 14). Nevertheless, the understanding of prophecy began to alter in marked ways. Prophecy was no longer just a contemporary manifestation as Zechariah’s reference to the “former prophets” shows, and the development of prophecy as a textual phenomena would have significant consequences.43 At the same time, under the influence of the book of Ezekiel, prophecy is increasingly being described in terms of an activity by the spirit of God. Around this time a number of texts express the hope that prophecy and the activity of the spirit will become widespread in Israel. Texts such as Num 11 and 1 Sam 10.10–13; 19.18–24 should probably be dated to the Persian period. This is rightly appreciated by Christophe Nihan who sees them as evidence of “a growing interest in the phenomena of ecstasy and charismatic inspiration amongst certain literate circles of Persian Yehud”.44 Nihan believes that there were prophetic groups that promoted “non-institutional experiences of spirit possession”, who were later opposed by some elements of the Jerusalemite orthodoxy. This latter group sought to suppress access to the divine outside the classic institutions of the Temple and written Torah. They promoted Moses and Samuel as examples of a prophetic ideal not expressed through spirit possession. They subordinated charismatic prophecy to these figures, whilst also denigrating it (1 Sam 19.18–24) or diminishing its significance (Num 11.25). Nihan’s characterization of these groups’ social position reflects the ideas of Plöger and Hanson.45 The prophetic groups were eschatologically orientated and were probably members of the lower classes who had been excluded from the main political and religious positions. Nihan follows oth43 See, e.g., PETERSEN. Late Israelite Prophecy; SCHNIEDEWIND, Word of God; FLOYD and HAAK (eds.), Prophets; For the later Second Temple period see esp. BARTON, Oracles of God. 44 NIHAN, Saul Among the Prophets, 96. 45 P LÖGER, Theokratie und Eschatologie; H ANSON, The Dawn of Apocalyptic.

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ers in speculating that Eldad and Medad were names of eschatological groups near Jerusalem. Nihan’s historical reconstruction of prophecy in Persian Yehud is at points unduly speculative. Questions can be raised about the extent to which literary texts that purport to portray a different historical period and have their own narrative logic can be used to reconstruct the social world of their composers. It is one thing to hold that biblical authors shaped the past in terms that made sense for them and their contemporaries, but quite another to imagine that accounts of the past were little more than mirrors of the present. Particularly problematic, it seems to me, is the assumption that we can identify historical individuals and groups from such narrative texts. In the final analysis such arguments resort to a form of allegory. There are also difficulties with the contrast between hierocratic and visionary groups in the early Second Temple period which has justifiably come in for criticism. In particular, Stephen Cook’s work has undermined the idea that eschatological groups in the Second Temple period were necessarily marginalized.46 Postulating distinguishable, rival groups often fails to do justice to texts that are more complex in their presentation. Thus both Numbers and 1 Samuel portray spirit-filled prophecy under the auspices of the leadership of Moses and Samuel. In addition, the dynamics of inside and outside the camp are integral to the narrative of Num 11 and it is not at all clear that they can be used to hypothesize about groups that are politically, socially and geographically marginalized. In particular the comparison between Eldad and Medad and marginalized eschatological groups breaks down for Eldad and Medad are in the camp, whilst Moses and the seventy elders are outside, but by the tent of meeting. Nihan is correct to see Num 11 and 1 Sam 10 and 19 pointing to a heightened interest in the spirit’s role in inspiring prophecy in the Persian period as can be confirmed by other texts from the time, most especially Joel 3.1–2. According to Joel YHWH will pour his spirit “on all flesh” as a result of which they will prophesy and receive visions. Whilst “all flesh” is usually used of human beings from any nation, it is likely that the meaning here is restricted to Israel as “your sons and daughters” would seem to suggest.47 Both the historical and prophetic texts envisage individuals beyond the circle of recognized prophets had trance experiences. In particular, it would appear that there was a hope of a widespread pouring out of the spirit that would see all Israelites experience the power of the Spirit. 46

COOK, Prophecy and Apocalypticism. For alternative positions see B ARTON, Joel and Obadiah, 96; CRENSHAW, Joel, 165. Joel 3.1–2 does have an ambiguity that is comparable to that found a few verses later: “anyone who calls on YHWH’s name will be saved” (3.5). This textual openness would be significant for some later interpreters most notably the early Christians. 47

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Joel’s vision is practically a fulfilment of Moses’ desire that all YHWH’s people will enjoy the gift of prophecy (Num 11.29). The intervention of Joshua to prevent Eldad and Medad from prophesying has often been interpreted as evidence that there was also considerable resistance to such ideas within some circles. Whilst it is possible that this was so, it is also conceivable that Joshua’s words are merely a foil of the narrator designed to introduce Moses’ hope. It is this statement that seems to receive the editor’s approval and marks the climax of the story of the seventy elders. In Joel’s visions the reception of the prophetic spirit by every Israelite is viewed as an eschatological event which will take place immediately prior to “the great and dreadful day of YHWH” (3.4). Isa 59.21 might also promise the widespread distribution of the spirit, though it poses a number of interpretative difficulties. YHWH promises a covenant with an unspecified “them”,48 in which he makes the following assurance: My spirit which is upon you and my words that I placed in your mouth will not be withdrawn from your mouth, or from the mouth of your seed, or from the mouth of your seed’s seed, from now and forever.

Although it could be argued that it is only the prophetic word – the word that elsewhere is said not to fail (40.8; 55.11) – that will be passed on from one generation to the next, this would leave the reference to YHWH’s spirit otiose. It appears better, then, to conclude that both spirit and word will be maintained for future generations. There are also difficulties with the identification of the future recipients of YHWH’s spirit and his word. Blenkinsopp understands the “seed” as the prophet’s disciples (cf. 53.10),49 but many other uses in Isaiah suggest we should understand it to refer to the people of Israel as a whole.50 If this is correct the entirety of Israel are the recipient of the covenant and also the divine word and spirit. Since “my spirit” is a gift bestowed on a prophetic figure in a number of other places in Isaiah (42.1; 48.16; 61.1), Isa 59.21 could envisage the widespread outpouring of the prophetic spirit on all penitent Israelites. We would appear, then, to have a promise with similar content to the vision in Joel 3.1–2, although in Isaiah 59 the eschatological event is already breaking into the present.51 The possibility that Isa 59.21 is a parallel to Joel 3.1–2 should not obscure the fact that this verse is rather different from other places in 48 The immediate context refers to those who repent of their sins in Judah and Zion (v. 20). However, v. 20 is an isolated prose fragment and often judged a late addition or to have been relocated from elsewhere (so WESTERMANN, Isaiah 40–66, 352, 427, relocates between 66.20 and 22). 49 B LENKINSOPP, Isaiah 56–66, 201–202. 50 Note especially Isa 44.3 where “my spirit” is likewise poured out on “your seed”, where “your” is clearly identified as Israel (vv. 1–5). 51 W HYBRAY, Isaiah 40–66, 229.

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Isaiah that describe the widespread outpouring of the spirit, for these are more characteristically associated with the bringing forth of justice (32.15; 44.3). II. The Hope of Justice The book of Isaiah has its own distinctive perspective on the spirit of YHWH that is developed at various levels across this complex book. The spirit is associated especially with the two major theological figures that are developed in the book: the messianic king (Isa 11.1–5) and the servant (42.1–4; 61.1–3). In both cases the gift of the spirit is related to the bringing of justice, a major preoccupation in the book of Isaiah.52 In this way the spirit is a characteristically royal endowment, even in relation to the servant figure. Isaiah 11 describes the endowment on the future Davidic king in detail. YHWH’s spirit will rest upon him and provide the king with wisdom, understanding, counsel, strength, knowledge and fear of YHWH. These charismatic endowments are needed in order to exercise the judicial responsibilities that are described in vv. 3–5. Such model administration of justice will result in a land where all are at peace with one another, an ideal visualized in the peaceful coexistence of hunter and hunted (vv. 6–8). This exemplary justice becomes a cause of pilgrimage to Jerusalem (v. 10). The portrayal of the future Davidic king is, thus, redolent of the canonical portrayal of Solomon. The description of YHWH’s endowment of the king with the spirit (ʤʥʤʩʧʥʸʥʩʬʲʤʧʰʥ; 11.2) finds its closest parallels in Num 11.25– 26 and 2 Kgs 2.16.53 The first of these is particularly striking since in Num 11 the gift of the spirit is given to the elders in order to aid them in their administrative responsibilities. These responsibilities are identified in parallel accounts as judicial tasks (Deut 1.9–18). A number of other texts in Isaiah 1–39 envisage a distribution of “a spirit” for judicial purposes: Isa 4.1–6; 28.5–6. There are significant intertextual links between the two passages and they can, therefore, be considered together.54 In each passage there is stinging criticism of those who rejoice 52 See now LECLERC, Yahweh is Exalted. Daniel Block includes “agent of judgement” amongst the specific ways in which the prophets employ the idea of the spirit of God, and whilst the various texts he discusses come from Isaiah, he does not discuss the close association of judgement and the spirit in that book (BLOCK, The View from the Top, 190– 191). In the same volume Hilary Marlow offers a sharper analysis. “The rûah of Yahweh in First Isaiah expresses something of his action or intention with regard to the world in a context of both judgement and restoration” (MARLOW, The Spirit of Yahweh). 53 W ILLIAMSON, Variations on a Theme, 46. 54 Note the close links betweenʯʥʠʢʬʵʸʠʤʩʸʴʥʣʥʡʫʬʥʩʡʶʬʤʥʤʩʧʮʶʤʩʤʩʠʥʤʤʭʥʩʡ ʬʠʸʹʩ ʺʨʩʬʴʬ ʺʸʠʴʺʬʥ (4.2) and  ʤʸʠʴʺ ʺʸʩʴʶʬʥ ʩʡʶ ʺʸʨʲʬ ʺʥʠʡʶ ʤʥʤʩ ʤʩʤʩ ʠʥʤʤ ʭʥʩʡ

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in outward beauty and the announcement of devastating judgement which will see the Israelite men and women stripped of their adornment. The future judgement is characterized by cleansing through “a spirit of judgement” (ʨʴʹʮʧʥʸ; 4.4; 28.6). This spirit enables those who sit in judgement to enact justice (28.6). Although some interpreters have wanted to identify this “spirit of judgement” with YHWH’s personal spirit, this interpretation encounters serious difficulties. Not only do we have similar constructions elsewhere in the book – “a spirit of confusion” (19.14), “a spirit of ruthlessness” (25.4), “a spirit of deep sleep” (29.10) – but also the claim that “YHWH will be a garland of glory…a diadem of beauty…a spirit of justice…strength” (28.5–6) would make no sense.55 Closely related to these two texts is Isa 32.15. Again destruction is envisaged (vv. 9–14), followed by salvation (vv. 15–20). The decisive change is marked when a spirit is poured out from on high (v. 15).56 The result is the rejuvenation of the earth (v. 15) and the spread of justice (vv. 16–17). The reference to the pouring out of a spirit “upon us” suggests an endowment that goes beyond one individual and extends to the nation. The passage should be compared to the beginning of the chapter where there is a description of a future righteous king whose reign is likewise marked by justice and compared to a rejuvenated desert (vv. 1–2). The task of administrating justice is not only the king’s, but also belongs to the wider circle of princes. The bare reference to “a spirit” in Isa 32.15 again poses difficulties for an identification with YHWH’s spirit, but the revelation from “on high” clearly demonstrates its divine origins. In addition, there are various parallels with Isa 11: the association with the king and his justice, the bringing of peace and security, and the description of this with nature metaphors. This suggests this spirit is most likely to be identified with YHWH’s spirit from Isa 11. Furthermore, the textual links of Isa 32 with Isa 4.4–6 and 28.5–6 suggests a hermeneutical reworking of their language of a “spirit of justice” with implications for how these passages might be understood in light of Isa 32.57 In other words, at the level of the final form of the book readers are, with some cause, likely to read Isa 4 and 28 as references to the divine spirit. In the book of Isaiah the spirit is also associated with the servant of Isa 40–55. The so-called first servant song describes how YHWH will place his ʥʮʲʸʠʹʬ (28.5), as well as the references to a “spirit of judgement” (ʨʴʹʮʧʥʸ) in 4.4 and 28.6. 55 See the careful discussion in WILLIAMSON, Isaiah 1–5, 312–313. 56 For the difficulties with the traditional translation “poured out” see BEUKEN, Isaiah 28–39, 221. 57 For the links between these three passages see BEUKEN, Isaiah 28–39, 227.

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spirit upon the servant so that he will bring justice to the nations (42.1). It seems likely not only that we have the servant described in royal terms here, but that the description is drawn from Isa 11.1.58 The identification of the servant is, of course, a matter of considerable disagreement amongst scholars. In my view the likeliest explanation is that the servant is idealized Israel (see esp. Isa 49) whose task is envisaged to be the bringing of universal justice (cf. 2.1–4). If this is correct it is certainly striking that the instrument of justice in the future act of salvation is now considered to be Israel, rather than the Davidic monarch. The servant of Isa 61 is likewise described as endowed with the spirit (v. 1) and the description of the servant is probably indebted to both Isa 11 and 42. The royal imagery is preserved in various respects. The servant is anointed (ʧʹʮ) and his task is related to the appearance of justice (vv. 1– 3). It is striking, though, that the servant of Isa 61 does not enact justice himself, but proclaims it. The fluidity of the different visions of future endowment of the spirit can be seen here. The spirit-endowed king has been accommodated to the prophetic model we examined earlier.59 III. The Hope of a New Inner Disposition In Ezek 37 the prophet describes his famous vision of the valley of dry bones. In this vision the prophet sees a valley full of bones come back to life because the wind or spirit of YHWH is breathed into them (vv. 1–10). The vision is explained in relation to those exiled to Babylonia. Their hopeless situation is characterized as being dry and without life. They will be revivified and returned to the land of Israel (ʬʠʸʹʩʺʮʣʠ). It is has often been observed that there is a striking parallel to Gen 2 where the man is first formed, receives the breath of life from YHWH God and flourishes on the earth (ʤʮʣʠ) from which he has been taken.60 In Gen 2 the breath of YHWH is “the breath of life” (ʭʩʩʧ ʺʮʹʰ, rather than the spirit (ʧʥʸ that brings life (Ezek 37.6, 9). It is likely that Ezek 37 reflects a Primeval History with both priestly and non-priestly material, since the priestly texts prefer to speak of God’s spirit (ʧʥʸ; 6.3; 8.1) and “the spirit of life” (ʧʥʸ ʭʩʩʧ; 6.17; 7.15; cf. 8.22).61 Thus, in Ezek 37 we find as in many other places in the prophets the deployment of the idea of a “new creation” to the return from exile.

58

W ILLIAMSON, Variations on a Theme, 132–137. Williamson and Stromberg describe the portrayal as “composite” (WILLIAMSON, Variations on a Theme, 186; STROMBERG, An Inner-Isaianic Reading, 265). 60 See KUTSKO, Between Heaven and Earth, 133–134. 61 Note especially the composite ʭʩʩʧʧʥʸʚʺʮʹʰ in 7.22. 59

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The striking vision of the valley of dry bones is given new significance through the inclusion of Ezek 36.23b-38 immediately before it.62 The revivification through YHWH’s spirit is explained through recourse to 11.19 and 18.31. According to 11.19 the people will return from exile and remove idolatry from the land. YHWH will give them one heart and a new spirit, or to phrase the matter differently, a heart of flesh for their heart of stone. This new inner disposition will enable them to keep YHWH’s laws (v. 20). In 18.31, on the other hand, the Judahites are exhorted to repent and to acquire for themselves a new heart and a new spirit. Significantly this call to repentance ends with the exhortation “repent and live!” (v. 32). In Ezek 36.26–27 these earlier texts are cited in order to provide a deeper significance to the vision of the dry bones. Ezek 36.26–27

ʟʸʹʡʡʬʭʫʬʩʺʺʰʥʭʫʸʹʡʮʯʡʠʤʡʬʚʺʠʩʺʸʱʤʥʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥʹʣʧʡʬʭʫʬʩʺʺʰʥ ʟʭʺʩʹʲʥʥʸʮʹʺʩʨʴʹʮʥʥʫʬʺʩʷʧʡʚʸʹʠʺʠʩʺʩʹʲʥʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʩʧʥʸʚʺʠʥ Ezek 11.19–20

ʯʲʮʬʟʸʹʡʡʬʭʤʬʩʺʺʰʥʭʸʹʡʮʯʡʠʤʡʬʩʺʸʱʤʥʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥʣʧʠʡʬʭʤʬʩʺʺʰʥ ʭʺʠʥʹʲʥʥʸʮʹʩʩʨʴʹʮʚʺʠʥʥʫʬʩʩʺʷʧʡ Ezek 18.31

ʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥʹʣʧʡʬʭʫʬʥʹʲʥ

 It is particular striking that Ezek 36.26 draws on the earlier texts in their entirety, whilst v. 27 repeats part of the previous verse, but subtly rephrases it, '%#:¡=#, in order to establish the link to 37.14.63 Thus, the composer of Ezek 36.23–38 offers a subtle re-reading of the vision of the valley of dry bones. The revivification through the divine breath enables not only new life in the land, but also empowers the people in the ways envisaged in Ezek 11 and 18. The people will have a new inner disposition that will enable them to obey YHWH’s laws allowing the covenant to be reestablished with them (Ezek 36.28). In Papyrus967 the vision of the valley of dry bones is preceded by the prophecy against Gog (Ezek 38–39), and it is likely that this reflects an earlier version prior to the redactional rearrangement of Ezek 38–39 and the insertion of 36.23–38. The conclusion of the prophecy against Gog also contains a promise of the spirit (39.21–29). The return of Israel to the land 62 See especially the textual evidence from Pap967 and a recent discussion of the redaction-critical issues in KLEIN, Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch, 81–111. 63 Apart from ʩʧʥʸthe phrasing in Ezek 37.14 is different: ʭʫʡʩʧʥʸʩʺʺʰʥ (cf. v. 6).

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is promised and God’s presence is demonstrated particularly through the pouring out of his spirit (39.29).64 It is quite possible, as Klein argues, that at some stage this conclusion originally followed on from 36.16–23 as a prelude to the vision of the valley of dry bones.65 If so, it lacks the assurance of a new heart and a new mind, and instead emphasizes Israel’s revivification in Ezek 37 as also a return of YHWH’s gracious presence. Israel’s God will no longer hide his face from them (39.23, 24, 29). In the Masoretic text, as we have seen, there is an additional dimension to the gift of the spirit since this is interpreted as the provision of a new obedient disposition. The assurance of the spirit as a mark of God’s presence is now made a climax to the salvation oracles in Ezek 33–39, and anticipates the Temple Vision in Ezek 40–48 which concludes with the affirmation of YHWH’s presence in Jerusalem (48.35). In its own way Zech 12.9–13.6 reflects a belief that the spirit will bring a new inner disposition. It seems likely that this sometimes rather obscure collection of prophecies draws upon Ezek 36 and 39. Both Ezek 36.17 and Zech 13.1–2 speak of past defilement by “impurity” (ʤʣʰ) and “uncleanness” (ʤʠʮʨ), and the possibility of future cleansing by water (Ezek 36.25; Zech 13.1). Both passages also speak of YHWH pouring out (ʪʴʹ) a spirit upon the “house of Israel” or the “house of David” in the context of judgement upon the nations (Ezek 39.29; Zech 12.10). However, whilst Ezek 39.29 identifies the spirit as “my spirit”, in Zech 12.10 reference is made to “a spirit of grace and supplication” (ʭʩʰʥʰʧʺʥ ʯʧ ʧʥʸ). This spirit will bring a new inner disposition to the people of Jerusalem. It will lead to them mourning over the one they have pierced (ʸʷʣ) as though he were their own child (12.9–14). Juxtaposed to this oracle is another which promises that the prophets and the “spirit of impurity” (ʤʠʮʨʤʧʥʸ) will be removed from the land. Should anyone prophesy they will be stabbed (ʸʷʣ) by their own parents (13.1–6). There are considerable interpretative difficulties in both oracles. We do not know who has been pierced in 12.10,66 and interpreters disagree about whether the prophets described in 13.1–6 are false prophets or all prophets.67 The striking overlap in vocabulary forces us to conclude, however, that there is an intended contrast between the two oracles. The “spirit of grace and supplication” that comes on all Greek manuscripts read IJઁȞ șȣȝȩȞ ȝȠȣ KLEIN, Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch. 66 For the possible options see SÆBO, Sacharja 9–14, 96–103. Meyers and Meyers describe the identification as “one of the major interpretative cruxes in Second Zechariah, if not all of prophecy” (MEYERS and MEYERS, Zechariah 9–14, 337). 67 Here as elsewhere the Greek manuscripts identify the prophets as ȥİȣįȠʌȡȠijȘIJȘȢ. Amongst modern commentators contrast PETERSEN, Late Israelite Prophecy, 33–38, and MEYERS and MEYERS, Zechariah 9–14, 362–383. 64 65

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contrasts with the “spirit of impurity” associated with the prophets. The one leads to bitter grieving as though over an only child, the other must be purged even if committed by their own child. This may suggest that there is intended contrast between the true prophets to whose message Israel had failed to respond (12.9–14) and the false prophets (13.1–6).68 The question of whether Zech 13.1–6 rejects just false prophecy or all prophecy is an important problem. In the first case we have envisaged a rooting out of all prophecy, a complete internalization of the law in Deut 13. In the second case we would appear to have a rejection of Joel’s vision of the children prophesying. Unfortunately, we cannot be certain which interpretation is correct.

Conclusion In this essay I hope to have shown that the relative neglect of YHWH’s ʧʥʸ in recent discussions is to be regretted. As we have seen the concept is widely distributed, rich in associations and relatively unschematized. It demonstrates the complex notions of divine presence that were held in Persian period Yehud. As such it offers a distinct advantage over discussions of the shem- and kabod-theologies that once proliferated in biblical scholarship. The association of these theologies with transcendence and immanence respectively tended to emphasize the incompatibility of the two theologies. The texts that speak of YHWH’s spirit show that this conceptuality could bring together various distinct ideas. So, for example, it could describe the universal presence of YHWH and the hopes for a wider distribution of YHWH’s spirit, whilst also being particularly associated with certain community leaders. In addition, we have seen how various different ideas about YHWH’s presence through his spirit were held by Jews after the exile, and these ideas could influence one another. The presentation of YHWH’s ʭʹ as a hypostasis and the ʣʥʡʫ as a mobile presence focussed attention maximally on these concepts as attempts to preserve the dignity of Israel’s God in the reality after the fall of Jerusalem. I should not wish to deny that such conceptualizations of YHWH’s presence, and also YHWH’s ʧʥʸ, can be seen as a response to these cataclysmic events, but only to say that there are other dimensions that should not be neglected. In particular, to say something about YHWH’s presence is to say that he is active. The spirit acts to bring salvation, to enact justice, to create a new obedient disposition. Thus, whilst the shem- and kabod-theologies emphasize YHWH’s relationship to Jerusalem and its temple, YHWH’s 68

For this proposal see MEYERS and MEYERS, Zechariah 9–14, 339–340.

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ʧʥʸ draws particular attention to what YHWH’s presence means for his people. As such it emphasizes the transformative nature of the divine presence and offers a corrective to the objectification of the divine presence that can be found in some discussions of the shem- and kabod-theologies.

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Era, in: Saul in Story and Tradition (FAT 47), ed. C. S. Ehrlich, Tübingen 2006, 88– 118 OTTO, S., Jehu, Elia und Elisa: Die Erzählung von der Jehu-Revolution und die Komposition der Elia-Elisa-Erzählungen (BWANT 152), Stuttgart 2001 PETERSEN, D. L., Late Israelite Prophecy: Studies in Deutero-prophetic Literature and in Chronicles (SBL.MS 23), Missoula 1977 P LÖGER, O., Theokratie und Eschatologie (WMANT 2), Neukirchen-Vluyn 21962 RAD, G. VON, Studies in Deuteronomy (SBT 9), London 1961 — Old Testament Theology, 2 vols., New York 1962 R ICHTER 6 / 7KH 'HXWHURQRPLVWLF +LVWRU\ DQG WKH 1DPH 7KHRORJ\ /HãDNNƝQ âHP{ âƗPLQWKH%LEOHDQGWKH$QFLHQW1HDU(DVW(BZAW 318), Berlin 2002 ROBSON, J., Word and Spirit in Ezekiel (LHBOTS 447), New York 2006 RÖMER, T., Israel’s Sojourn in the Wilderness and the Construction of the Book of Numbers, in: Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld (VT.S 113), eds. R. Rezetko, T. H. Lim, and W. B. Aucker, Leiden 2007, 419–445 SÆBØ, Sacharja 9–14: Untersuchungen von Text und Form (WMANT 34), NeukirchenVluyn 1969 SCHÄFER-LICHTENBERGER, C., “Josua” und “Elischa” – eine biblische Argumentation zur Begründung der Autorität und Legitimität des Nachfolgers, ZAW 101 (2006) 198– 222 SCHMIDT, L., Menschlicher Erfolg und Jahwes Initiative: Studien zu Tradition, Interpretation und Historie in Überlieferungen von Gideon, Saul und David (WMANT 38), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1970 SCHMITT, H.-C., Das sogenannte vorprophetische Berufungsschema: Zur “geistigen Heimat” des Berufungsformulars von Ex 3,9–12; Jdc 6,11–24 und I Sam 9,1–10,16, ZAW 104 (1992) 202–216 SCHNIEDEWIND, W. M., The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOT.S 197), Sheffield 1995 SCHÜNGEL-STRAUMANN, H., Rûaত bewegt die Welt: Gottes schöpferische Lebenskraft in der Krisenzeit des Exils (SBS 151), Stuttgart 1992 SOMMER, B. D., The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel, Cambridge 2009 STROMBERG, J., An Inner-Isaianic Reading of Isaiah 61:1–3, in: Interpreting Isaiah: Issues and Approaches, eds. D. G. Firth and H. G. M. Williamson, Nottingham 2009, 261–272 STURDY, J., The Original Meaning of “Is Saul Also Among the Prophets?” (1 Samuel X 11, 12; XIX 24), VT 20 (1970) 206–213 TENGSTRÖM, S., Art. ʧʔ ˒ʸ rûaত, TDOT 8 (1996) 365–396 TOOMAN, W. A., Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge to Inviolability, ZAW 121 (2009) 498–514 VAN SETERS, J., In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History, Winona Lake 1997 VOLZ, P., Der Geist Gottes und die verwandten Erscheinungen im Alten Testament und im anschliessenden Judentum, Tübingen 1910 W ESTERMANN, C., Isaiah 40–66: A Commentary (OTL), Philadelphia 1969 W HYBRAY, R. N., Isaiah 40–66 (NeCB), Grand Rapids 1975 W ILDBERGER, H., Isaiah 28–39 (CC), Minneapolis 1991 W ILLIAMSON, H. G. M., Variations on a Theme: King, Messiah and Servant in the Book of Isaiah (Didsbury Lectures), Carlisle 1998 — A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–5 (ICC), London 2006 W ILSON, I., Out of the Midst of the Fire: Divine Presence in Deuteronomy, Atlanta 1995 W ILSON, R. R., Prophecy and Ecstasy: A Reexamination, JBL 98 (1989) 321–337

God’s Real Absence and Real Presence in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomism STEPHEN L. COOK

For over half a century scholars have explored the distinctive understanding of divine presence with Israel in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomistic literature. Something of a consensus has formed, but the present commonplace interpretation does not do justice to the literature’s complex and paradoxical conceptualization of divine self-revelation. Researchers have often concluded that Deuteronomy, in a mode of demythologizing, rejected older concepts of God’s immediate, personal dwelling in the temple in favor of a rather rationalistic notion of Israel’s access to God, in which the divine ‘name’ serves as a sort of proxy for the Lord. The divine self, in this view, always remains fully transcendent. God only puts God’s ‘name’ on earth, not God’s physical reality (see esp. Deut 12.5). By taking up this view of God’s presence, the book supposedly repudiates earlier, more ‘anthropomorphic’ conceptions of God.1 This commonplace understanding of Deuteronomy correctly reckons with Deuteronomy’s insistence on the absence of any bodily divine indwelling of the temple in Jerusalem. It fails to account, however, for the book’s concomitant insistence on God’s elusive, yet real, presence in Israel’s midst. The complexity of Deuteronomy’s presentation has not fully escaped the notice of scholars working closely with individual texts of the book. Researchers have noted exceptions to what they hold is an otherwise uniform view of God’s transcendence from earth in Deuteronomy. Language 1

For standard accounts of the Deuteronomistic ‘name theology’, understood to conceive of only the divine name being present on earth while God remains always in heaven, see VON RAD, Studies, 37–44; CLEMENTS, Deuteronomy, 300–312; METTINGER, Dethronement; W EINFELD, Deuteronomic School, 191–209. The understanding that ‘name theology’ in Deuteronomy entails God’s real absence from the earth was already being defended in the late nineteenth century (cf. S TADE, Geschichte, I.247), but von Rad popularized the view beginning in 1947 with the initial German publication of his Studies in Deuteronomy. For annotated bibliography on the current wide acceptance of this understanding of Deuteronomy’s theology, see WILSON, Midst of the Fire, 4 n. 21. For a thorough overview of modern understandings of ‘name theology’, see R ICHTER, Deuteronomistic History, 26–36.

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about appearing ‘before the LORD’ at the central shrine (e.g., Deut 12.7, 12, 18; 14.23, 26; 15.20; 16.11; 18.7), for example, often stands out to scholars as in some tension with the purported Deuteronomic insistence on God’s spatial removal from earthly existence. Proponents of a strict Deuteronomic ‘name theology’ must interpret the several occurrences of this diction as vestigial phraseology that Deuteronomy has failed to purge from earlier material that it has taken up. They must assert that the phrase ‘before the LORD’ is a sort of linguistic fossil, which is now understood by the book in a purely metaphorical sense.2 By the same token, language in texts such as Deut 23.14 (cf. 7.21; 20.1) about God moving in the midst of Israel’s war camp must be taken by scholars holding the consensus view as a feature of older material incorporated by Deuteronomy but never fully revised to reflect the book’s distinctive new theology. 3 Other language in the book of Deuteronomy about a tangible divine presence on earth is sometimes interpreted as late harmonizing redaction. The end of v. 36 of Deut 4, for example, causes problems for scholarly proponents of Deuteronomic ‘name theology’ as commonly understood. It blurs any idea that God’s verbal revelation at Horeb proceeded strictly from heaven, from a transcendent deity who was not present on the moun2

Mettinger suggests that the phrase ‘before the L ORD’ may be ‘a sort of linguistic fossil, bearing no semantic cargo of importance’ (METTINGER, Dethronement, 53). Most scholars, however, simply leave the meaning and import of the phrase unaddressed (cf. W ILSON, Midst of the Fire, 10). A recent exception is R. D. Nelson, who presents a rather balanced interpretation of the phrase. Nelson notes that the language marks Deuteronomy’s continuing interest in God’s earthly presence in some form. He stresses, however, that the book definitely does not associate the diction with a shrine legend, royal building, or any other means of tethering or localizing the presence of God. See NELSON, Deuteronomy, 149, 153. 3 Several texts of Deuteronomy picture God’s immediate presence using other idioms and diction besides ‘before the LORD’. R. E. Clements sees ‘older ideas of Yahweh’s accompanying presence’ in phrases such as ‘with his own presence’ in Deut 2.7; 4.7, 37; 7.21; 9.3; 23.14; 31.3 (CLEMENTS, God and Temple, 94 n. 4). Texts such as 7.21 and 23.14 describing God’s presence in Israel’s midst in battle seem particularly to contradict a name-only theology. E. W. Nicholson writes that Israel’s ‘actual cultic practice’ is very far removed from such a notion of God’s immanence (NICHOLSON, Deuteronomy and Tradition, 73 n. 1). Von Rad earlier wrote that laws of war in Deuteronomy reflecting a localized divine presence constitute ‘fairly old, indeed in part very old, material’ (VON RAD, Studies in Deuteronomy, 50). Following von Rad, B. Sommer concludes that ‘this exception to the Deuteronomic theology of God’s abode in heaven alone represents a vestige…We should not expect perfectly thoroughgoing revision of older material by the ancient editor’ (SOMMER, Bodies of God, 217–218 n. 40). But do Deuteronomy’s texts of divine warfare really all represent older material? As N. MacDonald notes, there are multiple such texts in Deuteronomy consistently describing God’s presence with Israel in battle and many of them, including Deut 23.14, represent characteristic Deuteronomic parenesis, not the style of received material (MACDONALD, Literary Criticism, 217).

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tain. Rather, God speaks to Israel directly and personally in v. 36b, with the divine word issuing from inside God’s theophanic fire as in Exod 3.4 (cf. Deut 4.33; 5.24; 33.16). Several interpreters view the end of v. 36 as a late addition.4 As another example, consider Moses’ insistence on God’s intimate presence in Exod 33. If this chapter presents the efforts of Deuteronomistic editors to fashion a coherent Pentateuch, we could conceivably have here another example of a late Deuteronomistic return to language of God’s immediate presence with Israel.5 One might especially note vv. 12– 17 of the chapter, which speak of God’s personal divine accompaniment of the people and of God’s promise of ‘rest’.6 Such language might constitute the work of redactors preparing readers for notions in upcoming Deuteronomic texts, such as Deut 12, of Israel’s dynamic worship life ‘before the LORD’ and of the divine promise of ‘rest’ in the land. In this essay I contest the idea that Deuteronomy’s use of ‘name’ diction and its unique concept of divine self-revelation represent an intermediate compositional layer in which God is understood to be either personally distant from Israel or present only through some hypostasis. I want to defend the thesis that, when correctly understood, Deuteronomy’s ‘name’ diction and thinking is continuous with both earlier and later Deuteronomic literary strata that conceive of God as personally and immediately available to God’s people (albeit in an elusive manner). Certainly, Deuteronomy refines and alters earlier views and language about divine presence in order to insist on God’s irreducible mystery, free4

As noted by MACDONALD, Monotheism, 193. See STEUERNAGEL, Das Deuteronomium, 69. S. Mittmann views v. 36bȕ, with its view that the divine word proceeded out of the fire, as an addition, which conflicts with immediately preceding statements differentiating between fiery manifestations on earth and God’s voice echoing down from heaven (MITTMANN, Deuteronomium 1,1–6,3, 123). D. Knapp likewise views v. 36bȕ as secondary, arguing that it throws off the parallelism of the earlier sections of the verse and does not maintain the idea that God’s revelations of fire and voice have separate locales (KNAPP, Deuteronomium 4, 41–42). 5 Scholars have wrestled with a source-critical identification of Exod 33. Overall, it bears several affinities with the E strand (see TERRIEN, Elusive Presence, 138, 158 n. 75; FRIEDMAN, Sources Revealed, 175–176), while vv. 18–23 have appeared to some to be a Deuteronomistic supplement (See RENAUD, L’Alliance, 47). The hands of the Deuteronomists may well be present to a greater extent than previously supposed, however. The entire unit 33.12–34.9 may be a coherent Deuteronomistic presentation of the wresting of Moses and God over issues of presence and relationship. In fact, all of ch. 33 may be Deuteronomistically shaped. See RENAUD, L’Alliance, 68–69, 83, 86, 183– 184, 239, 305; GROSS, Zukunft, 128; KONKEL, Sünde, 175. My thanks to Robert D. Miller, II for helping me think through the provenance of Exod 33–34. 6 Exod 34.9 may be a parallel Deuteronomistic text, since it appears connected in form and language to portions of Exod 33.12–17. See GROSS, Zukunft, 128; KONKEL, Sünde, 175.

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dom, and creative power. At the same time, however, the book uses its distinctive name theology to maintain and advance a longstanding theological enigma: God wills intermittent, potentially lethal encounters with God’s servants and mysteriously preserves their lives through such encounters. The mystery occurs in multiple texts sharing a family relationship with Deuteronomy (see, e.g., Gen 32.30; Exod 33.18–20; Deut 4.33, 36–377; Judg 6.22–23; 13.22–23). No one sees God and lives; Israel encounters God personally and intimately and yet emerges alive and empowered! I will take the text of Deut 12 as my point of departure, since it grapples directly with several key issues of immediate relevance, including God’s mysterious singularity, God’s name, and God’s paradoxical mode of presence with Israel.

1. Deuteronomy 12 and the Problem of God’s Presence with Israel Lodged in the middle of Moses’ second discourse within Deuteronomy lies the book’s great central legal corpus (12.1–26.15). Forming the core of the book, this body of law contains the nuts and bolts of Deuteronomy’s ideal communal lifestyle. Among the major concerns of these chapters are the details of Israel’s collective worship, the organization and offices of Israel’s ideal society, the major judicial principles by which the people are to live, and the liturgical supports of their covenantal identity. These chapters (in an earlier edition) had their first major impact in King Josiah’s seventh-century royal capital (as the ‘book of the law’ of 2 Kgs 22.8), but had earlier origins outside of the Jerusalemite sphere.8 As we shall see, their concerns are essentially alien to all royal ideals and protocols. The organization of the commands and instructions of this core section of Deuteronomy is not always obvious, but the general flow of chs 12–26 arguably mirrors that of the Ten Commandments.9 Thus, the core’s initial chapters reflect the theme of the first two commandments, which demand that Israel, rejecting idols and alien gods, commit to worshiping only the 7

Here, also see BHS n. a-a. Here, I merely set out my general presuppositions about Deuteronomy as background to my specific discussion of the book’s understanding of divine presence and absence. The scholarly literature on this book and its criticism is vast, and I limit my engagement with it in this essay to the specific topic at hand. For an extensive, up-to-date annotated bibliography of scholarship on Deuteronomy, see COOK, Deuteronomy. 9 For a recent discussion of the mirroring of the Ten Commandments in Deut 12–26 with mention of the various theories and citation of the relevant literature, see F INSTERBUSCH, Dekalog-Ausrichtung, 123–146. 8

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Lord. In the spirit of this demand, Deut 12 makes an all-out effort to eliminate random, indiscriminate worship from Israel. No longer will burnt offerings be made ‘at any place you happen to see’ (12.13). In place of worship ‘on the mountain heights, on the hills, and under every leafy tree’ (12.2; cf. Hos 4.13), Israel is to worship at a chosen sanctuary, associated with the Lord’s name alone (12.5). Any imitation of Canaanite worship is proscribed (12.29–32). Chapter 12’s limiting of worship to a chosen sanctuary was revolutionary. Earlier eras knew no such restriction on the number of worship sites in the land. Many scholars tentatively accept the archaeological identification of a structure on Mount Ebal as an early Israelite altar, perhaps an early Iron Age site of seasonal pilgrimage. Similar structures may exist at Giloh (Iron I) and at Horbat Radam (a small Iron II site).10 The gate precincts of towns and cities appear to have often had shrine areas (cf. Deut 16.5; 2 Kgs 23.8, ‘high places of the gates’).11 Archaeological excavation has unearthed a late tenth- to early eighth-century BCE altar at Beer-sheba. Royal shrines of the Jerusalem establishment were located at the key sites of Arad (ninth- to eighth-centuries BCE) and Lachish (late tenth- to eighthcenturies BCE).12 Such shrines were for worship of Israel’s Lord.13 They were widely considered legitimate before the religious reforms of Kings Hezekiah and Josiah. King Solomon sacrificed at Gibeon (1 Kgs 3.4). The prophet Elijah does not hesitate to repair and use an ‘altar of the LORD’ installed on Mount Carmel (1 Kgs 18.30). Other biblical texts assuming the legitimacy of multiple places of sacrifice include Judg 6.24–27; 13.15– 20; 1 Sam 7.17; 10.5, 13. A great deal of Deut 12 occupies itself with a major complication that followed upon the centralization of worship and sacrifice. In ancient Israel, the butchering and cooking of domestic animals was traditionally an act of ritual sacrifice (cf. 1 Sam 14.31–35; Lev 17.3–7). It entailed taking one’s 10 See the overviews in ZEVIT, Religions of Ancient Israel, 196–201, 252. The distribution of bone types associated with the Ebal installation points to a non-domestic interpretation of the site (ZERTAL, Eight Seasons, 47; HOUSTON, Purity, 178–180). Zevit argues that cult complexes like that on Ebal were most likely still in service at the end of the preexilic period (ZEVIT, Religions of Ancient Israel, 251–252). 11 See B IRAN, High Places, 56, 58 pl. 8; ZEVIT, Religions of Ancient Israel, 149–153, 238–241, 262–263. 12 ZEVIT, Religions of Ancient Israel, 156–171 (Arad), 171–175 (Beer Sheba), 217– 218 (Lachish). On the archaeology of Arad, see esp. HERZOG, Mound at Tel Arad, 1–103. This discussion replaces his earlier conclusions of 1984. Additional bibliography may be found in NEAEHL 5:2087. 13 Thus, Arad Inscription #18 refers to the ‘house of Yhwh’ in Jerusalem and Ostracon #49, found in a room next to the Arad temple, bears the term ‘sons of Korah’. See AHARONI, Arad Inscriptions, 35–38, 79–82; STRONG, Ezekiel Inherited, 8–9.

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animals to a local sacred precinct for slaughter. But local altars would not be available after Deuteronomy’s revolution, so Deut 12 created a real problem for those living far from the newly envisioned central shrine (see v. 21). Making provision for the new situation, Deut 12 allows for a ‘profane’ slaughter of animals. That is, it now permits animals to be butchered and consumed without the event becoming a religious sacrifice. ‘Whenever you desire you may slaughter and eat meat within any of your towns’, v. 15 declares (cf. vv. 20–22). Care must simply be taken never to eat any animal’s blood. Blood was fraught with deep significations in this culture, and must be treated with respect (vv. 16, 23–25). The Israelite must drain a slaughtered animal’s blood onto the ground, just as in an altar sacrifice it was poured out for the Lord and directed away from human consumption (v. 27). Deuteronomy thus preserves an aura of reverence and ritual around the taking of animal life, even though the act was now often to be nonsacerdotal. Beyond the questions of pragmatics entailed in moving Israel to the use of a single sanctuary, the striking innovations of Deut 12 raise questions of motivation and strategy. Costs and risks abounded in the proposal of the chapter more serious than those bound up with the protocols of slaughter. Were there compelling theological and spiritual motivations behind the daring innovation at issue? Beginning as early as 1.6–18, Deuteronomy is insistent on restraining the monarchy. Central political power must be controlled through firm caveats and tempering, it argues. In particular, Israel must firmly reject the brutal model of Assyria, the contemporary superpower known for its imperialism. It must form itself as a covenantal community of siblings (Hebrew: ʭʩʧʠ, 1.16), free from the tyranny of all despots. Precisely in this vein, however, centralization of worship would put Israel at risk. It might well bolster the authority of Jerusalem’s rulers and priests, who would now become guardians of a central national shrine. The Levites were one key group that needed protection from a strong central monarchy. Deuteronomy was passionate about protecting the Levites, especially those in the hinterland (e.g. in Deut 12, see vv. 12, 18, 19). It would surely hesitate to put their livelihood and wellbeing at risk, would it not? Yet, an insistence on a single authorized sanctuary would appear to threaten the Levites. Cult centralization would mean closing down the local precincts where the Levites ministered, thus cutting them off from their flow of material support (contributions and portions of sacrifices they received in the course of their ministries).14 14

On Deuteronomy’s championing of the Levites, see COOK, Levites; COOK, Those Stubborn Levites.

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The Levites had the Lord alone as their special ‘portion’ (v. 12; cf. Ps 16.5; Deut 10.9). God and God’s sacred offerings were their sole ‘heritage’ (Ps 16.6; Josh 13.14; cf. Judg 18.30). Would we not expect Deuteronomy to safeguard the Levites by permitting ongoing worship at multiple sites, as was Israel’s tradition? Instead, the present chapter proceeds in an entirely different direction. Modern scholars have often puzzled about the motivations and strategies behind Deut 12, but their interpretations often misunderstand what is going on between the lines of the chapter. Scholars frequently suspect political power-plays to be afoot. They commonly mistake Deut 12 as a program of desacralizing the land of Israel, of rendering all life outside of the capital ‘secular’. Such a program would allow capital-based officials to prioritize the safety and status of Jerusalem and to exploit the resources of the hinterland.15 A thesis of a Jerusalem power-play barely fits the complexities of Deuteronomy. Would not power-hungry officials envision God absolutely, tangibly present with them in Jerusalem? A stable, demonstrable divine presence would mark God as being on their side. Commonplace interpretation of Deuteronomy denies any such idea in the book. In point of fact, many modern scholars argue that Deuteronomy’s writers separate God not merely from the hinterland but also from Jerusalem. They hold that Deuteronomy separates God’s real presence from the central sanctuary itself. I will push back against this way of putting things, but there is enough truth in these arguments to cast grave doubts on the powerplay thesis. Current scholarship typically understands our passage, particularly Deut 12.5, to argue that only the Lord’s ‘name’, not the divine self, is present at the temple. Geller puts the position powerfully: ‘That God shuns the earth to remain forever enthroned in His heavenly abode is the universal belief 15 A ‘political’ reading of Deuteronomy has been influential since 1805 when W. M. L. de Wette famously characterized the book as a ‘pious fraud’ written to fuel Josiah’s reformation. For M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy is fundamentally an establishment enterprise with a provenance among royal scribes. The scribal schools promoted the book’s rationalizing and secularizing program in an effort to retrench central authority (WEINFELD, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School). J. Milgrom made several astute observations about this thesis in an exchange with Weinfeld (MILGROM, Demythologization, 156–161). Although B. Halpern perceives Shilonite Levites behind Deuteronomy’s composition, he understands these priests to have championed Josiah’s cause. Indeed, he interprets Deuteronomy as a statist revolution, which aimed to desacralize the Judean countryside and transform society into a centralized bureaucratic state (See esp. HALPERN, Jerusalem, 11–107). N. Gottwald has characterized Deuteronomy as the ideological foundation for Josiah’s program of expanding into the former northern kingdom (GOTTWALD, Social Class, 3–22).

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of Deuteronomic thinkers’.16 As I have said, I need to push back somewhat here but Geller rightly flags a dimension of divine absence in the text. Sommer has recently reiterated the case that Deuteronomy demythologizes God’s presence at Jerusalem. Highlighting v. 5 of our chapter, Sommer baldly states: Deuteronomic texts emphasize that God dwells in heaven and nowhere else. On earth God places His shem [‘name’], in the one place He chooses for it (viz. the Jerusalem temple). So insistently do Deuteronomic traditions maintain that God is not on earth that it becomes clear that for them the shem [‘name’] is only a sign of divine presence [i.e., a 17 token of divine attention], not a manifestation of God Himself.

Against Geller, Sommer, and other proponents of the commonplace view of Deuteronomy, we need a more critical, nuanced reading of Deut 12. We need to get to the bottom of what kind of divine presence (and absence) the chapter envisions at the shrine and in the land. Such questions bring us to the heart of Deuteronomy’s theology. Close study of Deut 12 reveals that this text does in fact resist notions of a stable, bodily divine indwelling of Jerusalem. Deuteronomy has no part in any monarchic or priestly power play. However, chapter 12 certainly does not chase God’s real presence away from the Israelites.

2. The Proximity of God to Israel in Deuteronomy For Deuteronomy, the wonder is that Israel has thus far survived its exceptional proximity to God: ‘Has any people ever heard the voice of a god speaking out of a fire, as you have heard, and lived?’, Deuteronomy asks (4.33; cf. 5.24, 26). With their fiery, impassioned God ‘present’ in their midst, each day could be this errant people’s last (6.15; cf. Exod 33.3, 5, 15, argued above to be Deuteronomistic). The radical nearness of God distinguishes Israel from all other people upon the face of the earth (Exod 33.16). At Mount Horeb, as MacDonald has noted, God’s word is not proclaimed only from on high, from up in heaven, but proceeds directly out of terrestrial fire. ‘The LORD is God in heaven above and on the earth beneath’ (Deut 4.39, emphasis added). ‘On earth he showed you his great fire, while you heard his words coming out of the fire [ʹʠʤʪʥʺʮ]’ (4.36b; cf. 4.33; Exod 3.4b). What is more, the fire on Horeb in v. 36 is no superficial token of God but God’s own fire (ʥʹʠ), putting Israel in direct con16 GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 39. For the scholarly background of this view propounded by Geller, see the bibliography cited in n. 1 above. 17 SOMMER, Bodies of God, 62.

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tact with God-the-‘devouring fire’ (see 4.24; 6.15; 9.3). As MacDonald states, it confronts Israel with the ‘mysterium tremendum et fascinans, which Israel’s encounter with Yhwh at Horeb involves…With both the fire and the voice it is the element of tremendum that finds most expression in the chapter’.18 In Deuteronomy’s understanding, as Israel occupies an extraordinary land God is present (Deut 1.30; 7.21; 9.3). Israel has been chosen to live in the Lord’s own sanctuary land, a territory under God’s personal care and protection (Deut 11.12; cf. 8.7–10; 26.15; 33.28). There, God is nearby, always close at hand. ‘What other great nation has a god so near to it as the LORD our God?’, Deuteronomy queries (4.7; cf. Exod 33.16). The Hebrew idiom ‘stand before [God]’ signifies presenting oneself before God’s very presence, attending upon God – even ministering in close proximity to God. Israel stood before the Lord at Mount Horeb (Deut 4.10); so did Elijah, on the same mountain. As Elijah stood there, God’s actual presence passed by (1 Kgs 19.11). Such close encounters with God are to be a repeating experience for Israel. Thus Deut 29.14 has Moses use the idiom of ‘standing before God’ as he addresses the people of Israel in Moab (cf. 29.10). Having occupied the land, the Israelites again present themselves before the Lord each time they appear at the central sanctuary (Deut 19.17; Jer 7.10; cf. Deut 12.7,12,18; 16.16; 26.5,10; 31.11). Deuteronomy understands the Levites and certain other groups to have particularly close proximity to God (Deut 10.8). Some among the Levites will ‘stand…before the LORD’ at the central sanctuary (Deut 18.7). But service in God’s presence need not entail a station at the shrine. Jeremiah 35.19, in the spirit of Deuteronomy, assures a family line of laypeople known as the Rechabites that for all time they shall stand before God as they go about their lives of service.19 Within Deuteronomy itself, even the common Israelite farmer, serving the Lord by presenting the triennial tithe in the hometown, stands and confesses ‘before the LORD’ (Deut 26.13). All this is not to deny germs of real truth in Sommer’s and Geller’s arguments. Indubitably, they are correct to identify a dimension of divine absence in Deuteronomy. Indeed, they are right that according to the book Israel never saw God in any form or any embodiment at Mount Horeb.

18 MACDONALD, Monotheism, 195; cf. W ILSON, Midst of the Fire, 62, 68; VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 121, 125–126. The preface to the Covenant Code also contains the paradox of God both speaking from heaven (Exod 20.22; cf. Deut 4.36) and coming directly to Israel (Exod 20.24). I examine the pericope below. 19 I wish to thank Baruch A. Levine for drawing this insight to my attention.

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Israel saw only fire, not God’s likeness or shape (see 4.12, 15), certainly not a corporeal body.20 Instead, they heard God.

3. God’s Verbal Self-Revelation There is profound significance in the claim that Israel ‘saw no form’ at Mount Horeb, that they experienced ‘only a voice’ (4.12). Sommer’s apt formulation is well worth rumination: ‘The revelation there [at Horeb] was exclusively auditory in nature’.21 The case of Horeb is paradigmatic. Words and instruction clearly become, for Deuteronomy, the primary means through which Israel encounters God at the central shrine (see, e.g., Deut 17.10–11; 33.10). Again, MacDonald is close to the mark: ‘Neither the voice nor the fire continues beyond Horeb. What remains is the memory of the events at Horeb and the words that were spoken by the voice from the fire’.22 Elijah will learn at Mount Horeb that the most vital presence of God is not encountered in dramatic pyrotechnics, such as in shows of wind, earthquake, and fire – the standard trappings of divine appearance (‘theophany’; cf. Judg 5.4–5; Ps 28.10–15). No, actually God reveals God’s self to Israel most directly in a calm voice (1 Kgs 19.12, cf. NET). When you hear that voice, you had best grab your mantle to shield your eyes. Elijah did, for God was at hand (1 Kgs 19.13). With the voice, as MacDonald says, we feel the tremendum. The Hebrew phrase for what Elijah hears signifies an ‘irrepressible whisper’. Here is a case where the traditional rendering of the KJV is not at all bad.23 God encountered Elijah through language, in a ‘still small voice’. The phraseology cannot denote ‘silence’ (NRSV) – this would not fit the 20

In Deuteronomy, it is no longer only the danger of seeing the deity that must be avoided (as in Gen 32.31; Exod 19.21; 33.20); God’s voice alone threatens Israel with death (4.33; 5.24, 26) (see WEINFELD, Deuteronomic School, 207–208). 21 SOMMER, Bodies of God, 63; cf. METTINGER, Dethronement, 46; WEINFELD, Deuteronomic School, 207. 22 MACDONALD, Monotheism, 198; cf. VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 123, 127–130; MCCONVILLE and MILLAR , Time and Place in Deuteronomy, 134–135; MILLER, Deuteronomy, 56–57. Deut 16.16 does not belie the point being made, as some critics suppose. There is neither good linguistic cause nor any support from ancient versions (such as the Septuagint) to justify a conjectural repointing of the Hebrew to say ‘your males shall see the face of the LORD’. 23 An appreciative reference to an apt KJV rendering of a Hebrew phrase seems appropriate given the celebration as this essay is being written of the 400 th anniversary of the version. See the website Manifold Greatness: The Creation and Afterlife of the King James Bible. Online: http://www.manifoldgreatness.org.

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idiom’s use at Job 4.16 (see NJPS, NET).24 What, we must then ask, is this Deuteronomic insistence on the wonder of articulate verbal revelation? Deuteronomy’s focus on God’s verbal revelation is central, but is no sign of God’s removal from the earth. God had brought Israel to Mount Horeb ‘with his own presence’ (ʥʩʰʴʡ, 4.37) and would ‘himself’ (ʠʥʤ) cross over before Israel into the land (Deut 31.3; the Hebrew parallelism here makes God just as proximate to Israel as Joshua is!).25 A forceful ‘voice’ at Horeb let the assembly know that God was certainly there (5.22). Moses is able to ‘go near’ God and partake of God’s company (5.27, 31). There, atop the mountain, God wrote on stone tablets, which Moses received directly from God (4.13; 5.22; 9.10; cf. 10.4). It is just that Israel had to be shielded – kept from contact with God’s ‘seity’, God’s inner, private actuality – lest the people die (cf. Gen 32.30; Exod 33.20–23; Judg 6.22; 13.22). The simple hearing of God’s words alone was barely sustainable and itself threatened the people with death (Deut 5.24, 26).26 The divine voice, the inspired verbal revelation of God, is certainly no God-empty, deity-devoid phenomenon in Deuteronomy (no ‘theos-less theophany’).27 Instead, it is a mode of highly personal immanence (yet a 24 On the sense of ʤʮʮʣ in 1 Kgs 19.12 and Job 4.16, see COOK, Speechless Suppression, 224, 228; LEVINE, Silence, 89–106. 25 KNAFL, Deuteronomy, Name Theology, and Divine Location, 6. 26 See n. 20 above; VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 74; W EINFELD, Deuteronomy 1– 11, 37–39. Vogt’s comment is perceptive: ‘Noncorporeality and invisibility are not the same as absence. As was the case in Deut 4, Deut 5.24–26 expresses the idea of danger in hearing Yahweh’s voice, which is consistent with the idea that he is actually present’ (VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 143). 27 Yet, one must remember that Deuteronomy by no means continually stresses God’s personal immanence. Rather, the book characteristically holds God’s presence and absence in tension; for a parade example, see Deut 4.35–37, which I discuss in the next section. God’s presence is scandalously immanent (4.37); yet God surely rules earth from heaven (4.35). The same dialectical conversation occurs between vv. 12–26 and vv. 27– 62 of 1 Kgs 8. The latter set of verses (8.27–62) stresses God’s universal sovereignty, a truth that will hold even if the temple should be destroyed and Israel should be exiled. The former section (8.12–26) emphasizes the equal truth of the temple as the locus of a direct relationship with God, a marvelous worship site promised by God to David. Along with vv. 44, 48, this set of verses uses ‘name’ diction not at all with reference to God’s absence but to stress the final resolution of David’s concern in 2 Sam 7 over the Lord’s reputation [‘name’] (on this, see esp. R ICHTER, Name Theology, 79–80, 90). In certain key texts, Deuteronomy chooses to emphasize the tensive truth of God’s rule from heaven. Thus, Deut 26.15 deliberately speaks of God looking down on earth from a habitation in heaven (cf. the phrase ‘in heaven’ in 1 Kgs 8.30, 39, 43, 49; W EINFELD, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 195; CLEMENTS, God and Temple, 91). It does so to insist that the core torah of the covenant, which the book has just directed at Israel, has its place within God’s universal rule of all creation from heaven. The message here has everything to do with Israel’s special place in God’s universalistic plans. The

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fearsome immanence – better have your mantle handy!). It occasions a barely fathomable intimacy between God and God’s people. Thus Deuteronomically related texts bend over backwards to emphasize God’s voice, God’s verbal revelation, as central in the communion of God and Moses on Horeb. It is the instrument of presence and relationship. Quite pleonastically, Exod 19.19 (a text in the D family) reads, ‘Moses was speaking and God was answering him with a voice’ (NET, emphasis added; cf. NIV).28 God uses God’s voice to foster intimacy. Hosea, another of Deuteronomy’s theological sources, envisions the Lord restoring Israel through the ‘sweet talk’ of courtship. God’s prophetic promise is to ‘speak tenderly’ to Israel as on a first date (Hos 2.14). Like Exod 19.19 and Hos 2.14, Deuteronomy avers that the verbally rooted relationship transcends the sighted one. There is a mode of personal contact that probes deeper than what is only skin-deep. It is an unpredictable meeting of liberated souls, interacting free of all masks and cosmetics. Those who have known forms of human intimacy are familiar with the nature of such contact. What kind of lovers keep their eyes open at a time of ‘whispering sweet nothings’? As Geller aptly puts it, for Deuteronomy ‘the ear supersedes the eye as religious organ’.29 When God’s presence encounters Israel, God speaks ‘immediately and personally’ (Deut 5.4 my paraphrase). The Hebrew of this verse, ʭʩʰʴʡʭʩʰʴ (‘face to face’), signals direct existential encounter – but encounter lacking literal sightings of God’s seity (see 4.12, 15).30 The visual element is excluded due to God’s radical, impenetrable otherness. This otherness, which is potentially lethal to humans, renders human constructs such as visual

torah of God just examined through fifteen chapters of in-depth treatment has widescreen, global implications (cf. Deut 2.5, 9, 19–22; 10.14; 20.19–20; 26.19). The work of God through the covenant, Deuteronomy believes, will someday change the world (cf. 1 Kgs 8.41–43, 60). Nevertheless, the book’s emphasis on heaven here does not exclude a dialectically balanced belief in God’s earthly presence. Earlier in the same chapter the worshiper has made confessions in God’s immediate presence, speaking directly ‘to the LORD’ (v. 3) and ‘before the LORD’ (vv. 5, 13). 28 On the translation ‘voice’ here rather than ‘thunder’ ( NRSV, NAB, NJPS), see YADIN, ʬʥʷ, 617–619. Against Yadin, however, God’s voice should not be considered a visible entity here based on the use of the verb ʤʠʸ in the immediately subsequent ‘E’ verse, Exod 20.18. In 20.18, ʤʠʸ must mean ‘observe’, ‘perceive’, as in Gen 2.19; 42.21; Deut 4.12; Jer 33.24; Hab 2.1. In Deut 4.12 and 5.24 the root clearly has a metaphorical use, for God’s fire blocked any visual perception of God. If the thunder/voice of Exod 20.18 is visible, then would not the same be true of the sound of the trumpet in the same verse (as Yadin concedes in his n. 60)? 29 GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 53. 30 Cf. Deut 34.10 and Terrien’s discussion of ʭʩʰʴʚʬʠ ʭʩʰʴ in Exod 33.11 (TERRIEN, Elusive Presence, 146).

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images and defined locales incapable of capturing God’s presence, of shackling divine freedom.

4. The Deuteronomic Paradox of Presence and Absence Two tensive truths adhere to one another in Deuteronomy; they lie juxtaposed in Deut 4.35–37. Verse 35 asserts that God remains other, numinous – ‘supremely enveloped in His uniqueness’.31 The reader is assured that Israel’s interlocking with its Lord is incomparable to all banal, ‘sighted’ human relationships. At the same time, v. 37 insists on what Geller describes as ‘astonishing assertions of egregious divine immanence’.32 The verse speaks directly of God’s unique love of Israel and of God’s intimate accompaniment of the people, ‘with his own presence’, on their journey of discipleship.33 We have here, then, the enigma or sacred paradox that is inherent in Deuteronomy’s particular take on God’s eerie, ‘numinous’ character. This dialectical synthesis, clearly observable in Deut 4.35–37, is characteristic of Deuteronomy. Shortly, we shall see that it was Deuteronomy’s overwhelming apprehension of this unique character of God that led directly to its revolutionary insistence on a single chosen sanctuary. In Deuteronomy’s theology, neither sights (idols/icons) nor sites (altars/shrines) can define God and God’s presence. This comes out strongly when God proclaims the divine name in several scriptural texts related to Deuteronomy. As God strains to convey the essence of the divine name in these texts, the syntax rings with the pure freedom characterizing God’s being. God says: ‘I will be-there howsoever I will be-there’ (Exod 3.14);34 ‘I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious’; ‘I will show mercy on whom I will show mercy’ (Exod 33.19). One of Deuteronomy’s means of expressing the radical freedom of God is through insistence on God’s real absence, on God’s promise to associate only the potential for communion inherent in the divine name with Israel’s promised shrine and land, not the indwelling presence of the divine self. In the generation after Deuteronomy’s unveiling, some in the royal capital persisted in imagining they could tie the divine presence down to one site. They were sure that God permanently indwelled Jerusalem, and would defend that site to the end. God, through the prophet Jeremiah, suggested such fools would do well to visit the devastated site of Shiloh. ‘Go now to 31

I am quoting GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 53. GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 54. 33 Cf. MACDONALD, Monotheism, 201; W ILSON, Midst of the Fire, 72. 34 Schocken Bible (trans. by E. Fox). 32

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my place that was in Shiloh, where I made my name dwell at first’, God declares, ‘and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel’ (Jer 7.12). Radical freedom is a hallmark of the verbal revelation of Israel’s Lord, and constantly a cause of offense. Again, this is clear in Deuteronomic and proto-Deuteronomic texts. The freedom of God’s word infuriates Joshua, Moses’ right-hand man (Num 11.29); it drives King Balak to rage against Balaam and strike his hands together (Num 24.10).35 But a God who creates Israel’s salvation and propels earth’s history must speak freely, for creation by definition is an act of pure liberty. As literary critic George Steiner argues, the wordsmith produces forms and works via a ‘supremely free act’, without hint of determinism. ‘The poem…could very well not be’.36 Deuteronomy’s shift to language of voice and divine name expresses a highly nuanced understanding of God’s presence in the book. The divine reality, though dangerously present to Israel, can never be successfully localized and apprehended, visually or otherwise, due to its singular mystery. God’s ‘one-of-a-kind-ness’ eludes all inclinations towards classification, domestication, and idolatry, instead confronting humanity with a genuine ‘other’ who is inviting relationship. To drive home the point, Deuteronomy drops all ideas of God’s self-revelation through avatars, standing stones, and indwelt shrines, even when its source-texts retain such modes of divine presence as compatible with aniconism. Sommer is fully correct 35

In the account of Eldad and Medad in Num 11.26–29, the spontaneous prophetic word becomes an observable sign of receiving a portion of the divine spirit that is on Moses and beginning to share in his leadership responsibilities (see Num 11.17; Deut 1.12–17). (On the imputation of God’s spirit as divine sanctioning, authorizing, and empowering, see such texts as Judg 3.10; 6.34; 1 Sam 11.6; Mic 3.8 and the essay on the spirit of Yhwh by MacDonald in the present volume.) In Num 11, God distributes the sacral role of Moses as instrument of the divine will and word, just as in Deuteronomy God allows for a series of ‘Mosaic prophets’ to take up the mantle of covenant mediator (Deut 18.15–19). Factors such as alignment with official authority have little bearing on eligibility for a Mosaic office, such as Mosaic judge (Num 11) or Mosaic prophet (Deut 18). Like the divine word that they bear, those with a Mosaic role are free of such constraints. Partaking of the radical freedom of God, they play a truly creative role in the impact of God’s word on history and society. 36 STEINER, Real Presences, 152–153. Having independently come to see the relevance of Steiner’s work in illuminating divine presence and absence in certain biblical texts, I was encouraged to see Trevor Hart similarly drawing on Steiner in his contribution in the present volume, Complicating Presence: Inter-Disciplinary Perspectives on a Theological Question. Hart well appreciates how for Steiner thoughts of contingency and semantic closure are inappropriate and idolatrous in humanity’s engagement with divine presence. Source critics have traditionally assigned both Num 11.29 and Num 24.10 to the E source. On the connections between E and Deuteronomy, see COOK, Social Roots, 17, 25–26, and passim; BREKELMANS, Elemente, 90–96.

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that Deuteronomy drops language identifying God’s ‘dwelling place’ (ʤʰʲʮ) with an earthly shrine (Ps 76.2–3), speaking only of a dwelling place (ʯʥʲʮ) in heaven (Deut 26.15).37 What is not clear in Sommer’s monograph is that God’s inability in Deuteronomy to be seen or localized bodily on earth still leaves God the option of contacting and invading timespace in any number of ways. God’s audible voice, after all, is still something physically real within space and time. In Exod 33.23, according to Terrien, the ‘name’ of God is a tangible self-exposure of the deity: it is the divine ‘back’ that is ‘seen’ by Moses. Terrien speaks of Moses’ actual ‘exposure to the openness of God’.38 Thus, as Vogt argues, ‘Invisibility and absence are not the same things.…If Yahweh remains in heaven [in Deut 4], why is anything necessary to shield him from view [i.e., the ‘dense black cloud’ of Deut 4.11 (see NAB)]? Covering would be necessary only if Yahweh is somehow actually present’.39 We should pause to note that Deuteronomy’s elevation of verbal revelation as the epitome of divine self-disclosure has significant repercussions. Perhaps most notably, it leads inevitably to a spirituality revolving around the inspired word. The book’s proposals give rise to peoples of the book, to faith communities oriented on the teaching and study of revealed words now preserved and archived as scriptural texts. For such Scripture-centered communities, discipleship and formation are always centered on the word of God. Members grow as a people of God nourished on a word that is ‘very near to you…in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe’ (Deut 30.14). Rigorous attention to God’s inscribed word, for such groups, is truly ‘the natural piety of the soul’ (Nicolas Malebranche, 1638–1715).40 From the beginning Deuteronomy’s own words were on a veritable tenure track towards becoming written Scripture, which form they take today. And for today’s faithful, as Geller beautifully puts it, ‘Scripture is the fire from which the wise hear the voice of the unseen God, whose instruction becomes immanent in the minds of those generations of toddling schoolchildren, on whose breath, the Rabbis said, all creation depends’.41

37

SOMMER, Bodies of God, 65. TERRIEN, Elusive Presence, 146. 39 VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 122. 40 Quoted in STEINER, Real Presences, 156. 41 GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 59. 38

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5. The Divine Name and Divine Presence Chapter 12 of Deuteronomy directs that when Israel settles the land, the people are to ‘blot out’ all divine names besides that of the Lord (Deut 12.3). No alien, Canaanite name will remain anywhere, not ‘on the mountain heights’, not ‘on the hills’ (12.2). As elsewhere in this chapter, the rich Semitic connotations of the ‘name’ assume great significance here. In the ancient Near Eastern world, one’s name marked one’s identity, one’s kin relations, and one’s rights to land or territory. Thus, ancient rulers used the Semitic idiom ‘to place one’s name’ to assert their ownership and sovereignty over a conquered domain (cf. Deut 7.24; 25.19). For example, ancient Canaan’s diplomatic correspondence with Egypt acknowledges how Pharaoh lays claim over local cities, in which Pharaoh has ‘placed his name’ forever.42 Inhabitants of the ancient Near East would immediately recognize the import of Deut 12.3 and its charge to obliterate foreign gods’ names. When this command was executed, each and every plot of land in Israel would forever be acknowledged as within the Lord’s domain. This domain would then become the perfect zone for the formation of an ideal, spiritually mature people on earth. This zone, when free of foreign gods’ names, idols, and shrines, can fully support Israel’s bond with a numinous, dialectical God of simultaneous enveloped-mystery and egregious-immanence. It can be rid of what obstructed that bond. Baal and the other gods of Canaan were thought to be fully present in idols and shrines in a manner that circumscribed and defined them. Their divine selves could fragment, allowing their divinity to inhabit such objects and spaces and thus become manageable to their human devotees.43 Related to this is the identification of such deities with fully immanent natural forces, such as storms, fertility, and death. Deuteronomy holds that conceiving of divinity in this ‘Canaanite’ manner shamefully reduces and domesticates it. It grants remission from direct encounter with God’s mystery and summons, which, to use Steiner’s language, must reveal itself in a combined ‘real presence’ and ‘real ab-

42

For bibliography and discussion, see RICHTER, Name Theology, 127–199; SOMMER, Bodies of God, 66, 218–219 nn. 46–47; W ILSON, Midst of the Fire, 9 nn. 38–39; W EINFELD, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 193. As Wilson rightly notes, the meaning of the ‘name’ language and formulae in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomism is certainly illuminated by the evidence from the Amarna letters but is not necessarily exhausted by it (W ILSON, Midst of the Fire, 9). 43 See, e.g., SOMMER, Bodies of God, 36; T IGAY, The Presence of God, 201–202; VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 133.

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sence’.44 There is, to Deuteronomy’s way of thinking, no element of ‘absence’ in an engraved idol, no signification of impenetrable otherness. MacDonald, in explicating Deuteronomy’s Bilderverbot, puts it this way: ‘Yhwh is superior to the other gods because he is not a god who can be made ‘present’ by images or by celestial objects.…Making an image of Yhwh, then, is to make Yhwh ‘present’ in an inappropriate manner. To do so is to contradict what Yhwh is, or rather, what he has shown himself to be in the revelation at Horeb: the God in heaven above and on the earth below’.45 For Deuteronomy, idols do not appropriately represent God as both in heaven above and on earth below; rather, they tether God to the earth. We may take still more cues from Steiner’s reflections. We may take Deuteronomy’s single sanctuary, marked exclusively with the Lord’s one name, to be a reaction against the crass accessibility of idols and multiple shrines. The book’s authors are driven by the conviction that accessibility paradoxically diminishes the potential for immediate encounter with God. Where God is truly encountered, the human soul must perceive the presence of the remote, of the foreign. To meet God one must head out away from the familiar, launch out on pilgrimage in search of the mystery behind the divine name. The verbal encounter, the confrontation with God’s word, entails passing through new gates into what is undefined, unpredicted. A remote locale of divine encounter corresponds with God’s bodily remoteness from everything human, even in God’s self-revelation. It coheres with God’s strangeness, which presents itself most powerfully and receives its fullest voice only in language, only through poetics – God as wordsmith. Linguistic revelation is paramount, for language shows no visual image of God, thus preserves God’s ‘real absence’, God’s complete freedom. At the chosen shrine, Israel gathers to hear once again ‘the words that were spoken by the voice through the fire’ (cf. Deut 27.8; 31.9–13; Josh 8.34–35; 2 Kgs 23.2–3). There, through the medium of linguistic revelation, that is, through ‘the fire from which the wise hear the voice of the unseen God’, freedom is enabled to meet freedom.46 The free human soul is enabled to feel in the guts the ‘absolutely alien which we come up against in the labyrinth of intimacy’.47 To welcome the stranger – that is, to truly take in and absorb the creative, executive forms of the wordsmith – is to take risks, to open oneself to 44

STEINER, Real Presences, 38–39. MACDONALD, Monotheism, 198. 46 Quoting MACDONALD, Monotheism, 198; GELLER, Sacred Enigmas, 59. 47 STEINER, Real Presences, 66, 140. 45

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a new horizon of possibilities, to an utterly transformative experience. As Steiner explains, ‘The “otherness” which enters into us makes us other…It is via language that we are most markedly and enduringly “translated”’.48 In this vein, Steiner can claim that words, unlike those idols that sit in their many shrines, have the potency of both matter and antimatter: [Two parties], when facing each other in exchange of speech, are at ultimate risk. One word can cripple a human relation, can do dirt on hope. The knives of saying cut deepest. Yet the identical instrument, lexical, syntactic, semantic, is that of revelation, of ecstasy, 49 of the wonder of understanding that is communion.

To bar the door to the stranger, to exercise one’s liberty to ignore all verbal summonses, all invitations to pilgrimage, is to become unfree. In refusing the encounter with linguistic forces of creation, we push the freedom associated with the divine name out of reach. As Steiner puts it, ‘It takes, as it were, two freedoms to make one’. True freedom emerges only where ‘seriousness meets with seriousness, exigence with exigence’; it occurs only where poetics meets ‘the receptive potential of a free spirit’. In such meeting ‘there takes place the nearest we can know of the existential realization of freedom’.50 Sadly, Steiner finds the overwhelming plurality of humankind generally insists on exercising the absolute right of the un-free. Never mind bypassing the divine word, most of us bypass all great words, all real literature. ‘The immense majority of mankind will experience the solicitations of literature…only very rarely. Or they will answer to such solicitations only in their most ephemeral, narcotic guise (narcotic in precisely the sense in which trash is, itself, calculated, profitable, interested, and, therefore, unfree)’.51

6. The Divine Name as Key to Relationship with God Deuteronomy 12.5 assures the reader that when the people obliterate the names of ephemeral, narcotic deities from the land (see 12.3), the Lord’s name can become their focus. Freedom can be theirs. Again, the ‘name’ appears to be everything. The issue here is not just God’s sovereign claim

48 STEINER, Real Presences, 188–189. Trevor Hart, in his essay in this volume, delineates well the power and creative possibilities inherent in a tension between divine self-disclosure and divine self-concealment. The New Testament wisely chose to sharpen and heighten the tension, not to override it. 49 STEINER, Real Presences, 58. 50 STEINER, Real Presences, 154. 51 STEINER, Real Presences, 153.

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over a domain of true human freedom, however, as crucial as that is. In the biblical world, names are also central in relationships. According to two related Deuteronomistic texts, Moses and God dialoged about relationships and names on Mount Horeb and the encounter repeats itself centuries later when the prophet Elijah ascends the same mountain. Permit me a quick review of these paired narratives, paired stories of Moses’ and Elijah’s verbal exchanges with God. Such a review immediately shows the great relational significance of knowing God’s name in Deuteronomistic literature. Although probably from a time later than much of Deut 12, these texts show how the chapter’s name theology was received over time. They understand that to know the divine name is to welcome the stranger into intimacy, to take up one’s vocation – that is, to answer one’s ‘calling’ towards freedom and change. On Horeb, Moses reminded God of God’s attachment to him: ‘You have said, “[Moses,] I know you by name”’ (Exod 33.12, cf. v. 17). In turn, Moses requested to know a name: to have answered the question of ‘whom’ (cf. Gen 32.29; Exod 3.13; Judg 13.17–18). In response to the calls for a name, the divine presence passes before Moses and the divine name rings out in verbal revelation (Exod 33.19). Using a rare Hebrew syntax that mirrors the name’s earlier unveiling (in Exod 3.14), God expounds the name’s meaning in a manner expressive of God’s radical freedom (‘I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious’). Moses comes to really know ‘the LORD’ (Hebrew: ʤʥʤʩ). Latched on to the alien heart of intimacy, he feels full attachment to God.52 Elijah, a new ‘Moses’ (see Deut 18.15–19), found himself in Moses’ shoes. Desperate for attachment to God, he fled to the mount of revelation, to Horeb. Finding Moses’ ‘cave’ (1 Kgs 19.9 speaks of ‘the cave’), the same cleft in the rock where Moses stood (Exod 33.22), he awaited encounter with God. Just as with Moses, the Lord’s presence somehow tangibly passes before him (Hebrew: ʸʡʲ, 1 Kgs 19.11; Exod 33.19, 22). Neither God’s angel (1 Kgs 19.5, 7; cf. Exod 33.2–3) nor the accoutrements of theophany (1 Kgs 19.11–12) suffice to renew Elijah. He needs the sound of God’s intimate, alien voice. Only a direct encounter with God’s felt-presence in God’s voice, God’s ‘irrepressible whisper’, meets the prophet’s deepest needs (1 Kgs 19.12; the similar theophany in Job 4.15–21 likewise climaxes in verbal revelation). Upon hearing God’s voice, Elijah shields his face. Just as with

52

Exod 33.19 clearly imitates the revelation of the divine name in Exod 3.14; see MARGALIOT, Theology of Exodus, 47–48. The verbal articulation of the divine name has justifiably been seen as the climax of Exod 33.18–33.9. See VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 85; NIEHAUS, God at Sinai, 245–247.

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Moses, he is up against impenetrable otherness and it draws him out of his cave (1 Kgs 19.13; cf. Exod 34.8). In 1 Kgs 19.11–12, the verses in which Elijah comes up against God’s very presence, the divine name ʤʥʤʩ occurs an amazing six times. Surely, to know the name is to know relationship. Given the parallelism with Exod 33, there is little doubt as to the content of God’s articulate murmur heard by Elijah. The name ʤʥʤʩ, the personal name of God, must have rung in the prophet’s ears. Once again, as when the Lord first passed by Moses, the proclamation goes forth: ‘Yhwh, the one, the only Yhwh; he will be-there howsoever he will be-there’ (see Exod 34.6–7 [paralleled by Deut 5.9–10]; Deut 6.4 NJB). Association with the divine name gives Israel special closeness to God and a unique responsibility (see Deut 7.6; Mal 3.16), but the name is not Israel’s to manipulate. Its disposition remains firmly in God’s hands. As we have seen, chief among God’s plans for the name is its special association with a specific locale within Israel’s tribes. According to Deut 12, God wills to choose a central sanctuary ‘to put his name there’ (12.5, 11, 21; cf. 14.23–24; 16.2, 6, 11; 26.2). Again, the question confronts us! Why on earth does God risk limiting the divine name to a single locale, to a chosen sanctuary, when the move was (and is) so open to misinterpretation. Is God, in the final analysis, desirous of championing Jerusalem regardless of its pretensions and complacency (see Jer 7.4)? Is God a chauvinist on behalf of the Hebrew elite? No – certainly no. This is out of the question for Deuteronomy, which has high purposes for its well calculated risk. Deuteronomy offers nothing in the way of a carte blanche for the capital. Immediately, the sanctuary’s singleness participates in the theme of unity that centers the entire book of Deuteronomy. For Deuteronomy, the singularly unique God, who alone is sovereign and free, has chosen Israel as a unique covenant partner. This people, uniting together, should serve God with total singleness of purpose. Reinforcing this focus of Deuteronomy on unity and unified purpose, the command to have a chosen sanctuary is a key symbol, an emblem of God’s impenetrable oneness and of God’s people’s unity. Thus, the beginning of Deuteronomy’s core law code mirrors the theme of the initial commandments of the Decalogue. The sanctuary’s singleness is not merely an emblematic phenomenon in Deuteronomy, however; it is a dynamic one. It becomes the driving engine recreating the experience of Mount Horeb, of Moses and Elijah, in Israel’s collective life. In gathered oneness, as a united worship assembly, Israel catalyzes the beckoning, summoning verbal revelation of Horeb anew. The people’s gathering in unity becomes an act of re-membering, of re-creating

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Horeb’s encounter with God’s otherness and its transformative, horizonopening, community-forming power.

7. The Divine Name as an Instrument of Invocation In Deuteronomy’s ideal cultic program, all members of Israel periodically reunite at the central shrine to recapitulate God’s binding them together as an integral, integrated ‘Thou’. Forming this ‘Thou’ afresh, they invoke the ‘I-Thou’ encounter between themselves and God that stands at the heart of Deuteronomy’s covenant. As freedom meets freedom, they feel the divine tremendum and reach out to one another. They feel the force of their covenantal obligation to support and build up every one of their brothers and sisters, all of whom stand there beside them, no matter how peripheral they may be.53 The single shrine of Deuteronomy, though central, does not house a fixed, enduring divine presence. Rather, it furnishes Israel with a staging ground for an event, for the performance of a word-act of divine encounter. In this space, on this stage, Israel acts in freedom and power, re-creating itself as a ‘Thou’ who invokes the Lord. It acts to re-member itself, inclusive of its entire populace, so as to summon forth the God with whom it maintains its tensive bond.54 As the covenant community re-members itself at the central shrine, the availability of the divine name there suddenly becomes crucial. Now is the time for remembering the name, thus ‘re-membering’ God amid the com53

Thus, the language of Deut 4.10 is pregnant with meaning, extending dynamically out into Israel’s future. At Mount Horeb, God ordered Moses to ‘Assemble [ʬʤʷ] the people for me, and I will let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me’. This is exactly what is projected to happen in the land, at God’s one sanctuary. Every seventh year, all Israel will appear before the Lord. At that time, the Levites and elders are to ‘assemble [ʬʤʷ] the people…so that they may hear and learn to fear the LORD’ (31.12). The verbal echo is no coincidence. Deuteronomy’s instructions for celebrating the Passover each year again project the ‘assembly’ of Horeb out into future, into the postsettlement era. When the book at 16.7 instructs the people to ‘go back to your tents’ after assembling to eat the Passover meal, it deliberately echoes God’s command at 5.30 that the people return to their tents after receiving the Ten Commandments at Horeb. Deuteronomy intends that the assembly [ ʬʤʷ] that occurred at Mount Horeb should become a central institution of Israel once the settlement is established (cf. 23.1–3, 8). Israel must stand before God again and again, becoming ever reinvigorated as a cohesive network of brothers and sisters. Israel should assemble annually for the Passover to bind themselves together as co-vassals under God (16.5–6). So, too, they should gather year after year in the presence of God to make their tithes and ‘learn to fear the LORD your God always’ (14.23). 54 Cf. LOHFINK, Opfer und Säkularisierung, 34–35.

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munity’s members. Now is the time for communing with God. Since God is other – alien, outside the mundane – the people must concentrate and welcome God’s presence. This phenomenon is known from 1 Kgs 8.12–62, a Deuteronomistic text brimming with a name theology comparable to that in Deut 12. Repeatedly in 1 Kgs 8, Solomon avails himself of the divine name that God has placed at the chosen shrine in summoning God’s intervention on earth. Solomon acknowledges the name, confesses it, and invokes God with it (see vv. 23, 25, 28, 33, 35). The name and the shrine to which the name is pinned have become Solomon’s, and Israel’s, primary means for perpetuating covenantal relationship with God.55 In Deuteronomic theology, honoring and remembering the name – taking the name of God on the lips – is the community’s hallowing and welcoming of its most important member, its suzerain. It is Israel’s inclusion of God in the event of group re-membering. Deuteronomy 12.5 does not focus on God’s name because it is a token of a distant God’s attention. It has no thought that only the name, not the Lord, descends to the temple. Much to the contrary, the verse understands the name to be a means of celebration and communion, of connecting with divine presence.56 In Israel an individual’s name was of great personal gravity and moment, and this is all the more true for the divine name. We see this in the Ten Commandments, especially Deut 5.11, the third, ‘name’, commandment. We see it also in Israel’s family relationships with deceased ancestors. For ancient Israel, to remember and invoke a deceased ancestor’s name is to reach out to that person in the beyond. To respect the name of an ancestor is to maintain an ‘umbilical’ connection with him or her, to demonstrate covenant loyalty. It is to heighten an ongoing relationship and mutuality (see the importance of invoking the name at Ruth 4.10; Job 18.17; Pss 34.16; 109.13).57 God made God’s name available to Israel for the same purpose (cf. Pss 30.4; 97.12; Isa 26.8). Possession of the name allows God’s people to attend to their relationship with God through public worship (proclaiming, praising, and honoring God), recitation of God’s beneficent acts, and invocation of God. Like Absalom, God attaches the 55

On the dialectic of divine immanence and transcendence in the name theology of 1 Kgs 8, see n. 27 above. 56 The divine name is neither an emblem nor a hypostasis, an aspect of God’s self (see R ICHTER, Name Theology, 42). Rather, it is placed within Israel to perpetuate and advance God’s reputation, identity, and desire for relationship. On the granting of the divine name primarily for the purpose of proclamation and invocation, see VAN DER W OUDE, Gibt es eine Theologie, 207; WEIPPERT, Ort, 77–78. Braulik describes the translation ‘let the name dwell’ as erroneous, since the name formula is about the name’s proclamation (BRAULIK, Deuteronomium 1–16,17, 99). 57 See COOK, Death, Kinship, and Community, 106–121; COOK, Funerary Practices, 660–683.

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name to a specific site (see 2 Sam 18.18). The establishment of such a place is important, since it provides a visible focus of commemoration and a locus for rites of veneration.58 God revealed the divine name at the burning bush of Horeb with motives not unlike those of Absalom, desiring ongoing veneration and fellowship with kinfolk, planning for rites of communion focused at one or more chosen locales. God tells Moses: ‘Yahweh…is my name for all time,…thus I am to be invoked for all generations to come’ (Exod 3.15 NJB). The key Hebrew word here is ‘invocation name’ (ʸʫʦ). The term’s use in this sense of an instrument of calling forth God’s presence is known from texts such as Hos 12.5; Isa 26.8; Pss 102.12; 135.13. The authors of Deuteronomy had a legal text before them for interpretation and application bearing precisely this thinking. There are clear indications that the passage powerfully influenced them. Its content and wording assured the Deuteronomists that God would associate God’s name with God’s shrine for the purpose of invoking God. When the divine name was invoked at the central sanctuary, Israel would encounter God. As B. Levinson presents it, the original understanding of ‘cultic divine presence’ in the older legal material is retained in Deuteronomy, where offerings at the central sanctuary are made ‘before the LORD’ (Deut 12.7,12,18), that is, in proximity to the deity. 59 The specific cross-reference at issue is Exod 20.24, a law about the altar of the Lord found in the Covenant Code’s preface. Deuteronomy 12, particularly vv. 13–15, cites and reworks this verse. In his seminal Harvard dissertation, S. Dean McBride suggested that Deuteronomy’s ‘name’ formula, ‘the place which the Lord will choose to establish His name’, was modeled on the text.60 As Levinson convincingly argues, ‘The Exodus altar law had the prestige of antiquity, was ascribed to Yahweh, likely circulated with the Covenant Code, and represented normative practice.…The authors of Deuteronomy tendentiously reworked it’.61

58

On 2 Sam 18.18, see VAN DER TOORN, Family Religion, 208. LEVINSON, Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation, 49. 60 MCBRIDE, Deuteronomic Name Theology, 209. 61 LEVINSON, Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation, 33–34; cf. Tigay’s notes on a literary relationship between Exod 20.23–24 and Deut 12.2–6 (T IGAY, Presence of God, 210– 211). A clear quotation of Exod 20.24 is signaled in Deut 12.14 by the text’s taking up of the elements of the altar law in reverse order (an instance of ‘Seidel’s law’). Note also how the verb ʧʡʦ (‘slaughter’) of Exod 20.24 is paradoxically retained in Deut 12.15, where it now sits uneasily due to its conventional meaning of performing a cultic sacrifice. Later, Deut 12.21 directly references the old altar law with the phrase ‘as I have commanded you’ (LEVINSON, Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation, 35, 38, 43, 49). The reworking of the old Covenant Code law in Deuteronomy aims principally at insisting on 59

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In the altar law, God promises: ‘In whatever place [ʭʥʷʮ] I choose for the remembrance [ʸʫʦ] of my name I will come to you’ (Exod 20.24 NAB). Deuteronomy embraces wholeheartedly the notion of Exod 20 that God’s choice of a specific ‘place’ (ʭʥʷʮ) of encounter is highly significant, that little is of more importance than God’s coming to Israel at a place of sacrifice to which God attaches God’s name.62 As in Exod 20.24 so in Deut 12, altar building, placement of the divine name, and the sure prospect of divine presence all adhere together. God elects and appoints such a ‘place’ of encounter with Israel in pure divine freedom (see Exod 20.24; 21.13–14; 23.20); icons imaging God’s presence have no place there (Exod 20.23); divine blessing flows through such a locale only in so far as the divine name continues in remembrance and use there (ʸʫʦ). For both Exod 20.24 and Deut 12, the true and effective shrine is the one constituted by remembrance of the divine name.63 At the chosen ‘place’ of God, Exod 20.24 states, God causes God’s name to be ‘remembered’ (ʸʫʦ). A clear and usual meaning of the Hiphil of ʸʫʦ is the audible ‘invoking’ of God, the calling upon a deity for help or blessing or as the guarantor of oaths.64 Thus, the verse is most naturally taken as referring to the use of the divine name in accessing the Lord. It insists that at God’s place of worship the Lord’s invocation name must cultic centralization, on a single central shrine. Thus, later in Deut 12, v. 27 transforms Exod 20.24 to speak clearly of a unique, singular altar of the Lord. 62 On the parallel themes of the Covenant Code’s introduction and the book of Deuteronomy, see OTTO, Rechtsbegründungen, 57–58; CRÜSEMANN, Torah, 170–173; VOGT, Deuteronomic Theology, 86–88. 63 Cf. CRÜSEMANN, Torah, 173: ‘If we draw a correlation using the fact that the divine name is what constitutes a true shrine [in Exod 20.24], then we are justified in speaking of a pre- or early form of the deuteronomic…theology’. In my view, one can easily agree with the general force of this conclusion without maintaining that the Exodus altar law shows early movements toward cult centralization (note the cautions of LEVINSON, Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation, 32–33 nn. 18–20). 64 See Exod 23.13; Josh 23.7; 1 Chr 16.4; Isa 48.1; Hos 2.17 [MT: 2.19]; Zech 13.2. English translations are in wide agreement in rendering the first-person Hiphil in Exod 20.24 along the lines of ‘I cause my name to be remembered’ (cf. NRSV). The parallel use in 2 Sam 18.18 appears to support the rendering, but it is contested by some scholars. For relevant bibliography on the sense of ʸʫʦ in Exod 20.24, see LEVINSON, Right Chorale, 311–314 esp. n. 126 and n. 127. Levinson’s own suggestion, taken from J. J. Stamm, that the verse may refer to God’s own proclamation of the divine name is interesting in light of God’s announcing the name in Exod 33.19, a text discussed above as highly relevant to the present discussion. Levinson goes too far, however, in limiting the wielding of the name in Exod 20.24 to God alone. In revealing the name, God may well initiate a pattern of invocation at a chosen altar site to be emulated by future worshipers. Mettinger is surely correct: ‘There is a correspondence between God’s revelation of his presence in the regular liturgy and the way the experience of God’s presence is formulated in the accounts in Exodus 33 and 34’ (M ETTINGER, Dethronement of Sabaoth, 126).

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replace all other names. As Exod 23.13 clarifies, at such a place one must no longer invoke (ʸʫʦ) the names of other gods, let such names ‘be heard on your lips’ (cf. how in Deut 12 v. 5 contrasts with v. 3). Invoking God’s name at God’s shrine was a powerful prelude to a direct existential encounter with God. Calling a name to memory in biblical Israel did not entail mere recollection but dynamic encounter. This becomes particularly clear in Israelite practices of invoking the presence of deceased ancestors. Without invocation of the name among the living, the ancestor is cut off and the soul withers (note the use of the root ʸʫʦ in Job 18.17; Jer 11.19). In my view, the comments of van der Toorn on the meaning of the Hiphil of ʸʫʦ in 2 Sam 18.18 are particularly illuminating of Exod 20.24, and thus of Deut 12. He writes: It was the duty of the son to erect his father’s pillar, and it is this task which Absalom took upon himself. Once the pillar was erected, the role of the son would be ‘to invoke the name’ (lƟhazkîr šƝm) of his father. The analogy with the Sam‫ގ‬alite funerary inscription, in which successors to the king are enjoined to invoke the name of the dead Panammu, is not fortuitous. The practice was known all over the Semitic world: one of the core duties of the living was to ‘invoke’ their ancestors. In the texts from Babylonia, Ugarit, Emar, and Sam‫ގ‬al it is clear that the invocation of the dead was not limited to a 65 verbal rite; the invocation was also an invitation to eat and to drink.

Bringing God near God’s worshipers is the goal of Exod 20.22–24, as is clear from the end of v. 24: ‘I will come to you and bless you’.66 Wielding the name helps accomplish the goal, for the name is surely connected with the divine presence (Exod 23.21; cf. Isa 30.27). When God appears in Exod 33.19; 34.5–6; Deut 5.5–6; Pss 50.7; 81.10, God’s name is on God’s lips. When God’s worshipers invoke God through this name, they request and implore God’s free and gracious coming in their midst (cf. Deut 4.7; Pss 20.9; 73.28). The connection in Exod 20.24 between altar site and invocation of God’s presence using the divine name is paralleled elsewhere in the biblical texts and their milieu. After the Lord appears to Abraham in Gen 12.7– 8, he builds altars to the Lord at Shechem and near Bethel and invokes the name of the Lord. We find the same sequence taking place at Beer-sheba in Gen 26.23–25. So too, the Lord’s appearance to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre (Gen 18.1) is preceded by his construction of an altar there (Gen 13.18).67 In 1 Kgs 18.23–24, Elijah proposes a contest to see whether it is the invocation of the Lord’s name or that of Baal at their respective sac65 VAN DER TOORN, Family Religion, 208. Deut 12, of course, places great emphasis on feasting and rejoicing before the Lord (vv. 7, 12, 18). 66 LEVINSON, Right Chorale, 328, 330; T IGAY, Presence of God, 202, 205; METTINGER, Dethronement of Sabaoth, 124–129. 67 On Abraham’s communion with God at cultic locales, also cf. Gen 13.4; 21.33.

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rificial altars that results in an answer by fire. Tigay describes how, like šumam zakƗru in Akkadian contexts, in the Panamu inscription ʭʹ ʸʩʫʦʤ means to invite Hadad to a cultic sacrifice.68 Long tradition in Canaan associated a cult site’s potency as a place of divine encounter with the assignment to that place of a deity’s name. Where the divine name is placed and available for use in invocation, there the deity may be encountered. Thus, Hosea describes the major northern shrine of his era as a place where God ‘spoke to us’ (Hos 12.4 NJB, NASB); the site was pinned with God’s name: ‘Beth-El’ (‘House of God’). Tradition holds that when Jacob encountered God ‘face to face’ at the Jabbok ford, he immediately assigned the site a name: ‘Peni-El’ (‘Face of God’; Gen 32.30). By the same token, when Samson’s parents encounter the Lord through God’s avatar and mark the site with an altar, their pressing concern is to know the avatar’s name (Judg 13.17–18; cf. Gen 32.29). At Mount Horeb, God ordered Moses to ‘Assemble [Hebrew ʬʤʷ] the people for me, and I will let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me [to experience the tremendum and, with that experience, to receive a heightened ethics]’ (Deut 4.10). This should happen repeatedly in the land, when the people assemble at God’s chosen sanctuary. There, they come ‘before the LORD’ (see Deut 14.23, 26; 15.20; 16.11, 16), who becomes present at the shrine in actuality and not only through the proxy of the name. The chapter before us, Deut 12, speaks of eating and rejoicing in God’s presence at vv. 7, 12, 18. As God joins with the whole assembled body of Israel at the central sanctuary, the circle of covenantal fellowship is completed and the ideal of spiritual unity with God and among neighbors of Deuteronomy is realized. A commonplace of biblical scholarship is the view that Jerusalem’s temple is the divine name’s definitive, permanent resting place for Deuteronomy. The assumption is far from accurate. True, King Josiah, his administration, and his priests doubtless held that God’s name belonged under their care, at the temple. Harmonizing Deuteronomic law and the interests of the crown, the king entangled himself in Jerusalem’s worship and capped his reforms with a heavy-handed supervision of a Passover held in the capital (cf. 2 Kgs 23.21). Deuteronomy, however, never authorizes any such royal power play. God’s unique form of verbal self-disclosure in Deuteronomy precludes any particular faction, even the royal establishment, from ever using God’s choice of a central sanctuary for God’s name to personal advantage. The verbal mode of revelation prioritized by the book entails both real presence and the real absence of that presence (thus, God is numinous). Israel be68

T IGAY, Presence of God, 203 n. 28.

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holds no image of God, and can never pin God down like an idol tethered to an assigned shelf within an immovable shrine.69 Note how the ‘assembly’ of Israel, associated with God’s worship, is mobile. It can move out as a camp, with God in accompaniment (Deut 23.14; cf. 1 Sam 4.3–4). Note too how God’s name resided at such sites as Ebal, Gilgal, and Shiloh long before it came to land on Jerusalem (Deut 27.4–8; Josh 9.27; Jer 7.12). And note as well the enigmatic idea preserved in Deut 33 of a beckoning mountain of ‘right sacrifices’ among the hills of Zebulun and Issachar, far from Jerusalem (Deut 33.19; is this Tabor? Carmel?). All such evidence bars Jerusalem from claims to permanently possess God’s name. Deuteronomy simply does not allow that. If it did, would it any longer be a book in which catechetical formation is a pilgrimage, an open journey of discipleship? The Levites, a tribe of special concern in Deuteronomy, can take heart. If God chooses to place God’s name at Jerusalem for a time, Levites will surely be welcome there. They may even choose to exercise their traditional prerogatives in the capital (see esp. Deut 18.1–8). God can enforce their customary rights. Most definitively, God can remove the divine name from any worship site – even Jerusalem! – where the Lord’s claims and the Lord’s covenantal programs are not honored. I noted above how Jeremiah, proclaiming God’s judgment on Jerusalem, conveyed God’s exhortation to ‘Go now to my place that was in Shiloh, where I made my name dwell at first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people’ (Jer 7.12; cf. Ps 78.60). The implication is unambiguous: God’s name is no more permanently attached to Jerusalem than it was to Shiloh (and to Ebal, Bethel, and Gilgal before that). Deuteronomy’s catechism is no alibi allowing Jerusalem to sin with impunity.

Bibliography AHARONI, Y., Arad Inscriptions, Jerusalem 1975 B IRAN, A., High Places at the Gates of Dan?, ErIsr 25 (1996) 55–58 (in Hebrew) BRAULIK, G., Deuteronomium 1–16,17 (Die Neue Echter Bibel), Würzburg 1986 69 See the bibliography in n. 43 above and in WILSON, Midst of the Fire, 6–7 nn. 24– 25. Braulik writes that Deuteronomy’s language carefully excludes any misunderstanding that Yhwh is constrictively bound to the shrine. See BRAULIK, Weisheit, 181. Janowski speaks very similarly of the Deuteronomic effort to preclude any misunderstanding that God is tightly moored to the sanctuary. The book particularly avoids language of God dwelling in the temple. See JANOWSKI, ‘Ich will in eurer Mitte wohnen’, 174. In his essay in the present volume, Bob Becking speaks of the sceptical mood of certain biblical texts, such as Jer 10.3–5, texts that mock silver and golden gods that are fastened to their shrines with nails.

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— Weisheit, Gottesnähe und Gesetz – Zum Kerygma von Deuteronomium 4,5–8, in:

Studien zum Pentateuch (FS W. Kornfeld), ed. G. Braulik, Wien 1977, 53–93 BREKELMANS, C., Die sogenannten deuteronomischen Elemente in Gen.-Num.: Ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte des Deuteronomiums, in: Congress Volume: Genève 1965 (VT.S 15), ed. G. W. Anderson, Leiden 1966, 90–96 C LEMENTS, R. E., Deuteronomy and the Jerusalem Cult Tradition, VT 15 (1965) 300–312 — God and Temple, Oxford 1965 COOK, S. L., Death, Kinship, and Community: Afterlife and the ʣʱʧ Ideal in Israel, in: The Family in Life and in Death: The Family in Ancient Israel, Sociological and Archaeological Perspectives (LHBOTS 504), ed. P. Dutcher-Walls, New York and London 2009, 106–121 — Deuteronomy, Oxford Bibliographies Online, www.oxfordbibliographiesonline.com — Funerary Practices and Afterlife Expectations in Ancient Israel, Religion Compass 1 (2007) 660–683, — The Levites and Socio-Cultural Change in Ancient Judah: Insights from Gerhard Lenski’s Social Theory, in: Social Theory and the Study of Israelite Religion (SBLRBS), ed. S. Olyan, Atlanta 2012, 41–58 — The Social Roots of Biblical Yahwism (Studies in Biblical Literature 8), Atlanta 2004 — The Speechless Suppression of Grief in Ezekiel 24:15–27: The Death of Ezekiel’s Wife and the Prophet’s Abnormal Response, in: Thus Says the Lord: Essays on the Former and Latter Prophets in Honor of Robert R. Wilson (LHBOTS 502), ed. J. J. Ahn and S. L. Cook, New York and London 2009, 224–228 — Those Stubborn Levites: Overcoming Levitical Disenfranchisement, in: ‘The L ORD is Their Inheritance’: Priests and Levites in History and Tradition (SBL Ancient Israel and Its Literature 9), ed. M. A. Leuchter and J. M. Hutton, Atlanta 2011, 155–170 CRÜSEMANN, F., The Torah: Theology and Social History of Old Testament Law, Minneapolis 1996 F INSTERBUSCH, K., Die Dekalog-Ausrichtung des deuteronomischen Gesetzes: Ein neuer Ansatz, in: Deuteronomium – Tora für eine neue Generation (BZAR 17), ed. G. Fischer et al., Wiesbaden 2011, 123–146 FRIEDMAN, R. E., The Bible with Sources Revealed, San Francisco 2003 GELLER, S. A., Sacred Enigmas: Literary Religion in the Hebrew Bible, London and New York 1996 GOTTWALD, N. K., Social Class as an Analytic and Hermeneutical Category in Biblical Studies, JBL 112 (1993) 3–22 GROSS, W., Zukunft für Israel (SBS 176), Stuttgart 1998 HALPERN, B., Jerusalem and the Lineages in the Seventh Century BCE: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability, in: Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel (JSOT.S 124), ed. B. Halpern and D. Hobson, Sheffield 1991, 11–107 HERZOG, Z., The Fortress Mound at Tel Arad: An Interim Report, TA 29 (2002) 3–109 HOUSTON, W., Purity and Monotheism: Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law (JSOT.S 140), Sheffield 1993 J ANOWSKI, B., ‘Ich will in eurer Mitte wohnen’, Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 2 (1987) 165–193 KNAFL, A. K., Deuteronomy, Name Theology, and Divine Location, Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Atlanta, 2010 KNAPP, D., Deuteronomium 4: Literarische Analysen und theologische Interpretation (GTA 35), Göttingen 1987 KONKEL, M., Sünde und Vergebung (FAT 58), Tübingen 2006

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LEVINE, B. A., Silence, Sound, and the Phenomenology of Mourning in Biblical Israel, JANES 22 (1993) 89–106 LEVINSON, B. M., Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation, New York and Oxford 1997 — ‘The Right Chorale’: Studies in Biblical Law and Interpretation (FAT 54), Tübingen 2008 LOHFINK, N., Opfer und Säkularisierung im Deuteronomium, in: Studien zu Opfer und Kult im Alten Testament mit einer Bibliographie 1969–1991 zum Opfer in der Bibel, ed. A. Schenker, Tübingen 1992, 15–43 MACDONALD, N., Deuteronomy and the Meaning of ‘Monotheism’ (FAT II 1), Tübingen 2003 — The Literary Criticism and Rhetorical Logic of Deuteronomy I-IV, VT 56 (2006) 203– 224 MARGALIOT, M., The Theology of Exodus 32–34, in: Proceedings of the Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem 1994, vol. A, 43–50 MCBRIDE, S. D., The Deuteronomic Name Theology, Ph.D. dissertation Harvard University, 1969 MCCONVILLE J. G. and J. G. MILLAR, Time and Place in Deuteronomy (JSOT.S 179), Sheffield 1994 METTINGER, T. N. D., The Dethronement of Sabaoth: Studies in the Shem and Kabod Theologies (ConBOT 18), Lund 1982 M ILGROM, J., Alleged Demythologization and Secularization in Deuteronomy, IEJ 23 (1973) 156–161 M ILLER JR., P. D., Deuteronomy (Interpretation), Louisville 1990 M ITTMANN, S., Deuteronomium 1,1–6,3: Literarkritisch und traditionsgeschichtlich untersucht (BZAW 139), Berlin 1975 NELSON, R. D., Deuteronomy: A Commentary (OTL), Louisville and London 2002 N ICHOLSON, E. W., Deuteronomy and Tradition, Oxford 1967 N IEHAUS, J. J., God at Sinai: Covenant and Theophany in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Grand Rapids 1995 OTTO, E., Wandel der Rechtsbegründungen in der Gesellschaftsgeschichte des antiken Israel: Eine Rechtsgeschichte des ‘Bundesbuches’ Ex XX 22–XXIII 13 (StudBib 3), Leiden 1988 RAD, G. VON, Studies in Deuteronomy (SBT 9), London 1953 RENAUD, B., L’Alliance: Un Mystère de Miséricorde (LD 169), Paris 1998 R ICHTER, S. L., The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology: lƟšakkƝn šƟmô šƗm in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (BZAW 318), Berlin and New York 2002 SOMMER, B. D., The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel, New York 2009 STADE, B., Geschichte des Volkes Israel, 2 vols., Berlin 1888 STEINER, G., Real Presences, Chicago 1989 STEUERNAGEL, C., Das Deuteronomium, Göttingen 1923 STRONG, J. T., The God that Ezekiel Inherited, Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Atlanta, 2010 TERRIEN, S., The Elusive Presence: The Heart of Biblical Theology, San Francisco 1978 T IGAY, J. H., The Presence of God and the Coherence of Exodus 20:22–26, in: Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran, and Post-Biblical Judaism, ed. C. Cohen et al., Winona Lake 2004, 195–211 TOORN, K. VAN DER, Family Religion in Babylonia, Ugarit, and Israel: Continuity and Changes in the Forms of Religious Life, Leiden and New York 1996

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VOGT, P. T., Deuteronomic Theology and the Significance of Torah: A Reappraisal, Winona Lake, 2006 W EINFELD, M., Deuteronomy 1–11: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 5), New York 1991 — Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, Oxford 1972 W EIPPERT, H., Der Ort, den Jahwe erwählen wird, um dort seinen Namen wohnen zu lassen, BZ 24 (1980) 76–94 W ILSON, I., Out of the Midst of the Fire: Divine Presence in Deuteronomy (SBLDS 151), Atlanta 1995 W OUDE, A. S. VAN DER, Gibt es eine Theologie des Jahwe-Namens im Deuteronomium?, in: Übersetzung und Deutung: Studien zu dem Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt (FS A. R. Hulst), ed. H. A. Brongers, Nijkerk 1977, 204–210 YADIN, A., ʬʥʷ as Hypostasis in the Hebrew Bible, JBL 122 (2003) 601–626 ZERTAL, A., Eight Seasons of Excavation at Mt. Ebal, Qad 23:1–2 (1990) 42–50 (in Hebrew) ZEVIT, Z., The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches, London and New York 2001

Covenant and Presence in the Composition and Theology of Ezekiel WILLIAM A. TOOMAN The Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh (ʤʥʤʩʚʣʥʡʫ) is the central theme of Ezekiel’s vision accounts. The book opens with a visionary manifestation of the divine presence, and the question of God’s persistence reaches critical pitch by the end of the temple vision in chaps 8–11 when the presence departs from Jerusalem. The central event in the vision of the future temple (chaps 40– 48) occurs in 43.1–12, when the presence returns to Jerusalem to inhabit the new sanctuary (also 48.35). Despite this prominence within Ezekiel’s vision accounts, the topic of divine presence is barely apparent in the intervening oracles. In this essay, I investigate this difference between the visionary framework of the book and its oracular core. I begin with the question of how and why the divine presence became so prominent in the vision accounts. Following this, I turn my attention to the oracles of deliverance, looking for any claims regarding restoration of the divine presence. Finally I examine how the visions and the oracles of deliverance have been intertwined in the final redaction of the book. Considering the differences between the visions and the oracles in their representations of this theme, it is worth asking how and if the two lines of argument have been given concord or harmony within the book called ‘Ezekiel’?

1. Divine Presence in the Redactional Framework of the Book The book of Ezekiel owes its current theological and structural framework to three large redactional supplements: the oracles against the foreign nations (chaps 25–32), the second vision of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh (10.9–22*), and the promise of a new covenant, heart, and spirit (36.23c–38). These three additions fundamentally altered the original design and theological emphases of the book, structuring the whole around the four vision reports and foregrounding Ezekiel’s two leading motifs for the divine presence: the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh and the impartation of the divine spirit.

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I. The Oracles against Foreign Nations (Chaps 25–32)1 The early book of Ezekiel (ProtoEzek2), to which these three supplements were added, was addressed to the exiles in Babylon. It was organized as five panels, each introduced by a date formula: chaps 1–7*; 8–19*; 20– 23*; 24–37*; and 40–43*.3 The date formulae, in this sequence, are all chronological, and all are syntactically correspondent.4 The five-panels were organized around the fall of Jerusalem (reported in chap 33).5 The insertion of the oracles against the foreign nations (OAN) broke the original five-panel structure, creating, in its place, three major panels that were no longer organized by date-formulae: chaps 1–24 (oracles of judgment); chaps 25–32 (OAN); and chaps 33–48 (oracles of deliverance).6 Seven

1 On the date(s) and composition of the OAN themselves, which I do not address here, see especially, FECHTER, Bewältigung der Katastrophe; most recently, see S AUR, Der Tyroszyklus des Ezechielbuches. 2 ProtoEzek is my short-hand for the early edition of the book of Ezekiel that addressed the golah, rather than the whole diaspora. Though different in many points of detail, it is akin to Krüger’s early book of Ezekiel, which, he argued, ‘favors the Babylonian Gola as the foundation and starting point for the reconstitution of Israel’ (‘favorisiert sie…die babylonische Gola als Boden und Ausgangsgruppe der Neukonstituierung Israels’; KRÜGER, Geschichtskonzepte, 323). In my view, it is not always possible to distinguish oracles that address the first golah exclusively (before 587) from those which address the whole golah (after 587). ProtoEzekiel lacked the following sections (at least): 3.22–27; 5.5–17*; 10.9–22*; 12.26–28; 13.1–16; 16.59–63; 20.40–44; 21.18–32*; 24.15– 18a; 25.1–32.32; 34.23–31; 36.23c–38; 37.24–28; 38.1–39.29; 43.13–48.35a. Additional omissions may have included: 4.14–15; 6.8–10; 14.21–23; 16.44–58; 17.22–24; 21.33– 37; 22.1–31; 23.36–49; 24.(25)26–32*; and parts of 33.10–29, in addition to numerous small glosses (the expansions to chaps 1 and 7, for example) and individual verses. I am cautiously confident of our ability to recognize redactional layers added to ProtoEzek. I am less confident of our ability to reconstruct any pre-literary material from which ProtoEzek was formed (see, VAN DER TOORN, Scribal Culture, 110–115). 3 Following KONKEL, Architektonik des Heiligen, esp. 239–243, I accept that 40.1– 43.12* (+ 48.35b) contains the oldest material in the vision account of chaps 40–48 and was crafted as a reversal of chaps 8–11. See also RUDNIG, Heilig und Profan and n. 15 below. 4 These dates are constructed as follows: bêt + ordinal + ʤʰʹ, bêt + ordinal (indicating month), bêt + ordinal (indicating day). The word-order of the noun ʤʰˇ and its corresponding number are variable, and 40.1 includes the additional phrase ‘at the beginning of the year’, ʤʰʹʤʹʠʸʡ. 5 Marked by the one date formula that does not introduce a new section of the book, 33.21: ‘In the twelfth year (ʤʰʹʤʸʹʲʩʺʹʡ) of our exile, in the tenth month (ʩʸʹʲʡ), on the fifth day of the month (ʹʣʧʬ ʤʹʮʧʡ), someone who had escaped from Jerusalem came to me and said, ‘The city has fallen’. KUTSCH, Die chronologischen Daten, 41–45. 6 A similar three-fold division is attested in First Isaiah, LXX-Jeremiah, and Zephaniah. It is the structure most commonly noted in commentaries and introductions. See, e.g., HOSSFELD, Das Buch Ezechiel, 489–506; GERTZ et al., Grundinformation Altes

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date formulae were added to the new chapters at 26.1, 29.1, 29.17, 30.20, 31.1, 32.1, and 32.17. These new date formulae, though, can be distinguished from the originals. The new dates are not entirely chronological (26.1, 29.17, and 32.1 are out of order) and have a different syntactic structure.7 The insertion of the OAN had two further effects on the structure of the book. It broke up the fourth, climactic panel of ProtoEzek (24.1–27* + 33.1–37.28*) and splintered the pericopae 24.25–27 + 33.1–9, which had served as the counter-point to and culmination of the sentinel and dumbness themes that were introduced in 3.16–27.8 Further, certain verbal, thematic, and argumentative linkages which existed between earlier and later oracles in ProtoEzek, became bridges, anchored in the judgment and deliverance portions of the book and spanning the OAN.9 The book of Ezekiel features many bridging structures, which link the first and third panels in the book (1–24 and 33–43). Among the most commonly observed are the following: the dumbness theme (3.22–27//24.25–27//33.21–22), the sentinel theme (3.16– 21//33.1–20), the casuistic exhortations to the people (3.16–21//18.1–32//33.1–20), the destruction and restoration of the mountains of Israel (6.1–14//36.1–15), and the reversal 10 of Israel’s history (20.5–26//36.16–28[32] ). The notion that these links only became bridges when the OAN were inserted is suggested by the many other linkages which oc-

Testament, 361–371, esp. 361–362, ALBERTZ, Exilszeit; ET Israel in Exile, 345–376; SCHÖPFLIN, Ezechiel, 17–30. 7 These dates, patterned on the formula in 33.21, are constructed as follows: bêt + ordinal + ʤʰʹ, bêt + ordinal + ʹʣʧ, bêt + ordinal + ʹʣʧʬ. The noun ʹʣʧ in the second element is optional. The original centrality of Jerusalem and the intrusiveness oft he OAN are further suggested by the evidence reflected in Pap 967. See discussion in LILLZ, Two Books of Ezekiel, 138–144. 8 Ezekiel 24.25–27 + 33.1–9 has an inverted symmetry with 3.16–27 (Ezek 3.16–21: sentinel; 3.22–27: dumbness; Ezek 24.25–27: dumbness; 33.1–9: sentinel), but see n. 11 below. The original pericope (24.25–27 + 33.1–9) is also tied together by catch-words and shared themes: Ezek 24.26–27a, ‘On that day, one who has escaped (ʪʩʬʠʨʩʬʴʤʠʥʡʩ) will come to you to report to you the news. On that day your mouth shall be opened (ʧʺʴʩ ʪʩʴ) to the one who has escaped (ʨʩʬʴʤ), and you shall speak and no longer be silent (ʠʬʥ ʣʥʲ ʭʬʠʺ)’; Ezek 33.21b–22, ‘Someone who had escaped from Jerusalem came to me (ʨʩʬʴʤʩʬʠʚʠʡ) and said, “The city has fallen”…in the morning, before the fugitive came (ʨʩʬʴʤ ʠʥʡ) he had opened my mouth ( ʩʴʚʺʠʧʺʴʩʥ); so my mouth was opened (ʩʴʧʺʴʩʥ), and I was no longer unable to speak (ʣʲʩʺʮʬʠʰʠʬʥ)’. 9 The caricature of chaps 1–24 as ‘judgment’ and chaps 33–39 as ‘hope’ derives from the new organization of the book, with the OAN at the center. There are many deliverance oracles within chaps 1–24 (e.g., 11.14–16, 17–21; 14.11; 16.53–63; 17.22–24; 20.33–44 (esp. 40–44); 28.25–26) and oracles of judgment within chaps 33–39 (e.g., 33.23–29, 34.1–10). In other words, the movement from judgment to hope is gradual. It is only the presence of the OAN that creates the apparent distinction between the first and third parts of the book. 10 RENDTORFF, Ez 20 und 36,16ff, 260–265 (ET: Ezekiel 20, 190–195).

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cur within panels. Within the first panel, numerous connections between pericopae can be observed. For example, casuistic exhortations appear repeatedly (3.16–21//18.1–32), as do allegories of Israel as an adulterous wife (chaps 16 and 23), the indictments against rebellious (ʣʸʮ/ʤʸʮ) Israel (chaps 3 and 20), oracles of the cooking pot (11.1–13; 24.1– 14), the motif of the prophet as a sign (ʺʴʥʮ; 12.1–11//24.19–27), and the fables of the vine (chaps 17.2–10 and 19.10–14).12 That the OAN in chaps 25–32 were collected and inserted is further suggested by the fact that other OAN can be found outside of the collection (21.33–37; 35.1–15; 38.1– 39.29), and that Ezekiel is expressly sent to the house of Israel and not to ‘a people of another tongue’ (3.4–6).

II. The Second Vision of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh (10.9–22*) Three vision complexes punctuate the book of Ezekiel: chaps 1–3, 8–11, and 40–48. The central subject in all three is the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh, its appearance in Babylon (1–3), its abandonment and destruction of Jerusalem (8– 11), and its return to the restored temple (40–48).13 All three visioncomplexes are original (in some form) to ProtoEzek.14 The entire book is presented in the first-person style of vision accounts, pointing to the influence of the genre on the earliest version of the book. In addition, all of the visions, excluding 40–48 of course, are followed by sign-acts (1–3/4–5; 8– 11/12; 37.1–14/37.15–23), which are connected to them by catch-words and common images.15 These visions cannot be uncoupled from the book without profoundly disrupting the associated sign-acts. Without the visioncomplexes and sign-acts, ProtoEzek lacks structure and coherence; it is

11

The dumbness theme, for example may post-date the insertion of the OAN. As Wilson has observed, 3.22–27 was added to the call-vision to answer the question ‘how could the city have fallen if the prophet had properly carried out his office and interceded with Yahweh on behalf of the people?’ (W ILSON, Interpretation, 91–104). It is not apparent which of the two insertions was added to ProtoEzek first, chaps 25–32 or 3.22–27, though I suspect that the redactor who added the OAN would have been less likely to have fractured 24.25–27 from 33.1–9 had 3.22–27 already been in place. 12 For a series of additional catch-words, linking juxtaposed oracles, see FISHBANE, Sin and Judgment, 131–150. 13 For the argument that Ezek 8–11 is a vision of divine visitation for judgment, rather than a vision of divine abandonment, see, T OOMAN, Radical Challenge, 498–514. 14 A fourth vision appears in 37.1–14, the vision of the revivification of the nation. Neither the phrase ʤʥʤʩʚʣʥʡʫ nor the word ʣʥʡʫ appears in 37.1–14. This vision will be discussed in the next section of the essay. 15 Further, certain of the sign-acts are connected to the following oracles in the same way. Most obvious are the connections between chaps 4–5 and 6.1–10. See, FISHBANE, Sin and Judgment, 134–135.

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little more than an anthology of prophetic announcements, oracles, fables and allegories.16 With the notable exception of chap 1, the greater part of all three vision complexes was not focused on the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh per se. Chaps 2–3 are a vocation-account and accusation of rebellion against the house of Israel; chaps 8–11 are an accusation of ritual defilement of the temple against the Judahites, and chaps 40–48 describe the architecture and regulations of the restored temple. In other word, the temple itself and proper cult practice were the central topics of the vision accounts: the priestly-prophetic indictment of its defilement, the vision of its destruction, and the hope for its recreation and repurification. The weight and significance of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh, within the vision-accounts, was greatly enhanced by the insertion of 10.9–22*, which recapitulates and updates the vision of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd in chap 1.17 18

Ezekiel 10.9–17 + 20–22 is marked as an insertion in the following ways: 1. The movements of the Presence to and from the threshold of the temple are quite confused. The confusion is created, in part by 10.3–6, which is set off from the sur19 rounding context as a parenthetical comment by the use of Wiederaufnahme. The resumption of the vision is indicated in 10.6–7 by the repetition of six locutions from 10.2: ʭʩʣʡʤ ʹʡʬ ˇʩʠʤʚʬʠ, ʬʢʬʢʬ ʺʥʰʩʡ, ʡʥʸʫ, ʯʴʧ, ʹʠ, ʭʩʡʸʫ ʺʥʰʩʡ, and the reversal of ʠʡʩʥ (v. 2) by ʠʶʩʥ (v. 7).20 Ezekiel 10.3–6, then, is a clarifying gloss. 2. The scribe responsible for the expansion in 10.3–6 was reminding readers of the location of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh and the cherubim because the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh had not moved since 9.3. One would anticipate, then, that the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh was to move again, removing itself from the threshold of the temple mount following 10.3–6. However, it does not do so until 10.18–19. This is due to the presence of the addition under discussion here, part of which interrupts between the Wiederaufnahme and the report of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh departing from threshold. That addition, 10.9–17 and 20–22, is the second visionary description of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh in the book. Two further points should be noted. First, the whole vision complex shows signs of 21 extensive redactional reworking that are not under consideration here. Second, other

16

Pohlmann conceives of the earliest version of the book in a similar way, as an anthology of laments, lacking argumentative, thematic, or imagistic unity. See, P OHLMANN, Prophet Hezekiel, 292–297. 17 Regarding the relationship of chap 1 to chap 10 see, especially HALPRIN, Exegetical Character, 129–141; see also, DIJKSTRA, Glosses in Ezekiel, 55–77. 18 I take 10.18–19, which are a transition to 11.22–25, to be older than the insertion 10.9–17 + 20–22. For a similar view see Z IMMERLI, Ezekiel 1, 232–233. 19 For the principles involved, see, BRINKMANN, Schreibgebrauch, 1–11. 20 This gloss is also betrayed in two other ways: it interrupts God’s instructions to the man clothed in linen (10.2, 6–7), and God is reintroduced unnecessarily in vv. 3–5. In 10.2–3 and 6–7 God is referred to as ‘he’, but in v. 4 he is called ‘the Presence of Yhwh’ and in v. 5 ‘Shaddai’. Compare comments by HERRMANN, Ezechielstudien, 16–17. 21 See, especially, HOSSFELD, Die Tempelvision, 151–165.

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small redactional supplements were inserted as part of the strategy to highlight the Ke ‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh (e.g. 8.4). This addition significantly altered the theological emphases of the book. First, it created an irrefutable bridge back to chap 1, concretely linking the vision accounts in chaps 1–3 and 8–11. Second, chaps 8–11 and 40–43*, which were already connected by their complementary presentations of the defilement of the first temple and the restoration and purification of the second temple, were drawn more tightly together. The addi22 tion of 10.9–22* drew additional focus to the return of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh in 43.1–12. Third, the restoration of the cult in Jerusalem was inseparably connected with and dependent upon return of the divine presence, an argument that will be taken up and extended in the deliverance oracles. Thus, a double bridge was created between the three vision complexes (chaps 1–3, 8–11, 40–48) by the foregrounding of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh, which 23 only appears within these three vision accounts.

Ezek 1–3*

Ezek 8–11*

ʤʥʤʩʚʣʥʡʫ,

ʤʥʤʩʚʣʥʡʫ, 8.4;

1.28; 3.12, 23

9.3; 10.4, 18; 11.23 (10.19; 11.22)

Ezek 40.1– 43.12*

ʤʥʤʩʚʣʥʡʫ, 43.2*, 4, 5 (44.4)

III. The ‘New Heart and New Spirit’ (Ezek 36.23c–38) The five-panel, chronological design of ProtoEzek was altered, first, by the addition of the OAN, which redivided the book as three major sections and obscured the original chronological scheme. It was altered again by the insertion of 10.9–17 + 20–22, which foregrounded the three visioncomplexes and underlined the central importance of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh. The 22

Many verbal links connect chaps 40.1–43.12* with chaps 8–11. These links are heavily clustered around the inaugurations of the visions (8.1–4 // 40.1–3) and the movements of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd in and out of the temple (10.3–5, 18–19, 11.22 // 43.1–9). Among the parallels are the following: an explicit reference to chaps 8–11 (43.3); ‘the hand of the Lord was upon him/me’, ʤʥʤʩʚʣʩʭʹʥʩʬʲ ʤʿʩʤ (only 1.3; 3.22; 8.1 [with ʬʴʰ]; and 40.1); ‘in visions of God’, ʭʩʤʬʠʺʥʠʸʮʡ (only 8.3 and 40.2 [singular ‘vision’ only in 11.24; 43.3); ‘gate facing east’, ʭʩʣʷʤʩʰʥʮʣʷʤʸʲʹ (10.19; 11.1; 43.1); ‘glory filled the house’, ʺʩʡʤ + ʠʬʮ + ʣʥʡʫ (10.4; 43.5; 44.4); ‘a sound like the sound of’, ʬʥʷʫ + ʬʥʷ (chap 1; 10.5; 43.2); ‘glory departed from…the house, ‘ʺʩʡʤ«ʯʮ ʤʥʤʩ ʣʥʡʫ ʠʶʩʥ, vs. ‘glory entered the house’, ʺʩʡʤʚʬʠʠʡʤʥʤʩʣʥʡʫʥ (10.18; 43.4); ‘spirit lifted me’, ʠʹʺʥ ʧʥʸʩʺʠ/ʩʰʠʹʺʥ (8.3; 43.5); and ‘abominations’, ʺʥʡʲʥʺ (8.6, 13, 15; 43.8). 23 The term ʣʥʡʫ appears in 1.28; 3.12, 23; 8.4; 9.3; 10.4, 18, 19; 11.22, 23; 39.21; 43.2, 4, 5; 44.4. Two of these occurrences are outside of the vision accounts. In Ezek 31.18, ʣʥʡʫ is applied to Pharaoh and has nothing to do with the divine glory. The locution ‘my presence’, ʩʣʥʡʫ, surfaces in 39.21, which will be discussed below. For a discussion of other literary connections between chaps 1–3, 8–11, and 40–48 see P ARUNAK, ‘ Literary Architecture’, 61–74.

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book’s design and themes were adjusted a third time by the addition of Ezek 36.23c–38, the oracles of the ‘new heart’ and ‘new spirit’. Ezekiel 36.23c–38 is famously absent in Papyrus967. Papyrus967 reflects an edition of Ezekiel that differs from MT-Ezekiel in length and arrangement.24 There are two primary differences between Pap967 of Ezekiel and MT-Ezekiel. First, in Pap967 the Gog Oracles follow 36.23b and precede chap 37, the vision of the resurrection of dry bones and sign act of the two sticks (thus: 1–36.23b, 38–39, 37, 40–48).25 Second, there are numerous passages in MT-Ezekiel that are absent in Pap967. The longest minuses, which have received the greatest attention, are 12.26–28, 32.24b–26, and 36.23c–38.26 The fact that this version of the book of Ezekiel was still in circulation more than two centuries into the Common Era, suggests that 36.23c–38 was added to the book at a very late date.27 The addition of 36.23c–38, especially its citations from 11.19–20 (36.26–27) and 37.1–14, had several important effects upon the book of Ezekiel. First, the citation created another verbal and thematic bridge between the judgment (chaps 1–24) and deliverance (chaps 33–48) portions of the book. Second, the citation made the themes of ‘heart’ and ‘spirit’ central to the design and theology of the book (11.19; 36.26–27; cf. 18.31).28 Third, the citation is not verbatim. Ezekiel 36.26 interprets the

24 For the text of Pap967 see, JOHNSON et al., Scheide Biblical Papyri; KENYON, Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri; JAHN, Text des Buches; GALIANO, Nuevas páginas, 7–76. The most up-to-date introductions to Pap 967 of Ezekiel are now SCHWAGMEIER, Untersuchungen, CRANE, Israel’s Restoration, esp. 207–264 and LILLEY, Two Books of Ezekiel. 25 P OHLMANN has argued for the compositional priority of the order and arrangement of Pap 967 (Ezechielstudien, 86–88; 107, 112, 122, 134). LUST, following P OHLMANN’S lead, has argued that Pap967 represents a more logical arrangement of the oracles of restoration (Spirit of the Lord, 149–150; Major Divergences 83–92), an argument that KLEIN has revised and extended (Schriftauslegung, 60–65, 406–409). See also, T OV, Recensional Differences, 89–101. 26 The papyrus is not the only evidence for this alternative text-edition. Codex Wirceburgensis (W), the earliest and best preserved copy of the Vetus Latina of Ezekiel (c. 6th century CE), is a related witness. RANKE, Par palimpsestorum; J OHNSON et al., Scheide Biblical Papyri, 45. Though W and Pap967 preserve the same text-edition, W is not directly dependent upon Pap967 (see the evidence in JOHNSON et al., Scheide Biblical Papyri, 47; LUST, Ezek 36–40, 518). 27 For other arguments in favor of the antiquity of the edition of Ezekiel represented by Pap 967 vis à vis MT, see TOOMAN, Gog of Magog; CRANE, Israel’s Restoration, 207– 264. Further, the occasional suggestion that 36.23c–38 is itself composed of multiple redactional layers has met with little support (so, e.g., SIMIAN, Nachgeschichte der Prophetie). 28 See OHNESORGE, Jahwe gestaltet, and the lengthy discussion in KLEIN Schriftauslegung, 81–111.

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phrase ‘one heart’ (ʣʧʠʡʬ)29 as a ‘new heart’ (ʹʣʧʡʬ), and verse 27 interprets the ‘new spirit’ (ʤʹʣʧʧʥʸ) as ‘my spirit’ (ʩʧʥʸ), the indwelling spirit of God (36.27; cf. 37.14). Fourth and finally, by foregrounding the divine spirit, the redactor also drew 37.1–14, the resurrection vision, into the center of the book’s design. Ezekiel 37.1–14 is unlike the other three vision accounts. It is the only vision in Ezekiel that does not address the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh. It is the only vision standing in the place of and functioning as a deliverance oracle. It is the only vision lacking a date formula, and the only vision not termed ‘visions of God’, ʭʩʤʬʠʺʥʠʸʮ (cf. 1.1; 8.3; 40.2). It was not as suitable to purposes of the redactor who added 10.9–22* as were the visions in chaps 1–3, 8–11, and 40–48. For the redactor who added 36.23c–38, however, with his stress on human recreation and a divine spirit ʩʧʥʸ that will fill and renew the people, the vision of revivification was tailor-made.30 In this way, the book was given a second bridging structure in which the theme of divine presence also figures prominently. This second redactional bridge completed the overall structural and theological design of the book:31

Ezek 1–3

ʚʣʥʡʫ ʤʥʤʩ

Ezek 8–11

ʚʣʥʡʫ ʤʥʤʩ

11.18 –21 ʧʥʸ

ʣʧʠ

36. 23c–38 ʧʥʸ

ʤʹʣʧ ʩʧʥʸ

37.1– 14

ʩʧʥʸ

Ezek 40– 43.12 ʚʣʥʡʫ ʤʥʤʩ

Thus, it is the vision accounts that give the book of Ezekiel its current theological structure. Three of those accounts, chaps 1–3, 8–11, and 40.1– 43.12, are focused on the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh and gave the book its macrostructure. The subsequent addition of 36.23c–38 built upon and enhanced the centrality of the visions. It connected the one vision account that had been excluded from the scheme (37.1–14), with an oracle of hope embed29

‘One heart’ means ‘singleness of heart’, in contrast with a divided heart (Ps 86.11) or‘double-heart’, ʡʬʥʡʬ(Ps 12.3; 1 Chr 12.34). 30 Apart from the late additions 36.23c–38 and 38.1–39.29, the divine ʧʥʸ appears exclusively within the vision accounts (1.4, 12, 20, 21; 2.2; 3.12, 14, 24; 8.3; 10.17; 11.1, 5, 19, 24; 21.12; 27.26; 36.26, 27; 37.1, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 14; 39.29; 43.5) and is certainly one of the vision’s central motifs (contrast 5.2, 10, 12; 12.14; 13.3, 11, 13; 17.10, 21; 19.12; 20.32; [18.31 is ambiguous; in 42.16, 17, 18, 19, 20 ʧʥʸ means ‘quarter’ or ‘side’]). Nonetheless, Ezek 11.17–21, 36.23c–38, and 37.1–14 are distinguished by their construal of the divine spirit as an agent of rejuvenation that will fill all the people. 31 Grey elements in the chart indicate the vision accounts.

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ded within a vision account (11.17–21), and with a new oracle of hope that was juxtaposed with a vision account (36.23c–38). Thus, the visions retained their central place, but, by its prominence in the book’s new design, the motif of the divine spirit was added to the motif of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh as one of the book’s touchstone theological themes.

2. Covenant and Presence in Ezekiel’s Oracles of Deliverance As we have seen, the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh (ʤʥʤʩʣʥʡʫ) and the divine renewing spirit (ʧʥʸ) have been placed at the center of Ezekiel’s redactional and theological design. As important as these elements are to the book’s plan, they seldom appear outside of the vision accounts. Nonetheless, the subject of the divine presence is not entirely absent from the book’s oracles of deliverance. Within a few of the book’s oracles, a palpable concern for the restoration of the divine presence can be observed, albeit more muted than in the vision accounts. The book of Ezekiel is punctuated throughout by announcements of deliverance. These announcements can be neatly divided into two types. The first type extends some meager hope to the Judahites (between 597 and 587/6 BCE) or the exiles of the first golah (5.13; 6.8–9; 12.16; 14.11, 22– 23; 20.33–39*). The announcements in this first group are, in some cases, quite small, no more than a few terse clauses. The second type offers hope to the whole diaspora after the fall of Jerusalem. All examples in this category are fully developed oracles (11.14–21; 16.53–63;32 17.22–24; 20.40– 44; 28.25–26; 34.11–22; 34.23–24; 34.25–32; 36.1–15; 36.16–23b; 36.23c–38; 37.15–23; 39.25–2933). The subject of divine presence only appears in the diaspora-oriented oracles. The main subject of Ezekiel’s announcements of deliverance, regardless of their purported audience, is the restoration of the covenant. The restored covenant is the central motif that holds together an elaborate constellation 32 Ezek 16.53–63 is particularly difficult to date. On the one hand, it is addressed to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and it promises a reunification of the tribes under Judahite supremacy. On the other hand, it promises the regathering of all Israel including Judah (v. 53), which suggests an exilic date. Weighing these considerations and in light of the fact that the recipients of the oracle have still not accepted their guilt (vv. 58, 61), I think it plausible that the oracle dates from the early exilic period. 33 Some of these oracles, 11.14–21 for example, address issues and concerns from before 587 BCE, but they have been updated to reapply them to the post-587 communities. It should also be noted that other texts in the book extend implicit comfort to the exiles – hope for justice or restoration – though they are not deliverance oracles per se. Among these could be included the OAN (25.1–32.32), the Gog Oracles (38.1–39.29*), and the visions in 1.1–28 and 40.1–48.35.

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of arguments and themes within these announcements, including: justice and necessity of the exile, breaking the covenant, inward transformation of the people, recognition of Yhwh’s prerogatives over Israel, remembrance of the covenant, shame for past infractions, restoration of the cult, forgiveness of sin, purification of the people, regathering of the diaspora, reunification of the tribes, resettlement and rebuilding of the land, fertility of the land, restoration of monarchy, judgment on the nations, and the ‘new covenant’ or ‘covenant of peace’. Included within this elaborate assemblage of themes, a few select statements on the topic of the divine presence can be found. They occur within six of these deliverance oracles: 11.14–21; 20.40–44; 34.25–31; 36.23c–38; 37.24–28; 39.25–29. The late redactional supplement in 36.23c–38 was discussed, in part, above. I will focus my attention in this portion of the essay on the other five. I. Ezekiel 11.14–21: ‘I will be a temporary sanctuary’ Though embedded within a vision account, Ezek 11.14–21 is the first announcement of restoration for the exiles.34 It begins with a disputation between the inhabitants of Jerusalem and the exiles of the first deportation that elicits an announcement of hope from Yhwh in 11.14–16. 14

And the word of Yhwh came to me, saying, 15‘Son of man, your brothers, your broth35 36 ers , the men of your kindred (and all the house of Israel, all of it), to whom the 37 inhabitants of Jerusalem say, “Distance yourselves from Yhwh. To us, it – the land – 16 has been given for a possession”’. Therefore say, ‘Thus says the Lord Yhwh, “Although I have removed them among the nations, and although I have scattered them among the lands, yet I will be a temporary sanctuary (ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮ) for them in the lands into which they have come”’.

The inhabitants of Judah are offering a theological explanation of the first deportation. They suggest that Yhwh has disinherited the exiles, and they encourage the exiles to reject him in turn. Those who remain in Jerusalem, they imply, will inherit the land. Yhwh responds in v. 16 that he has 34

Two statements of comfort precede 11.14–16. Both are addressed to the inhabitants of Jerusalem. Ezek 5.13 announces that Yhwh’s anger against Jerusalem will abate after her destruction. Ezek 6.8–9 announces that a remnant of Judah’s population will survive the 586 disaster as refugees (ʭʩʨʩʬʴ) in the surrounding nations. 35 LXX only represents ʪʩʧʠ once. It may be recognizing the repetition as a distributive, ‘all/each your brothers’ (GKC §123c). 36 Elsewhere ʤʬʠʢ means ‘redemption’, (see, Lev 25.24, 26, 29, 31, 32, 48, 51, 52; Ruth 4.6, 7; Jer 32.7–8), but here it is typically rendered ‘kindred’ by extension. LXX reads ‘men of your exile’ (=ʪʺʥʬʢ ʩʹʰʠ) which is followed by CORNHILL (Buch des Propheten, 236–237), TOY (Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, 59), and FOHRER (Hauptprobleme, 187). 37 The notion that exile from the land is also an exile from Yhwh’s presence and patronage is found in 1 Sam. 26.19 (cf. 2 Kgs 5.17–19).

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not disenfranchised the exiles. Rather, he will be present with the exiles as a ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮ. Regardless of the translation of ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮ, God is explicit that he will be, in some sense, accessible to the exiles in Babylon.38 This statement builds on and clarifies God’s comments about the Judahites in 8.6: ‘Do you see what they are doing – great abominations, which the house of Israel is doing in order to be far from my sanctuary?’ Ezekiel 11.15 echoes 8.6 by repeating the locutions ʷʧʸ and ʹʣʷʮ. Those who are near the physical sanctuary (ʹʣʷʮ39) in Jerusalem are actually far off (ʷʧʸ) from Yhwh. Those whom Yhwh removed far off (ʷʧʸ) will actually enjoy his presence as a temporary sanctuary (ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮ).40 This short text makes two claims that are relevant to the present inquiry. It asserts that the divine presence is not restricted to the temple – in accord with the vision accounts – and that the presence is, in some sense, still with the people in diaspora. Though the temple is empty, the people are not forsaken.41 42

It has been argued that 11.14–16(21) is a secondary addition to the chapter. It is highly unlikely that the oracle originated after the time of the prophet. In the first place, the

38 There are two primary options for the translation of ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮ. ʨʲʮ can be translated as an adjective of measure, ‘I will be a little sanctuary’ or ‘somewhat of a sanctuary’. Alternatively, ʨʲʮ can be translated as an adjective of time, ‘I will be a temporary sanctuary’ (see Song 3.4; Ps 81.15). The second translation accords better with the context, particularly 11.17, where God indicates that the exile is temporary: ‘I will gather you from the peoples and reassemble you from the lands…and I will give to you the land of Israel’ (see discussion in KUTSKO, Between Heaven and Earth, 98–99). There is no evidence to support the suggestion that this refers to divine sanction for establishment of synagogues (so Targum Jonathan). 39 It is notable that ʹʣʷʮ is only used for the Temple in Ezekiel (5.11; 8.6; 23.38, 39; 24.21; 25.3; 37.26, 28; 43.21; 44.1, 5, 9, 15, 16; 45.3, 4, 18; 47.12; 48.8, 10, 21). 40 This is anticipated in the Holiness Code in Lev 26.11–12. The H author, taking up themes from P (Gen. 5.22, 24; 6.9; Ex. 25.8; 29.45–46), extends the divine presence beyond the sanctuary to the community itself, most notably, in the expression: ‘I will walk in your midst’ (v. 12a). See LOHFINK, Abänderung, 129–136. 41 This, perhaps, explains why Yhwh continues to offer messages of hope to the exiles and diaspora long after the covenant is breached and the people divorced (16.53–63). Though the covenant is broken, Yhwh cannot shed his nostalgic love for Israel in her youth (esp. 16.60). For the sake of that bond, he will grant her a new covenant (16.60, 62), and that unilateral act of goodwill will elicit the remorse and shame that were lacking in the first marriage. 42 E.g., HOSSFELD, Die Templevision, 155–156; P OHLMANN, Hesekiel/Ezechiel Kapitel 1–19, 129–130; ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 1, 230–235, 263–264. It is commonly suggested that 11.14(18)–21 is part of a collection of deuteronomic redactional insertions, which includes some if not all of the following: 20.7–29*, 41–42; 28.25–26; 34.23–24; 36.23– 28, 31–32; 37.13b–14, 20–24a; 38.17; and 39.25–29 (see, SELDMEIER, ’Deine Brüder, deine Brüder…’, 297–312; HOSSFELD, Deuteronomisch-deuteronomistische Bewegung,

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whole vision account – though it accuses Jerusalem – is addressed to the exiles. Without some portion of 11.14–21, we do not know why the vision was revealed to the first golah. In the second place, 11.16 is a response to the claim of the Jerusalemites that the 43 exiles have been disenfranchised. This claim rests on the assumption that the Temple and Jerusalem are still standing. This argument requires no rebuttal if the city has already 44 been destroyed. Nonetheless, the pericope shows signs of reworking (Fortschreibung) from a post-587 BCE perspective. In 11.15, the phrases ‘your brothers, the men of your kindred’ have been expanded by the parenthetical ‘and all the house of Israel, all of it’, ʤʬʫʬʠʸʹʩʺʩʡʚʬʫʥ, 45 which applies the promise of the ʨʲʮ ʹʣʷʮ to all exiles. Verses 16 and 17 appear to have been updated at the same time. ‘Nations’, ʭʩʥʢ, ‘countries’, ʺʥʶʸʠ, and ‘peoples’, ʭʩʮʲ, have been rendered in the plural. Ezekiel only uses the expression ‘scattered among 46 the nations/lands’ (ʺʥʶʸʠ/ʭʩʥʢ + ʵʿʥʴ), for all the diaspora after the fall of Jerusalem. Thus, the Fortschreibung extends the promise of divine presence to all diaspora communities. It is unclear whether or not this promise persists beyond the construction and dedication of the Second Temple.

II. Ezekiel 20.40–44: ‘There I will accept them’ Ezekiel 20 begins with God’s angry refusal to be consulted by the elders among the exiles. The stress on correct worship throughout the chapter suggests that the elders may have been inquiring about adopting a new patron deity in Babylon.47 Yhwh castigates the people for perpetuating the idolatry of the past generations (20.2–31) before extending hope to a future generation. God’s absolute ownership of Israel is given expression as a deliverance oracle in vv. 32–39, immediately followed by a second deliverance oracle in vv. 40–44. With the exception of this final oracle, the

271–295). While it is true that all of these texts contain elements of deuteronomic language, the ideology in each conforms to the priestly strands of literature. 43 This claim of the Jerusalemites is undermined in vv. 17–21 which promises of a greater restoration in the future, including restored obedience to the covenant (v. 20) and restoration of covenant blessing (vv. 17, 20), which excludes the contemporary Jerusalemites (v. 21). 44 All of the points in this paragraph and n. 43 are overlooked by L EENE (Ezekiel and Jeremiah, 150–175), who contends that Ezek 11.19–20 was composed after and borrowed from 36.23c–38. 45 In Ezekiel, the locution ʬʲʸʹʩʺʩʡʚʬʫ refers, at least once, to the Judahites before 587 BCE (12.10; possibly also 3.7 and 8.10). In most instances, though, it is used for the entire diaspora (5.4; 20.40; 36.10; 37.11, 16; 39.25; 45.6, 17). The same is true when it appears with the modifier ʭʤʬʫ, ‘all of it/them’ (contrast 22.18 with 11.15; 20.40; 36.10 [37.34]). See also, ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 1, 261. 46 E.g., 4.13; 6.8, 9; 12.15, 16; 20.41; 22.15 (ʭʩʥʢ in 2.3 is lacking in the versions). 47 Some interpreters have suggested that the elders were seeking permission to constitute a cult to Yhwh in Babylon. See, for example, B EWER, Beiträge zur Exegese, 195– 197. This assumes that at least v. 40, with its emphasis on proper worship ‘there’ (ʭʹ; 3x), was part of the original oracle.

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chapter is explicitly addressed to the exiles in Babylon: ‘I will bring them out of the land (sg.) where they reside as aliens’ (v. 38aȕb).48 The chapter has been updated to extend its message of hope to all diaspora, and to include promises that the temple and the divine presence would be restored. Yhwh’s possession of all Israel, wherever she might be found, is forcefully expressed in vv. 33b–34. Verse 34 is a Fortschreibung, clearly marked as such by Wiederaufnahme: surely with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and with wrath poured out ( ʣʩʡ ʤʫʥʴʹʤʮʧʡʥʤʩʥʨʰʲʥʸʦʡʥʤʷʦʧ), I will be king over you.34I will bring you out from the 33b

peoples and gather you out of the countries where you are scattered, with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and with wrath poured out (ʤʫʥʴʹʤʮʧʡʥʤʩʥʨʰʲʥʸʦʡʥʤʷʦʧʣʩʡ).

Verse 34a was inserted to widen the horizon of the original exilic oracle. The expressions ‘peoples’, ʭʩʮʲʤ, and ‘countries’, ʺʥʶʸʠʤ, include the diaspora communities in the new exodus.49 The update is probably the work of the same hand that supplemented the chapter with vv. 40–44: 40

‘But on my holy mountain, on the mountain of the height of Israel’, says Lord Yhwh, 50 ‘there all the house of Israel will serve me in the land, all of it. There I will accept them. And there I will seek your offerings, and the first fruits of your offerings, with all 51 your holy things. 41I will accept you by the pleasing aroma, when I bring you out from the peoples, and gather you out of the lands where you were scattered among them. I will sanctify myself in you before the eyes of the nations. 42You will know that I am Yhwh, when I will bring you into the land of Israel, into the land which I lifted up mine hand to give it to your fathers. 43And there you will remember your ways, and all your deeds, wherein you have defiled yourselves, and you will loathe yourselves in your own sight for all your wickedness that you have committed. 44You will know that I am Yhwh, when 48 ZIMMERLI contended that vv. 32–39 were an addition to an original Ezekielian oracle (found in 20.2–26, 30–31aĮ). He observes that: (a) when the elders come seeking a decision in 8–11 and 14.1–11 they are met with refusal and threat, not hope; and (b) in 20.4 Ezekiel is exhorted to ‘judge’ them for their request (see also, BEUKEN, Ez 20, 39– 64, cited in LUST, Ezekiel Salutes Isaiah, 367–382). However, there is nothing more hopeful in 20.32–39 than we already find in 14.11, which Zimmerli regards as original to the prophet (‘…so that the house of Israel may no longer go astray from me, nor defile themselves any more by all their transgressions. Then they shall be my people, and I will be their God, says the Lord Yhwh’). Considering the argumentative and thematic correspondences between vv. 2–31 and vv. 32–39 (idolatry, defilement, exodus, wilderness, arm/hand, etc.), it seems reasonable that vv. 32–39 were always a part of the written oracle 20.2–39*. 49 See n. 46 above, and observe again the reversion to the singular ‘land of their sojourning’, ʭʤʩʸʥʢʮʵʸʠʮ , in v. 38. 50 LXX has no equivalent for ʵʸʠʡ and reads ʤʬʫ as ‘to the end’, emphasizing the eternal quality of the oracle (contrast 11.15 and 37.24). 51 The opening clause could be translated ‘I will accept you as the pleasing aroma’, bêt essentiae, or ‘on account of the pleasing aroma’, bêt pretii (see, GKC §119i; P ARDEE, ‘Preposition in Ugaritic’, 215–322, esp. 299–300), though some prefer to emend to ʫ (so ELLIGER, BHS).

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I have acted with you for the sake of my reputation, not according to your wicked ways, nor according to your corrupt deeds, O house of Israel’ – an utterance of Lord Yhwh.

Verses 40–44 are addressed to all post-587 diaspora communities (v. 40) and date, most likely, from the late neo-Babylonian period.52 The oracle introduces several new topics into the chapter, including the restoration of the temple, divine presence, and conditions for reconciliation between God and Israel. God will accept Israel again, when ‘all the house of Israel, all of it’ practices proper cult service in Jerusalem (20.40–41a). This immediately raises two questions. Though reconstitution of temple service may have been within the power of the post-exilic community, the return of ‘all Israel’ to Jerusalem was not. How then is God’s acceptance to be secured? Furthermore, even if a universal return were possible, the prophet has argued strenuously that the people are incapable of undefiled cult service (e.g., 20.8, 13, 16, 21, 24, 27–28, 32, 39). What is to prevent a repeat of the conquest of Jerusalem and exile of her people? The first question – return of the ‘house of Israel’ and the restoration of the Jerusalem cult – is addressed in 20.40–42. God himself will return the people to the land that he promised to the patriarchs. This return will be undeserved (20.44), but God will restore Israel in order to restore his own reputation, which was damaged by the exile (20.41). Having brought the people back to the land, God implies that he will remain with them there: ‘the house of Israel will serve me in the land, all of it. There will I accept them. And there I will seek your offerings, and the first fruits of your offerings, with all your holy things’ (20.40b). Implicit in this also is the notion of a restored covenant. The people’s acceptance (ʤʿʶʸ) is contingent upon restoration of the cult and obedience to the cultic stipulations of the covenant.53

52

As Zimmerli points out, vv. 40–44 reflect a ‘concrete expectation of a new temple, as in chaps 40–48. Thus it must be set…in the period between 587 and 573/72 [i.e., the date of the formula at 40.1], perhaps closer to the second date’ (ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 1, 414). To this observation, we should add two points. First, the dangling temporal ‘later’, ʸʧʠ in v. 39, invited an insertion here. Second, the oracle must come from a time when the patriarchal narratives, including the land-promise (alluded to in v. 42b), had already been joined to the Exodus account (alluded to in vv. 41b, 43a, 44a). These observations suggest a late exilic provenance for vv. 34 + 40–44. 53 P requires sacrifice for expiation, which explains the necessity of restoring cult before the people can secure ‘acceptance’. The H legislation does not include a sacrificial requirement, unless, as Milgrom suggests, it is implied in the absence of any divine response to prayer and confession in Lev 26.40–45. See, MILGROM, Leviticus 23–27, 2330. Schwartz, in an otherwise brilliant essay, overlooks the positive implication of the restored cult in his insistence that ‘In Ezekiel, Israel is never forgiven’ (SCHWARTZ, Ezekiel’s Dim View, 62–63).

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It would appear, then, that restoration of presence, temple, and covenant are mutually contingent. The answer to the second question – how to prevent a repetition of infidelity and exile – is not addressed in the present oracle. Ezekiel 20.44 affirms that the people will still be undeserving of the regathering when it occurs, and yet, the pericope offers a unilateral promise that ‘I will accept them there’ (v. 40). In Ezek 11.19–20, Yhwh announced that one day he would transform the people, giving them ‘one heart and a new spirit’, which would enable them to keep the stipulation of the covenant (11.20a) and restore them to divine favor.54 What this means, what the transformation entails and involves was not explained. As we will see, the solution to this enigma is never clearly expressed outside of the redactional supplement in 36.23c–38, to which we will return at the end of the essay. III. Ezekiel 34.25–31: ‘I, the Lord their God, am with Them’ Like the majority of deliverance oracles in Ezekiel, 34.25–31 is focused on restoring a covenant between God and Israel, in this case expressed as a ‘covenant of peace’. Like 20.40–44, the oracle associates restoration of the divine presence with restoration of covenant. 25

And I will make with them a covenant of peace, and I will remove dangerous animals from the land, and they will dwell safely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods. 26And 55 56 I will make them and the places round my hill a blessing. And I will cause the showers to come down in their season; and they will be showers of blessing. 27And the tree of the field will give its fruit, and the land will give its produce, and they will be safe in their land; and they will know that I am Yhwh, when I break the bars of their yoke, and deliver them out of the hand of those that enslaved them. 28And they will never again be a prey to the nations, neither will the beast of the land devour them; but they will dwell safely, and there will be no one to make [them] afraid. 29And I will establish for them a famous planting-place, and there will never again be famine in the land, and they will not bear the derision of the nations ever again. 30Thus they will know that I Adonai their God am with them, and they – the house of Israel, are my people’ says Adonai Yhwh. 31‘O my

54 Note the promised reinstatement of the covenant expressed by means of the covenant formula in 11.20b. 55 ‘Hill’, ʤʲʡʢ, in Ezekiel, is always a place of pagan cultic activity (6.3, 13; 20.28; 34.6; 35.8; 36.4, 6). Its appearance here was almost surely inspired by 34.6a: ‘My sheep were scattered. They wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill’ (// Jer 50.6–7b). The application of ʤʲʡʢ to Zion, though, is unknown in Ezekiel. This usage is typical of First Isaiah (2.2; 10.32; 31.4). 56 LXX is missing an equivalent for ‘blessing’, ʤʫʸʡwhich many take to be a secondary expansion or a corruption from v. 26b (see comments in CORNHILL, Ezechiel, 404– 405; ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 2, 210). The Greek, though, is incomplete. The object of įȫıȦis absent (‘I will give them…all around my mountain’), which requires some hypothetical adjustment of its Vorlage if the omission of ʤʫʸʡ is not an error.

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flock, the flock of my pasture, you are men; I am your God’ – an utterance of Adonai Yhwh.

The oracle is constructed from locutions borrowed from the H covenant (esp., Lev 26.4–6, 12–13, 20, 22). It is dense with markers of this allusion, drawn, in particular, from the covenant blessings.58 Ezek 34.25–31

Leviticus 26

And I will make with them a covenant of peace (ʭʥʬʹʺʩʸʡ), and I will remove dangerous animals from the land, and they will dwell safely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods. 26And I will make them and the places round my hill a blessing. And I will cause the showers to come down in their season; and they will be showers of blessing. 27And the tree of the field will give its fruit, and the land will give its produce, and they will be safe in their land; and they will know that I am Yhwh, when I break the bars of their yoke, and deliver them out of the hand of those that enslaved them. 28 And they will never again be a prey to the nations, neither will the beast of the land devour them; but they will dwell safely, and there will be no one to make [them] afraid. 29And I will establish for them a famous planting-place, and there will never again be famine in the land, and they will not bear the derision of the nations ever again. 30Thus they will know that I, Adonai their God, am with them, and they – the house of Israel, are my people’ says Adonai Yhwh. 31‘O my 59 flock, the flock of my pasture, you are men; I am your God’ – an utterance of 60 Adonai Yhwh.

26.6, ʵʸʠʡʭʥʬʹ, ‘peace in the land’ (cf. Isa. 54.10; Num 25.12) 26.6, ʵʸʠʤʚʯʮʤʲʸʤʩʧʩʺʡʹʤ, ‘I will remove dangerous animals from the land’ 26.5, ʭʫʶʸʠʡ ʧʨʡʬ ʭʺʡʹʩ, ‘you will live securely in your land’ 26.4, ʭʺʲʡ ʭʫʩʮʹʢ, ‘your showers in their season’ 26.4 (20), ʥʩʸʴ ʯʺʩ ʤʣʹʤ ʵʲ, ‘the tree of the field will give its fruit’ 26.4 (20), ʤʬʥʡʩ ʵʸʠʤ ʤʰʺʰʥ, ‘the land will give its produce’ 26.5, ʭʫʶʸʠʡ ʧʨʡʬ ʭʺʡʹʩʥ, ‘they will dwell safely in their land’ 26.13, ʭʫʬʲ ʺʨʮ ʸʡʹʠʥ ʭʩʣʡʲ, ‘slave’ + ‘break bars of yoke’ 26.22 (6), ʭʫʺʠ ʤʬʫʹʥ ʤʣʹʤ ʺʩʧ, ‘(I will send) animals of field and they will bereave you’ 26.5, ʧʨʡʬʭʺʡʹʩʥ, ‘you will dwell safely’ 26.6, ʣʩʸʧʮ ʯʩʠ, ‘there will be none to make [them] afraid’ 26.12, ʭʲʬʩʬʚʥʩʤʺʭʺʠʥʭʩʤʬʠʬʭʫʬʩʺʩʩʤʥ, ‘I will be your God, and you shall be my people’ 26.13, ʺʥʩʮʮʥʷ ʭʫʺʠʪʬʥʠʥ«ʭʫʩʤʬʠʤʥʤʩʩʰʠ, ‘I am Yhwh your God…I made you walk erect’

25

MT reads ‘you (ʯʺʠ) are my flock’, which is unattested in LXX and out of concord with the next clause ‘you (ʭʺʠ) are men’. 58 Regarding the extensive reuse of H within Ezekiel as a whole see, LYONS, Law to Prophecy. 59 MT reads ‘you (ʯʺʠ) are my flock’, which is unattested in LXX and out of concord with the next clause ‘you (ʭʺʠ) are men’. 60 Verse 31 is often taken to be an addition to vv. 25–31 because it reintroduces the flock (ʯʠʶ), which does not appear in vv. 25–30 (ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 2, 213; W ILLEMS, 57

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The formulation of the covenant in Lev 26 (H) is markedly different from that in P. In P, preservation of the covenant is not dependent upon communal adherence to covenant stipulations.61 In H, the covenant depends upon the people’s collective obedience to the law. This dependency is erased in Ezek 34.25–31. As Michael Lyons has argued: In Lev 26, the locutions in question are used to describe the blessings for obedience of the covenant. In Ezekiel [34], these locutions are employed in a description of future time, the time of the renewed relationship between God and his people for which Ezekiel hopes, described as a ‘covenant of peace’ (v. 25). In Lev 26, it is clear that the covenant being described is contingent on human behavior (‘If you walk in my statutes…’ v. 3). In Ezek 34, however, the covenant blessings being described are both future and uncondi62 tional: they are unqualified guarantees of divine action’.

Thus, Ezek 34.25–31, like 20.40–44, presupposes an unbreakable covenant, which will be granted to Israel in the future (so 11.14–21 and 16.53– 63). The particular nuance given by the present redactor is that it will be a ‘covenant of peace’. That is, the future covenant between Yhwh and Israel will never be marred by judgment and wrath.63 The author of 34.25–31 supplemented the language and themes borrowed from H with two carefully selected locutions from the patriarchal Hirtenallegorie, 474; KLEIN, Schriftauslegung, 270–271). The argument is not without merit, but considering the Fortschreibung in v. 28 (‘they will no more be a prey to the nations’) and the deliberate selection of many pastoral images from Lev 26, I am persuaded that vv. 25–30 presuppose the persistence of the flock image throughout. Thus, there is no necessity to excise v. 31 from 25–30. 61 To be more precise, in P the covenant is inured from ruin because punishment is individual not corporate. Thus, it is a ʭʬʥʲʺʩʸʡ, ‘eternal covenant’ (Gen. 17.7). 62 LYONS, Law to Prophecy, 124–125. Lyons goes on to point out that this unconditional guarantee renders the curses of the covenant unnecessary. As a result, when the author of Ezek 34.25–31 borrows locutions from the curses in Lev 26 they are inverted, stated as blessings. For example, ‘your land will not give its produce’ (Lev 26.20) is restated as: ‘the land will give its produce’ (Ezek 34.27); ‘animals of the field will bereave’ (Lev 26.22) is restated as: ‘wild animals will not devour’ (Ezek 34.28). I am in agreement with Lyons that Lev 26 predates Ezek 34.25–31, against, for example: B AENTSCH, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 125; LEVIN, Verheißung, 224–225; GRÜNWALT, Leviticus 17–26, 349–351. 63 The exact locution ‘covenant of peace’, ʭʥʬʹ ʺʩʸʡ, occurs in two other texts. In Num 25.12 Phinehas is granted a personal ‘covenant of peace’, as a reward for turning back Yhwh’s wrath at Peor. In Isa 54.7–10 Yhwh promises that his future ‘covenant of peace will not be removed’, because he will never again be angry with his people. By way of analogy, the prophet invokes the covenant with Noah. In that covenant, God promised never again to pour out a flood to destroy the earth. In the same way, in the future covenant, God will never again need to pour out his wrath on Israel (Isa 54.9–10). Thus, ‘covenant of peace’ means peace with God. Furthermore, for Isaiah, like Ezekiel, the ʭʥʬʹʺʩʸʡ is an eternal covenant, a ʭʬʥʲʺʩʸʡ (Ezek 16.60), which cannot be broken (contra ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 2, 220; GREENBERG, Ezekiel 21–37, 707).

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narratives. These allusions significantly nuanced his argument. By means of the first allusion, the redactor connected the blessings of the Sinai covenant (H) with the promises to the patriarchs. In verse 26a, Yhwh says of the regathered flock ʤʫʸʡ…ʭʺʥʠ ʩʺʺʰʥ, ‘I will make them a blessing’, an echo of Gen. 12.2b (28.4): ʤʫʸʡ ʤʩʤʥ. This intimates that the Sinai covenant and promise to the patriarchs are coextensive. When one is restored, the other will be also. This also betrays the fact that the redactor thought the promise to Abraham was at an end, broken when the people broke the stipulation of the Sinai covenant (chap 16).64 The second allusion to the patriarchal stories added a new dimension to the theme of divine presence. In the H code, preservation of the divine presence is conditioned on obedience to the statues and commandments (Lev 26.3). The author of 34.25–31, highlighting this dimension of the H covenant, blended the covenant formula with the guidance theme: ‘they will know that I, Adonai their God, am with them, and they, the house of Israel, are my people’ (34.30). Ezekiel 20.40–44 already connected acceptance of the people and restoration of proper cult practice with God’s presence in Jerusalem. Here, for the first time, restoration of the divine presence is explicitly linked with restoration of covenant. As with the theme of the divine indwelling spirit (11.17–21; 37.1–14; 36.23c–38), the divine presence is reconceived in a democratized fashion, as individual, personal attention and care. Yhwh is not just a national God, with a national perspective (vv. 27b–28). He will be ‘with’ his sheep, just as he was ‘with’ individuals from the legendary past: Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph.65 Ezekiel 34.25–31 is almost universally accepted as a secondary addition from a post-587 66 perspective. Two features stand out in this respect. First, 34.1–22 is an accusation against the leaders of Israel, depicted as shepherds (vv. 1–6) or goats (vv. 17–22). They are indicted for exploitation and abuse of their own people, for causing strife within Judah. Verses 25–31, however, have an international perspective. Verse 28 interprets the ‘wild animals’ of vv. 6 and 8 (cf. 22) as foreign nations who have pursued, scattered, and preyed upon the flock of Israel. After the fall of Jerusalem, the abuses of Israel’s leaders 64

This association of the patriarchal promise and the Sinai covenant is already present in Lev 26. The author of Ezek 34.25–31, enhanced the connection by alluding to Gen. 12. See, for example, NIHAN, Priestly Torah, 540–542. 65 Though only two are alluded to explicitly, the oracle contains four of the five central themes of the patriarchal promise: blessing, fame, land, and guidance. The only theme that is not apparent, offspring, may be implicit in the promises of fertility and immunity from famine and war. This mirrors the covenant blessings and curse in Lev 26, which revolve around the central themes of the patriarchal promise. 66 See, ZIMMERLI, Ezekiel 2, 212–213; HOSSFELD, Untersuchungen, 273–276; KRÜGER , Geschichtekonzepte, 457–458; W ILLEMS, Hirtenallegorie, 471–474; K LEIN, Schriftauslegung, 49–55, 170–172. Note, though, that vv. 25–31 are not an independent oracle. They were composed as a supplement to vv. 1–22. The antecedent of the third-masculineplural pronouns, which initiate the oracle in v. 25, is the ‘flock’, ʯʠʶ, in v. 22.

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in the past are not very pertinent. The nation’s abuse at the hands of foreigners, however, remains a pressing issue. Second, whereas 34.1–15(16) takes its inspiration from Jer 23.1–8, borrowing many of its locutions and images; 34.25–31 depends upon Lev 26.

IV. Ezekiel 37.24–28: ‘I will set my sanctuary in their midst forever’ Whereas Ezek 34.25–31 was crafted largely from elements of Lev 26, Ezek 37.24–28 was created by conflating themes and locutions from many deliverance oracles within the book (11.14–21; 16.53–63; 20.40–44; 28.25–26; 34.25–31).67 Ezekiel 37.24–28

Borrowed/Adapted Locutions

And David my servant will be king over all of them; and there will be one shepherd for all of them. And they will walk in my judgments, and carefully keep my statutes.

Ezek 34.24, ʭʫʥʺʡ ʠʩʹʰ ʣʥʣ ʩʣʡʲ, ‘David my servant will be prince in their midst’ Ezek 34.23, ʣʧʠʤʲʸʭʤʩʬʲʩʺʮʷʤ, ‘I will set over them one shepherd’, Ezek 11.20, ʥʸʮʹʩʩʨʴʹʮʚʺʠʥʥʫʬʩʩʺʷʧʡʯʲʮʬ ʭʺʠʥʹʲʥ, ‘in order that they walk in my statutes and carefully keep my judgments’ Ezek 28.25–26, ʩʺʺʰ ʸʹʠ ʭʺʮʣʠʚʬʲ ʥʡʹʩʥ ʡʷʲʩʬ ʩʣʡʲʬ, ‘they will dwell upon their land which I gave to my servant, to Jacob; Ezek 20.42, ʤʺʥʠ ʺʺʬ ʩʣʩʚʺʠ ʩʺʠʹʰ ʸʹʠ ʵʸʠʤ ʭʫʩʺʥʡʠʬ, ‘land which I swore to give it to your fathers’ Gen. 17.8 ‘I will give to you and you offspring after you the land…as an eternal possession (ʭʬʥʲʺʦʧʠ)’. Ezek 34.24, ʭʫʥʺʡ ʠʩʹʰ ʣʥʣ ʩʣʡʲ, ‘David my servant will be prince in their midst’ Ezek 34.25, ʭʥʬʹ ʺʩʸʡ ʭʤʬ ʩʺʸʫʥ, ‘I will make a covenant of peace with them’ Ezek 16.60, ʭʥʬʲ ʺʩʸʡ ʪʬ ʩʺʥʮʷʤʥ, ‘I will establish for you and eternal covenant’ Ezek 11.16, ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮʬʭʤʬʩʤʠʥ, ‘I will be a

24

25

And they will dwell in the land that I have given to my servant, to Jacob, 68 where your fathers dwelt; and they will dwell in it, themselves, and their children, and their children’s children forever, and my servant David will be their prince forever.

26 Moreover I will make a covenant of peace with them; it will be an ever69 lasting covenant with them. I will 70 set them, and multiply them, and will set my sanctuary (ʹʣʷʮ) in the

67 Ezekiel 37.24–28 is a late addition to the book. It addresses the diaspora (v. 24) after the destruction of the temple (vv. 26–27, 28b). There is some debate about whether the addition begins in v. 24a, 24b, or 25. The covenant formula, which typically stands at the end of a pericope in Ezek, appears in v. 23 and again in v. 27 (11.12; 14.11; 34.24, 30[31]). For this reason, among others, it is almost universally accepted that v. 24 is an addition in its own right. Whether or not it is part of the addition in vv. 25–28 or was added separately is immaterial for the argument below. 68 Note the switch to second person, revealing the locution from Ezek 20.42, which was not syntactically adjusted to match the new context. 69 Readingʭʺʠfor MT’s ʭʺʥʠ (with LXXB,A). 70 The clauses ʭʺʥʠ ʩʺʩʡʸʤʥ ʭʩʺʺʰʥ , represented in MT and MasEzek, are absent in B,A LXX and Pap 967. It is a gloss added by Wiederaufnahme (ʩʺʺʰʥ < ʭʩʺʺʰʥ).

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Ezekiel 37.24–28 midst of them forever. My habitation (ʯʫʹʮ) also will be among them. I will be their God, and they will be my people. 28And the nations will know that I am Yhwh, the one who sanctifies Israel, when my sanctuary (ʹʣʷʮ) will be in the midst of them for evermore.

27

Borrowed/Adapted Locutions temporary sanctuary for them’ (inverted in v. 26b); Ezek 43.9, ʭʬʥʲʬʭʫʥʺʡʩʺʰʫʹʥ, ‘(I will dwell) in their midst forever’ Lev 26.11–12, ʩʺʩʩʤʥ«ʭʫʫʥʺʡ ʩʰʫʹʮ ʩʺʺʰʥ ʭʲʬ ʩʬʚʥʩʤʺ ʭʺʠʥ ʭʩʤʬʠʬ ʭʫʬ, ‘I will place my dwelling in your midst…and will be your God, and you shall be my people’. Ezek 43.7, 9,  ʭʫʥʺʡ ʩʺʰʫʹʥ«ʬʠʸʹʩʚʩʰʡ ʪʥʺʡ ʭʹʚʯʫʹʠ ʭʬʥʲʬ, ‘I will dwell there in the midst of the sons of Israel…and I will dwell in their midst forever’ Covenant formula: Ezek 11.20; 14.11; 36.28; 37.23, 27 Ezek 11.16, ʨʲʮʹʣʷʮʬʭʤʬʩʤʠʥ , ‘I will be a temporary sanctuary for them’ (inverted in v. 28b); Ezek 43.9, ʭʬʥʲʬʭʫʥʺʡʩʺʰʫʹʥ, ‘(I will dwell) in their midst forever’

All of the topics and themes within this oracle have been expressed previously, which is not to say that it contains nothing new. It collapses Ezekiel’s deliverance oracles into one future moment. The predictions in 11.14–21, 16.53–63, 20.40–44, 28.25–26, 34.25–31, and 43.1–12 are all taken to refer to a single future condition: one shepherd, one sanctuary, one people, in one future moment. The oracle also underscores the scope of the restoration. Emphasis is placed upon the inclusion of all the people, every generation (vv. 24aȕ, 25bĮ). It is no longer the covenant alone that is described as ‘eternal’ (ʭʬʥʲ). Possession of the land, the monarch, the sanctuary, and the divine presence are all explicitly permanent. None will be revoked.71 This assumes, of course, that the future covenant cannot or will not be breached – an assumption that has pervaded the deliverance oracles examined here. How this might be the case has not yet been clarified. V. Ezekiel 39.25–29: ‘I will not hide my face from them’ The Gog Oracles in Ezek 38–39 conclude with another deliverance oracle that also takes up many themes and locutions from other scriptural texts, including Ezekiel:

Note ʭʬʥʲ (v. 26), ʭʬʥʲʣʲ (v. 2 5), ʭʬʥʲʬ (vv. 25, 26, 28). See discussion in JENNI, Das Wort ‫ޏ‬ǀlƗm, 197–248. 71

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73

25 Therefore thus says the Lord Yhwh, ‘Then I will restore the fortunes of Jacob, and have mercy upon all the house of Israel, and will be jealous for my holy name. 26And they will bear their shame, and all their unfaithfulness, by which they acted unfaithfully with me when they dwell upon their land securely, and there is no one to cause fear. 27 When I have returned them from the peoples, and I have gathered them from the lands of their enemies, and display my holiness among them in the eyes of many nations. 28 Then will they know that I am Yhwh their God, after I exile them among the nations, 74 [and I gather them to their own land, and I do not leave any of them behind there]. 75 29 Neither will I hide my face any more from them, because I have poured out my spirit upon the house of Israel’– an utterance of the Lord Yhwh.

This oracle describes the results of Gog’s misadventure upon the mountains of Israel. Following the destruction of Gog, which will restore Yhwh’s reputation before the nations, Yhwh will relent and regather all of his people. They will be restored, dwelling in safety with no one to oppress them. They will be granted Yhwh’s attentive favor, and they will possess the divine spirit.76

72 For other cases of ʤʺʲ meaning ‘then’, see Isa 29.22 (neg.); Mic. 4.7 (continued in 4,9, 10, 11, 14); 5.3. 73 The word ʺʩʡʹ is a perpetual Ketiv-Qere (Qere: ʺʥʡʹ). Its etymology is uncertain (BL §75k; SOGGIN, ‘ʡʥʹ’, 1314–1315). Both spellings, ʺʥ/ʺʩʡʹ, are used in contexts describing exile. That, and the graphic similarity to ʤʿʡʹ, led the Masoretes and translators of the versions to associate it with ‘exile/go into exile’ (LXX ਕʌȠıIJȡ੼ȥȦ IJ੽Ȟ ĮੁȤȝĮȜȦıȓĮȞ, ‘I will return the captives’), hence the traditional English translation ‘restore the captivity’. This translation is not well suited to the present text (Ezek 39.25) inasmuchas some of the people have already returned and resettled the land (38.8–16). Other occurrences of the locution, make it clear that ʺʩʡʹ should not be associated too closely with ‘exile’ (see, e.g., Job 42.10 where Yhwh ‘restored the fortunes ( ʡʹ ʺʩʡʹʚʺʠ) of Job’, and Hos 7.1, wherein Yhwh announces that he will ‘restore the fortunes (ʺʥʡʹʩʡʥʹʡ) of my people’. 74 The text within braces is a plus in MT. It is a scribal gloss, inserted, in part, from v. 27. LUST observes that LXX-Ezek seldom omits redundancies (The Final Text and Textual Criticism. Ez 39,28, in Ezekiel and His Book: Textual and Literary Criticism in their Interrelation [edited by Johann Lust; BETL 74; Leuven: University Press, 1986], 48). MT-Ezek, though, is notoriously expansionistic. 75 For MT’s ʩʧʥʸʚʺʠʩʺʫʴʹ LXX offers ਥȟ੼ȤİĮ IJȩȞ șȣȝȩȞ ȝȠȣ, ‘I have poured out my wrath’ (ʩʺʮʧʚʺʠʩʺʫʴˇ). This is a harmonization, aligning the verse with Ezekiel’s habits of expression (Ezek 7.8; 9.8; 20.8, 13, 21, 33, 34; 30.15; 36.18 [cf. 21.36; 22.31]), and with that of the Prophets as a whole. 76 The Gog Oracles, as a whole, are a late Persian or early Hellenistic supplement to the book of Ezekiel. Though they are a large supplement to the book, they did not significantly alter its macro-structure or design. Nonetheless, sometime before the addition of 36.23c–38 a redactor composed and inserted the Gog Oracles (38.1–39.29) in an effort to harmonize the book with other known eschatological texts and to fill certain gaps in the book regarding, in particular, the vindication of Israel and ultimate judgment of the nations. See, T OOMAN, Gog of Magog.

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Like 37.24–28, the pericope is replete with language from other sources, especially the H code. The borrowed locutions have been assembled without symmetry or concern for redundancy.77 Note the following reused locutions:78 Ezekiel 39.25–29

Borrowed/Adapted Locutions

Therefore thus says the Lord Yhwh, ‘Then I will restore the fortunes of Jacob, and I will have mercy upon the house of Israel, and I will be jealous for my holy name. 26 And they will bear their shame, and all their unfaithfulness, by which they acted unfaithfully with me when they dwell upon their land securely, and there is no one to cause fear.

Hos 1.6, ʬʠʸʹʩ ʺʩʡʚʺʠ ʭʧʸʠ, ‘I will have mercy on the house of Israel’ Lev 20.3; 22.2, 32 (cf. Lev 18.21; 19.12; 21.6), ʩʹʣʷʭʹ, ‘my holy name’ Lev 26.40 (cf. Deut 32.51), ʸʹʠ ʭʬʲʮ ʩʡʚʥʬʲʮ, ‘their unfaithfulness, by which they acted unfaithfully with me’ Lev 25.18, 19; 26.5, ʧʨʡʬ + ʡʹʩ, ‘dwell securely’ Lev 26.6, ʣʩʸʧʮʯʩʠ, ‘none to cause fear’ Jer 23.3; 32.37 (cf. 31.8), ʺʥʶʸʠʮ «ʩʺʶʡʷ, ‘I have gathered them from the lands’ Lev 26.34, 36, 38, 39, 41, 44 (vv. 34, 38, 39, are 2 nd pers. pl.), ʭʤʩʡʩʥʠʺʥʶʸʠ, ‘lands of their enemies’ Lev 22.32 + 26.45, -ʡʩʺʹʣʷʰ + ʭʩʥʢʤ ʩʰʩʲʬ (with God as subject), ‘I will be sanctified in’ + ‘in the eyes of the nations’ Deut 31.17, 18; 32.20, ʭʤʮ ʩʰʴ + ʸʺʱ (1 st person, God as subject), ‘hide my face from them’ (cf. Lev 26.17) Joel 3.1–2, ʬʲ ʩʧʥʸʚʺʠ ʩʺʫʴʹ, ‘I will pour out my spirit upon’

25

27

When I have returned them from the peoples, and I have gathered them from the lands of their enemies, and display my holiness among them in the eyes of the nations. 28Then will they know that I am Yhwh their God, after I exile them among the nations. 29

Neither will I hide my face from them anymore, because I will have poured out my spirit upon the house of Israel’– an utterance of the Lord Yhwh’.’

Like Ezek 34.25–31, this pericope highlights the blessings of a restored covenant as they are expressed in Lev 26. Locutions from other sources are sprinkled throughout, from Deuteronomy (v. 29 [also 23, 24]), Jeremiah (v. 27),79 Hosea (v. 25),80 and Joel (v. 29).Two allusions, both found in v. 77

Verse 26a, 27b, and 28b (MT) are redundant with 23a, 21a, and 27a respectively. Only locutions from outside Ezekiel are indicated. Also, I have omitted MT’s expansion in v. 28b. 79 The locution ʡʥʩʠ + -ʡ + ʯʺʰ is a common Deuteronomic expression. However, inasmuch as 39.25–29 is heavily dependent upon H, and the same expression does appear in Lev 26.25, it seems likely that, in this instance, the composer of the oracle derived it from Lev 26. 80 The expression ʬʠʸʹʩʺʩʡʚʬʫʩʺʮʧʸ, ‘I will have compassion on the whole house of Israel’, is a transparent inversion of Hos 1.6 ʬʠʸʹʩʺʩʡʚʺʠʭʧʸʠʣʥʲʳʩʱʥʠʠʬ, ‘I will no 78

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29, are directly related to the theme of divine presence: the expression ‘hide my face’ (Deut 31.17, 18; 32.20) and the clause ‘I will pour out my spirit’ (Joel 3.1–2). The expression, ‘I will not hide my face any longer from them’ is only found in Deut 31.17, 18; 32.20 and Ezek 39.29.81 Considering the strong influence of H on this pericope, I imagine that the author derived the topos from the covenant curse in Lev 26.17, wherein Yhwh promised to ‘set my face against you’, ʭʫʡʩʰʴʩʺʺʰʥ. The author, however, chose to assimilate the expression to the language of Deut 31–32. In Deuteronomy, God assures Moses that the people will break the covenant (ʩʺʩʸʡʚʺʠ ʸʴʤʥ) and that he, in turn, would forsake them and turn his face from them ( ʭʩʺʡʦʲ ʭʤʮ ʩʰʴ ʩʺʸʺʱʤʥ). Ezek 39.29 not only reverses this curse, it promises a permanent and perpetual restoration of divine attention.82 The pericope concludes with an allusion to Joel 3.1–2. Joel 3.1–2 (EV 2.28–29) Then afterward, I will pour out my spirit on (ʬʲ ʩʧʥʸʚʺʠ ʪʥʴʹʠ) all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female slaves, in those days, I will pour out my spirit.

Ezek 39.29 Neither will I hide my face any more from them, because I will have poured out my spirit upon (ʬʲʩʧʥʸʚʺʠ ʩʺʫʴʹ) the house of Israel’ – an utterance of Lord Yhwh.

At first glance, the expression ‘I will have poured out my spirit upon the house of Israel’ (Ezek 39.29) appears to be nothing more than a rewording of Ezek 37.14, ‘I will put my spirit within you’.83 However, when the book of Ezekiel speaks of giving the spirit, it always uses ʯʺʰ (Ezek 11.19; 36.26, 27; 37.14).84 Ezekiel uses ʪʴʹ exclusively for pouring out wrath.85 In fact, ʪʴʹ occurs sixty times in the prophetic corpus, and in every case it longer have compassion on the house of Israel’, (cf. 2.19). The allusion serves to locate the promised restoration in Hosea in the ʭʩʮʩʤʺʩʸʧʠ (38.16), after the invasion of Gog. 81 The trope of God hiding his face is quite common in HB (e.g., Isa 8.17; 54.8; 59.2; Jer 33.5; Pss 10.11; 13.2; 22.25; Job 13.24; 34.29). The locution ʭʤʮʩʰʴ + ʸʺʱ, having the verb in the 1st person and God as subject, is only found in these two texts. 82 On the negative temporal construction ʣʲ + ʠʬ see B LENKINSOPP, Torah and Canon, 85–87. 83 See, BERGLER, Joel als Schriftinterpret, 269. 84 See also, Num 11.25, 29; 1 Kgs 22.23; 2 Kgs 19.7; Isa 37.7; 42.1; Qoh 12.7; Neh. 9.20; 2 Chr 18.22. 85 See Ezek 7.8; 9.8; 20.8, 13, 21, 33, 34; 30.15; 36.18 (cf. 21.36; 22.31). LXX reads ਥȟ੼ȤİĮ IJȩȞ șȣȝȩȞ ȝȠȣ, ‘I have poured out my wrath’ ( ʩʺʮʧʚʺʠ ʩʺʫʴʹ), suggesting that the translator recognized the non-Ezekielian turn of phrase.

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is used in a negative expression as part of an oracle of judgment (for blood, anger, fornication, and so on); in every case, except Ezek 39.29 and Joel 3.1–2. The author of the Gog oracles alluded to Joel 3.1–2 to explain the gift of the spirit, which was promised in Ezek 11.19–20 and 37.14.86 Ezekiel 11.19–20 promised the people ‘one heart’ (ʣʧʠʡʬ) and a ‘new spirit’ ( ʧʥʸ ʤʹʣʧ). Ezekiel 37.14 promised the coming of ‘my spirit’ (ʩʧʥʸ) as part of the revivification of the nation. The notion of a new heart was expressed as God’s transformation of the people, changing their constitution, so that they would be able to keep the covenant (11.19b–20a), but neither 11.19– 20 nor 37.14 explained the ‘new spirit’. Joel, though, described an outpouring of God’s spirit following the yôm Yhwh. For him, the spirit is a divine gift of prophetic inspiration poured out on all the people in the eschaton. The author of Ezek 38–39 filled the gap in Ezekiel’s explanation of the transformation of the people by linking the book of Ezekiel to Joel. This reflects, once again, a democratizing impulse. All the people, from greatest to smallest, will partake of immediate, revelatory experiences of the deity. 87 Ezekiel 39.25–29 (or 23–29) is typically understood as a redactional supplement deliberately linked to 37.24–28, possibly even by the same hand. It is commonly suggested that it was crafted as a transition to chaps 40–48.88 Though I agree that this is one functional purpose of 39.25–29, I consider it to be an integral part of the Gog Oracles. In the original arrangement of the book’s chapters (attested by Pap967), Ezek 37.24–28 was the segue to the vision of the restored temple, not 39.25–29. Ezekiel 37.24–28 is, in any case, the more suitable transition. It includes or presumes all of the primary restoration promises from chaps 34–37: return, peaceful resettlement, restoration of the Davidic monarchy, establishment of a covenant of peace, the inward re-creation and multiplication of the people of Israel, resurrection of the nation, rebuilding of the temple and revival of the cult. Its references to ‘my sanctuary’ and ‘my dwelling place’ are particularly telling. The rebuilding of the temple is never directly mentioned apart from 37.26–27 and chaps 40–48.89 86

At this point, I am excluding Ezek 36.26–27, because the entire passage, 36.23c– 38, which is absent in Pap967, is a later scribal addition to the book. See the discussion of 3.23c–38 below. 87 In this way the restoration community would finally fulfill the hopes of Moses, expressed in Num 11.19: ‘Moses said…“Would that all Yhwh’s people were prophets, and that Yhwh would put his spirit on them”‘. 88 See discussion in HOSSFELD, Untersuchungen, 485–493, 508–509; KLEIN, Schriftauslegung, 140–169). 89 Ezek 20.40–41 is the only other explicit reference to restored cult practice in Ezek 1–39.

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The Gog Oracles stand between the oracles of restoration in chaps 34– 37 and the vision of their enactment in chaps 40–48.90 The insertion of the Gog Oracles altered the book’s depiction of the process of restoration. In Ezek 38–39, only a small part of the restoration promises itemized in 37.24–28 have been fulfilled. The epilogue, 39.25–29, clarifies that the full restoration will only materialize after the invasion and defeat of Gog and his confederates in the ‘latter days’ (38.8). The Gog Oracles, then, effectively divide the restoration into two periods. This division is not suggested in any of Ezekiel’s other restoration oracles, including 37.24–28.91 VI. Conclusions The central concern of Ezekiel’s visions is restoration of the Temple and the divine presence. The central concern of the deliverance oracles is restoration of the covenant. The two themes, though, are not entirely separable. Accordingly, the topic of divine presence does appear within the deliverance oracles, which address diaspora communities as a whole. These oracles associate the restoration of the divine presence with the giving of a new covenant, a covenant of peace, making the conditions for restoration of the covenant coextensive with conditions for the restoration of the divine presence. Ezekiel 11.14–21 guaranteed some measure of God’s presence to the exiles of the first golah and, in its Fortschreibung, to all the diaspora. Ezekiel 20.40–44 promised a restoration of the cult in Jerusalem and, with it, God’s acceptance of the people. Ezekiel 34.25–31 predicted a future ‘covenant of peace’ and an outpouring of covenant blessings: the blessings promised in the Holiness code (Lev 26) and those promised to the patriarchs, including the promise to be ‘with’ the people. Ezekiel 37.24–28, taking up all the preceding deliverance themes, stressed their permanence; none of the benefits of the restoration will be revoked. Ezekiel 39.25–29, included a promise that God’s attention and care would rest on Israel forever and all the people would be imbued with the divine spirit. All of these promises are unilateral. All of them emphasize the durability of the restoration. In all of these promises, though, the perseverance of the covenant remains unexplained. The people corrupted themselves once and went into exile. God promised that, once the restoration occured, this same situation would not repeat itself, but how could this be?

90

‘[T]he last two chapters [38–39] appear to be a later insertion…they disturb the peace which has settled down upon restored Israel’ (COOKE, Exegetical Commentary, xxv). 91 See further, TOOMAN, Gog of Magog, chap 2.

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3. Covenant and Presence in the Final Redaction of Ezekiel What could make the people obedient to the covenant, such that God could live in their midst forever? The temple will be restored, enabling the people to secure divine pardon (20.40–44). Possession of the first temple, though, did nothing to prevent the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile. The people will be transformed, enabling them to keep the statutes and ordinances (11.19–20). The nature, effects, and extent of this change, however, has not been articulated. The divine presence will be extended to all the people, cementing God’s ownership over them (34.30), but does proximity to the deity not increase the risk to the new covenant (Num 14)? All members of the community will enjoy divine revelation, but that alone is no guarantee of proper behavior (Ezek 2.8; 3.14). The resolution to these dangling questions and complexities is only found in 36.23c–38. As has already been observed, Ezek 36.23c–38 not only gave the book its final redactional shape, it gave the book its final theological shape as well. By connecting existing arguments and antecedent texts in new ways,92 the redactor responsible for 36.23c–38 provided a single resolution to the oracles’ remaining difficulties. The explanation is elegant in its simplicity. For this redactor, the divine presence is not only a promise; it is the solution to Israel’s woes. The solution is found in vv. 26– 28: Ezek 36.26–28

Borrowed/Adapted Locutions

A new heart I will give you,

11.19 ʣʧʠʡʬʭʤʬʩʺʺʰʥ I will give them one heart,

and a new spirit I will put within you;

and put a new spirit within you

and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh

I will remove the heart of stone from their flesh

and give you a heart of flesh.

and give them a heart of flesh, 37.14 ʭʫʡʩʧʥʸʩʺʺʰʥ I will put my spirit within you, 11.20aʥʫʬʩʩʺʷʧʡʯʲʮʬ so that they may follow my statutes

26

ʹʣʧʡʬʭʫʬʩʺʺʰʥ

ʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥ

ʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥ

ʭʫʸʹʡʮʯʡʠʤʡʬʚʺʠʩʺʸʱʤʥ ʸʹʡʡʬʭʫʬʩʺʺʰʥ 27

ʭʫʡʸʷʡʯʺʠʩʧʥʸʚʺʠʥ

I will put my spirit within you,

ʥʫʬʺʩʷʧʡʚʸʹʠʺʠʩʺʩʹʲ

and make you follow my statutes 92

93

ʭʸʹʡʮʯʡʠʤʡʬʩʺʸʱʤʥ ʸʹʡʡʬʭʤʬʩʺʺʰʥ

Deliberate citations of and allusions to Ezekiel’s deliverance oracles abound within 36.23c–32, including (but not limited to) the following: 36.23 // 20.41b, 28.25, 39.25, 39.27b–28; 36.24 // 20.41b–42a, 39.27; 36.26 // 11.19, 18.31, 39.29b; 36.27 // 11.20, 37.14, 37.24b; 36.28 // 37.25a, 27b; 36.29 // 34.29a; 36.30 // 34.27a, 34.29b; 36.31 // 20.43; 36.32 // 20.44, 39.26. 93 Regarding the unusual construction ʸʹʠʺʠʩʺʩʹʲʥ see, GKC §157c.

Covenant and Presence

Ezek 36.26–28

177

Borrowed/Adapted Locutions

ʭʺʩʹʲʥʥʸʮʹʺʩʨʴʹʮʥ

ʭʺʠʥʹʲʥʥʸʮˇʩʩʨʴʹʮʚʺʠʥ

and be careful to observe my ordinances.

and they will carefully keep my ordinances 37.24b ʥʫʬʩʩʨʴʹʮʡʥ in my ordinances they will walk,

ʭʺʥʠʥʹʲʥʥʸʮʹʩʩʺʷʧʥ 28

ʭʫʩʺʡʠʬʩʺʺʰʸʹʠʵʸʠʡʭʺʡʹʩʥ

Then you shall live in the landthat I gave to your ancestors

ʭʩʤʬʠʬʭʫʬʤʩʤʠʩʫʰʠʥʭʲʬʩʬʭʺʩʩʤʥ and you shall be my people, and I will be your God.

and they will carefully keep my statutes. 37.25  ʸʹʠ«ʩʺʺʰ ʸʹʠ ʵʸʠʤʚʬʲ ʥʡʹʩʥ

ʭʫʩʺʥʡʠʤʡʚʥʡʹʩ

And they will dwell in the land that I have given unto Jacob my servant, wherein your fathers have dwelt. 11.20bʭʩʤʬʠʬʭʤʬʤʩʤʠʩʰʠʥʭʲʬʩʬʚʥʩʤʥ they shall be my people, and I will be their God 37.27  ʩʬʚʥʩʤʩ ʤʮʤʥ ʭʩʤʬʠʬ ʭʤʬ ʩʺʩʩʤʥ

ʭʲʬ

I will be their God, and they will be my people. (// 34.30–31)

Verses 26–28 are a complex conflation of locutions from 11.19–20 and 37.14, 24b–25, 27, the two texts in Ezekiel directly concerned with the divine spirit. The redactor made very few alterations to the borrowed locutions.94 There are two alterations, however, that are profound. As noted previously, the redactor altered the phrase ‘one heart’, ʣʧʠʡʬ, in 11.19a to ‘new heart’, ʹʣʧ ʡʬ (36.26a). This highlighted the innovative quality of the act and better aligned the phrase with the following explanation, ‘and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh’. The second alteration was to gloss the unexplained clause ‘a new spirit I will put within you’, ʭʫʡʸʷʡ ʯʺʠ ʤʹʣʧ ʧʥʸ (11.19aȕ; 36.26aȕ),95 94 Apart from the changes to 11.19 discussed here, the redactor only made three adjustments to the source material listed in the right hand column. (1) He changed ʭʫʡ from 37.14 to ʭʫʡʸʷʡ, to harmonize it with 11.19a. (2) He placed the verb ʤʿʹʲ at the beginning and the end of 36.27b, whereas it appears only at the end of 11.20a and 37.24b. (3) He truncated 37.25, removing the phrase ‘Jacob my servant’. 95 The switch from third person (vv. 18–19aa) to second person (v. 19ab) and back again (vv. 19b–20) has been central to discussions about the redactional and textual history of 11.14–21 and the relationship of 11.19–20 to 18.31 and 36.26–27. LEENE (Ezekiel and Jeremiah, 150–75) and KLEIN (Schriftauslegung, 89–111, esp. 92–96) have argued that 11.19 was augmented by v. 19aȕ (ʫʡʸʷʡ ʯʺʠ ʤʹʣʧ ʧʥʸʥ ), a clause derived from 36.26aȕ (ʭʫʡʸʷʡ ʯʺʠ ʤʹʣʧ ʧʥʸʥ ). This accounts for the unexpected shift in person in 11.19aȕ, but requires 11.19aȕ to have been inserted very late indeed, after 36.23c–38. Though I am not strongly opposed to this view, there are two mitigating points which tell against it. First, the text-critical evidence regarding the number of the pronoun is divided.

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with a clause from 37.14a, ‘I will put my spirit within you’, ʭʫʡʩʧʥʸʩʺʺʰʥ. Thus the redactor assimilated the two texts, 11.19–20 and 37.1–14. Individual transformation and national revivification were to be effected by the same means: the gift of the divine spirit. Despite Yhwh’s exhortation to the people in 18.31 to craft for themselves a new heart and a new spirit, this feat was beyond the people’s ability. They were hopelessly corrupt. Remorse and repentance were beyond their grasp (2.3–7; 3.4–11; 33.23–33). Covenant obedience would only become possible when God supernaturally changed their character (11.14– 21). The redactor who gave us 36.23c–38 introduced the divine presence as the solution to permanent covenant obedience and the pathway to full national restoration.96 The God who would one day give new life to the nation, restoring its hopes and reunifying its people (37.1–14), was the God who would imbue that people with his own spirit (36.26–27; 37.14). In possession of the divine spirit, the people would enjoy unmediated communication with Yhwh (39.29). In possession of a new heart, the people would be enabled to hear, learn, and keep the covenant (11.20; 36.27–28) – something Ezekiel despaired of in chaps 2–3.97 Thus, they could achieve what no generation had done before: maintain the covenant in perpetuity. 98 So long as God did not withdraw his spirit from his people, the new covenant and national restoration would persevere (16.60; 34.25a; 37.24–28). In the past, the presence of the Ke‫ڬ‬ôd Yhwh within the temple did not safeguard the covenant. In the future, the presence of the divine spirit within the people would be the remedy for their ills and the guarantee of their Targum Jonathan and most Hebrew witnesses read ʭʫʡʸʷʡ, in concord with B19a. The oldest witnesses, however, read against B19a. LXX, Vulgate, Peshitta, and the major Hebrew manuscripts ʴ (Petersburg, 916 C.E.) and ʸ (Reuchlinianus, 1105 C.E.) read ʭʡʸʷʡ. Papyrus967, which would be very instructive at this point, unfortunately lacks 1.1– 11.24. Second, I think it far more likely, in light of the very late date of 36.23c–38, that the gloss in 11.19aȕ was inspired by 18.31b (ʤʹʣʧʧʥʸʥʹʣʧʡʬʭʫʬʥʹʲʥ), and that the whole of v. 19, including this gloss, was taken up and reused by the redactor responsible for 36.26. (See n. 94 for further evidence that the composer of 36.23c–38 was aware of 11.19.) 96 Cf. GREENBERG, Salvation of the Impenitent, 263–271. 97 LEENE, Ezekiel and Jeremiah, 153. 98 Identifying the ‘new spirit’ as the ‘divine spirit’ also reconciled an apparent tension between 11.14–16 and 20.40–44. Ezekiel 11.14–16 promised that God himself would be a ʨʲʮˇʣʷʮ during the exilic period (and after, according to its Fortschreibung). Ezekiel 20.40–44 made restoration of the presence and the covenant contingent upon adherence to the cult stipulations of the covenant. How could God be with the exiles as a ˇʣʷʮ if the cult had first to be restored? If, however, the gift of divine presence also transformed the people, rendering them unable to breach the covenant, the two promises were no longer mutually exclusive.

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eternal acceptance. Thus, covenant and presence go hand in hand. Just as the breach of covenant resulted in the loss of the divine presence (ke‫ڬ‬ôd), so too, a new gift of divine presence (rû‫ۊ‬î) would result in an unbreakable covenant and an incorruptible people.

Bibliography ALBERTZ, R., Die Exilszeit (BE 7), Stuttgart 2001 — Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century B.C.E. (SBL 3), trans. D. Green, Atlanta 2003 B ARR, J., Some Semantic Notes on the Covenant, in: Beiträge zur Alttestamentlichen Theologie: Festschrift für Walter Zimmerli zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. H. Donner et al., Göttingen 1977, 27–38 B ARTH, C., Ezekiel 37 als Einheit, in: Beiträge zur Alttestamentlichen Theologie: Festschrift für Walter Zimmerli zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. H. Donner et al., Göttingen 1977, 39–52 B ECKER, J., Erwägungen zur ezechielischen Frage, in: Künder des Wortes: Beiträge zur Theologie des Wortes, ed. L. Ruppert et al., Würzburg 1982, 137–149 B ERGLER, S., Joel als Schriftinterpret (BEATAJ 16), Frankfurt 1988 B LOCK, D. I., The Prophet of the Spirit: The Use of ʧʥʸ in the Book of Ezekiel, JETS 32/1 (1989) 27–49 COOKE, G. A., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Ezekiel (ICC), Edinburgh 1936 CORNHILL, C. H., Das Buch des Propheten Ezechiel, Leipzig 1886 CRANE, A. S., Israel’s Restoration: A Textual – Comparative Exploration of Ezekiel 36– 39 (VT.S 122), Leiden 2008 EICHRODT, W., Ezekiel: A Commentary (OTL), trans. C. Quinn, Philadelphia 1970 EISSFELDT, O., Hesekiel Kap. 16 als Geschichtsquelle, JPOS 16 (1936) 286–292 FECHTER, F., Bewältigung der Katastrophe: Untersuchungen zu ausgewählten Fremdvölkersprüchen im Ezechielbuch (BZAW 208), Berlin 1992 FEIST, U., Ezechiel: Das literarische Problem des Buches forschungsgeschichtlich betrachtet, Stuttgart 1995 F ISHBANE, M. A., Sin and Judgment in the Prophecies of Ezekiel, Interpretation 38/2 (1984) 131–150 FOHRER, G., Die Glossen im Buche Ezechiel. Chapter in Studien zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie 1949–1965 (BZAW 99), Berlin 1967 — Die Hauptprobleme des Buches Ezechiel (Beihefte BZAW 72), Berlin 1952 — Ezekiel. Mit einem Beitrag von Kurt Galling (Handbuch zum Alten Testament 13), Tübingen 1955 GARSCHA, J., Studium zum Ezechielbuch: Eine redaktionskritische Untersuchung von 1– 39, Bern 1974 GEHMAN, H. S., The Relations Between the Hebrew Text of Ezekiel and that of the John H. Scheide Papyri, JAOS 58 (1938) 92–102 — The Relations Between the Text of the John H. Scheide Papyri and that of the other Greek Mss. of Ezekiel, JBL 57 (1938) 281–287 GERTZ, J. C. et al., Grundinformation Altes Testament: Eine Einführung in Literatur, Religion und Geschichte des Alten Testament, Göttingen 2010 4

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GREENBERG, M., Ezekiel 1–20 (AB 22), New York 1983 — Ezekiel 21–37 (AB 22A), New York 1997 — The Design and Themes of Ezekiel’s Program of Restoration, Interpretation 38 (1984) 181–208 — What are Valid Criteria for Determining Inauthentic Matter in Ezekiel?, in: Ezekiel and His Book. Textual and Literary Criticism and their Relation (BETL 74), ed. J. Lust, Leuven 1986, 123–135 HALPRIN, D. J., The Exegetical Character of Ezek. X.9–17, VT 26/2 (1972) 129–141 HERRMANN, J., Ezechielstudien (BWANT 2), Leipzig 1908 HÖFFKEN, P., Beobachtungen zu Ezechiel XXXVII 1–10, VT 31/3 (1981) 303–317 HÖLSCHER, G., Hesekiel, Der Dichter und das Buch. Eine Literarkritische Untersuchung (BZAW 39), Giessen 1924 HOSSFELD, F. L., Das Buch Ezechiel, in: Einleitung in das Alte Testament (KohlhammerStudienbücher Theologie 1.1.), ed. E. Zenger et al., Stuttgart 2008 7, 489–506 — Ezechiel und die deuteronomisch-deuteronomistische Bewegung, in: Jeremia und die deuteronomistische Bewegung, ed. W. Gross, Weinheim 1995, 271–295 — Probleme einer ganzheitlichen Lektüre der Schrift: Dargestellt am Beispiel Ez 9–10, ThQ 167/14 (1987) 266–277 — Untersuchungen zu Komposition und Theologie des Ezechielbuches (FB 20), Würzburg 1977 JENNI, E., Das Wort ‫ޏ‬ǀlƗm im Alten Testament, ZAW 64 (1952–53) 197–248; 65 (1953– 54) 1–35 — Zur Verwendung von ʤʺʲ , ‘jetzt’,im Alten Testament, ThZ 28 (1972) 5–12; HALOT 2 901–902. J OHNSON, A. C. et al., The John H. Scheide Biblical Papyri: Ezekiel, Princeton 1938 KENYON, F. G., The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri, fasc. 7: Ezekiel, Daniel, Esther: Text; fasc. 8: Ezekiel, Daniel, Esther: Plates, London 1937–38 (reprint, Dublin 1958) KLEIN, A., Prophecy Continued: Reflections on Innerbiblical Exegesis in Ezekiel, VT 60/4 (2010) 571–82 — Schriftauslegung im Ezechielbuch: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Ez 34–39 (BZAW 391), Berlin 2008 KONKEL, M., Architektonik des Heiligen: Studien zur zweiten Tempelvision Ezechiels (Ez 40–48) (BBB 129), Berlin 2001 KRÜGER, T., Geschichtskonzepte im Ezechielbuch (BZAW 180), Berlin 1989 KUTSCH, E., Die chronologischen Daten des Ezechielbuches (OBO 62), Fribourg 1985 KUTSKO, J. F., Between Heaven and Earth: Divine Presence and Absence in the Book of Ezekiel, Winona Lake 2000 LEENE, H., Ezekiel and Jeremiah: Promises of Inner Renewal in Diachronic Perspective, in: Past, Present, Future: The Deuteronomistic History and the Prophets, ed. J. de Moor and H. F. van Rooy, Leiden 2000, 150–175 LEMKE, W. E., Life in the Present and Hope for the Future, Interpretation 38/2 (April, 1984) 165–180 LEVIN, C., Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes: In ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt, Göttingen 1985 LILLEY, I. E., Two Books of Ezekiel: Papyrus 967 and the Masoretic Text as Variant Literary Editions (VT.S 150), Leiden 2012 LIWAK R., Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Ezechielbuches: Eine Studie zu postezechielischen Interpretationen und Kompositionen, Dissertation Bochum 1976

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LUST, J., Ezekiel Salutes Isaiah: Ezekiel 20,32–44, in: Studies in the Book of Isaiah: Festschrift Willem A. M. Beuken (BETL 132), ed. J. van Ruiten and M. Vervenne Leuven 1997, 367–382 — Major Divergences between LXX and MT in Ezekiel, in: The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible, ed. A. Schenker, Atlanta 2003, 83–92 — Spirit of the Lord or the Wrath of the Lord?: Ezekiel 39,29, ETL 78 (2002) 149–150 LYONS, M. A., From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHBOTS 507), London and New York 2009 MENDECKI N., Postdeuteronomistische Redaktion von Ez 28,25–26?, BN 71 (1994) 66– 73 N IHAN, C., From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus (FAT-II 25), Tübingen 2007 NOBILE, M., Beziehung Zwischen Ez 32,17–32 und der Gog-Perikope (Ez 38–39) im Lichte der Endredaktion, in: Ezekiel and His Book: Textual and Literary Criticism and Their Interrelation (BETL 74), ed. J. Lust, Leuven 1986, 255–259 ODELL, M. S., The Inversion of Shame and Forgiveness in Ezekiel 16.59–63, JSOT 56 (1992) 101–112 OHNESORGE, S., Jahwe gestaltet sein Volk neu: Zur Sicht der Zukunft Israels nach Ez 11,14–21; 20,1–44; 36,16–38; 37,1–14.15–28. (FB 64), Würzburg 1991 P OHLMANN, K.-F., Der Prophet Hezekiel/Ezechiel 1–19 (ATD 22.1), Göttingen 1996 — Der Prophet Hezekiel/Ezechiel 20–48 (ATD 22.2), Göttingen 2001 — Ezechielstudien: Zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Buches und zur Frage nach den älteste Texten (BZAW 202), Berlin 1992 RENDTORFF, R., Ez 20 und 36,16ff im Rahmen der Composition des Buches Ezechiel, in: Ezekiel and His Book: Textual and Literary Criticism and Their Interrelation (BETL 74), ed. J. Lust, Leuven 1986, 260–265 — Ezekiel 20 and 36:16ff in the Framework of the Composition of the Book, in: Canon and Theology: Overtures to an Old Testament Theology, trans. M. Kohl, Minneapolis 1993, 190–195 RUDNIG, T. A., Heilig und Profan: Redaktionskritische Studien zu Ez 40–48 (BZAW 287), Berlin 2000 — Ezechiel 40–48 Die Vision vom neuen Temple und der neuen Ordnung im Land, in: K.-F. Pohlmann, Der Prophet Hezekiel/Ezechiel 20–48 (ATD 22.2), Göttingen 2001, 527–631 SCHÖPFLIN, K., Ezechiel – das Buch eines Visonärs und Theologen, BN 130 (2006) 17– 30 — The Composition of Metaphorical Oracles within the Book of Ezekiel, VT 55/1 (2005) 101–120 — Theologie als Biographie im Ezechielbuch: ein Beitrag zur Konzeption alttestamentlicher Prophetie (FAT 36), Tübingen 2002 SCHULTZ, H., Das Todesrecht im Alten Testament: Studien zur Rechtsform der MotJumat-Sätze (BZAW114), Berlin 1969 SCHWAGMEIER, P., Untersuchungen zu Textgeschichte und Entstehung des Ezechielbuches in masoretischer und griechischer Überlieferung, Ph.D. dissertation University of Zürich 2004 SCHWARTZ, B., Ezekiel’s Dim View of Israel’s Restoration, in: The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives (SBLSS 9), ed. M. Odell and J. Strong, Atlanta 2000, 43–67

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SEDLMEIER, F., ’Deine Brüder, deine Brüder…’: Die Beziehung von Ez 11,14–21 zur dtn-dtr Theologie, in: Jeremia und die deuteronomistische Bewegung, ed. W. Gross, Weinheim 1995, 297–312 — Studien zu Komposition und Theologie von Ezechiel 20 (SBB 21), Stuttgart 1990 TOOMAN, W. A., Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge to Inviolability, ZAW 121/4 (2009) 498– 514 — Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39 (FAT-II 52), Tübingen 2011 VAN DER T OORN, K., Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible, Cambridge, Mass. 2009 VAN D YKE P ARUNAK, H., The Literary Architecture of Ezekiel’s M AR‫ ގ‬ÔT ‫ގ‬ƞ LƿHÎM , JBL 99 (1990) 61–74 TOV, E. Recensional Differences Between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel, ETL 62 (1986) 89–101 TOY, C. H., The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel: Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text with Notes. Sacred Books of the Old Testament, Leipzig 1899 TUELL, S. S., The Law of the Temple in Ezekiel 40–48 (HSM 49), Cambridge, Mass. 1992 W AHL, H. M., ‘Tod und Leben’: Zur Wiederherstellung Israels nach Ez. XXXVII 1–14, VT 49/2 (1999) 218–239 W ILLEMS, B., Die sogenannte Hirtenallegorie Ez 34. Studien zum Bild das Hirten im Alten Testament (BET 19), Frankfurt 1984 ZIMMERLI, W., Das Phänomen der ‘Fortschreibung’ im Buch Ezechiel, in: Prophecy: Essays Presented to Georg Fohrer on his Sixty–Fifth Birthday, 6 September 1980 (BZAW 150), ed. J. A. Emerton, Berlin 1980, 174–191 — Ezechiel 1, I. Teilband (BKAT XIII/1), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1969 — Ezechiel 2, II. Teilband (BKAT XIII/2), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1969 — Ezekiel 1: A Commentary on the Book of Ezekiel Chapters 1–24 (Herm), trans. R. E. Clements, Philadelphia 1979 — Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25–48 (Herm), trans. R. E. Clements, Philadelphia 1983

Divine Presence in Absence Aniconism and Multiple Imaging in the Prophets

J ILL MIDDLEMAS

Discussions of divine presence in the Old Testament tend to focus on Deuteronomistic Name theology, in which the deity dwelt in the heavenly realm and the Name inhabited the temple as well as Kabod theology, more generally associated with the Priestly tradition, which held that the deity’s presence resided in the temple, but was nevertheless mobile. Mounting evidence of the material cultural background and the iconography of the Old Testament world foreground that analyses of divine presence can take place on another level altogether.1 Because of the biblical emphasis on aniconic religious expressions in the cult, whether true in actuality or not, discussions of divine presence (and indeed, absence) tend to overlook the important role of iconography. The present study examines attitudes to and policies related to iconographical expressions of divine presence and their relation to the absence of deities and Yahweh with particular attention to the rhetoric employed in the prophetic literature. A further interest is how biblical aniconic rhetoric construes divine absence, at least with respect to deities other than Yahweh. Aniconism is understood within this context similarly to the definition of programmatic aniconism put forward by Mettinger that can be thought of as consisting of three elements: the active repudiation and abolishment of items of worship in a religious context through physical action (e.g., the destruction of iconographic symbols), the institution of legal prohibitions, and the implementation of rhetorical strategies.2 While most attention has focused on the religio-historical back1 See many of the outstanding collections of material produced by the so-called Fribourg School, including KEEL, Die Welt der altorientalischen Bildsymbolik; SCHROER, In Israel gab es Bilder; KEEL and UEHLINGER, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole; UEHLINGER, Images as Media. For a recent and thorough review of iconographic research with the aim to create a methodological approach, see DE HULSTER, Iconographic Exegesis 2009. 2 METTINGER, No Graven Image?, 18.

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ground of the first and the development of the second, only a small measure of attention has been concerned with the last, especially with respect to the polemics against idol passages in the prophets. The Old Testament evidences a wide variety of rhetorical strategies related to divine absence (and aniconism) and divine presence that deserve renewed interest and analysis at the present time. In material terms the clearest indication of the presence of the deity in the context of worship is through the use of a symbol or statue of or related to the deity because idols were thought to be embodied with the divine.3 Moreover, the material culture of Iron Age Palestine has bequeathed a significant number of artefacts that provide evidence of the widespread use of iconography in religious observance. How these relate to the cult of Yahweh worship is still debated, but their prevalence in Iron Age Judah and Israel at least attests to the abundant use of images in public and private religious contexts. If a cultic statue denotes divine presence than the lack of a cultic statue has the potential to communicate divine absence. With respect to divine absence, there are at least three rhetorical strategies present in the prophetic literature: the correlation of Yahweh’s presence and the loss thereof to the worship of other deities, the removal of divinity from cultic objects, and the potential absence of Yahweh brought about through the eradication of Yahwistic4 cultic objects and the image of the deity. Because the abolition of Yahwistic cultic images did not actually result in the loss of divine presence according to the biblical tradition, an analysis of aspects of divine absence is followed by some reflections on indications of divine presence in the prophetic books Hosea and Ezekiel, which are two of the prophetic collections most exercised with the issue of idolatry and iconography. The abandonment of the physical image resulted in the mediation of divine presence through metaphorical speech – what I refer to as multiple imaging.

1. Divine Absence Divine absence in the prophetic literature includes the loss of Yahweh due to the presence of other deities, the active campaign to distance divinity 3 Elaborate rituals to deify the image that had been constructed were implemented. See B LACKMANN, The Rite of Opening the Mouth; W INTER, Idols of the King; BERLEJUNG, Washing the Mouth; B ERLEJUNG, Die Theologie der Bilder. 4 I refrain from using personal pronouns in conjunction with the deity in this context not out of any personal conviction, but because I agree with KÖVECSES, Metaphor, 26 that to use personal pronouns to replace the word God requires a metaphorical understanding.

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from constructed images in ritual use for other gods, and the loss of Yahwistic cultic symbols and divine image. Divine Absence by Association: The Loss of Yahweh’s Presence There is a clear correlation in the prophetic literature between the worship of deities in the form of idols and the loss of the presence of Yahweh.5 In fact, this is one of the most consistent explanations for the fall of the two kingdoms and the (Yahweh’s)6 destruction of the temple in 587/6 BCE in the biblical tradition. One of the most vivid examples of the correlation between the loss of divine presence and the worship of idols occurs in the prophet Ezekiel’s7 vision of the impure temple (chs 8–11).8 Roughly contemporaneous with Ezekiel according to the chronological framing of the book, the prophetic figure Jeremiah also associated the prevalence of idol worship with the loss of divine presence and the judgement of the temple (Jer 7.30; 32.34, cf. 7.1–8.3). Idol worship then leads to and results in divine absence, which is the exact opposite of its intention.9 The use of images in worship denoted the presence of the divine and facilitated the interaction of the worshipers with the deity. However in the tradition of biblical Israel the use of idols in cultic ritual failed to achieve the results desired. Not only were other deities from the biblical point of view unable to come to the aid of people who worshiped them, Yahweh removed divine presence from among them as well. In some biblical traditions the worship of idols was even linked to the transfer of impurity that led to Yahweh’s abandonment.10 Closely related to the correlation between the worship of images and the (ongoing) loss of Yahwistic divine presence is that the intervention of the 5

E.g., Hos 8.1–6; 13.1–3; Isa 2.6–8; Jer 1.16; 2.20–28; 11.10–13; Ezek 8.1–18. T OOMAN, Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge, has argued that Ezekiel 8–11 is actually better understood as Yahweh’s arrival at the temple site to destroy it against the consensus view that holds that the scene portrays Yahweh’s departure from the temple to leave it to destruction. 7 I use Ezekiel (and references to the prophet) here as shorthand to refer to the author(s) who are behind the biblical material associated with a prophetic figure called Ezekiel. 8 I have argued elsewhere in M IDDLEMAS, Transformation of the Image, that the issue at stake for the prophetic figure Ezekiel in the four scenes at the temple site is best understood as idolatry. That this idolatry leads to (or has led to following the argument of TOOMAN, Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge to Inviolability) the loss of the divine presence is clear by the movement of the presence of the deity on the mobile chariot throne away from the city of Jerusalem to hover ominously on its outskirts in Ezek 11.20. 9 On similar dynamics in Exod 32, see MACDONALD, Recasting the Golden Calf. 10 See GANZEL, Transformation, who has examined this correlation with particular attention to the Ezekiel tradition. 6

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deity in a restorative way is predicated partly on the absolute abolishment of images, which signified the veneration of other deities (that took place either in addition to or in rejection of Yahwistic worship). In the final chapters of the book of Ezekiel, for example, which depict the restored and purified Jerusalem as well as a series of regulations to ensure a holy environment that would secure the deity’s continued presence,11 the deity is said to exclaim ‘Now let them put away their idolatry and the corpses of their kings…and I will reside among them forever’ (Ezek 43.9).12 In addition, the condemnation of rampant idol worship among the people in Judah (from before and after the first deportation in 598 BCE) participates in the rhetoric of the book which transfers hope exclusively to the exiles in Babylon (and those deported along with Ezekiel).13 The prophetic collection attributed to Proto-Zechariah (chs 1–8) concentrates similarly on the behaviour and regulations required for the establishment of the community in the restored Jerusalem to which Yahweh will return and in which the deity will dwell.14 Among the vision sequences in the collection is a scene in which a woman is ejected from Jerusalem and returned to the land of Shinar or Babylon. The woman represents the sinfulness of the people (v. 6) and is associated with idolatry (v. 8). Although she likely represents a goddess, it is unclear which goddess is in view.15 The thrust of the passage is that the removal of idolatry from the homeland of Judah is a necessary accompaniment to the restoration that the prophet envisions as already taking place.16 Absenting the Divine Another strategy has to do with the distancing of divinity from images fashioned by human hands or natural images occurring in nature. The biblical rhetoric emphasizes that deities represented by fixed forms do not represent ‘real’ gods that can enact change, move, or intervene in any way in the human realm. Edward Curtis summarizes this literary strategy in terms of contempt and ridicule,

11

LEVENSON, Theology of the Program; STEVENSON, Vision of Transformation. Unless otherwise stated, I refer to the NRSV. 13 RENZ, Rhetorical Function. 14 E.g., MARINKOVIC, What Does Zechariah 1–8 Tell Us. 15 Relevant discussions of the woman in the Ephah and her possible signifiers include. MEYERS AND MEYERS, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8, 301–309, 313–316; UEHLINGER, Die Frau im Efa; UEHLINGER, Figurative Policy, 344–347; M IDDLEMAS, Troubles of Templeless Judah. 16 On the apocalyptic elements of the prophecy, see COOK, Prophecy and Apocalypticism, 123–165 (esp. 127–129). 12

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Images are…an abomination. They make the people and nation using them unclean, and so they are likened to other sources of impurity: dung, detestable things, dead bodies. They are useless and ineffective, they have no life in them, they are wood, stone, they are vapour and vanity. They are deceptive, they cannot do what their worshipers ask of them; 17 they only disappoint and embarrass those who trust them.

According to the biblical books that bear their names the prophets warned against confusing objects made by human hands and even natural objects like the sun or the moon with deities. A polemical stance against idols is especially apparent in Jeremiah (Jer 1.16; 2.27–28; 10.1–6, 8–9, 14–15; 50.2; 51.17–18) and Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 40.19–20; 41.6–7; 44.9–20) as exemplified in the thorough examination of the polemical passages against idols by Michael Dick.18 Dick finds that three rhetorical strategies were employed to dissuade the worship of other deities in Jeremiah and Deutero-Isaiah; the deity becomes the idol so that it is represented as having no independent divine power, human agency is highlighted in the manufacture of other people’s idols, and the raw materials from which the idols are fashioned were also parodied as profane. A representative passage in Jeremiah reflects this three-fold emphasis on the material used for the idol’s production, its human construction, and the void of divine presence: a tree from the forest is cut down, and worked with an axe by the hands of an artisan; people deck it with silver and gold; they fasten it with hammers and nails so that it cannot move. Their idols are like scarecrows in a cucumber field, and they cannot speak; they have to be carried, for they cannot walk (Jer 10.3b-5a).

The association of deities other than Yahweh with the workmen who produce them from raw materials is found elsewhere in the prophetic corpus (e.g., Hos 8.4–6; 13.2–3; 14.4 [14.3]; Ezek 5.11; 20.7–8; 22.3–4; Mic 5.12–13 [5.13–14]; Hab 2.18–19) and seems to be consistent with the biblical view of other deities and their veneration more generally. Hosea, for example, is well known for parodying idols as the work of human hands (Hos 4.12; 8.4, 6; 10.6). The passages against idols in Hosea anticipate in some respects the polemical passages against idols found in Isaiah and Jeremiah.19 Note the comments made by Mauchline many years ago: 17

CURTIS, Theological Basis, 280. The article contains a useful overview of the references to idol worship in the Old Testament, but maintains the biblical line on the antiquity of the divine prohibitions against images. 18 DICK, Prophetic Parodies. See also the treatment of some of the relevant passages by C LIFFORD, Function of the Idol and P REUSS, Verspottung fremder Religionen. LEVTOW, Images of Others, also considers some of the relevant idol passages in his concern to illuminate the socio-political motivation of what he terms the icon parodies. 19 See for example, METTINGER, The Veto on Images. The priority of the Hosea passages depends to some extent on how much they are considered original or secondary. Both N ISSINEN, Prophetie, Redaktion und Fortschreibung and Y EE, Composition and Tradition, regard many of the polemical idol passages as secondary.

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More uncompromisingly than any of his contemporary fellow prophets, Hosea condemns idolatry. He disparages images as the work of men’s hands…Even the greatest image of them all, the calf image of Bethel, will at the last be carried away like splinters of wood 20 upon the surface of the waves.

And Toews has argued that the aniconic tendency in Hosea is directly related to the bull calf iconography and that it formed the basis for the polemic against Jeroboam’s bull iconography in 1 Kgs 12 (cf. Hos 8.1–6; 10.1–6; 13.1–3).21 In Hosea the bull calf images no longer functioned to represent the deity but became the objects of worship themselves.22 The depiction of the worshipers kissing the calf image in Hos 13.2 underscores the confusion of the deity and the object. These types of parodies of idols align well with a rhetorical strategy found in the book of Ezekiel whereby the lemma used for deities other than Yahweh connoted something profane and not divine.23 While reserving the term ʭʩʤʬʠ (God) exclusively for Yahweh and in distinction to the rhetoric of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History where the veneration of other deities was characterized as going after ‘other gods’, ʭʩʤʬʠ ʭʩʸʧʠ, Ezekiel labels other deities profane objects with three favourite terms being ʭʩʶʥʷʹ ‘detestable things’, ʺʥʡʲʥʺ ‘abominations’, and ʭʩʬʥʬʢ ‘dung’.24 Similarly, in the prophecies attributed to Hosea the worship of Baal(s) is likened to the worship of idols without efficacy (Hos 9.10; 11.2; 13.1, cf. 7.16; 11.7).25 With respect to the conceptualization of deities other than Yahweh in the prophetic literature, examples of divine absence include the correlation of the lack of Yahweh’s protective and sustaining presence to the worship of other deities and the idols utilized in their veneration, the failure of Yahweh’s return and implementation of divine restoration because of the continued presence of other deities and their idols, and the loss of the divinity of deities fashioned as idols. Representations of deities are devoid of divine presence. Through satirical denunciations of other deities as inert objects, the prophets insist on divine absence – both of the other deities and of Yahweh.

20

MAUCHLINE, Hosea, 555. T OEWS, Monarchy and Religious Institution. 22 T OEWS, Monarchy and Religious Institution, 168. 23 KUTSKO, Between Heaven and Earth; KUTSKO, Ezekiel’s Anthropology. 24 GANZEL, Transformation, 36–43, also contains a useful list and discussion of these terms. 25 Various emendations have been offered to ease textual difficulties in 7.16 and 11.7. A correction to Baal in both makes good sense in the passages and in the context of the book. See the commentaries and DAY, Hosea and the Baal Cult, 212–213. 21

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Loss of Images in Yahwistic Worship A further rhetorical strategy related to the issue of divine presence and absence is the loss of images in the context of Yahwistic worship such that the deity Yahweh was not considered present in or representable by images.26 It is clear in the prophetic literature that certain cultic objects used in the temple to direct attention to the deity or represent the presence of Yahweh were eventually eradicated literarily.27 Elements connoting divine presence are actively made absent. Their absence according to the biblical writers, though, would not also indicate the loss of the presence of Yahweh as it had with the divine figures of other deities. Nevertheless, in the prophetic literature there are instances where active aniconism (the institution of rhetorical strategies to abolish cultic images used in worship) results in the loss of physical symbols representative of the presence of Yahweh within the textual presentation. As such, aniconism represents an aspect of or functions as a type of divine absence through its insistence on the lack of images to portray the sustaining presence of the deity. Unease with images representative of the presence of Yahweh in the temple will be examined with regards to the cherubim throne28 and the ark of the covenant that is, the two objects most clearly indicative and expressive of the presence of Yahweh in the First Temple as well as the menorah of the second. Iconoclastic rhetoric is also apparent with respect to an image of Yahweh. The most obvious example of the loss of an image in the context of Yahweh worship occurs in conjunction with the cherubim throne, which appears as the deity’s mobile throne chariot in the book of Ezekiel. In the three visions of the divine (Ezek 1–3, 8–11, 40–48) that form a skeleton for the book, a telling development with respect to the mobile throne chariot is noticeable. The chariot is visible in the first two visions and is clearly intended to be a visual representation, even a manifestation, of the deity’s throne associated with Solomon’s temple (1 Kgs 6–8), but the depiction is certainly influenced by Canaanite/Phoenician art forms as Keel

26

This is not the context in which to engage in the debate about whether there was a cult statue of Yahweh in the Jerusalem temple. There is growing textual and material evidence, especially when the literary record is examined in light of the material evidence, that points in this direction. See NIEHR, In Search of Yhwh’s Cult Statue; UEHLINGER, Anthropomorphic Cult Statuary, 148–149, for biblical allusions to Yahweh’s cult statues. For a different interpretation of the material evidence, see DICK, Prophetic Parodies, 4–7; LEWIS, Divine Images; NA’AMAN, No Anthropomorphic Graven Image. 27 The following arguments draw on two articles where this strategy is examined in the book of Ezekiel, MIDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh; M IDDLEMAS, Transformation. 28 For a recent study of the cherubim which challenges the dominant view, see W OOD, Of Wings and Wheels.

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has argued.29 In the book of Ezekiel the mobile throne chariot suddenly disappears. Given that it is the source of a great deal of illustration and description in the first two visions (1.5–28; chs 9–10, esp. 10.1, 9–14, 20– 22, 11.22), its abrupt loss in the final vision of the collection is suggestive. When the deity’s presence is visualized returning to the restored and purified Jerusalem, the chariot throne is neither described nor even mentioned: it does not accompany Yahweh on the deity’s return or resume its place in the temple (43.2–5, cf. 40.1–3). The cherubim with which it is associated are located only on the walls of the sanctuary (Ezek 41.17–20, 25), which is only one of the locations consistent with their presence in the Kings account of the temple. The locution of the throne chariot in the final chapters of Ezekiel emphasizes that there will be no representative image to indicate the presence of Yahweh in the purified temple envisioned by the prophet.30 Its omission appears as the culmination of a firm stance against images seen at work throughout the collection. The aniconic sentiments found in the book of Ezekiel are most clear with respect to the cherubim throne, but it is also the case that the rhetorics of the book reveal the loss of the other important visual symbol of Yahweh in the First Temple – the ark of the covenant. Although the ark never appears in the book of Ezekiel, language associated with it is co-opted for the restored and purified temple, which is spoken of as the footstool of the deity in 43.7.31 The absence of the ark and the use of its imagery in connection with the temple participate with other rhetorical strategies in the book of Ezekiel that distance physical images from the deity.32 The ark is effectively eradicated as a viable object of worship in the Second Temple. Its loss is consistent with other thought relating to the period like that attributed to the prophetic figure Jeremiah, ‘they shall no longer say, “the ark of the covenant of Yahweh”. It shall not come to mind, or be remembered, or missed, nor shall another one be made’ (Jer 3.16). 29

KEEL, Jahwe-Visionen, 37–45; METZGER, Königsthron und Gottesthron; METNo Graven Image? See METTINGER, Elusive Essence, 397, for a response to Metzger’s hypothesis that the cherubim stood to hold the throne in the Jerusalem temple. 30 This point is argued in more detail in MIDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh, 310–312. 31 ZIMMERLI, has a fairly involved discussion of this verse and the loss of the ark that deserves further attention in another study. What is interesting in connection with the argument presented here is that his reconstruction of the ark tradition suggests that Ezekiel’s use of ark language for the temple is consistent with the tradition of Yahweh enthroned on the ark known from 1 Sam 4.4; 2 Sam 6.2, but is to be distinguished in that the ark does not appear. The temple takes over the function of the ark. Furthermore, locating the presence of Yahweh in the Holy of Holies without the ark provides a counter (almost revolutionary in its conceptualization) to the traditions of Yahweh’s presence found in Isaiah (chs 6 and 66), P, and Jeremiah. 32 On what may have happened to the actual ark itself, see D AY, Whatever Happened.

TINGER ,

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The cherubim throne and the ark of the covenant were abolished as viable symbols of divine presence because of growing animosity towards the use of images in worship33 (of other deities which were not considered to be gods, but whose appearance, nevertheless, resulted in the loss of Yahweh’s divine presence according to the biblical line of thought). The employment of literary strategies to eradicate symbols used in the cult of Yahweh like the cherubim throne and the ark of the covenant, but not representative of the deity, support to some extent Mettinger’s contention that tolerance to images not fashioned in a divine form (which he calls de facto aniconism) gradually shifted towards a campaign to abolish images, symbols, and other cultic representations (his programmatic aniconism).34 However, there is another possibility with respect to the motivation behind the eradication of the cherubim throne and the ark. The throne and the footstool, although not actually representing the morphé of Yahweh, nevertheless, provided one very concrete way of visualizing the deity – as a human being.35 Concerns about the anthropomorphic representation of Yahweh appear in addition to prophetic rhetoric that satirized other deities as images made by human hands and that debased idols with a variety of terms evoking disgust. Twice in the book of Ezekiel which is exercised with the issue of idolatry prophetic discourse includes idols fashioned as men among its critique. In the allegories of Jerusalem and Samaria one of the many things of which the women are accused is the worship of idols crafted as men (ʸʫʦ in 16.17; ʭʩʹʰʠ who appeared like the Chaldeans in 23.14).36 A similar line of reasoning is found also in Deutero-Isaiah, where the idea is that anthropomorphic images are not divine (Isa 44.3)37 as well as in the book of Hosea where it is explicitly stated that Yahweh is not a man, ʹʩʠ (Hos 11.9). The loss of the cherubim throne and ark of the covenant as cultic symbols in the prophetic literary record resulted in the aboli33

A fine study of the development of the widening of the legal tradition to include restrictions against more and more images is that of DOHMEN, Das Bilderverbot. 34 METTINGER, No Graven Image?, 18. Note his response to criticisms of this view in METTINGER, Israelite Aniconism and the reviews by LEWIS, Divine Images and Aniconism; UEHLINGER, Israelite Aniconism in Context. 35 For the connection between views towards kingship and aniconic tendencies, see HENDEL, The Social Origins; EVANS, Cult Images; HENDEL, Aniconism and Anthropomorphism. 36 This may provide some explanation for why the city of Jerusalem no longer appears figuratively as a woman and is even renamed ‘Yahweh is there’ (43.5) in the final chapters of the book as argued in M IDDLEMAS, Transformation of the Image, 123–127. On the disappearance of female Jerusalem in Ezekiel, see DAY, Adulterous Jerusalem’s Imagined Demise; GALAMBUSH, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel. 37 Noted also among the rhetorical strategies of Deutero-Isaiah in D ICK, Prophetic Parodies, 30 n. 54.

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tion of imaging Yahweh after a human body, thus resulting in the eradication of a concrete visual aid of divine presence. The removal of symbolic representations that provided a means to visualize the deity in a concrete way finds support in that at least one of the symbols indicative of divine presence in the Second Temple period in the prophetic literature evokes the idea of presence without form. The most likely case for the erection of another image in the context of worship to represent Yahweh’s presence is the menorah as found in Zech 4.1–14.38 The menorah is a cultic object of a different kind than the cherubim throne and the ark of the covenant that conveyed a divine physical and human form. That the cherubim throne could provide a very clear way to visualize Yahweh is no more apparent than in the book of Ezekiel where the image of a human being actually rides the mobile throne chariot (1.26). Both Deutero-Isaiah and Ezekiel contain explicit condemnations of divine images in the shape of men, but note also that the reticence to equate Yahweh with a human being occurs in the book of Hosea. Within parts of the biblical tradition any image hinting at an actual anthropomorphic shape of the deity was discouraged or even forbidden. The menorah could remain, as could the cherubim on the walls of the sanctuary, as symbolic representations because they convey nothing of the form of Yahweh.39 The menorah would in fact emphasize the fluid, amorphous, and mixed representations of Yahwistic presence found in the vision sequences in Ezekiel – the fire and mixed form in Ezekiel 1.27 and 8.2 as well as the rainbow in 1.28. What differentiates the menorah is that it provides no way to visualize the deity in a concrete and stable form, as would the other images suggestive of Yahweh appearing with a human body. Instead its use in the temple would function somewhat akin to the British flag that flies over Buckingham palace when the Queen is in residence by indicating presence, but not form.40 The use of formless representations is consistent with strategies to abolish Yahwistic cultic symbolic representations that implied one stable and fixed divine image. An extreme reluctance to depict Yahweh in any fixed form suggests that it is not just images associated with the deity that disappear in rhetorical strategies to bolster aniconism, but also an image of Yahweh.41 Indeed, a 38

N IEHR, In Search of Yhwh’s Cult Statue, has argued that a cult statue of Yahweh existed in the Jerusalem temple before its destruction in 587/6 BCE Although there are some suggestions in the biblical material to support this perspective, his use of the menorah in Zechariah serves less to advance his case. 39 The Bread of the Presence could also be considered similarly. 40 I wish to thank Nathan MacDonald for his suggestion of this example. 41 SCHMIDT, The Aniconic Tradition, seeks to show that a re-examination of certain texts in the Pentateuch hint at the possibility of a cultic image of the deity and that this

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stable, fixed, and anthropomorphic image of Yahweh is abolished through a number of complementary rhetorical strategies in the book of Ezekiel.42 Firstly, the depiction of the deity in human form, as male, is downplayed. In the first prophetic vision of the deity, Ezekiel is reported to have seen the divine form figured as ʭʣʠ (1.26). However, the second vision with its inclusion of impersonal details in the description of the deity’s effulgence like fire43 and light immediately destabilizes the resoluteness made possible by the reference to a human being (8.2).44 The image of Yahweh as an ʭʣʠ (1.26) is actually already subverted within its literary context by being referred to also as a rainbow in a summary of the vision (1.28). In Ezek 1.28 the likeness of the deity as a rainbow emphasizes the fluid and amorphous nature of the divine image. In fact, Ezek 1.28 employs the most concrete language in its description of the divine presence through the choice and order of the terms employed: ‘like the likeness (ʤʠʸʮʫ) of the bow that will be in the cloud on a rainy day so is the likeness of the shining all around; it is the likeness of the appearance (ʺʥʮʣʤʠʸʮʠʥʤ) of the presence (ʣʥʡʫ) of Yahweh.’45 Secondly, many different images for the deity, even a type of mixed form in which the deity is described as having a rough bodily shape in which the lower half is fire and the upper half is gleaming amber (1.26–27; 8.2), appear as descriptors in the vision sequences of divine presence. Although it has been argued that when visualized Yahweh’s image could have been a Mischwesen, mixed form. The abolishment of an image over the course of the book of Ezekiel might also hint in this direction. 42 For more detailed discussions of these points, see MIDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh, 314–320; MIDDLEMAS, Transformation, 127–136. 43 I have argued elsewhere that the Septuagint translation of ‘man’ in the second vision is inconsistent with the rhetoric of Ezekiel and that fire makes more sense in the context. See, MIDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh, 317–320; MIDDLEMAS, Transformation, 129–134. 44 N IELSEN, The Variety of Metaphors, 151–159, has examined how impersonal (nonhuman) metaphors for Yahweh destabilize the narrow image of God as a human being in the Psalter. 45 A close analysis of the terms ʺʥʮʣ and ʤʠʸʮ as used in the book of Ezekiel M IDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh, 318–319 reveal that ʺʥʮʣ is used to define something more specifically and ʤʠʸʮ speaks of something abstract with the general appearance of something else. When found in an expression of the vision of the ʤʥʤʩ ʣʥʡʫ ‘the glory/presence of Yahweh’ in 1.26; 8.2, the unique expression ʺʥʮʣ ʤʠʸʮʫ ‘the form like the general appearance of’ evidences the use of a more specific term followed by a term denoting something more general in appearance. In conjunction with Yahweh’s form, there is a serious attempt to distance the divinity from any fixed form, except in 1.28 where the two terms are found in reverse order. The reference to Yahweh’s form being like a rainbow in 1.28 is actually the only instance in Ezekiel in which the terms ʤʠʸʮ and ʺʥʮʣ are found in the order of the abstract word before the specific. So, the form most like the representation of Yahweh is the rainbow, not the man of 1.26 or even the fiery form of 1.27.

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bodily form was understood to essentially be like that of a man,46 at least in the book of Ezekiel the focus is on different images of the deity without a priority given to any one and the greatest impression comes from the image of the rainbow – that which cannot be given a definitive shape. Finally, a form of the deity fails to return with the divine presence to the restored and purified temple in Jerusalem. The deity in the final chapters of Ezekiel is heard, never seen. As with the mobile throne chariot this literary strategy signifies the lack of the return of a divine image and raises to the foreground the importance ascribed to the role of divine proclamation. The book of Ezekiel presses towards the promotion of the word as the conveyor of divine presence. Both van der Toorn47 with attention to the Torah and Sweeney48 in conjunction with the book of Isaiah have highlighted the importance of the divine word as a replacement for the figuration of the deity Yahweh in the Second Temple period. The book of Ezekiel contributes to the promotion of the word of Yahweh instead of an image. The loss of the figuration of Yahweh in any stable form is also likely found in the prophetic tradition in conjunction with the bull calves established at Bethel in the book of Hosea. The bull statues found condemned in Hosea (8.5–6; 10.5–6; 11.2) are more compellingly understood as statues of Yahweh (perhaps incorporating the traditions of El) and not pedestals on which the invisible presence of the deity stood.49 They are considered only the work of human hands (Hos 8.6) and are thus to be destroyed. The emphasis in Hosea on the human construction of images that remain inert and powerless contradicts Schmidt’s note that the anti-image rhetoric of Hosea is related to the use of the wrong image of Yahweh, rather than images in general.50 Because the bull statues were interpreted as images representing Yahweh, they were condemned to destruction. That the northern kingdom of Israel had divine cultic idols has received some support from an analysis of the Nimrud Prism of Sargon II made by Becking in recent years.51 There is a clear prophetic stance against the use of images in worship as well as the conscious attempt to distance what is divine from any image. These strategies function to create an aniconic ideal in the prophetic literature, somewhat akin to the emphasis on prohibitions against images in 46

MILLER, In the ‘Image’ and ‘Likeness’. Cf. KUTSKO, Ezekiel’s Anthropology. VAN DER T OORN, The Iconic Book. 48 SWEENEY, The Book of Isaiah. 49 W EIPPERT, Gott und Stier; CURTIS, Some Observations on ‘Bull’ Terminology, 22– 25; METTINGER, Israelite Aniconism, 189–192; D AY, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses, 39–41. Cf. DOHMEN, Das Bilderverbot, 147–153; SCHROER, In Israel gab es 47

Bilder, 81–104. 50 SCHMIDT, The Aniconic Tradition, 78 n. 11. 51 BECKING, Assyrian Evidence.

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the legal material of the Pentateuch.52 In addition, when aniconism is understood with particular reference to Yahweh, as an active attempt to eradicate physical symbols for the deity as well as to eliminate the possibility of a stable and fixed image for Yahweh’s morphé in the shape of a human being, it shares commonality with other biblical rhetoric exercised with issues of divine absence. The image of Yahweh and representative images appropriate to a cultic context were made absent through rhetorical strategies, but did their loss also convey the absence of Yahweh? We know from religious texts from other ancient Near Eastern cultures that the use of a cultic statue in worship coexisted with a rich and varied descriptive, metaphorical language for the divine.53 In the biblical tradition an abundance of divine metaphors occurs in material particularly concerned with the issue of idolatry. We turn to explore the use of metaphor – what I call multiple imaging – and divine presence as a means to assess how Yahweh was made present in the context of divine absence.

2. Divine Presence Although there were several rhetorical strategies evident in the prophetic material related to divine absence, the stance against images of Yahweh was one of the most striking means of making absent a divine image. At the same time, however, the clearly aniconic stance noticeable in Hosea and Ezekiel did not simultaneously result in belief in the loss of divine presence. This may be due partly to the wide variety of metaphors for the deity Yahweh that paradoxically abound in texts particularly focused on the issue of idolatry. This last section explores in a preliminary way the connection between the loss of physical symbols to indicate the presence of Yahweh and the employment of metaphorical speech or multiple imaging. On a few occasions it has been observed that there is a correlation between aniconic sentiments and the use of metaphor. For instance, Carroll commented in his survey of aniconic thought in the Hebrew Bible that, ‘the images liberated by the rejection of idolatry are metaphorical.’54 In addition, the concept of the incomparability of the deity Yahweh, which is

52

The most thorough analysis of the legal material to date is that of DOHMEN, Das Bilderverbot. 53 KORPEL, A Rift in the Clouds, for a study of this phenomenon with the Ugaritic materials and their relation to Old Testament metaphors. This phenomenon is also well attested in Egypt and Mesopotamia. Cf. CORNELIUS, Many Faces of God. 54 CARROLL, The Aniconic God, 57.

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clearly related to the strategies explored with respect to divine absence, has been connected with the development of a variety of divine metaphors.55 Attention to the employment of metaphorical speech about God within the context of anti-idolatry material has also been observed by Brown in his study of divine imagery found in the Psalter. In conjunction with his discussion of Psalm 139 he suggests the possibility that multiple images of the deity can be employed as a defence against the charge of idolatry.56 He notes in his analysis that an emphasis on the transcendence of Yahweh made at its beginning (v. 1) is matched by a variety of metaphors that portray a close relationship between the divine and the psalmist. Figurative speech conceptualizes Yahweh in diverse ways and includes images drawn from the juridical realm in the likening of Yahweh to a judge, advocate, scribe, bounty hunter, and attacker and the personal sphere in the likening of Yahweh to a guide, partner, sun, weaver, and procreator.57 Brown’s analysis of Psalm 139 actually concludes his survey of divine imagery in the Psalter with, Yet for all the iconic characteristics ascribed to the divine, the psalmist, even though an accused idolater, never loses sight of God’s unattainable transcendence. Indeed, the very fluidity with which the psalm moves from metaphor to metaphor serves his defense well. 58 He is not fixed on any one image.

Brown’s insights with respect to how metaphor functions within the Psalter serves as a challenge to explore the link between divine metaphors and aspects of divine presence. Furthermore, it raises the interesting possibility that imagery could be employed as an aniconic strategy in order to speak against the stabilization of any one image of the deity and concomitantly for divine immanence. A brief introduction to metaphor theory and an overview of the use of metaphor in Ezekiel and Hosea provide some preliminary reflections to assist in exploring how metaphor generates divine presence in the midst of rhetoric of divine absence. 55 CARROLL, The Aniconic God, 51; DEL B RASSEY, Metaphor and the Incomparable God; BRETTLER, Incompatible Metaphors. The classic study is that of LABUSCHAGNE, The Incomparability of Yahweh. 56 BROWN, Seeing the Psalms, 207–212. 57 He suggests further that many of the images are linked through the concept of the deity’s hand. The phraseology of the divine hand does not actually purport to represent the form (morphé) of the deity as argued by B ARR, Theophany and Anthropomorphism. Further, in M IDDLEMAS, Exclusively Yahweh, 315–316, an examination of the uses of the divine hand in the book of Ezekiel shows that they do not convey anything about the divine form. Instead, they: (1) convey something about the prophetic experience, (2) indicate Yahweh’s interaction with the prophet, (3) point towards the enactment of judgement or salvation, and (4) appear in a particular oath formula as a clear statement about Yahweh’s actions for or against ancient Israel. 58 BROWN, Seeing the Psalms, 212.

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Metaphor Theory New ways of considering metaphor59 suggest that it can be understood in ways evocative of divine presence, in that metaphor is considered to have rhetorical and cognitive force whereby the reader/hearer participates in the creation of meaning.60 In current metaphor theory and within its application to studies of biblical literature, metaphor is understood as a cognitive event, rather than, or in addition to, being understood as a literary phenomenon.61 That is, two dissimilar terms equated in a phrase require some effort on the part of an interpreter to establish meaning. That there must be some type of disjunction between the terms is an important aspect of metaphor as it is incongruity that invites reflection and interpretation. Moreover, an interaction between two dissimilar objects or thoughts takes place in metaphor such that two ideas are active, bringing together meaning,62 between a tenor (the subject of the metaphor) and its vehicle (a term or idea that sheds new light on what the tenor is or can be perceived to be).63 Both parts of the metaphor bring to their union associated commonplaces or in other words ways that the interpreter understands the concepts employed from her/his cultural backgrounds. Metaphors are, therefore, understood relationally or contextually (Kittay)64 and mappings of knowledge take place that inform the meaning of the whole (Lakoff, Johnson, and

59

SOSKICE, Metaphor and Religious Language, 15, offers a succinct definition of metaphor as ‘a figure of speech whereby we speak about one thing in terms which are seen to be suggestive of another’. 60 Because the literature on metaphor theory is vast and the approaches utilized by biblical scholars are equally numerous, this section introduces aspects of metaphor theory that have particular relevance for an examination of how metaphors contribute a sense of divine presence rhetorically. For an overview of many of the studies incorporating metaphor theory in biblical analyses, see VAN HECKE, Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible, 1 n. 2. 61 MACKY, The Centrality of Metaphor, holds a middle ground between a purely rhetorical approach to metaphor and a cognitive one. He is correct with respect to the biblical material because metaphors appear in texts and texts are studied rhetorically, but the effect they achieve on an interpreting audience is an important contribution of cognitive studies. Since the biblical texts have been and are used and re-used in cultic settings, a literary and cognitive approach fits the material better. 62 R ICHARDS, The Philosophy of Rhetoric; B LACK, Models and Metaphors; B LACK, More About Metaphor. 63 I am using Richards’ originally designations, tenor and vehicle, as they are found frequently among biblical interpreters; however, there are other terms to denote these phenomena which have gained adherents in recent years, e.g., ‘target domain’ and ‘source domain’ (B ROWN, Seeing the Psalms, 5–6) or ‘photo’ and ‘frame’ (MOUGHTINMUMBY, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 1–16). 64 KITTAY, Metaphor.

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Turner).65 In addition, filtering takes place in the interaction whereby the vehicle results in a transformation of the tenor while at the same time gathering to it certain concepts and dissociating others: ‘The metaphor selects, emphasizes, suppresses, and organizes features of the principal subject.’66 A good example of filtering is found in Brettler’s analysis of the metaphor ‘God is king’ in the Psalms.67 He showed well how only positive aspects of kingship were associated with the rule of the deity as portrayed through the metaphors of monarchy in the Psalmic literature. Negative assessments found of earthly kings (as in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic literature) are not found in conjunction with the deity. They are rhetorically filtered out or obscured by the positive imagery employed. Ricoeur speaks of an ‘is and is not’ aspect to the interpretation of metaphor.68 The tenor of the metaphor is the vehicle and is at the same time not the vehicle. Brueggemann has drawn on this concept of metaphor to suggest that with respect to language about the deity Yahweh, the tenor (God) is not fully comprehended by the vehicle.69 In Ricoeur’s theory the interaction of the two concepts creates a potential third model (and a seemingly endless number of possibilities because the interpreter’s context determines to some extent this third conceptual step). Metaphor contains the potential to inspire and generate new meaning through its ‘is/is not’ character. In cognitive-linguistic theory, the idea of generating something new is discussed as blending, whereby an imaginative space is created between two conceptual domains that involves new elements not indigenous to either source domain.70 A new concept is created between the tenor and the vehicle that is not expressed by either alone. Furthermore, a cognitive understanding of metaphor includes the idea that an interaction between the images in the metaphor can function as persuasion because it requires effort on the interpreter to grasp the meaning of the comparison. In other words, the metaphor requires some work on the part of the interpreting audience, who can be persuaded by the meanings generated through the interaction of the terms in the metaphor. Another facet of metaphor theory takes account of the clustering of metaphors and the affect they achieve as with Kittay’s understanding of the relational and cultural context of metaphor use. The generation of new 65 LAKOFF AND J OHNSON, Metaphors We Live By; LAKOFF AND T URNER, More Than Cool Reason. For a convenient and up-to-date explanation of the cognitive-linguistic approach with generous citations for further reading, see KÖVECSES, Metaphor. 66 DILLE, Mixing Metaphors, 7. 67 BRETTLER, God is King. 68 R ICOEUR, The Rule of Metaphor. 69 BRUEGGEMANN, Theology of the Old Testament, 230–233. 70 The classic study is FAUCONNIER AND T URNER, The Way We Think. Cf. KÖVESCES, Metaphor, 267–283.

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metaphors creates a panoply of images that function iconoclastically. In Ricoeur’s articulation of this aspect of metaphor, ‘Every symbol is iconoclastic in comparison with some other symbol’.71 The important point is how a variety of metaphors interact together, which can result in the subversion of a dominant image as with the case of the divine warrior juxtaposed with the woman in labour in Isaiah72 or obfuscation as with the case of multiple images used of Yahweh in Ezekiel obscuring any single image of the deity. 73 The ways that metaphors are regarded in philosophical and cognitive studies resonates with the work done by Bjørndalen on allegory as found in the biblical literature.74 His work on defining metaphor and elucidating how it works as well as the additional work on figurative language done by Nielsen provide a convenient summary of aspects of metaphor theory suitable for use in a biblical context.75 Bjørndalen draws on theoretical studies of metaphor as well as examples from the biblical literature to argue that metaphors are recognized by a disjunctive use of two elements, metaphor communicates, different meanings are activated by the speaker and the hearer due to filtering (activating some elements and not others), and these images occur within a scriptural context that generates meanings of the interaction between the two elements of the metaphor within that context. Nielsen builds on his work and highlights the creative potential of metaphorical language, speaking of it as informative and preformative.76 Informative relates to the meaning generated by the metaphor as understood through the cultural codes in which it was produced as well as within its literary context. Preformative refers to the relation of the new meaning created by the metaphor applying an image that influences the hearers’ attitudes and action.77 Metaphor as understood in more recent treatments cannot be reduced to a translation or a substitution.78 It exerts linguistic as well as cognitive 71

R ICOEUR, Symbolism, 354. DARR, Like Warrior, Like Woman. 73 MIDDLEMAS, Transformation, 134. 74 BJØRNDALEN, Untersuchung zur allegorischen Rede. 75 NIELSEN, There is Hope for a Tree; E IDEVALL, Grapes in the Desert. 76 NIELSEN, There is Hope for a Tree, 47. 77 NIELSEN, There is Hope for a Tree, 47, 56–60. 78 A metaphor cannot be replaced by or substituted with its interpretation. For example, the use of whoring in conjunction with Jerusalem figured as a woman in Ezekiel does not simply mean that the leaders of ancient Israel entered into political alliances with other nations. The metaphor generates a new idea about sexual promiscuity and female Jerusalem that has its own life as it were. See the discussions of this by N IELSEN, There is Hope for a Tree, 33–35, 60–62 and M OUGHTIN -MUMBY, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 1–16. 72

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force. It generates something new that has the potential to affect an audience, to persuade, or to foster adherence. Furthermore, many metaphors function together to de-emphasize the prominence of one metaphor alone. Metaphorical speech of the divine can function to generate images that convey divine presence especially when they appear in contexts that could be interpreted as evocative of divine absence.79 In the interest of space, I focus on the use of metaphors within Ezekiel and Hosea, where there was a clear aversion to a physical image of Yahweh. The hope is to establish the groundwork to enable the consideration of the function of metaphorical speech about Yahweh more broadly. Ezekiel and Metaphor Ezekiel has developed a clear stance against the association of images with Yahweh – as part of a strategy to ensure holiness, to reinforce a sense of the total otherness of the deity, and to motivate the allegiance and respect of the worshipper. It is certainly paradoxical then that the prophet used metaphorical rhetoric in support of his larger agenda. The prophet was even known as, indeed deserving of, a reputation as ‘a maker of metaphors’(ʠʬʤ ʠʥʤ ʭʩʬʹʮ ʬʹʮʮ Ezek 21.5 [20.49]). His role as a creator of metaphors especially in conjunction within the Oracles Against the Nations (chs 25– 32) and in association with the Phoenician city-state Tyre has been studied intensively by Carol Newsom. Newsom observes that in the Oracles Against the Nations the prophet employs elaborate metaphors that are consistent with how the nation represented itself or associations the ancient audience would have made, to scrutinize them, and demonstrate the appropriateness and inevitability of Yahweh’s judgement.80 Metaphors are then employed in order to result in a perceptional shift among Ezekiel’s audience and, in fact, to persuade them to the prophet’s understanding of the deity and divine interaction in the human realm.81 Otherwise the prophet’s use of metaphor has been analyzed within the context of the whole collection, especially with attention to how it functions as part of the prophetic discourse. Julie Galambush has examined in 79

Scribes in the ancient world and in ancient Israel seemed to know that they were using metaphor to achieve different effects, see LONG, Dead or Alive?, 518–523. 80 NEWSOM, A Maker of Metaphors, 191. 81 The use of audience here is not meant to imply that I understand Ezekiel’s prophecies as having been mediated orally. They might have been, but it is generally agreed and understood that Ezekiel’s prophecies are more literary in nature, as part of written prophecy, and even conceived as such from its inception. This invites different interpretive strategies. Audience can then be understood as readers as well as hearers. On this more generally, see DAVIS, Swallowing the Scroll; MCKEATING, Ezekiel, 13; GALAMBUSH, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel, 80.

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great detail what have been generally referred to as the allegories of the cities Jerusalem and Samaria in Ezekiel 16 and 23 within the rhetoric of the prophet, with special attention to the failure of the cities as women to be redeemed over the course of the book. In her assessment of the literature, she argues that Ezekiel’s literary strategy is better understood as ‘narrative metaphor.’82 Ezekiel employs elaborate and extensive literary metaphors in order to illustrate the political failures of ancient Israel’s leaders and society. Another synchronic study is that of Ellen Davis, who regards the lengthy metaphors found in Ezekiel as a feature of the narrativity of the book. Literary prophecy (prophecy conceived of and written with prosaic norms rather than poetic ones) requires different interpretive strategies than that of prophetic books where poetry and oracles conveyed the prophet’s message.83 Extensive and elaborate metaphors engage the reader (and the reader’s imagination) to encourage reader response as well as assent. In an assessment of rhetorical strategies in the context of Ezekiel and with regards to hints of divine presence, it is important to take into consideration metaphorical speech and how it functions, especially as metaphor creates images for the interpreter. Among the rhetorical strategies utilized in conjunction with the deity in Ezekiel is the employment of divine imagery, which paradoxically contributes to the abolition of iconography and concomitantly the absence of the worship of other deities and the abolition of an image of Yahweh. However iconoclastic he seems to have been, Ezekiel was at the same time fond of the use of metaphor, even in depictions of the deity. The question then arises about how the use of elaborate imagery in the form of metaphor contributes to an aniconic goal, given that metaphors by their very nature are imagery. A variety of metaphorical usages are employed of the deity, many in immediate succession in the first two visions in the book of Ezekiel: Yahweh is likened to a human being (ʭʣʠ) (1.26), a type of mixed form with an upper half of amber and a lower half of fire (1.27; 8.2), a rainbow (1.28), and fire (ʹʠ) (8.2). Outside of the vision sequences Yahweh is implicitly the husband figure in the allegories of Jerusalem and Samaria as adulteress women (chs 16, 23), the foster father of Jerusalem in the allegory of ch. 16, and the shepherd of ch. 34. In the final vision of the restored and purified temple the deity is also implicitly figured as a monarch when speaking of the temple as ‘the place of my throne and the place 82

GALAMBUSH, Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel, 11–20. This is the terminology she prefers, but she also recommends the terms ‘extended metaphor’ or ‘sustained metaphor’ as a means of referring to the lengthy and elaborate metaphors found in Ezekiel. Cf. MOUGHTIN -MUMBY, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 166–168. 83 DAVIS, Swallowing the Scroll. For a succinct review of discussions of the literality of Ezekiel, see J OYCE, Ezekiel, 7–16.

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for the soles of my feet’ (43.7). Outside of the first two vision sequences in which it is reported that the prophet Ezekiel sees Yahweh’s form, the deity is not actually figured at all. Instead the stress lies throughout the book on Yahweh speaking in the first person form, without a clear form. In the final chapters the emphasis is on temple as the deity’s throne and footstool (43.7). Therefore, it is only in the first two divine visions that the deity is actually literarily figured in a visual form and these will be the point of departure for an examination of Ezekiel’s contribution to divine presence through the use of metaphor. When the prophet Ezekiel is purported to see the deity, a variety of images are employed to capture a sense of the deity’s form, including fire, rainbow, human being, and what could be regarded as a mixed form described in terms of fire and light. The variety of images function to obfuscate any one figuration of the deity, as if to becloud the deity in a robe of images. They act like a blurred photograph. The clustering of divine visual expressions functions to draw new meaning between the interaction of the images through association and dissociation. The human form of Yahweh interacts with the fire imagery, the rainbow, and the amorphous mixed form, with the greatest emphasis being on light and brightness. In this respect, the multiplicity of images achieves a clustering effect (analogous to Kittay’s and Ricoeur’s exploration of this phenomenon), subverting any single image, but nevertheless emphasizing the manifestation of divine presence. Another effective rhetorical strategy employed in Ezekiel to achieve a similar result could be the use of the unique qualifier ‘the form like the more general appearance of’, ʤʠʸʮʫ ʺʥʮʣ, which marks a simile. There has been a significant amount of discussion about whether similes function at the same level as metaphors. Black originally thought that they did not and Ricoeur writes of them as ‘weakened metaphors’ whose impact is watered down.84 Janet Soskice presents a better understanding and that is what is followed here.85 She distinguishes between images that merely seek to describe and those that function exactly as a metaphor – containing informative and preformative aspects. With regards to the simile ʤʠʸʮʫ ʺʥʮʣ used in conjunction with Yahweh’s appearance, we find a simile that functions as a metaphor by creating new meaning, implying an is/is not, and seeking to involve and persuade the interpreters in the creation of new ways of thinking and perceiving. The unique simile ʤʠʸʮʺʥʮʣ is employed twice in Ezekiel, in conjunction with the description of divine presence as ʭʣʠ (a human being) and as 84

R ICOEUR, The Rule of Metaphor, 248. SOSKICE, Metaphor and Religious Language, 58–61. M ACKY, The Centrality of Metaphor, also includes simile use as found in the biblical literature as metaphor. 85

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ʹʠ (fire) (1.26; 8.2). When the divine presence was comparable to a human being, the metaphor generates an image of a formed deity that resembles the appearance of a person. At the same time, the use of the simile distances the deity from an actual human being, so that while Yahweh is like an ʭʣʠ, the deity is also unlike an ʭʣʠ. In Ezekiel, Yahweh’s morphé is not ʭʣʠ, but rather ‘a form like the more general appearance’ of a human being. Furthermore, the image supplied to the audience resonates with the creation story of Gen 1.26–28 and of Adam and the anthropomorphic God who walked in the garden.86 The simile invites the audience to make associations in a blended space and to perceive the deity as similar and dissimilar to an ʭʣʠ. A similar interpretation is available with the comparison to fire in 8.2. The simile functioning like a metaphor generates the image of a formed deity, taking the shape (or relative shapelessness) of fire. Again, the deity is like and unlike (having ‘the form like the general appearance of’) fire and the audience perceives this in the mind’s eye and makes other associations, one of which would surely have been Moses’ burning bush in the Exodus story. The two similes function together to emphasize and promote a sense of formlessness – something accessible to the human being, but completely other than a human being. In this respect, metaphor makes available more than one image for Yahweh instead of privileging one. In addition, the comparative functions to imply that images only approximate the deity and never fully grasp the divine form. Further, the similes act as metaphors that evoke thoughts from ancient Israel’s tradition history and thereby broaden the interpretation of Yahwistic images according to the knowledge of the interpreter and the emphases made in the setting in which they are interpreted. Hosea and Metaphor Similar rhetorical strategies are found in conjunction with the deity in the book of Hosea, which is itself comparable to Ezekiel. Hosea shares a number of features in common with Ezekiel: the central concern with idolatry (otherwise discussed in terms of false worship or illicit cultic practice), the appearance of sexual and marital metaphors, the use of lengthy and elaborate recitations of traditions, metaphors that seem to transform oral speech into the written word, references by name to only one deity other than Yahweh (Baal in Hosea and Tammuz in Ezekiel), and a theology informed by the transcendence of the deity. In distinction to Ezekiel’s emphasis on the divine reputation, Hosea repeatedly emphasizes Yahweh’s love and 86 For an analysis of ʭʣʠ in this material with an exploration of how the figure remained an undifferentiated human being until the creation of the female, Eve, see TRIBLE, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality.

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compassion towards partner Israel,87 but both collections, nevertheless, contain the deity speaking in the ‘I’ form. In addition, (and similar to Psalm 139) the issue at stake within the prophetic collection is idolatry and the prophecies as redacted provide a defence of Yahweh against the worship of idols and other deities. A variety of images are employed in the support of the priority and incomparability of the deity. A convenient list appears in Hans Walter Wolff’s thorough commentary on Hosea: Yahweh is like a husband (2.2, cf. 2.7, 16), a father (11.1), a physician (7.1), a fowler (7.12), a lion (5.14), a leopard (13.7), a she-bear (13.8), the dew (14.5), the dawn (6.3), the rain (6.3), a cypress (14.9), a moth (5.12), and dry rot/decay (5.12).88 Metaphor plays a significant role within the book of Hosea. Hosea is actually spoken of as containing the most striking images in the Hebrew Bible, for the deity as well as for the people (Ephraim, Israel). Moreover, resonating with Ezekiel being called the maker of metaphors, the deity is attributed with conveying divine messages via figurative speech, ‘I spoke to the prophets: It was I who multiplied visions and through the prophets gave analogies89’ (12.11 [10]). Metaphor, in fact, informs the shape of the collection by appearing in and guiding the interpretation of its three main sections: the husband and wife metaphor appears in the first and last sections (chs 1–3 and ch. 14, respectively), while the parent/son metaphor appears in the second part (ch. 11 of chs 4–13).90 Metaphorical speech, then, functions significantly in the collection of prophecies in Hosea. In spite of a penchant for the use of metaphor to convey his message, the prophet Hosea famously refrains from the strict metaphor form (A is B) in descriptions of the deity.91 Instead, Hosea employs the comparative ʫ (‘like’) (also similar to what is found in the book of Ezekiel) when figuring the deity. Lest this be taken as a variation of writing style, it is worth noting that when depicting Israel and Ephraim, the prophet employs metaphor and simile. The choice of simile alone with respect to the deity seems to reflect a conscious decision. Moughtin-Mumby regards this as ‘a strong reluctance to suggest that anything can be Yhwh, making explicit the idea

87

Love actually never appears as a motivating factor for divine salvific activity in the book of Ezekiel. 88 W OLFF, Hosea, xxiv. See also, KRUGER, Prophetic Imagery. For a thorough descriptive analysis of the metaphors employed in Hosea of the deity and how they subvert each other through interaction, see SEIFERT, Metaphorisches Reden. 89 From ʤʮʣ I ‘to be like, resemble’ rather than II ‘to destroy’ as found in 4.5–6. 90 It is true that most commentators view Hosea as being constructed of two parts, chs 1–3 and 4–14, but a persuasive argument for a three-fold division has been advanced by YEE, Composition and Tradition in the Book of Hosea; YEE, Hosea, and I follow her. 91 KRUGER, Prophetic Imagery, 149.

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that objects or beings can only be like God’.92 Moreover, the choice of images for the deity spans relations known from the human realm (parent, husband), animals (she-bear, leopard, moth), and other natural phenomena (dew, rain, an evergreen tree, even dry rot or some type of slow-acting decaying process). Hosea’s multiple imaging exploits the full gamut of images available for description. The deity can be understood as like a human being, like animals, but also like inanimate things. The last is particularly instructive, especially in the light of Nielsen’s examples of how imaging Yahweh in non-human language draws attention to the otherness of the deity.93 The similes in Hosea function similarly. Yahweh is ultimately unfathomable, totally other, and the full range of language can only begin to provide a partial portrait (as does the use of the simile form itself). The rhetorical strategies found in Hosea that are similar to those encountered in Ezekiel raise the possibility that Hosea is similarly engaged in differentiating Yahweh from other fashioned deities and from actual Yahwistic images by employing figurative speech to present a variety of images of the deity. Again, we find a prophet who was strictly iconoclastic, but who equally employed a cluster of images in the depiction of Yahweh to convey a sense of divine presence. Literary strategies in the prophetic books Ezekiel and Hosea evidence a reticence to use literal language for Yahweh while also revealing the use of a series of images for Yahweh. Moreover, whenever the deity is visualized metaphorically, it is through the use of a comparative. In addition, a variety of images are found employed of the deity, albeit more prominently in Hosea than in Ezekiel. Nevertheless, the imagery is drawn from the human and the natural realms, denoting aspects of the deity that are familiar to the worshipper, but not exactly of the human being. Yahweh is distinctly other. In these ways, the use of metaphor (and similes that act like metaphors) function in texts that are focused on the issue of idolatry (of other deities, but also of Yahweh) to create a sense of the presence of Yahweh, as well as transcendence and incomparability. Yahweh transcends all the categories known from the human sphere and is ultimately unimaginable, even in form. The prophetic collections of Hosea and Ezekiel reveal the destabilization of a concretized Yahwistic image, rather than divine absence, in the aniconic stances found therein. In so doing, they emphasize the presence of the divine through metaphorical speech.

92 93

MOUGHTIN-MUMBY, Sexual and Marital Metaphors, 52. Italics in the original. NIELSEN, The Variety of Metaphors.

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Conclusion Divine images were abolished in the biblical tradition to make room for a different sense of the presence of Yahweh. Once the correlation was made between the construction of human hands and impurity, even physical symbols in Yahwistic circles had to be eradicated. Similarly, any figuration – even a mental one – that had the potential to become a fixed form, like Yahweh as a human being, was also deconstructed through the strategy of multiple imaging. In some respects any speech about Yahweh or a deity is necessarily metaphorical. Yahweh as an entity is unknowable as a concept beyond what has been conceived in biblical and extra-biblical literature and inscriptions. Probably the closest image corresponding to Yahweh’s actual form is as a human being, in different manifestations like the storm god, the divine warrior, or king.94 Nevertheless, prophetic figures whose books reveal a concern with issues of idolatry and iconography neither draw language for Yahweh from one traditional conceptual model nor use one consistent image to figuratively speak of the deity. This speaks for the employment of a rhetorical strategy that can be thought of as multiple imaging. Multiple imaging refers to the technique of using many images of Yahweh (a cluster). These images are metaphors. Metaphors are more than a literary device that substitutes for or replaces another idea. They exert cognitive force by which their use generates new meaning, promotes associations, and results in the interaction and response of an audience. When many metaphors are used, they qualify and subvert each other. As such, they can soften a strong or violent image, strengthen a less powerful one, or even slow down a fast one (as with the image of slow decay and Yahweh in Hosea). Some of the most imaginative and illustrative uses of divine metaphor appear in literature almost exclusively focused on the issue of idolatry. They function in this context to say something about what idolatry is (the manufacture of idols) and what it is not (the employment of multiple images for Yahweh). Their use even suggests that the only way to avoid idolatry in cultic expressions is through the use of multiple metaphors – multiple imaging. When viewed this way multiple imaging contributes to aniconism in practice by resisting the stabilization of the figuration of the presence of Yahweh. In the end it is constructive to consider various aspects of divine absence, even aniconism, in conjunction with what makes Yahweh present. 94 B ARR, Theophany and Anthropomorphism, has drawn attention to the fact that the clearest visualization of the divine morphé occurs in theophanic passages where the deity is figured in human form.

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Multiple images for Yahweh function differently than legal prohibitions, by inviting readers or hearers to participate in the construction of the images drawn upon in the prophets, to imagine, and to use their social and cultural backgrounds in this task. In so doing, multiple images of the deity are created and these achieve something more than a blurring effect, although they do that as well. They provide images that allow people to relate to the deity, while at the same time, providing images with which an audience cannot relate. Multiple imaging evokes a sense of the very nearness of the divine as well as the deity’s transcendence, incomparability, and otherness. This strategy promotes a sense of Yahweh perhaps not so readily accessible in prohibitions that seek to create and enforce a space of holiness around the deity. Multiple imaging in the prophets acts as a strategy that resists forming Yahweh in a single, concrete, and stable form. In so doing, it attests to divine presence that is near (available in all of creation) but at the same time far (in the sense of not encapsulated or localized, but transcendent and holy) – divine presence in absence.

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— The Elusive Essence: Yhwh, El and Baal and the Distinctiveness of Israelite Faith, in: Die hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. E. Blum, Neukirchen-Vluyn 1990, 393–417 — The Veto on Images and the Aniconic God in Ancient Israel in: Religious Symbols and their Junctions (Scripta Instituti Donneriani Aboensis X), ed. H. Biezais, Stockholm 1979, 15–29 METZGER, M., Königsthron und Gottesthron: Thronformen und Throndarstellungen in Ägypten und im vorderen Orient, im dritten und zweiten Jahrtausend vor Christus, und deren Bedeutung für das Verständnis von Aussagen über den Thron im Alten Testament (AOAT 15/1-2), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1985 MEYERS, C. L. and E. M. MEYERS, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB 25B), New York 1987 M IDDLEMAS, J., Exclusively Yahweh: Aniconism and Anthropomorphism in Ezekiel, in: Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel (LHBOTS 531), ed. J. Day, New York 2010, 309–324 — The Troubles of Templeless Judah (OTM), Oxford 2005 — Transformation of the Image, in: Transforming Visions: Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel (PTM), ed. W. A. Tooman and M. A. Lyons, Eugene 2010, 113–138 M ILLER, J. M., In the ‘Image’ and ‘Likeness’ of God, JBL 91 (1972) 289–304 MOUGHTIN -MUMBY, S., Sexual and Marital Metaphors in Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel (OTM), Oxford 2008 NA’AMAN, N., No Anthropomorphic Graven Image: Notes on the Assumed Anthropomorphic Cult Statues in the Temple of YHWH in the Pre-Exilic Period, in: Internationales Jahrbuch für die Altertumskunde Syrien-Palastinas, ed. M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, Münster 2000, 391–415 NEWSOM, C. A., A Maker of Metaphors: Ezekiel’s Oracles against Tyre, in: The Place is Too Small for Us, ed. R. P. Gordon, Winona Lake 1995, 191–204 N IEHR, H., In Search of Yhwh’s Cult Statue in the First Temple, in: The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 73–95 N IELSEN, K., There is Hope for a Tree: The Tree as Metaphor in Isaiah (JSOT.S 65), Sheffield 1989 — The Variety of Metaphors about God in the Psalter: Deconstruction and Reconstruction, SJOT 16 (2002) 151–159 N ISSINEN, M. Prophetie, Redaktion und Fortschreibung im Hoseabuch: Studien zum Werdegang eines Prophetenbuches im Licht von Hos 4 und 11 (AOAT 231), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1991 PREUSS, H. D., Verspottung fremder Religionen im Alten Testament (BWANT 5), Stuttgart 1971 RENZ, T., The Rhetorical Function of the Book of Ezekiel (VT.S 76), Leiden 1999 R ICHARDS, I. A., The Philosophy of Rhetoric, Oxford 1936 R ICOEUR, P., The Rule of Metaphor, Toronto 1977 — The Symbolism of Evil, Boston 1969 SCHMIDT, B. B., The Aniconic Tradition: On Reading Images and Viewing Texts, in: The Triumph of Elohim: From Yahwisms to Judaisms (CBET 13), Kampen 1995, 75–105 SCHROER, S., In Israel gab es Bilder: Nachrichten von darstellender Kunst im Alten Testament (OBO 74), Fribourg 1987 SEIFERT, B., Metaphorisches Reden von Gott im Hoseabuch (FRLANT 166), Göttingen, 1996 SOSKICE, J., Metaphor and Religious Language, Oxford 1988

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STEVENSON, K. R., The Vision of Transformation: The Territorial Rhetoric of Ezekiel 40–48 (SBLDS 154), Atlanta 1996 STIENSTRA, N., Yhwh is the Husband of His People: Analysis of a Biblical Metaphor with Special Reference to Translation, Kampen 1993 SWEENEY, M. A., The Book of Isaiah as Prophetic Torah, in: New Visions of Isaiah (JSOT.S 214), ed. R. F. Melugin and M. A. Sweeney, Sheffield 1996, 50–67 TOEWS, W. I., Monarchy and Religious Institution under Jeroboam I (SBLMS 47), Atlanta 1993 TOOMAN, W. A., Ezekiel’s Radical Challenge to Inviolability, ZAW 121 (2009) 498–514 TRIBLE, P., God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (OBT), Philadelphia 1978 UEHLINGER, C., Anthropomorphic Cult Statuary in Iron Age Palestine and the Search for Yahweh’s Cult Images, in: The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 97–155 — Die Frau im Efa (Sach 5,5–11): Eine Programmvision von der Abschiebung der Göttin, Bibel und Kirche 49 (1994) 93–103 — Figurative Policy, Propoganda und Prophetie in: Congress Volume: Cambridge 1995 (VT.S 66), ed. J. A. Emerton, Leiden 1997, 344–347 — Israelite Aniconism in Context (Review of T. N. D. Mettinger, No Graven Image?, 1995), Biblica 77 (1996) 540–549 UEHLINGER, C. (ed.), Images as Media: Sources for the Cultural History of the Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean (OBO 175), Fribourg 2000 VAN DER T OORN, K., The Iconic Book: Analogies between the Babylonian Cult of Images and the Veneration of the Torah, in: The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 229–248 VAN HECKE, P., Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible: An Introduction, in: Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible (BETL 187), ed. P. Van Hecke, Leuven 2005, 1–17 W EIPPERT, M., Gott und Stier, ZDPV 77 (1961) 93–117 W INTER, I. J., ‘Idols of the King’: Royal Images as Recipients of Royal Action in Ancient Mesopotamia, Journal of Ritual Studies 6 (1992) 13–42 W OLFF, H. W., Hosea (Herm), Philadelphia 1974 W OOD, A., Of Wings and Wheels: A Synthetic Study of the Biblical Cherubim (BZAW 385), Berlin, 2008 YEE, G. A., Composition and Tradition in the Book of Hosea: A Redactional-Critical Investigation (SBLDS 102), Atlanta 1987 — Hosea, in: The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. C. A. Newsom and S. H. Ringe, London 1992, 195–202 ZIMMERLI, W., Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of Ezekiel Chapters 25-48 (Herm), trans. R.E. Clements, Philadelphia 1983



Come and See What God Has Done! Divine Presence and the Reversal of Reproach in the Elohistic Psalter and in Iron Age West Semitic Inscriptions*

JOEL S. BURNETT

In the Hebrew Bible the theme of divine absence finds perhaps its most poignant expression in the question, ‘Where is your/their god?’1 That question regularly stands as a taunt against one’s power and status, and embodies reproach, scorn, and defiance of a people and its god by an ostensibly stronger enemy.2 This taunt of enemies appears both at the beginning and near the end of the Elohistic Psalter (Pss 42–83; specifically Pss 42.3, 10; 79.10). Throughout this portion of the book of Psalms, one encounters a profound sense of divine absence in connection with reproach, specifically with the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and its temple clearly in view (Pss 51.20–21; 74.1–11, 18–23; 79.1–7). Recent years have seen a revitalized interest in various aspects of the Elohistic Psalter, including its place in the formation of the book of Psalms.3 Scholars increasingly recognize the Elohistic Psalter as a distinct part of the book of Psalms, originating either as an independent psalm collection4 or as an intermediate stage in the growth of the larger biblical

*

My thanks to Frank-Lothar Hossfeld, Peter Machinist, Patrick D. Miller, Mikeal Parsons, Christopher A. Rollston, Mark S. Smith, and W. Dennis Tucker for reading earlier drafts of this article and for offering invaluable feedback. I also wish to thank Baylor University graduate assistant, W.G. Hulbert, for his valuable assistance with various clerical and research-related tasks and for his help in preparing the manuscript. 1 For discussion of various forms of this question and its contexts of meaning, see B URNETT, Where is God?, 4–5 and 180 n. 8. 2 For elaboration on this point, see MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 225–227. 3 See, e.g., HOSSFELD, Der elohistische Psalter; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter; B URNETT, A Plea for David and Zion; BURNETT, Forty-Two Songs; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER , So-Called Elohistic Psalter; J OFFE , The Answer; J OFFE , Elohistic Psalter; RÖSEL, Die messianische Redaktion; MILLARD, Problem des elohistischen Psalters. 4 MILLARD, Komposition des Psalters, 169–72; MILLARD , Problem des elohistischen Psalters, 80; RÖSEL, Die messianische Redaktion, 72, 75, 81–86; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 4–6; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 64–65.

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book.5 An emerging area of agreement across Psalms scholarship is the recognition of the Elohistic Psalter as a distinct portion of the biblical book with its own theological program relating to its distinct pattern of divine names. One aspect of the Elohistic Psalter that has not been fully explored is its connections with epigraphic evidence from the Iron Age. Existing studies have noted points of contact between certain psalms and West Semitic inscriptions from Deir Alla, Zinjirli, Khirbet el-Qom, and Khirbet Beit Lei,6 but as yet none has considered the implications of these parallels for understanding the Elohistic Psalter as a distinct portion of the book of Psalms. That is what I propose to do in this study. As the following discussion will show, a concentration of these epigraphic connections occur within the Elohistic Psalter. These connections with West Semitic inscriptions shed new light on the Elohistic Psalter’s use of divine names, its theological outlook, and its purpose within its historical setting during or after the exile as a plea for divine presence within the experience of divine absence. As is common in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Near East, in these texts divine presence and absence tend to correspond directly to human weal and woe.7 A definitive aspect of these textual connections between the Elohistic Psalter and Iron Age inscriptions of various genres is the motif of reversal as a manifestation of active divine presence, especially reversal that overturns reproach against the people and God of Israel among the nations. In the theological vision of the Elohistic Psalter, divine presence and absence correlate with a dramatic reordering of heavenly and earthly powers, one partly realized and partly anticipated. Before turning to the inscriptional parallels, a convenient place to begin considering the Elohistic Psalter’s distinct view of divine presence and absence is its conclusion in Ps 83.

1. Psalms 83: Divine Presence and Absence at the Conclusion of the Elohistic Psalter As recent scholarship has demonstrated, the structure of the Elohistic Psalter, its use of divine names, and its view of God and the world are in-

5 HOSSFELD, Der elohistische Psalter, 204–206. Compare B URNETT, A Plea for David and Zion, 112. 6 Esp. GINSBERG, Inscriptions of Petition. 7 See BURNETT, Where Is God?, esp. 1–5, 115–120, 135–150.

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terrelating matters.8 The studies by Rösel and by Hossfeld and Zenger have shown how this sequence of psalms favoring the divine name Elohim came into existence in stages from smaller previously existing collections as indicated by superscript attributions.9 It thus took shape concentrically around a central core of psalms ‘of David’ (Pss 51–72), bracketed by psalms ‘of Asaph’ in 50 and 73–83, and then fronted by a group of psalms ‘of the sons of Korah’ in 42–49.10 Whether the Asaphite psalms indeed represent the identity of editors who exercised decisive influence in the process of the Elohistic Psalter’s formation (as averred by Hossfeld and Zenger), the pivotal role of these psalms in its structural contours is evident to commentators, as are distinct elements of theme and content the Asaphite psalms exert for the Elohistic Psalter as a whole.11 Among the most salient of these thematic elements is the Asaphite psalms’ emphasis on divine judgment and justice.12 This issue comes to full expression in Ps 75 and near the conclusion of the Elohistic Psalter in Ps 82. This discussion will return to this theme’s pronounced articulation in these psalms and their links to Ps 83 with its explicit concern for divine absence. For now, it is worth noting that Ps 82 concludes with the admonition, ‘Arise, O God, judge the earth; for all the nations belong to you’, ʵʸʠʤʤʨʴʹʭʩʤʬʠʤʮʥʷ ʭʩʥʢʤʚʬʫʡʬʧʰʺʤʺʠʚʩʫ (v. 8).

8

See esp. HOSSFELD, Der elohistische Psalter; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, The So-Called Elohistic Psalter; M ILLARD, Zum Problem des elohistischen Psalters; RÖSEL, Die messianische Redaktion des Psalters. 9 See the discussion and summary of scholarship by HOSSFELD, Der elohistische Psalter, 213. 10 This pattern involves some qualification. This block of Davidic psalms includes Pss 66 and 67, which in their superscripts are not labeled by reference to David or any other biblical personage; Ps 71, which appears without any superscription; and Ps 72, which is headed ‘of Solomon’ and which concludes with the subscript, ‘The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended’. The lack of a superscription for Ps 43 owes to its secondary and artificial division from Ps 42, with which it originally formed a unified refrain psalm. 11 See HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 4–6; cf. RÖSEL, Die messianische Redaktion, 82–91; MILLARD, Zum Problem des elohistischen Psalters, 82–90. Most significantly, all of the Asaphite psalms are Elohistic and lie within the Elohistic Psalter, even marking its terminal boundary, whereas the other psalms it contains – i.e., psalms of David and Korah – belong to collections also represented outside of the Elohistic Psalter (Psalms of David: 3–41, 51–72*, 86, 138–145; Psalms of Korah: 42–49, 84–85, 87–89). For tradition-historical implications regarding the psalms of Asaph and Korah, see NASUTI, Tradition History. 12 ILLMAN, Thema, 30–43; NASUTI, Tradition History, 27, 41, 42–44, 159; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER , Psalms 2, 4, 250, 255, 257, etc. On the motif of God as judge throughout the Elohistic Psalter, see SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 293, 317–319, 334–336; but cf. MILLARD, Komposition des Psalters, 97–99, 185–187.

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Immediately afterward, Ps 83 follows as the last Asaphite psalm and as the concluding psalm of the Elohistic Psalter, which it brings to a close with another direct plea to the Divine: O God, do not be silent; Do not hold aloof; Do not be quiet, O God! For your enemies rage, ……… They plot craftily against your people, ……… They say, ‘Let us wipe them out as a nation; Israel’s name will be mentioned no more’. (Ps 83.1–5 NJPS)

As Hossfeld and Zenger have pointed out, this concluding psalm for the Asaphite and larger Elohistic collections harks back to God’s promise in the opening Asaphite Psalm: ‘Call on me in the day of affliction, and I will deliver you and you will honor me’ (Ps 50.15).13 Spanning the Asaphite psalms is a call for God to act that is rooted in a divine promise. Among the intervening psalms of Asaph (and of David, Ps 51.20–21; cf. 69.36) stand extensive and graphic references to the historical context of this invocation of divine presence and action – the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and its temple (Pss 74.1–11, 18–23; 79.1–7). In Ps 83, the Elohistic Psalter thus reaches its conclusion with an invocation of promised divine presence in the form of efficacious involvement in human life, specifically in response to the Babylonian destruction and its aftermath described in other Asaphite psalms. The language of Ps 83 itself articulates a concern for divine absence that is international in scope and that centers on a threat to the very survival of God’s people. Following upon the call for God to ‘judge the nations’ at the close of Ps 82, Ps 83 is a fitting culmination to repeated references to threat from the other nations throughout the Elohistic Psalter (Pss 44.3–15; 46.7; 47.4; 59.6, 9; 60.8–14; 65.8; 76.13; 77.15; 79.1, 10; 80.7–9; 81.15). This call for God to break the silence and act describes how the surrounding nations of the world, both nearby rivals and imperial powers of perennial significance, are in league against Israel (Ps 83.6–9). The anticipated defeat of these enemies by Israel’s God is cast in terms of enduring honor and shame, as iterated in the psalm’s conclusion (vv. 10–16): Fill their faces with shame, So that they may seek your name, O YHWH. Let them be put to shame and dismayed forever; Let them perish in disgrace. 13

HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 345–346; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, ‘The SoCalled Elohistic Psalter’, 45 n. 34.

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Let them know that you alone, Whose name is YHWH, Are the Most High (Elyon) over all the earth. (Ps 83.17–19)

The psalm describes the total vindication of God’s people, calling on God to destroy and shame their enemies and thereby to deliver and honor God’s people before those enemies – deliverance and honor being two ideas paired in the related divine promise in Ps 50.15. In keeping with the mention of Israel’s ‘name’ in Ps 83.5, the ‘name’ of Israel’s God as emphasized in vv. 17 and 19 has to do, first, with God’s fame, reputation, and honor among the nations of the world. The discussion will return shortly to other dimensions of God’s ‘name’. The desired outcome voiced in Ps 83 is for God to bring total desolation on the people’s enemies, such as they have sought to bring on Israel. Divine immanence as anticipated in this psalm thus manifests itself in the form of reversal, the reversal of reproach against God’s people by their enemies. As stated concisely in the conclusion of an earlier Asaphite psalm: ‘Return sevenfold into the bosom of our neighbors the reproach with which they taunted you, O Lord (ʩʰʣʠ)!’ (Ps 79.12). The ‘reproach’ (ʤʴʸʧ) mentioned is portrayed earlier in this psalm, where the nations ask, ‘Where is their God?’ (Ps 79.10). This rhetorical question in effect amounts to an assertion of divine absence. The reproach thus expressed is to be overturned by a realization of divine presence in the overthrow of stronger enemies who level such taunts.14 Psalm 83 and the Elohistic Psalter as a whole thus culminate in a cry for divine presence as manifest by a reversal of reproach from national enemies and a reordering of earthly powers. Along with this call for reversal, other aspects of divine presence as articulated in Ps 83 merit attention. As noted, the closing verses of this psalm emphasize the name of Israel’s God (vv. 17, 19). Psalm 83 thus provides a fitting culmination to the repeated concern for God’s ‘name’ (ʭʹ) throughout the Elohistic Psalter.15 This most obvious aspect of the Elohistic Psalter, its unique pattern of divine names, involves not only its preference for Elohim to the detriment of YHWH (though not its total exclusion) but also a more frequent use of other divine titles and epithets than is found in the rest of the book of Psalms – terms like Adonai (ʩʰʣʠ), Sebaoth

14

See the discussion along these lines by MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 225–227. And usually in the context of lament; see Pss 44.6, 9, 21; 48.11; 52.11; 54.8; 61.6, 9; 66.4; 68.5; 69.37; 72.19; 74.7, 10, 21; 75.2; 76.2; 79.6, 9 (2x); 80.19. For discussion of God’s name in connection with Hebrew ʭʹ in the Elohistic Psalter, see MILLARD, Komposition des Psalters, 89–103; M ILLARD, Problem des elohistichen Psalters, 92–93; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 345–346. 15

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(ʺʥʠʡʶ), El (ʬʠ), and Elyon (ʯʥʩʬʲ).16 These defining features of the Elohistic Psalter make all the more striking the repeated reference to God’s ‘name’ (ʪʮʹ) and the repeated mention of the divine name YHWH in Ps 83.17, 19. The Elohistic Psalter’s pattern of divine names also matches its concluding psalm’s address of Israel’s God as El (v. 2), the name of the leading god of pantheon in West Semitic tradition, and Elyon (v. 19), an epithet for El in the Hebrew Bible and in West Semitic inscriptions.17 As will be discussed below, these two divine titles are among the common elements linking this psalm with Ps 82 (see vv. 1, 6). In the reversal that Ps 83 envisions, these enemies who ‘hate’ God (v. 3), will be forced to recognize the supremacy of Israel’s God as ‘the Most High (Elyon) over all the earth’ (v. 19), this as a consequence of the call for God to ‘rise and judge the earth’ (Ps 82.8). These psalms thus present the culmination of a ‘name theology’ in the Asaphite psalms and the Elohistic Psalter as a whole that emphasizes God’s transcendence and distance, in Hossfeld and Zenger’s description, ‘the distant, dark, mysterious God’.18 The use in Ps 83 of divine names underscores its concluding assertion that the God known throughout the Elohistic Psalter as Elohim is sovereign among the divine, supreme on earth, and is none other than YHWH, the God of Israel.19 To summarize at this point, in Ps 83 the Elohistic Psalter reaches its culmination in a call for active divine presence with special emphasis on thematic elements recurring throughout the Elohistic Psalter, specifically, divine names, the universal supremacy of Israel’s God, and the reversal of reproach against God and God’s people among the nations of the earth. As the remainder of this discussion will show, these thematic elements prove integral to the Elohistic Psalter’s textual, religious-historical, and theological connections with West Semitic inscriptions of the Iron Age. Attention to these connections further brings into focus the Elohistic Psalter’s con-

16 See the table summarizing this information in J OFFE, Elohistic Psalter, 149. For review of the scholarly discussion of whether the Elohistic Psalter’s divine name pattern resulted from editorial substitution of Elohim as the preferred divine name or was original to the psalms it contains, see HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, The So-Called Elohistic Psalter, 35–51; BURNETT, Forty-Two Songs, 82–83, 92, 99–201; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 50–58. 17 CROSS, ʬʠ ’Ɲl, 242–261; ZOBEL, ʯʥʩʬʲ ‘elyôn, 121–39; ELNES and MILLER, Elyon ʯʥʩʬʲ, 293–299. 18 HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, The So-Called Elohistic Psalter, 51. In this connection, Hossfeld and Zenger follow the analysis of Millard regarding the hiddenness of God as expressed in the Elohistic Psalter’s name theology and the climax of these themes in Ps 83 (MILLARD, Problem des elohistichen Psalters, 92–93). 19 This point is made in similar fashion by SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 322–23.

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ception of divine presence and absence in the context of the Babylonian destruction and exile.

2. Inscriptions in Stone: Divine Presence as the Reversal of Reproach Studies by H. L. Ginsberg and Patrick D. Miller have established impressive connections between the book of Psalms and West Semitic inscriptions from the Iron Age, especially with a focus on divine response to human plea.20 One of those connections involves a sequence of compositions within the Davidic psalms at the core of the Elohistic Psalter, a sequence of psalms bearing the superscript designation ʭʺʫʮ (Pss 56–60).21 Ginsberg considered these psalms in relationship to Isa 38.9, where Hezekiah’s prayer is called a ʡʺʫʮ, suggesting that it had been engraved in stone and that the ʭʺʫʮ of these psalm superscriptions implied the same for them.22 20

G INSBERG, Inscriptions of Petition; MILLER, ‘Psalms and Inscriptions’, 210–232. Miller’s article is foundational to Simon Parker’s discussion of connections between the book of Psalms and West Semitic inscriptions in caves and tombs, as one component of an insightful study that also examines other types of biblical texts (for example, narrative and prophetic literature) shedding light on possible circumstances behind the sentiments expressed in these psalms and inscriptions, P ARKER, Graves, Caves, and Refugees, 261– 270. With a focus on word pairs (especially šmr ‘guard’ and n‫܈‬r ‘protect’) in amulet inscriptions and in certain psalms (especially Pss 12.8; 25.20–21; 140.5; and partially, 32.7; 34.24; 40.12; 64.2) is SMOAK, ‘Prayers of Petition’; my thanks to W. Dennis Tucker for making me aware of this article. In contrast with themes and vocabulary clustering within the Elohistic Psalter as discussed below, it is noteworthy that these terms Smoak associates with ‘a stock of protective formula used in apotropaic magic’ (77) tend to occur outside the Elohistic Psalter. 21 The miktƗm psalms also include Ps 16, constituting a link between the first collection of psalms ‘of David’ (Pss 2–40) and the second Davidic collection (Pss 51–72), around which the Elohistic Psalter took shape (as discussed above). 22 G INSBERG, Psalms and Inscriptions of Petition. As Ginsberg explained, this inference goes back to J. D. Michaelis during the eighteenth century and is supported by the ancient versions, for example, ıIJȘȜȠȖȡĮijȚĮ in LXX and Theodotian (GINSBERG, Inscriptions of Petition, 169–170 and nn. 35, 36). This notion also receives support from Job’s desire that his plea to God might be ‘engraved in rock forever with a stylus of iron and lead’ (Job 19.23–24; see GEHMAN, SƝpher, an Inscription; GALLING, Grabinschrift Hiobs, 3–6; MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 212–213 n. 6). This has become the usual understanding of this superscript element (see HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 59 n. b). The alternative proposal that ʭʺʫʮ means ‘secret prayer’ does not at all fit the public nature of Ps 60 with its collective voice and international scope. This interpretation is based on the root ʭʺʫ which occurs in the Niphal in Jer 2.22 to mean ‘indelibly engrained’ (as a stain; cf. Arab. katƗma, Akkadian katƗmu ‘to cover, conceal’ and Arab. katam ‘plant used to dye the hair black’; see HALOT, 505), an etymology which, like

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Ginsberg also noted three of those miktƗm psalm superscriptions that additionally include the words ‘do not destroy’ ( ʺʧʹʺ ʬʠ, Pss 57, 58, 59), which he saw as a further indication that psalms might have been regularly presented in epigraphic form.23 As Miller has pointed out, this same verb (š‫ۊ‬t) occurs in the Phoenician inscription of Kilamuwa, a monumental inscription dated to the late ninth century BCE, in a curse aimed at the inscription’s protection: ‘Whoever destroys (š‫ۊ‬t) this inscription may Baal ৡemed…destroy (š‫ۊ‬t) his head’ (KAI 24:15).24 The inscription’s possible destruction is mentioned in the context of a successor who might seek to obliterate the memory of Kilamuwa’s achievements as king (l. 13–16). The curse is formulated as a divine punishment in kind and is thus stated in terms of a reversal against such an enemy of the king, much as the divine retribution invoked against Israel’s national enemies is cast in terms of reversal in Ps 83.25 Along with the designation ʭʺʫʮ, the injunction ‘do not destroy’ indicates that the superscript writers were familiar with the public display of psalms like these as inscriptions.26 The people who assembled and labeled these psalms ‘of David’, psalms that were eventually incorporated within the Elohistic Psalter, described them with terminology belonging to the literary and religious world of the Iron Age. Miller characterizes the three miktƗm psalms that bear the superscript injunction ‘do not destroy’ (ʺʧʹʺ ʬʠ, Pss 57, 58, 59) as ‘prayers for deliverance from personal enemies’.27 Psalm 58 deals with divine judgʡʺʫʮ, might also indicate a public inscription and would fit with the understanding reflected in the versions (DELEKAT, Zum hebräischen Wörterbuch, 31–32. 23 The collocation of these words in every instance with ʭʺʫʮ favors understanding this superscript element as suggesting an earlier inscriptional form for these psalms. For the lack of a compelling alternative explanation, see HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 70 and n 6. 24 MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 212. For a convenient English translation of the inscription with some notes and bibliography, see YOUNGER, Kulamuwa Inscription. 25 Similarly, the Phoenician Ahiram sarcophagus inscription anticipates the violation of the tomb by an invader or usurper, calling for the failure of his rule and the effacement of his inscription: ‘May his inscription be erased!’ (ym‫ۊ‬.sprh KAI 1:2; MCCARTER, Sarcophagus Inscription of ‫ގ‬Ahirom, 181). Both the conciseness and the reciprocity of the curse in the Kilamuwa inscription distinguish it from the formulation of curses protecting tombs or inscriptions in other instances, including the Ahiram sarcophagus inscription and the Hebrew royal steward inscription, which reads, ‘Cursed be the man who opens this (tomb)’ (Ҵrwr hҴdm Ҵšr ypt‫ ۊ‬Ҵt zҴt KAI 191B:2; MCCARTER, Royal Steward Inscription, 180). For a thorough survey of relevant epigraphic and biblical texts, see CRAWFORD, Blessing and Curse. The data on curse formulas among Hebrew inscriptions is summarized in RENZ, Die althebräischen Inschriften Teil 2, 32. 26 MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 212. 27 MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 213.

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ment (vv. 2, 7, and 12) and will be discussed below in connection with this theme in Ps 82. Like Ps 83, Ps 57 refers to God not only as Elohim but also as Elyon and El (v. 3), as noted above, two divine titles connoting God’s role as head of the pantheon. Psalm 57 iterates the sovereignty of Israel’s God – along with divine names, another important aspect of divine presence as emphasized in Ps 83 – with the refrain, ‘Be exalted above the heavens, Elohim. Let your glory be over all the earth’ (Ps 57.6, 12). The individual sufferer in this psalm confidently asserts about God, ‘He will send from heaven and deliver me; he will bring reproach (ʳʸʧ) on the one that tramples me’ (Ps 57.4a). As v. 7b declares, ‘they dug a pit before me, but they have fallen into it themselves’. Anticipated divine presence is manifest in the reversal of reproach from personal enemies in this psalm, just as it is in connection with national enemies in Ps 83. Also in Ps 59, the individual seeks deliverance from personal enemies (vv. 2, 17–18). But in this psalm the individual’s suffering is placed in the context of the people and their enemies: You, YHWH-Elohim Sebaoth, are the God of Israel. (ʬʠʸʹʩʩʤʬʠʺʥʠʡʶʭʩʤʬʠʚʤʥʤʩʤʺʠʥ ) Awake to punish all the nations; 28 Spare none of those who treacherously plot evil (Ps 59.6).

The identification between individual foes and national enemies in these ‘do not destroy’ miktƗm psalms is in keeping with the Davidic associations of their superscriptions, which even claim a context within specific episodes from David’s rise and rule in Pss 57 and 59, as in other psalms ‘of David’ (Pss 51, 52, 54, 56, 60, 63).29 In this way, the structuring of the Elohistic Psalter around its central core of psalms ‘of David’ (Pss 51–72) provides a basis for harmonizing complaints against personal foes (for example, in the Korahite Psalms 42–43) with the collective view concerning national enemies, the focus with which the Asaphite psalms and the Elohistic Psalter as a whole culminate in Ps 83. Just as David’s personal enemies, in retrospect, rank as enemies of the nation, so are the greatest threats to the individual inseparable from the national catastrophe of the exile, the crisis forming the more immediate horizon of the Elohistic Psalter. Within the scope of the Elohistic Psalter’s formation, the equation of

28

This last clause of the English translation is from the NRSV (Ps 59.7b [Eng]), which effectively captures the sense of the Hebrew (ʯʥʠʩʣʢʡʚʬʫʯʧʺʚʬʠ). 29 As Parker points out, Ps 57’s superscription describes as its setting ‘when [David] fled from Saul, in the cave’, matching the general circumstances of the Beit Lei inscriptions discussed below and others discussed by Parker (PARKER, Graves, Caves, and Refugees, 266). As Parker notes, the superscription to Ps 142 names the same setting (though in elliptical fashion): ‘A maĞkîl of David, when he was in the cave. A prayer’.

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personal and national enemies by way of reflection on David’s life found new resonance with the crisis of the exile. Following Ginsberg’s recognition of resemblances between psalms and Iron Age inscriptions invoking divine assistance in times of crisis, Patrick Miller extended these insights to Hebrew inscriptions discovered after Ginsberg’s time. One of those is a late eighth-century tomb inscription from Khirbet el-Qom.30 The inscription recalls how, during his lifetime, Uriyahu, the tomb occupant honored by the inscription, had been ‘blessed’ by YHWH, and it credits YHWH with delivering Uriyahu from personal enemies ‘by his Asherah’: Uriyahu, the rich: (This is) his inscription. Blessed was Uriyahu to Yahweh, 31 and from his enemies, by his asherah, he saved him (wm‫܈‬ryh lҴšrth hwšȾlh).

As Miller points out, the same language for adversaries is used among the primary designations of the enemies of the individual and of the community (as well as Yahweh himself) in the Psalms, appearing there as here more often in plurality than a single enemy (ʭʩʸʶ: Pss. 3.2; 13.5; 27.2, 12; 44.6, 8; 60.14=108.14; 78.66; 81.15; 89.24, 43; 97.3; 105.24; 106.11; 112.8; 119.139, 157; 136.24; ʭʩʸʸʶ: Pss. 6.8; 7.7; 8.3; 10.5; 23.5; 31.12; 42.11; 69.20; 74.4, 23).32 An appreciable number of these instances occur in the Elohistic Psalter – thirteen from a total of twenty-eight. As Miller points out, the explicit idiom ‘to save from enemies’ (ʲʹʥʤ+ʯʮ+ʭʩʸʶ+suffix) also occurs in Ps 44.8 and only there. As these parallels from Khirbet el-Qom and from the Phoenician inscription of Kilamuwa show, the language, themes, and motifs that dominate the Elohistic Psalter and other psalms include language and themes that also appear in public inscriptions of the Iron Age. These connections indicate a pronounced occurrence within the Elohistic Psalter of ways of conceiving and invoking divine presence from times leading up to the exile. In those inscriptions, divine presence is recognized through deliverance from individual and collective enemies, the preoccupation of the Elohistic Psalter and its conclusion as discussed above. Other Iron Age epigraphs that have been compared to the biblical book of Psalms include the Hebrew cave inscriptions from Khirbet Beit Lei,

30

Inscription number 3, as designated in the editio princeps, DEVER, Iron Age Epigraphic Material, esp. 158–169. For a convenient English translation with notes and bibliography, see MCCARTER, Khirbet el-Qom, 179. 31 Here, offering McCarter’s translation (MCCARTER, Khirbet el-Qom, 179). For discussion of the various interpretations of YHWH’s ‘Asherah’ at Khirbet el-Qom, see MCCARTER., Aspects of the Religion; HADLEY, The Cult of Asherah, 84–105. 32 MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 217.

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about 8km east of Lachish.33 Although these inscriptions were incised on the walls of a cave tomb, the scholarly consensus is that they are not mortuary inscriptions but rather graffiti left behind by Judeans seeking refuge from military assault by the Assyrians in 701 BCE or the Babylonians during the early sixth century BCE, depending mainly on the palaeographic dating of the script.34 All three of the main inscriptions (designated A, B, and C) offer praise to YHWH, whom they refer to by the appellative Elohim (in the construct or suffix form, Ҵlhy, inscription B), and make supplications to the deity for deliverance.35 A term that occurs in various forms among the briefer Beit Lei texts spread over the same three walls of the cave tomb antechamber is the verb ‘to curse’ (Ҵrr), apparently used in reference to an enemy.36 One of those instances reads, ‘Cursed be the one who reproaches you’ (Ҵrr ‫ۊ‬/rpk).37 As Miller points out, the direct address to YHWH in the other Beit Lei inscriptions and the use of the verb ʳʸʧ in the Hebrew Bible indicate that these words are directed to Israel’s God. In biblical usage, the root ʳʸʧ ‘reproach’ often stands as the opposite of ʣʡʫ ‘honor, treat as important’38 and can be directed toward God in connection

33

MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions. The editio princeps is NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions. See also CROSS, Cave Inscriptions from ঩irbat Bayt Layy; and LEMAIRE, Prières en temps de crise; RENZ, Die althebräischen Inschriften. Teil 1, 242–51. 34 NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 89–92; CROSS, Cave Inscriptions, 168–170; M ILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions; ZEVIT, Religions of Ancient Israel, 435–437; PARKER, Graves, Caves, and Refugees, 260–270. See also the introductory comments of MCCARTER, Khirbet Beit Lei Cave Inscriptions, 179–180. 35 For the agreement on these details of content in the inscriptions as read by Naveh and Cross, see CROSS, Cave Inscriptions, 166–168. According to Naveh, inscription A, and possibly inscription B, ‘is in poetic rhythm and recalls biblical psalmody both in form and content’ (NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 89). 36 NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 81. For the locations of the inscriptions among the tomb antechamber walls, see NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 76 fig. 3. Here, the verb does not occur in the conventional curse formula of mortuary inscriptions, for example, in the Royal Steward Inscription (KAI 191B:2). 37 As read by Lemaire and partially so by Naveh (NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 80–81 and n. 12; LEMAIRE, Prières en temps; also RENZ, Die althebräischen Inschriften. Teil 1, 250). The extra kaphs surrounding the inscription are an example of subsequent copying of letters from an existing inscription as ‘ghost letters’, a feature which supports Lemaire’s reading over against the alternative, which regards the ‫ۊ‬et as he followed by waw and disregards the reš and kap of the next line as extraneous, hence Ҵrrhw ‘curse him’ (see ZEVIT, The Religions, 413–415 and n. 130). This alternative reading was first mentioned by Naveh, who saw it as admissible but nonetheless understood the ‫ۊ‬et to be ‘quite clear’ (NAVEH, Old Hebrew Inscriptions, 80 and n. 11). In addition to not accounting for the letters present on the second line, a problem for the alternative reading is the lack of a head for the reputed waw (but see ZEVIT, The Religions, 414 and n. 130). 38 See KUTSCH, ʳʸʧ ‫ۊ‬rp, 211.

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with treatment of other human beings, as expressed succinctly in Prov 14.31: One who oppresses a poor person reproaches (ʳʸʧ) his maker, But one who is gracious to him honors (ʣʡʫ) [God].

Abuse of the weak by the strong violates the proper order of human society and poses an offense against the divine creator who governs that realm. Thus, personal enemies can be said to ‘reproach’ God. As we have seen in Ps 83, this insight also applies on the scale of national enemies, and later discussion will give further attention to the divinely established order that comes into view with relationships of honor and reproach. At Beit Lei, the verb ‫ۊ‬rp occurs with the 2ms pronoun. As Miller points out, this circumstance occurs in two instances in the Hebrew Bible (Pss 69.10; 79.12).39 Both refer to those who reproach God, and both occur in the Elohistic Psalter. Psalm 79.12, which was cited above, reads, ‘Return sevenfold into the bosom of our neighbors the reproach with which they taunted you, O Lord (ʩʰʣʠʪʥʴʸʧʸʹʠʭʺʴʸʧ)’. Psalm 69 is a prayer for the destruction of the individual’s enemies, whose chief characteristic is their reproach for God, the noun form of the same root, ʤʴʸʧ, occurring five times in this psalm alone (vv. 8, 10, 11, 20, and 21): Do not let those who seek you be put to shame because of me, O God of Israel. For, because of you, I have borne reproach (ʤʴʸʧ). My face is covered with shame. .….….…. For zeal for your house has consumed me. And the taunts of those who reproach you (ʩʬʲʥʬʴʰʪʩʴʸʥʧʺʥʴʸʧʥ ) have fallen on me (Ps 69.7b-8, 10).

In the identification between worshipers and God, reproach against one is shared by the other. Both noun and verb forms of ʳʸʧ ‘reproach’ occur throughout Psalms but overwhelmingly in the Elohistic Psalter – 19 of 32 times in the book of Psalms.40 Whether they were written during an Assyrian or Babylonian invasion, the purpose of the Beit Lei inscriptions was to summon divine reprisal against these conquering enemies in order to overturn the reproach (‫ۊ‬rp)

39

MILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 223. These results are summarized by Miller (Psalms and Inscriptions, 224 n. 31): Verb: 42.11; 44.17; 55.13; 57.4; 69.10; 74.10, 18; 79.12; 89.52 (2x); 102.9; 119.42. Noun: 15.3; 22.7; 31.12; 39.9; 44.14; 69.8, 10, 11, 20, 21; 71.13; 74.22; 78.66; 79.4, 12; 89.42, 51; 109.25; 119.22, 39. 40

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against YHWH brought about by his people’s defeat and desolation.41 These inscriptions provide epigraphic expression to a dominant concern in the Elohistic Psalter, namely, a call for the destruction of enemies who ‘reproach’ God and God’s people. Enemies who reproach God are a concern expressed in stone inscriptions before the exile and a dominant concern pervading the Elohistic Psalter. The shrill intensity of this sentiment in the Elohistic Psalter would have been especially fitting in the context of the Babylonian destruction, which is clearly in view in the composition of some of these psalms. That historical scenario is portrayed most vividly and explicitly in well-known portions of Pss 74 and 79. Here, the focus is on the destroyed temple which lies in ruins. In Ps 74, we read, ‘Your foes roar inside your meeting place…they sent your sanctuary up in flames’ (vv. 4 and 7). Verse 10 calls on God to act: ‘How long, O Elohim, will your foe (ʸʶ) taunt (ʳʸʧ), will the enemy forever revile your name?’ In v. 18: ‘Remember how the enemy reproaches (ʳʸʧ) YHWH, how a foolish people revile your name’. In this psalm, the ‘name’ (ʭʹ) of Israel’s God relates not just to the Deity’s fame or reputation but also to divine presence as honored in the sanctuary, which is violated by invading enemies who do not worship Israel’s God: ‘They set your sanctuary (ʪʹʣʷʮ)42 on fire; they desecrated the dwelling place of your name (ʪʮʹʚʯʫʹʮʥʬʬʧ),43 bringing it to the ground’ (Ps 74.7 NRSV). Rather than honor (ʣʡʫ) Israel’s God in the worship sanctuary, these invading enemies reproach (ʳʸʧ) YHWH by overrunning the place of his presence in the temple. Instead of prayers and offerings to God, these invading enemies give forth taunts and sounds of violence throughout the land, described as ‘the clamor of your foes, the uproar of your adversaries that goes up continually’ ( ʣʩʮʺʤʬʲ ʪʩʮʷ ʯʥʠʹ ʪʩʸʸʶ ʬʥʷ, Ps 74.23 NRSV). The psalm concludes by calling on God’s reversal of this reproach: ‘Rise, O Elohim, take up your cause; remember the reproach against you (ʪʺʴʸʧ) by the foolish all day long’ (Ps 74.22). Psalm 79 begins, ‘O Elohim, the nations have entered your inheritance, defiled your holy temple, and turned Jerusalem into ruins’ (v. 1). In vv. 5 and 6 comes a call for divine response: ‘How long, O YHWH, will you be angry forever…Pour out your fury on the nations that do not know you, on kingdoms that do not call on your name’. Here the divine ‘name’ is mentioned in relationship to the other nations, who do not worship Israel’s God 41

See also CROSS, Cave Inscriptions, 170; M ILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions; P ARKER, Graves, Caves, and Refugees, 263–265. 42 Some Hebrew manuscripts read ʪʩʹʣʷʮ (plural) ‘sanctuaries’, perhaps under the influence of the following verses reference to ‘meeting places of God in the land’ (ʵʸʠʡʬʠʚʩʣʲʥʮʚʬʫ, Ps 74.8). 43 Some Hebrew manuscripts read ʪʣʡʫʯʫʹʮ, ‘the dwelling place of your glory’.

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or recognize the honor due him. The desired reversal of this reproach for God and God’s people gives shape to divine presence as it is invoked not only in the Asaphite psalms (like Pss 74, 79, and 83) but also in the Elohistic Psalter as a whole. To summarize this part of the discussion, connections between West Semitic inscriptions and the book of Psalms, while not exclusive to the Elohistic Psalter, occur with significant frequency there. Those connections include shared features of form and content in common with publically displayed inscriptions from the Iron Age, suggesting that some of the Elohistic psalms might even derive from epigraphic antecedents. In any case, these psalms and inscriptions share a common expression of religious sentiment against the background of disaster, namely, the seeking of active divine presence in the form of deliverance and retribution against enemies. This experience and its accompanying sentiment were certainly not unique to the Iron Age or to the Judean experience of the Babylonian conquest.44 Nonetheless, the textual expression and formulation of these concerns as we find in the Elohistic Psalter resonate most closely with inscriptions from the Iron Age, illustrating the apparent cultural background from which the Elohistic Psalter drew as a collection of psalms lamenting the Babylonian destruction and exile.45 The noteworthy concentration of these parallels of themes and language within the Elohistic Psalter brings into relief the distinct tenor and prevailing viewpoint of this portion of the book of Psalms. It also shows the Elohistic Psalter’s conception of divine presence and absence to be most fitting with the immediate background of Babylonian disaster so vividly portrayed in some of its psalms (especially Pss 74 and 79). That shared sentiment is often cast in the form of reversal, and it resonates impressively with thematic emphases occurring throughout the Elohistic Psalter and amplified in its conclusion in Ps 83, especially, the 44

A point made by Parker with specific reference to the circumstance of seeking refuge from enemies in ancient southern Palestine (P ARKER, Graves, Caves, and Refugees, 282–286). 45 Following Daniel Smith-Christopher’s comparison of biblical references to the Babylonian exile to ethnographic studies of contemporary population groups experiencing forced and prolonged relocation, David M. Carr also notes that the biblical texts ‘bear some resemblance to the repeated and intrusive recollection of trauma typical of individuals and communities suffering from PTSD [post-traumatic stress disorder]’ in their expressions of anger and a desire for revenge and ‘the hope that foreign nations experience themselves the shame they have heaped on Judah’ (CARR, Formation of the Hebrew Bible, 227–234, quoting 230 and 231 respectively, and citing SMITH -CHRISTOPHER, Religion of the Landless, 50–65 and various medical and biblical studies relating to post traumatic stress disorder). Carr thus characterizes a significant emphasis of biblical literature from the exilic period as ‘Literary Mourning’ as found in Lamentations, Isaiah 63–64, the Elohistic psalms (Pss 44, 74, 79), and other psalms (Pss 89, 137).

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desired reversal of reproach from enemies and the supremacy of Israel’s God. Integral to these emphases within the Elohistic Psalter is another thematic element that is amplified in its conclusion in Ps 83, the name of Israel’s God, especially in connection with divine presence in the temple and honor for Israel’s God by those who worship him as opposed to reproach by the other nations who do not ‘call on his name’. A reversal of this situation through a divine response is the form of divine presence the Elohistic Psalter invokes. Even more obviously, the concern for God’s ‘name’ within the Elohistic Psalter relates to its most salient and defining feature, its pattern of divine names, which brings us to consider its relationship to another epigraphic source, the plaster inscription from Deir Alla.

3. God and the Gods: The Deir Alla Inscription and in the Elohistic Psalter Divine names come into view within an international setting in the Deir Alla plaster inscription, which dates to the early eighth century BCE and is written in a language that represents an overlap of Aramaic and ‘Canaanite’ languages like Hebrew, Ammonite, and Moabite:46

46 On the palaeographic and archaeological (including radiocarbon) dating of the inscription, see HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 9–19, and the following articles in HOFTIJZER AND VAN DER K OOIJ, The Balaam Texts: IBRAHIM AND VAN DER K OOIJ, Archaeology; P UECH, Approaches; VAN DER KOOIJ, Book and Script. On the linguistic classification of the inscription, see HOFTIJZER, Interpretation, 283–302; HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 109– 124; MCCARTER, Dialect of the Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla Texts, 100–105. For the text of the Deir Alla plaster inscription, see the brilliant collation and reading of the fragments in the editio princeps by Hofijzer and van der Kooij (Aramaic Texts), adjusted placement of fragments by Caquot and Lemaire (CAQUOT AND LEMAIRE, Les textes araméens), and further improved readings by McCarter (MCCARTER, Balaam Texts) and by Hackett (The Balaam Text, 21–85). That work forms the basis for the text as represented in KAI 312. See also Puech’s placement of fragments near the beginning of the inscription (PUECH, Le texte ‘ammonite’ de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, 15–17). See also the study by W EIPPERT AND WEIPPERT, Die ‘Bileam’-Inschrift. Two studies make more far-reaching suggestions, with readings and discussion of Combinations I and II (the two major sections of fragments assembled by Hoftijzer and van der Kooij): DIJKSTRA, Balaam, and B LUM , Die Kombination I. See also the readings and English translations by LEVINE, Numbers 21–36, 241–247 and SEOW, Deir ‫ޏ‬AllƗ Plaster Texts. The present discussion relates only to the content of Combination I and thus cites lines only from that portion of the inscription. The transliteration and translation provided here are from HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 25, 29.

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1 [VACAT]spr[.blȾm.brbҵ]r.Ҵš.‫ۊ‬zh.Ҵlhn[.]hҴ[.]wyҴtw.Ҵlhn. blylh.wy‫ۊ‬z.m‫ۊ‬zh 2 kmšҴ.Ҵl. wyҴmrw. lblҵ]m.brbҵr.kh.ypҵl[. ]Ҵ .Ҵ‫ۊ‬rҴh.Ҵš.lr[ ]ҵt[.] 3 wyqm.blҵm.mn.m‫ۊ‬r[. ]l.y[ ].mn.[ ]sh.wlyk[l.l .]wbk 4 h.ybkh.wyҵl.ҵmh.Ҵlwh.[wyҴmrw.l]h[.]blҵm.brbҵr.lm.t‫܈‬m.wtbkh.wyҴ 5 mr.lhm.šbw.Ҵ‫ۊ‬wkm.mh.šd[yn.pҵlw.]wlkw.rҴw.pҵlt.Ҵlhn.Ҵl[h]n.Ҵty‫ۊ‬dw. 6 wn‫܈‬bw.šdyn.mwҵd.wҴmrw.lš[ .]tpry.skry.šmyn.bҵbky.šm.‫ۊ‬šk.wҴl.n 7 gh.ҵlm.wҴ[l.]skrky.thby.‫ۊ‬t[m. ]b.‫ۊ‬šk.wҴl[.]thgy.ҵd.ҵlm.ky.ssҵgr.‫ۊ‬r 8 pt.nšr.wql.r‫ۊ‬mn.yҵnh.‫[ۊ‬sd. .]bny.n‫܈ۊ‬.w‫܈‬rh.Ҵpr‫ۊ‬y.Ҵnph.drr.nšrt. 9 ywn.w‫܈‬pr[. ]yn.[ ].m‫ܒ‬h.bҴšr.r‫ۊ‬ln.yybl.‫ܒۊ‬r.Ҵrnbn.Ҵklw. 10 [ ]Ҵb.‫ۊ‬pš[ ].štyw.‫ۊ‬mr.wqbҵn.šmҵw.mwsr.gry.š 11 [ҵl. .]l‫ۊ‬kmn.yq‫ۊ‬k.wҵnyh.rq‫ۊ‬t.mr.wkhnh 12 [ ]lnšҴ.Ҵzr.qrn.‫ۊ‬šb.‫ۊ‬šb.w‫ۊ‬šb.‫ۊ‬ 13 [šb. .]wšmҵw.‫ۊ‬ršn[.]mn.r‫ۊ‬q[.] 14 [ .]skl.‫ۊ‬zw.qqn.šgr.wҵštr.l 15 [ ].nmr.‫ۊ‬ny‫܈‬.hqrqt.bn 16 [y. ]mšn.Ҵzrn.wҵyn. The account of [Balaam, son of Beo]r, who was a seer of the gods. The gods came to him in the night, and he saw a vision (2) like an oracle of El. Then they said to [Balaam, son of Beor: ‘Thus he will do/make [ ] hereafter (?), which [ ]’. (3) And Balaam arose the next day [ ] from [ ] but he was not ab[le to ] and he wept (4) grievously. And his people came up to him [and said to] him, ‘Balaam, son of Beor, why are you fasting and crying?’ And he sa(5)id to them: ‘Sit down! I will tell you what the Shadda[yyin have done.] Now, come, see the works of the gods! The g[o]ds gathered together; (6) the Shaddayyin took their places as the assembly. And they said to Sh[ ]: ‘Sew up, bolt up the heavens in your cloud, ordaining darkness instead of (7) eternal light! And put the dark [se]al on your bolt, and do not remove it forever! For the swift re(8)proaches the griffin-vulture and the voice of vultures sings out. The st[ork] the young of the Nণৡ-bird (?) and claws up young herons. The swallow tears at (9) the dove and the sparrow [.] the rod, and instead of the ewes, it is the staff that is led. Hares eat ( 10) [a wo]lf (?) [.] drink wine and hyenas give heed to chastisement. The whelps of the f(l1)[ox.] laughs at the wise. And the poor woman prepares myrrh while the priestess (12) [.] for the prince, a tattered loincloth. The respected one (now) respects (others) and the one who gave respect is (now) re(13)[spected.] and the deaf hear from afar. (14) [and the ? of (?)] a fool see visions. The constraint of fertility (lit. ‘offspring’) (15) [.] the leopard. The piglet chases the you(16)[ng of ](?)…’

The ink inscription was once displayed on a plaster-lined wall or stele in a building at this perennial sanctuary site and trade center in the eastern Jordan valley.47 The opening line of the first section (known as Combination I) introduces the text as ‘the book (spr) of Balaam, son of Beor’. While the use of the term spr (cf. Heb. ʸʴʱ) might be a reference to this public display inscription’s source in a text otherwise known to its writer in manuscript form, it might also refer to the inscription itself, as the term spr does

47

See FRANKEN, Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla; FRANKEN, Excavations.

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in an Aramaic-language stele inscription from the eighth century. 48 In either case, the Deir Alla inscription was displayed publically in an Iron Age building that apparently served as a worship sanctuary for this regional hub of trade and commerce.49 The international character of the site, an attribute relevant to the Elohistic Psalter and its attention to the surrounding nations in its climactic Ps 83, is reflected in the plaster inscription displayed at Deir Alla. This aspect of the text relates to its focus on ‘Balaam, son of Beor’ and other striking parallels of content and language surrounding this same figure in Num 22– 24.50 Balaam is introduced at Deir Alla as a ‘seer of the gods’ (‫ۊ‬zh .Ҵlhn, I.1), the Ilahin being the text’s primary designation for the divine assembly.51 The latter figure prominently in the text and are led by the god El, as mentioned above, the traditional head of the pantheon in earlier Bronze Age texts from Syria-Palestine. Another term for the assembled deities, Shaddayin (šdyn, I.5, 6), alternates interchangeably with Ilahin in reference to the same body of gods and goddesses.52 These general collective terms 48 The Sefire Stele Inscription I, which records a treaty between two eighth-century Aramean kings and at one point reads, ‘Let none of the words of this inscription remain silent’ (wҴl tštq ‫ۊ‬dh mn mly sprҴ zn/[h], KAI 222B:8–9). See also the English translation by F ITZMYER, Inscriptions of Bar-Ga‫ގ‬yah, here 214. Similarly, in Job 19.23 the Hebrew cognate ʸʴʱ might refer either to a ‘book’ (that is, a scroll or recorded document of some sort) or, specifically, to an inscription in stone, as is clearly the meaning in the second part of the parallelism in v. 24 (and as argued by M ILLER, Psalms and Inscriptions, 212– 213 n. 6). 49 Although van der Kooij rejects Franken’s interpretation of the Iron Age building complex as a worship sanctuary, Jeannette Boertien has shown that it conforms to the criteria for religious sites set forth by archaeologists and historians and that it corresponds in many respects with the contemporary worship space at Kuntillet Ajrud, including the production of special textiles in connection with other religious evidence. See FRANKEN, ‘Deir ‘Alla’, 127–128; VAN DER KOOIJ AND IBRAHIM, Picking up the Threads, 871; B OERTIEN, Unravelling the Threads. In view of the importance of temples as centers of textual production in the ancient Near East, van der Kooij’s conclusion that Iron Age Deir Alla was a location of scribal training potentially supports, rather than contradicts, its interpretation as a worship sanctuary even if it did not regain its Late Bronze Age proportions as a temple. See VAN DER TOORN, Scribal Culture, esp. 82–108, with specific reference to Deir Alla, 88, 175–176; on Deir Alla as a site from scribal training, see also B LUM , Die Kombination I, 596–598. 50 See LEVINE, Numbers 21–36, 135–175. 51 Compare the designation of prophetic figures in the Hebrew Bible by the terms ʤʦʧ ‘seer’ (2 Kgs 17.13, etc.; in construct expressions like ʣʥʣʤʦʧ [2 Sam 24.11], ʪʬʮʤʤʦʧ [1 Chr 25.5], etc. but disparagingly in Amos 7.12 and paralleling ʭʱʷ ‘diviner’ in Mic 3.7) and ʭʩʤʬʠʹʩʠ ‘man of God’ (1 Sam 9.6–10; 1 Kgs 17.18–24; etc.). 52 This meaning for Shaddayin in the Deir Alla text is consistent with the use of singular Shadday and El (and in Job, Eloah) in reference to the same God in the Hebrew Bible (see HOFTIJZER, Interpretation, 275–276; HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 85–87; HACKETT, Some Observations, 219; M. DELCOR, Des inscriptions de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, esp. 39–

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for the divine are matched by the generic reference to Balaam’s ‘people’ (ʭʲ) both in the inscription (ҵmh, I.4) and in Numbers, where the Moabite king summons Balaam from ‘the land of his people’ (ʥʮʲʚʩʰʡ ʵʸʠ, Num 22.5).53 In Numbers, Balaam speaks of the Moabites as a ‘people’ (Num

40). Hoftijzer also allows for the possibility that the Shaddayin are ‘an important group among’ the gods at Deir Alla, an interpretation favored by McCarter, in part based on the etymology of Shaddayin that associates these gods with a ‘mountain’, the cosmic mountain being the place of deliberation and council among the gods (MCCARTER, The Balaam Texts, 57). Though resonating with the motif of conflict within the divine assembly (in Ps 82 and in other ancient Near Eastern texts, as discussed below), Victor Sasson’s interpretation of the Shaddayin at Deir Alla as a separate group of sinister deities in conflict with the El and the Ilahin goes well beyond what is preserved of the inscription and even runs counter to the available epigraphic and biblical evidence mentioned (SASSON, The Book of Oracular Visions, 285, 306–309; similarly on this point, L EVINE, Numbers 21–36, 243–244, 274–275; LEVINE, Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla Plaster Inscriptions, 141–143). The main comparative parallel to Deir Alla šdyn is the singular form Shadday which occurs as an epithet for Israel’s God in the Hebrew Bible, often in the title ʩʣʹʬʠ (Gen 17.1; 28.23; 43.14; etc.) but also standing alone (Isa 13.6; Joel 1.15; Ruth 1.20; etc.), and in parallel with ʬʠ in the Balaam material in Num 22–24 (Num 24.4, 16). Shadday appears as a divine name in the Elohistic Psalter only in Ps 68.15 (see also Ps 91.1). It occurs as a singular in the biblical personal names ʸʥʠʩʣʹ (Num 1.5 etc.) and ʩʣʹʩʮʲ (Num 1.12 etc.), the latter of which compares with a Bronze Age personal name preserved in Egyptian and reconstructed *ĝaday ҵammƯ ‘Shadday is my kinsman’. Other comparative evidence includes Ҵlšdy in a fifth- or fourth-century Thamudic inscription. For more discussion of this and other comparative evidence, see CROSS, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, 52–54; KNAUF, Shadday ʩʣʹ, esp. 749–750; NIEHR and STEINS, ʩʣʹÔ šadday, 422–424. The term’s occurrence as a grammatical plural at Deir Alla (and perhaps in Job 19.29; see HOFTIJZER, Interpretation, 276 n. 14) implies that it is not a personal name for a deity (pace HOFTIJZER, Interpretation, 276) so much as a term for a deity of a certain kind, this in keeping with various etymologies suggested (see NIEHR AND STEINS, Art. ʩʣʹÔ šadday, 420–422; LEVINE , Numbers 21–36, 195). In view of its Masoretic vocalization and its meaning inferior deities, the term ʭʩʣʹ (Deut 32.17; Ps 106.37) likely derived from Akkadian šƝdu (‘protective spirit/deity’), but the Akkadian term only occurs in the singular (see HALOT, 1417–1418), suggesting a secondary association with šdy(n). Note the Transjordanian setting that precedes its mention in Ps 106.28–31, and the apparent avoidance of šdy as a title for Israel’s God in Psalms. For a number of these points, see DELCOR, Des inscriptions de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla. In sum, the term šdy(n) likely originated as an epithet designating the great deities of ‘the (cosmic) mountain’, that is the ruling divine assembly. At Deir Alla, these deities are also called the Ҵlhn, the two terms functioning interchangeably, for example in I.5–6: ‘the Ilahin gathered/the Shaddayin took their places in the assembly’ (Ҵl[h]n.Ҵty‫ۊ‬dw./wn‫܈‬bw.šdyn). 53 Some understand this reading in the MT to refer to a place name, the land of ‘the sons of Amaw’ (see, for example, the NRSV). The reading of some Hebrew manuscripts, ʯʥʮʲʚʩʰʡ, is best understood as a result of confusion influenced by the narrative’s main setting in Transjordan and the resemblance of ʥʮʲʚʩʰʡ to the usual designation of the Ammonites in the Hebrew Bible. On this and other difficulties with the identification of Balaam’s origins in Numbers, see LEVINE, Numbers 21–36, 148.

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24.14) and repeatedly of the Israelites as a ‘people’ (Num 23.24; 24.14), even if ‘a people (ʭʲ) dwelling alone and not reckoning itself among the nations’ (Num 23.9). Though with ironic emphasis on Israel’s exceptional status among the nations (particularly its neighbors east of the Jordan; see, for example, Num 24.17–19), both the Numbers and Deir Alla material reflect the Balaam tradition’s tendency to frame international settings in generic terms of ‘peoples’ and ‘gods’, important emphases of the Elohistic Psalter’s climax in Ps 83. In keeping with Balaam’s character as an international figure, the strikingly general terms in which the inscription portrays divine and human identity avoids giving preference to any specific group, kingdom, or national identity. The public display of a text presenting this generic but inclusive view of the divine would have been most fitting at Deir Alla, accommodating merchants and travelers from various nearby and distant regions and allowing them to locate their own deities within the broader pantheon of the Ilahin, ‘the Gods’. 54 The Elohistic Psalter’s emphasis on ‘God’ and ‘the gods’ is understood in view of other biblical parallels to Deir Alla. In describing the divine disclosures to Balaam, the Deir Alla inscription is paralleled by virtually identical wording in Numbers:55 wyҴtw Ҵlwh Ҵlhn blylh… wyҴmrw lblҵm br bҵr The Ilahin came to him in the night… Then they said to Balaam, son of Beor… (Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla I.1, 2)

ʸʮʠʩʥʭʲʬʡʚʬʠʭʩʤʬʠʠʡʩʥ Elohim came to Balaam and said… (Num 22.9)

ʥʬʸʮʠʩʥʤʬʩʬʭʲʬʡʚʬʠʭʩʤʬʠʠʡʩʥ Elohim came to Balaam at night and said to him… (Num 22.20)

Accounting for the linguistic variance between the two, the main difference in wording is between grammatically singular Elohim (‘God’) in Numbers and its Deir Alla counterpart, Ilahin, which functions both contextually and grammatically as a plural in reference to all ‘the Gods’ of the pantheon. In the Balaam material of Numbers as in the inscription and setting of Deir Alla, Balaam receives decisive divine communication in the context of interaction among nations and peoples.56 54

Compare McCarter’s suggestion that the identity of the gods is probably not important (The Balaam Texts, 57). 55 These and other literal parallels with Numbers are presented by M CCARTER, The Balaam Texts, 5. 56 See for example Balaam’s oracle that ‘Balak has brought me down from Aram, the king of Moab from the eastern mountains: ‘Come, curse Jacob for me; come, denounce

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In addition to the Balaam material in Numbers, other salient parallels of language, theme, and motif for the Deir Alla inscription fall within the Elohistic Psalter.57 These parallels include the language of Ps 82 and its depiction of the divine assembly, which will be discussed below. They also include the exhortation, ‘Come and see the deeds of the Ilahin’ (wlkw rҴw pҵlt Ҵlhn, I.5), which has nearly identical verbal parallels in other psalms within the Elohistic Psalter: ‘Come and see the deeds of Elohim’, both in Ps 46.9 (ʭʩʤʬʠʺʥʬʲʴʮʥʦʧʚʥʫʬ)58 and in Ps 66.5 (ʭʩʤʬʠʺʥʬʲʴʮʥʠʸʥʥʫʬ).59 The meaning and function of ʭʩʤʬʠ as a grammatical singular is clear in both of these psalms, which otherwise do not mention plural ‘gods’ but which rather emphasize the supreme status and power of Israel’s God as Elohim within an international perspective (Ps 66.1–4, 8).60 This notion is articulated succinctly in Ps 46.11: ‘Be still and know that I am Elohim; I am exalted among the nations; I am exalted in the earth’. These psalms’ striking verbal parallels with the Deir Alla inscription, like those in Numbers, clearly attest to a common tradition between the two.61 At the same time, their common formulation points up related but alternative conceptions of the divine expressed by each. In the Elohistic Israel!’ (Num 23.7 NRSV) and Balaam’s characterization of Israel as ‘a people not reckoning itself among the nations’ (Num 23.9). 57 See also the more subtle ‘dictional affinities’ between Isaiah 14 and Deir Alla Combination II adduced by Baruch Levine (LEVINE, The Balaam Inscription, 336). Levine understands the Numbers and Isaiah 14 parallels to Deir Alla as belonging to a collection of biblical texts drawing on distinctly Transjordanian literary tradition. See LEVINE, Numbers 21–36, 208–209. 58 The reading ʭʩʤʬʠ ʺʥʬʲʴʮ is attested in numerous Hebrew manuscripts, in the Septuagint tradition as represented by Lucian’s recension and by Codex Alexandrinus, and in the Syriac Peshitta (see the critical apparatus of BHS). The MT reading with ʺʥʬʲʴʮ ʤʥʤʩ was evidently influenced by that divine name’s occurrence in the immediately preceding refrain (vv. 8, 12), which stands out against the otherwise characteristic preference for ʭʩʤʬʠ throughout this psalm (even in the unusual expression ʭʩʤʬʠʚʸʩʲ, v. 5; also Ps 87.3; cf. Ps 48.2, 9; 2 Sam 10.12). Many decades before the discovery of the Deir Alla textual parallel, Briggs made this same observation (that ʭʩʤʬʠ in this Elohistic psalm was likely altered to ʤʥʤʩ in 46.9 of the MT under the refrain’s influence), though, for Briggs, this scribal alteration would have restored the ‘original’ divine name that had appeared in this psalm prior to its supposed Elohistic editing (BRIGGS AND B RIGGS, Psalms, 397). 59 These parallels were first pointed out by HOFTIJZER, Interpretation and Grammar, 192. 60 See HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Die Psalmen I, 288–289; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 145. 61 As McCarter states the matter, the verbal parallels leave ‘no doubt’ that the author of the relevant portions of Numbers 22 ‘was well acquainted with the Transjordanian Balaam tradition as it is represented in the Deir ‫ޏ‬AllƗ texts’ (MCCARTER, The Balaam Texts, 57).

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Psalter as in Numbers, singular Elohim denotes the one ‘God’ of Israel, as an alternative to the plural ‘Gods’ of the nations belonging to the international purview of Deir Alla. The notion of plural ‘Gods’ of Israel appears within the biblical corpus, even in connection with distinctly Israelite traditions. The central worship symbols of both the golden bull-calf (Ex 32.4, 8; 1 Kgs 12.28) and the ark (1 Sam 4.8b) are presented along with a verbal formulation of the exodus tradition in which plural Elohim is the only divine designation employed.62 This point is particularly striking in view of the exodus tradition’s explicit attribution to YHWH throughout the Hebrew Bible. The other place where the exodus tradition is invoked without direct reference to YHWH is in the Balaam material of Numbers, with the statement, ‘El who brings them out of Egypt is like the horns of a wild ox for him [that is, Jacob/Israel]’ (ʬʠ ʥʬ ʭʠʸ ʺʴʲʥʺʫ ʭʩʸʶʮʮ ʭʠʩʶʥʮ, Num 23.22; 24.8). The poetic language of Balaam’s oracle ascribes the exodus event to ‘El’ and makes use of bovine imagery that is traditionally associated with this god and that appears vividly in the bull-calf statue so closely connected with the exodus formula in Ex 32 and 1 Kgs 12.63 The points of coherence among these texts indicate an alternative tradition in which the exodus is explicitly ascribed not, as usual, to YHWH but rather to El and ‘the Gods’ (plural Elohim), the same basic conception of the divine pantheon encountered at Deir Alla and more broadly in ancient Syria-Palestine.64 These alternative formulations of the exodus tradition reflect an interchange of emphases among ancient Israelite conceptions of the divine, focusing either on YHWH as the one God uniquely associated with Israel or alternatively focusing on the full divine assembly headed by El.65 While 62

For discussion of these texts as remnants of an earlier cultic formula, see BURNETT, A Reassessment of Biblical Elohim, 79–105. 63 CROSS, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, 73–75. 64 In earlier discussion, I have suggested these biblical texts cite a worship formula which attributes the exodus to a leading warrior god and his divine military retinue (BURNETT, A Reassessment of Biblical Elohim, 85–92). Additional evidence favoring this conceptualization in terms of El and the Elohim has been pointed out by Mark Smith in the following passage from Philo of Byblos (as mediated by Eusebius of Caesarea): ‘Now the allies of Elos, i.e., Kronos, were called “Eloim”, as the ones named after Kronos would be “Kronians”’ (Ƞੂ įİ ıȣȝȝĮȤȠȚ ਹȜȠȣ IJȠȣ ȀȡȠȞȠȣ ਫȜȦİȚȝ ਥʌİțȜȘșȘıĮȞ, ੩Ȣ ਕȞ ȀȡȠȞȚȠȚ Ƞਫ਼IJȠȚ ਱Ȣ ਕȞ Ƞੂ ȜİȖȠȝİȞȠȚ ਥʌȚ ȀȡȠȞȠȣ [Praeparatio Evangelica 1.10.20], ATTRIDGE and ODEN, Philo of Byblos, 50–51, cited in SMITH, Counting Calves at Bethel, 390. 65 Stephen C. Russell argues for distinct regional literary traditions, according to which the 1 Kgs 12 and Ex 32 exodus formula represents Cisjordan-northern Israelite origins, the Numbers texts belong to distinctly Transjordan-Israelite tradition, and Ex 15 and Egypt’s mention in Ps 68.29–32 belong to Judahite tradition. RUSSELL, Images of Egypt.

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the former would be favored by the dynamics of Iron Age ‘state religion’,66 that the latter emphasis on El and ‘the Gods’ never completely disappeared from view is evident from the inclusion of these formulations of divine plurality among the biblical traditions and even later still among the Dead Sea community texts.67 The importance of El and ‘the Gods’ (Elohim/Ilahin) to textual and worship traditions of Iron Age Israel and Transjordan is evident at Deir Alla and in these biblical exodus texts. The equation of YHWH and El in Israelite religion, along with ‘the Gods’ as a concept of the divine enduring throughout the Iron Age, provided the basis for the Elohistic Psalter’s program of divine names, including its use of El, Elyon, and Elohim (as well as other divine titles) in reference to Israel’s God. 68 Most striking in this connection are the verbal parallels involving Deir Alla Ilahin and singular Elohim in the Elohistic Psalter described above. This evidence indicates that, through interchanging conceptions of divine plurality and singularity, the divine name preference displayed in the Elohistic Psalter had its roots in authentic Iron Age worship traditions honoring ‘the Elohim/Ilahin’. Concomitant with the veneration of the ‘Gods’ as attested at Deir Alla and in biblical exodus materials, Iron Age state religion favored a focus on the one ‘God’ of the kingdom. Both of these dynamics stand behind the use of Elohim as a singular designating YHWH as national ‘God’ in relationship to the other ‘gods’. This religious-historical background has a bearing not only on the Elohistic Psalter’s use of divine names but also on its thematic emphasis on the supremacy of Israel’s God among the nations of the earth. The Elohistic Psalter’s interest in God and the gods had deep roots in Iron Age literary and worship traditions, and this concern gave shape to its conception of divine presence in the Babylonian destruction’s aftermath. Among the Elohistic psalms, the traditional West Semitic pantheon’s way of serving as the model for conceptualizing the divine world and mir66

See, for example, the ninth-century Mesha Inscription’s emphasis on YHWH as the God of Israel and Chemosh as the leading god of Moab (throughout). See J ACKSON AND DEARMAN, Mesha Inscription; SMELIK, The Inscription of King Mesha, 137–138. For a recent discussion of dynamics behind the focus on a single god in Iron Age ‘state’ religion, see SPIECKERMANN, God and His People. 67 See BURNETT, Art. -'!#+’Ɵlǀhîm, +’Ɲl, !#+Ô’Ɵlô(a)h, =#!#+’Ɵlǀhût. 68 While the dynamics of Iron Age state religion would have facilitated the identification of El and YHWH, that identification was likely underway very early on in Israelite religion. See EISSFELDT, El and Yahweh; CROSS, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, 44– 75; SMITH, The Early History of God, 32–43. For Levine, Numbers 22–24 and Isaiah 14 represent a body of literary traditions from both sides of the Jordan, in which YHWH and El (and Shadday and Elyon, as distinct gods) were ‘synthesized’ without being completely identified (LEVINE, Numbers 21–36, 217–230; also LEVINE, The Balaam Inscription, 335–338).

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roring relationships among international powers comes into particular focus in Ps 82.69 This aspect of the psalm involves further parallels to Deir Alla.

4. Divine Presence and the Reordering of Heavenly Powers: Deir Alla and Psalm 82 In addition to a prevailing international viewpoint and shared phraseology in which plural Ilahin corresponds to singular Elohim (Deir Alla I.5; compare Pss 46.9 and 66.5), other biblical parallels to Deir Alla occur within the Elohistic Psalter in connection with the language and depiction of the divine council in Ps 82.70 This dimension of the psalm is also essential to its frequently observed links with Ps 83, especially in their shared references to God by the titles El (82.1; 83.2) and Elyon (82.6; 83.19).71 The imperative with which Ps 82 concludes (‘Arise, O Elohim, judge the earth…’ v. 8) is followed immediately by the threefold imperative with which Ps 83 begins (‘O Elohim, do not be silent; do not hold aloof; do not be quiet, O El! v. 2). The two psalms conclude with similar language and emphases, the call for God to judge ‘the earth’ and the claimed possession of ‘all the nations’ by Israel’s God (82.8) matching the assertion that Israel’s God is supreme over ‘all the earth’ (83.19). Both psalms are concerned with a lack of knowledge and understanding (82.5; 83.19). These shared elements indicate a basis for the present joining of Ps 82 with Ps 83 at the conclusion, first, of the Asaphite psalms and, ultimately, of the Elohistic Psalter.72 Because of its pivotal placement within the Elohistic Psalter and its depiction of ‘the gods’, who have been mentioned at various points throughout the Elohistic Psalter (Pss 43.20; 45.6–7; 58.1; 73.25; 69

See the reflection on prior scholarship by Zenger in H OSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 328–331. 70 HOFTIJZER, Aramaic Texts, 193; HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 40; SMITH, God in Translation, 133–134 n. 4. The secondary literature on this psalm is vast (see the bibliography listed in HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 328 and, more recently, LORETZ, Mythische Götterrebellion, and MACHINIST, How Gods Die; thanks to Mark S. Smith for first making me aware of the latter article). As yet very little attention has gone to this psalm’s parallels to Deir Alla. 71 The links of vocabulary and theme noted here are also described by SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 336–337. 72 In this connection, interpreters have tended to speak of Ps 82’s critical place among the Asaphite psalms in terms of a tension that builds with the mention of foreign gods in Ps 81.10 and that reaches its high point in Ps 83. See M ILLARD, Die Komposition des Psalters, 89–103; HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 336; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 334–337.

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77.13–14; 81.10), Ps 82 plays a key, summative role in the Elohistic Psalter’s portrayal of divine presence and absence, a central dimension of its theological program. With these aspects of Ps 82 in view, its parallels to the Deir Alla inscription bear further attention. Psalm 82 draws on the same traditional West Semitic conception of the pantheon presented at Deir Alla, centering on El and the Gods (Deir Alla I.1–2, 5, as discussed in the previous section). This psalm refers to the divine assembly as ‘the Council of El’ (ʬʠʚʺʣʲ, Ps 82.1), as ‘the sons of Elyon’ (ʯʥʩʬʲʩʰʡ, v. 6), and simply as (plural) Elohim, ‘the Gods’ (ʭʩʤʬʠ, vv. 1, 6). The gathering of the divine council is described with wording parallel to that found at Deir Alla, including the use of the same verb n‫܈‬b:73 ʬʠʚʺʣʲʡʡʶʰʭʩʤʬʠ Elohim takes his place in the Council of El. (Ps 82.1) Ҵl[h]n.Ҵty‫ۊ‬dw./wn‫܈‬bw.šdyn.mwҵd) The Ilahin gather; the Shaddayin take their places in the assembly (Deir Alla I [KAI 312]:5–6).

As usual in the Elohistic Psalter, Elohim is employed in this instance as a singular in reference to Israel’s God (also in v. 8), although later in the psalm plural Elohim denotes collectively the members of the divine council assembled for deliberation (v. 6). Both texts offer a mythic view into the divine realm, thus portraying the ultimate form of divine presence and with cosmic implications. The focus of the Deir Alla inscription’s portrayal of the divine assembly is the dire verdict of the Ilahin, in which a goddess is charged to bring absolute darkness over the skies, thus causing a cataclysmic disruption of life on earth (l. 6–7). This decree of the gods has the terrestrial abode as its frame of reference. As first pointed out by Kyle McCarter and as followed by commentators since, the subsequent lines of the text describe a series of reversals of the usual order of nature and human society: There let there be darkness and no (7) perpetual shining and n[o] radiance! For you will put a sea[l upon the thick] cloud of darkness and you will not remove it forever! For the swift has (8) reproached the eagle, and the voice of vultures resounds. The st[ork has ] the young of the Nণৡ-bird and ripped up the chicks of the heron. The swallow has belittled(9) the dove, and the sparrow [ ] and [ ] the staff. Instead of ewes the stick is driven along. Hares have eaten (10) [ ]. Freemen[ ]have drunk wine, and hyenas have listened to instruction. The whelps of the (11) f[ox] laughs at wise men, and the poor woman has

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HOFTIJZER AND VAN DER KOOIJ, Aramaic Texts, 193; HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 40; DELCOR, Des inscriptions de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, 34–35; SMITH, God in Translation, 133 n. 4. For more discussion of the implications of this verb for YHWH-Elohim’s role in the divine council in Ps 82, see below.

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mixed myrrh, and the priestess (12) [ ] to the one who wears a girdle of threads. The 74 esteemed esteems and the esteemer is es[teemed. (Deir Alla I.6–13)

The reversals explain the reason for the gods’ decision as numerous instances of behavior running counter to the divine will that undergirds the established order of the world, behavior thus meriting divine reprisal.75 These various reversals from the norm all center on basic dynamics of relative power and status. They represent the natural, social, and moral ramifications of a larger, unifying cosmic order established and overseen by the gods, in keeping with a common ancient Near Eastern view of the world.76 The list of reversals leads off with a relationship characterized by reproach, using the same word (‫ۊ‬rp) that is repeated throughout the Elohistic Psalter and that appears among the Beit Lei inscriptions (see above). The enumeration of various examples provides a vivid and multifaceted illustration of how thoroughly misaligned life on earth has become from the divinely established order undergirding nature and society. In response, the Ilahin issue their cataclysmic decree, with the aim of reordering the earth according to the divine will. The divine remedy unto that end, in turn, poses a type of reversal. The darkening of the skies and withholding of all natural light certainly run counter to the usual order of life on earth. This way of formulating both the causes and effects of divine intervention in terms of reversals appears frequently in biblical and ancient Near Eastern texts where the motif characterizes divine action or human actions in violation of divine oversight, such as treaty violations or unfavorable rule, or both.77 In Isa 29.13–21, for example, the motif of reversal characterizes both divine intervention and its cause in abuses of power by those occupying cultic (Isa 29.13), judicial (v. 21), and political (v. 20) roles of leadership – human positions of au74 Here, quoting McCarter’s translation (MCCARTER, The Balaam Texts, 51–52); see above for Hackett’s translation and others cited there. 75 While some interpreters have suggested these lines indicate the consequences of the divine verdict, the syntax of the text indicates the reasons for the verdict of the gods (HACKETT, The Balaam Text, 46–56). Also favoring the latter understanding of these lines are two factors that Blum points out, namely, that this elaborate and extensive section of the text is fitting as a proportional justification for the threat of cosmic catastrophe by the gods and that it accounts for what would otherwise be a missing portion of the story (B LUM , Die Kombination I, 593). 76 The common ancient Near Eastern enterprise of recognition and speculation regarding natural, social, and moral ramifications of the unifying cosmic order is conventionally labeled ‘wisdom’ literature and thought. See, for example, CRENSHAW, Old Testament Wisdom; P ERDUE, Cosmology and the Social Order; PERDUE, The Sword and the Stylus. 77 Numerous biblical and comparative ancient Near Eastern examples of reversal are collected by Bob Becking (BECKING, Between Fear and Freedom, 138, 141–49).

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thority, all rightly understood to mediate divine oversight within the world as part of a larger cosmic order.78 The social-political-cosmic aspects of reversal illustrated by these kinds of texts will prove essential to the concerns of Ps 82 later in this discussion. For now it bears noting that, in biblical texts as in the Deir Alla inscription, the motif of reversal may characterize both earthly actions in violation of the divinely established order and the divine action in response.

5. Divine Presence and Divine Absence: Darkness, Earthquake, and More Reversal at Deir Alla and in the Elohistic Psalter The vision of divinely-ordained catastrophe at the center of the Deir Alla inscription comes as no surprise, given the site’s repeated destruction by earthquakes that shook the Jordan Rift Valley, in four different instances between ca. 1200 BCE and the end of the Iron Age occupation level to which the inscription belongs (eighth-century BCE).79 One of those events destroyed the previous Late Bronze temple complex on the site, and another had lethal consequences for subsequent settlement on the site.80 Connotations of divine judgment reverberate in the apparent ancient (Aramaic) name of the site, TarȾala, according to the Talmud the name that had come to replace biblical Succoth and that is now reflected even if reanalyzed in modern Arabic as Deir Alla (literally, ‘high monastery’).81 The ancient name TarȾala is understood as a substantive form meaning ‘shak78

Isaiah 29.13–21 both casts the offenses of the people and their ‘wise’ leaders in terms of a reversal of norms (‘You turn things upside down!’, v. 16) and anticipates outcomes of divine response in terms of reversal (‘The wisdom of their wise shall perish, and the discernment of the discerning shall be hidden…The deaf shall hear the words of a scroll, and out of their gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see’, vv. 14, 18). 79 FRANKEN, Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, 128. 80 Franken describes how earthquake and resulting fire disrupted efforts at rebuilding and then, after a period characterized by industrial operations at the site, another earthquake occurred during which a man fell into a fissure in the ground of the tell, all of this still between ca. 1200 and 1150 BCE (Franken, Deir Alla, 127–128). 81 The name and site of Deir Alla came to the attention of Western scholarship during the nineteenth century thanks to Selah Merrill, who connected it with the Talmud’s identification of biblical Succoth with a place it called Darҵala or Tarҵala (Šebiҵit 9, 2 [38d]); based on this textual reference and Deir Alla’s physical and geographic correspondence to the biblical portrayal of Succoth (especially as described in Judg 8), Merrill provided very persuasive arguments for this identification (see MERRILL, East of the Jordan, 385– 388, esp. 386–387). For similar arguments, see also AHARONI, The Land of the Bible, 241–242 n. 174. For alternative candidates for Succoth-Tar ‫ޏ‬ala’s modern identification prior to Merrill’s ‘discovery’ of Deir Alla, see NEUBAUER, La Géographie du Talmud, 248–249.

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ing, reeling’ (in connection with the root rҵl).82 In Biblical Hebrew, the noun ʤʬʲʸʺ ‘reeling’ occurs in the context of divine judgment in Isa 51 in the expressions ʤʬʲʸʺʤʱʥʫʺʲʡʷ ‘goblet of the cup of reeling’ (v. 17) and ʤʬʲʸʺ ʱʥʫ ‘cup of reeling’ (v. 22). With similar meaning, the only other biblical occurrence of the noun is in the Elohistic Psalter, specifically in Ps 60.5 and in connection with ‘the valley of Succoth’ (v. 8). This psalm declares that Elohim has caused his people to drink wine unto ‘reeling’ (ʤʬʲʸʺ ʯʩʩ ʥʰʺʩʷʹʤ v. 5) in the form of an earthquake expressing God’s judgment on the people (vv. 3–4). Psalm 60 goes on to describe the land of God’s dominion as one centering on ‘Shechem and…the Valley of Succoth’ (v. 8), the latter being the biblical place name identified with Deir Alla and its vicinity. This territory is described by Ps 60 as extending west to Ephraim, and Judah and east to Gilead and Manasseh (vv. 8–9), a territory from which God will subordinate Moab, Edom, and Philistia (v. 10). Psalm 60 thus reflects an association between earthquake and ‘reeling’ (ʤʬʲʸʺ, v. 5) as motifs of divine judgment in connection with the region of Deir Alla as a central part of the Israelite heartland.83 The ancient name of the site reflects its longstanding associations with divine judgment in the form of earthquake, as reflected in specific connection with this region in Ps 60 and more generally with earthquake as a reversal motif indicating God’s judgment or violation of the divine will on earth, elsewhere in the Elohistic Psalter (Pss 46.3, 7; 75.3–4, 8–9; 82.5).84 In this connection, it is noteworthy that Ps 46 contains both one of the verbal parallels to Deir Alla (I.5; Ps 46.9, as discussed above) and the motif of earthquake. Damage to portions of the Deir Alla text (ironically, caused by the earthquake that finally destroyed the building that housed it) leaves one only to speculate whether a reference to earthquake might have been part 82 See FRANKEN, Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, 126–127. Compare the alternative explanation by LIPIēSKI, On the Skirts of Canaan, 290, nn. 118–120), that the ancient name from which Deir Alla derives is not trҵl ‘shaking, reeling’ but rather from Aramaic trҵ Ҵlh ‘Gate of God’, on analogy with ‘Gate of Heaven’ (ʭʩʮʹʤ ʸʲʹ Gen 28.17) and comparable to Hebrew ʬʠʥʰʴʬʠʩʰʴ ‘Face of God’ (Gen 32.25–31), the latter being an alternative identification for the city of Succoth, though in the same vicinity (see Judg 8.4–9, 16– 17). By comparison, the consensus identification (Deir Alla [from trҵl ‘shaking, reeling’ ] = Succoth) is not only etymologically more satisfactory but also more parsimonious in accounting for historical-geographic information from the written sources at hand. 83 Earthquake and the ‘cup’ of divine judgment/punishment are motifs that appear together again in the Elohistic Psalter in Ps 75.4 (Niphal of mwg ‘wave, sway back and forth’; HALOT, 550), 9. Earthquake also appears in the Elohistic Psalter as a motif of divine judgment in Ps 46.3, 7. 84 For discussion of earthquake as a motif both of God’s dominion over the earth and of potential threats to God’s rule in these and other biblical texts (especially, Pss 93.1; 96.10 = 1 Chr 16.30; Pss 104.5; 125.1; Isa 24.19; Am 8.8), see J EREMIAS, Die Erde ‘wankt’.

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of its portrayal of divinely-decreed disaster.85 In any case, the Deir Alla inscription’s geographic location, the name of the site, and the inscription’s emphasis on divine judgment all resonate with aspects of Pss 46, 60, 75, and 82, this in keeping with other literary connections to the Deir Alla text already observed in the Elohistic Psalter. In short, the prominence of earthquake as a motif among the Elohistic Psalms and in the ancient name of Deir Alla underscores other indications that the inscription from that site represents an important tradition of divine judgment that informed the theological vision guiding the Elohistic Psalter’s formation. Aside from the relevance of earthquake, ‘darkness’ figures prominently as the threatened divine punishment described in the Deir Alla inscription (l. 6–7). Similar aspects attend the cryptic language of the scene on earth that is described among the divine assembly in Ps 82, which describes how the earth’s inhabitants ‘go about in darkness’ and ‘all the foundations of the earth totter’ (ʵʸʠʩʣʱʥʮʚʬʫʥʨʥʮʩ, v. 5).86 This motif of terrestrial dark85

Though the initial pronouncement of judgment is well preserved (l. 6–7; see H ACKThe Balaam Text, 25–30). 86 While some commentators have understood v. 5 to refer to the gods of the divine assembly rather than the earth’s inhabitants (see, for example, H OSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 328–29, 331, 334; MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 192–194, 209–210, 216, 218), both the Deir Alla parallel and the phrase ‘foundations of the earth’ in this description indicate circumstances on earth, as does the earthquake motif more generally in Pss 46.3, 7; 60.3–5; 75.3–4, 8–9 (see JEREMIAS, Die Erde ‘wankt’). Some of the best support for the alternative position (that v. 5 refers to the gods of the assembly) comes recently from Peter Machinist, who undertakes an insightful exploration of Ps 82’s resonances with Gen 2–3, especially the connection between knowledge and death (Gen 2.16–17; 3.3–5), knowledge as a divine prerogative, and correspondences of phrasing: ʯʥʺʥʮʺ (Ps 82.7) with ʺʥʮʺ ʺʥʮ (Gen 2.17) and ʯʥʺʥʮʺʚʠʬ (Gen 3.4); ʭʩʸʹʤʣʧʠʫʭʣʠʫ (Ps 82.7) with ʭʩʤʬʠʫ (Gen 3.5) and ʥʰʮʮʣʧʠʫʤʩʤʭʣʠʤ Gen 3.22; MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 209–218, 236). As Machinist persuasively suggests, Ps 82 was perhaps composed with Gen 2–3 in mind, and Gen 2–3 presents knowledge and immortality as defining traits of divinity. Thus, for Machinist, the lack of knowledge mentioned in Ps 82.5 goes along with the sentence of mortality for the gods in v. 7 and thus refers to a lack of knowledge on the part of the gods. The connection with Gen 2–3, though, is one that cuts both ways for Ps 82.5. As is clear from Machinist’s discussion, ‘the knowledge of good and evil’ that is at issue in Gen 3 elsewhere refers to a capacity of human understanding, especially on the part of adults responsible for societal norms (Deut 1.39; 2 Sam 19.36; Isa 7.15–16). Also, the overarching thrust of the narrative of Gen 2–3 is that ‘the knowledge of good and evil’, though divine in origin, is a human attainment essential for survival and to life as we know it. Knowledge more generally, as considered in other texts Machinist cites, is something that distinguishes human beings from animals (Isa 1.3), without which people (especially God’s people) suffer destruction (Isa 5.13–14; Am 3.10; Hos 4.6). Those who ‘walk in darkness’, as in Ps 82.5, are human beings bereft of divine presence and guidance (Isa 8.22; Ps 35.6). Even if Ps 82 was composed with Gen 2–3 in mind, as Machinist intimates, the psalm has more than this in view including cosmic disruptions ETT,

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ness in Ps 82 is in keeping with the Deir Alla inscription’s portrayal of darkness as the dreaded earthly consequence of what the gods have decreed in the divine realm. The language for the shaking of ‘the foundations of the earth’ ( ʩʣʱʥʮ ʵʸʠ) in Ps 82 is understood through its occurrence in another biblical text, which stresses the direct link between the seat of cosmic divine rule and its like ‘darkness’ and the tottering of the earth. Elsewhere these phenomena are associated with a lack of human knowledge and understanding, for example, Jer 4.23–26, where darkness, earthquake, and widespread desolation result from a lack of knowledge by the people, about whom it says poignantly, ‘They are wise in doing evil, they do not know how to do good’ (ʥʲʣʩʠʬʡʩʨʩʤʬʥʲʸʤʬʤʮʤʭʩʮʫʧ, v. 22; see also Isa 29.9, 15, 18). The explanation of Ps 82.5 as speech in reference to the gods would be compelling if Ps 82.5 in fact continued the second-person speech of Elohim to the rebuked gods, as Machinist suggests at one point: ‘you show no understanding…you are walking about in darkness’ (MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 192); however, the text we have features third-person speech at this point. If interpreted as speech about the gods, this verse would constitute an abrupt interruption of the otherwise ongoing direct address in vv. 2–4 and 6–7, as Süssenbach and others have pointed out (SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 336 n. 108). Machinist accounts for this abrupt shift as an aside from Elohim’s direct speech to the gods. But, as Machinist recognizes, the parallel that he invokes in Isa 41.21–24 is not completely analogous (M ACHINIST, How Gods Die, 194 n. 13), and in any case the resort to an aside breaks with the structure that Machinist rightly recognizes for the psalm, which comprises words about or to Elohim (in vv. 1 and 8) and words from Elohim to the other gods (in vv. 2–4, 6–7). The concentric role of v. 5 lies not in a shift of address (which is not clearly indicated) but rather in the poem’s central concern for the earthly outcomes of heavenly misrule within a unified cosmic order (as discussed and as described in Isa 24.17–23, cited below). Verse 5 thus continues the direct address to the gods but with appropriate focus on the earthly consequences of their misrule. The focus of v. 5 is thus in keeping with that iterated in structure of the psalm, a concern that God’s judgment in the heavenly realm (v. 1) come to fruition on earth (v. 8). A similar shift in speech otherwise unaccounted for in the words of the psalm itself obtains with David Frankel’s suggestion that Elohim/YHWH speaks to the other gods in vv. 2–4 and then turns in appeal to El (whom Frankel regards as distinct from Elohim/YHWH as head of the pantheon in Ps 82), with vv. 6–8 as El’s words to the gods (vv. 6–7) and finally to Elohim/YHWH (v. 8; FRANKEL, El as the Speaking Voice, 15– 18). While this scenario would fit the type scene of the West Semitic pantheon in the background of the psalm (as discussed above), the text of Ps 82 itself does not indicate these changes of speaker and address – as it does between vv. 1 and 8, on the one hand, where (grammatically singular) Elohim is clearly not the speaker but is the focus, and vv. 2–7, on the other, which has plural parties of reference and address other than Elohim. These are the only shifts of speaker necessary to recognize in this poem. In the most straightforward reading of Ps 82’s language, v. 5 continues to speak of the wretched inhabitants of the earth named in the previous verses as the ‘weak’ ( ʬʣ vv. 3, 4), ‘orphan’ (ʭʥʺʩ v. 3), ‘lowly’ (ʩʰʲ v. 3), ‘poor’ (ʹʸ v. 3), and ‘needy’ (ʯʥʩʡʠ v. 4) and also as the ʭʩʲʹʸ (‘the wicked’ vv. 2, 4), who are all understood as the subject of the third-person verbs that begin in v. 5: ‘They do not know, and they do not understand; the walk about in darkness’ (ʥʫʬʤʺʩʤʫʹʧʡʥʰʩʡʩʠʬʥʥʲʣʩʠʬ).

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ultimate impact on earth, as portrayed in the vivid warning of divine punishment, namely, Isaiah 24.17–23: Terror, and the pit, and the snare are upon you, O inhabitant of the earth (ʵʸʠʤʡʹʥʩ)! .….….…. For the windows of heaven are opened, and the foundations of the earth tremble (ʵʸʠʩʣʱʥʮʥʹʲʸʩʥ). The earth is utterly broken, the earth is torn asunder, the earth is violently shaken. The earth staggers like a drunkard, it sways like a hut; Its transgression lies heavy upon it, and it falls, and will not rise again. On that day YHWH will punish the host of heaven in heaven, and on earth the kings of the earth. .….….…… Then the moon will be abashed, and the sun ashamed; For YHWH Sebaoth will reign on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and before his elders he will manifest his glory. (Isa 24.17–23 following the NRSV)

Violent earthquake stands out as the main expression of divine judgment in this passage, which even uses the same language found in Ps 82.5 with the shaking of ‘the foundations of the earth’ (ʵʸʠʩʣʱʥʮ). Here as in Ps 60 and other Elohistic Psalms (Pss 46.3, 7; 74.3–4, 8–9) and as intimated in the ancient name of Deir Alla (see above), earthquake is associated with drunkenness and staggering as motifs for divine judgment and punishment (Isa 24.19–20). The final characteristic of this scene, the inhibiting of the moon and sun (Isa 24.23), is suggestive of the darkness that befalls the earth both in Ps 82 and in the Deir Alla inscription. While Isaiah 24 mentions the transgression of ‘the earth’ (ʤʲʹʴʵʸʠ v. 20), the aim of YHWH’s judgment extends beyond the terrestrial plane. As v. 21 states, YHWH will bring punishment on ‘the host of heaven in heaven and on the kings of the earth on earth’ (ʤʮʣʠʤʚʬʲ ʤʮʣʠʤ ʩʫʬʮʚʬʲʥ ʭʥʸʮʡ ʭʥʸʮʤ ʠʡʶʚʬʲ). In this text of warning, YHWH clearly stands as cosmic sovereign, issuing condemnation not only on ‘the earth’ and its kings but also on the heavenly powers that govern it. In Ps 82, governance exercised by the heavenly powers of the divine assembly has resulted in terrestrial outcomes of ‘darkness’ (v. 5, as at Deir Alla) and ‘tottering’, and that divine oversight is sharply called into question. In this psalm, Elohim admonishes the members of the divine

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court for dereliction of their responsibilities to ensure proper behavior on earth: 87

How long will you judge perversely (ʬʥʲʚʥʨʴʹʺʩʺʮʚʣʲ) and show favor to the wicked? Do justice (ʥʨʴʹ) to the weak and the orphan, Vindicate (ʥʷʣʶʤ) the lowly and the poor, Rescue (ʥʨʬʴ) the weak and the needy; 88 Deliver (ʥʬʩʶʤ) them from the hand of the wicked. (Ps 82.2–4)

These verses elaborate on the basic ancient Near Eastern ideal of protecting the weak and vulnerable of humanity from the wicked, an ideal often identified in scholarship under the rubric of social justice and frequently invoked in biblical and other ancient Near Eastern texts as the duty of kings within their realms.89 With its cosmic perspective, Ps 82 stands as a reminder that the demand for royal justice is integral to a larger order and structuring of power that has its ultimate sources in the divine realm.90 Psalm 82 takes as its basic frame of reference the same attention to relative power and status among the earth’s inhabitants as elaborated at Deir Alla but, with its specific accent on ‘justice’ themes, the psalm reflects the moral vantage point of those suffering on earth. As is the case at Deir Alla, in Ps 82 what the gods enact in the divine council is realized on earth but with ‘perverse’ consequences (v. 2). Rather than upholding the divine cosmic order as manifest in earthly justice, the 87

By contrast, Israel’s God promises to’ judge with equanimity’ earlier among the Asaphite psalms (ʨʴʹʠʭʩʸʹʩʮʩʰʠ, Ps 75.3). See also Pss 9.9; 96.10; 99.4. 88 Although some commentators have seen this rebuke as directed to human judges on earth, the stated punishment in v. 7 that those in question ‘shall die as humans’ (ʭʣʠʫ ʯʥʺʥʮʺ) can only mean that they are not humans (so HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 330; SMITH, God in Translation, 134, 138). 89 HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 333–34; NIEHR, ʨʴʹ šƗpa‫ ;ܒ‬ʨʴʹ šǀpƝ‫ܒ‬, 421; LORETZ, Mythische Götterrebellion, 395 and n. 13, and the Mesopotamian text cited there: ‘If a king does not heed justice, his people will be thrown into chaos, and his land will be devastated. If he does not heed the justice of his land, Ea, the king of destinies, will alter his destiny and will not cease from hostily pursuing him’ (DT 1:1–3 in LAMBERT, Babylonian Wisdom Literature, 112). In West Semitic tradition, this duty of kingship is elaborated in a passage from the Ugaritic Kirta epic (KTU 1.16 VI 43–54a) with the full inventory of vocabulary cognate to those terms used in Biblical Hebrew tradition concerned for the poor, the weak, widows, orphans, and so forth (LORETZ, Mythische Götterrebellion, 395–399). Loretz’s proposal that Ps 82 draws directly on this Ugaritic passage is neither necessary nor convincing, given the nature of these terms as belonging to a well established field of ideas relating to royal duties to ensure justice and given the textual and structural soundness of Ps 82. On the latter point, see MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 191–194. 90 See LORETZ, Mythische Götterrebellion, 394–95, 404–405; M ACHINIST, How Gods Die, 209.

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gods of the assembly have egregiously violated it. This psalm’s notion of terrestrial consequences for the failure of justice in the divine realm resonates with repeated complaints of violence and injustice on earth that occur throughout the Elohistic Psalter.91 The theme of divine justice also receives focused attention in the Asaphite psalm 75. In contrast with the ‘perverse’ exercise of divine justice portrayed in Ps 82 (ʬʥʲʚʥʨʴʹʺ, Ps v. 2), Ps 75 presents the promise by Israel’s God to judge ‘with equity’ (ʭʩʸʹʩʮ, v. 3; see also v. 8).92 This issue is raised in similar terms in Ps 58 (a psalm ‘of David’), which begins: 93

Do you indeed declare what is right, O Gods (ʭʬʠ)? Do you judge humankind (ʭʣʠʩʰʡʥʨʴʹʺ) with equity (ʭʩʸʹʩʮ)? Rather, you deal with the earth with a perverse heart (ʺʬʥʲʡʬʡ), You make a way for the violence of your hands. (Ps 58.2–3)

The recurring concern for earthly justice throughout the Elohistic Psalter and the occasional focus on its sources in the divine realm culminate vividly and with similar terminology in Ps 82. Psalm 82 gives special attention to the role of Israel’s God within the divine council. A range of meanings for the BH verb ʨʴʹ, relating to its basic notions of dispensing judgment and exercising authority, are at work where v. 1b states that God (singular Elohim) holds judgment in the midst of the gods (plural Elohim) (ʨʴʹʩʭʩʤʬʠʡʸʷʡʭʩʤʬʠ, v. 1), thus introducing the indictment that accounts for most of the psalm (vv. 2–7).94 From the outset, Ps 82 assumes the supremacy of Israel’s God as head of the pantheon, this in keeping with the YHWH’s designation as El and Elyon here and throughout the Elohistic Psalter (as discussed above).95 91

See, for example, Pss 42.4, 6–12; 43.1–2; 44.10–27; 54; 55; 56.2–10; 57.2–8; 58; 59; 60.3–5; 62.4–5; 64; 69; 70; 71; 73; 74; 75; 79; 80; 82; 83. 92 As Niehr explains, this expression refers to ‘a ruler’s establishment of a just and righteous order’ (NIEHR, Art. ʨʴʹ šƗpa‫ ;ܒ‬ʨʴʹ šǀpƝ‫ܒ‬, 428). Similarly, Jörg Jeremias explains God’s judging of the earth in Pss 74 and 82 (and in Pss 96 and 98) as resulting in ‘the restoration of the cosmic order’ (‘zur Wiederherstellung der kosmischen Ordnung’; JEREMIAS, Das Königtum Gottes, 129). 93 Despite the MT pointing ʭʓʬ ʠʒ (of unclear meaning, but traditionally rendered ‘mighty ones’), ʭʬʠ clearly denotes ‘the gods’, as is evident from their capacity of judgment over against humankind (ʭʣʠ ʩʰʡ) and the earth (ʵʸʠʡ; for ʬʲʴ with preposition ʡ meaning ‘affect’, see Job 35.6). 94 For these overlapping areas of meaning, see N IEHR, ʨʴʹ šƗpa‫ ;ܒ‬ʨʴʹ šǀpƝ‫ܒ‬, 419– 421. As Machinist points out, emphasis on a specific meaning for ʨʴʹ in v. 1 is possible, but this does not exclude other nuances of the verb’s meaning that would indicate Elohim’s role as leader of the pantheon as argued, for example, by Parker (P ARKER, The Beginning of the Reign, 535–536; see M ACHINIST, How Gods Die, 200–201). 95 See, e.g., SEYBOLD, Die Psalmen, 325; SÜSSENBACH, Der elohistische Psalter, 55, 335; LORETZ, Mythische Götterrebellion, 400–405; MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 195–

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203. On the connotations of these divine names and their implications for YHWH/Elohim’s status in the pantheon, see CROSS, Canaanite Myth, 44, 72, 177–187. Psalm 82 does not explicitly equate YHWH/Elohim with El and thus is open to an alternative interpretation, namely, that the psalm does not begin with YHWH/Elohim as head of the pantheon but rather as one god among others who eventually prevails in a conflict within the divine assembly (Zenger, in HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 332– 333; P ARKER, The Beginning of the Reign; SMITH, God in Translation, 131–139; FRANKEL, El as the Speaking Voice). It is most likely (especially in view of Deut 32.8–9, as discussed below) that this understanding of roles within the pantheon belonged to this psalm’s background, and it is possible that the psalm was originally composed with this meaning in mind prior to its inclusion into the Elohistic Psalter. Nonetheless, this understanding of Ps 82, even as a freestanding composition separate from the Elohistic Psalter, encounters some problems. First, while biblical and extrabiblical texts regularly portray the leaders of human and divine assemblies to sit and their attendants and other subordinate members to stand, the verb ʡʶʰ in Ps 82.1 and in the parallel line at Deir Alla (I.6, see above) denotes not a specific role within the pantheon but rather the assembling of the divine council for deliberation, as indicated by the accompanying reflexive conjugation of the verb Ҵty‫ۊ‬dw at Deir Alla (y‫ۊ‬d ‘to gather together’, I.5–6; a point considered by S MITH, God in Translation, 133 n. 4; see also MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 199–201; though see SMITH, God in Translation, 133 n. 4 for other comparative evidence to consider). In conjunction with ʡʶʰ the verb ʨʴʹ in Ps 82.1 indicates YHWH/Elohim’s jurisdiction in this setting, alternatively leaving one somewhat at pains to separate ʨʴʹ’s meaning ‘to provide justice’ from its other basic meaning ‘to rule over’ in different ways throughout this psalm (see Ps 82.1, 2, 3, and especially 8; on the verb’s various emphases of meanings, see NIEHR, ʨʴʹ šƗpa‫ ;ܒ‬ʨʴʹ šǀpƝ‫ܒ‬, 419–421; see also the coordination of these two verbs in Isa 3.13 as discussed by DELCOR, Des inscriptions de Deir ȾAlla, 34–35; on these verbs, see also MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 199–201). Second, the extra-biblical texts presenting conflict within the divine assembly involve one god defeating another or a select few, rather than one god subordinating all the other gods as in Ps 82, a point acknowledged by Smith (God in Translation, 134 n. 5 and 138–139; see also, with additional points of argument, MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 201–202 and n. 37). Third and most significant, the result of this interpretation is a triumph of YHWH/Elohim in Ps 82 in which El remains a deity distinct from YHWH/Elohim but otherwise unaccounted for. Even if representing a type scene, as Smith rightly suggests, the references to El and Elyon have implications for the ongoing exercise of divine supremacy at issue in this psalm (as implied by CROSS, Canaanite Myth, 44, 186–187; see SMITH, God in Translation, 134 n. 5; similarly, HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 333, 335). This point is recognized and articulated in similar fashion by MACHINIST, How Gods Die, 202–203. In any case, for the purposes of the discussion at hand, more critical than the psalm’s possible original meaning as an independent composition is its meaning as part of the larger Elohistic Psalter. In its present literary and theological context, Elohim, as YHWH is called in Ps 82, is clearly to be equated with El and Elyon. See, for example, the immediately following Ps 83: ‘O Elohim, do not keep silence; do not hold aloof or be quiet, O El!…You alone, whose name is YHWH, are Elyon over all the earth’ (Ps 83.2, 18; see, also Pss 42.10; 52.3; 68.25, 36; 73.11; 74.8; 77.10, among many others; and, especially, Pss 50.1, 10; 57.3; 68.20, 21; 78.7; 83.2, 18).

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In exercising rule over the divine assembly, Elohim also dispenses judgment, pronouncing a verdict of mortality on the other gods of the pantheon:96 ʭʺʠʭʩʤʬʠʩʺʸʮʠʚʩʰʠ ʭʫʬʫʯʥʩʬʲʩʰʡʥ ʯʥʺʥʮʺʭʣʠʫʯʫʠ ʥʬʴʺʭʩʸʹʤʣʧʠʫʥ I myself declare, ‘You are gods, Children of the Elyon, all of you; Nonetheless you shall die like humans, And fall like any prince’. (Ps 82.6–7)

The outcome of judgment by Elohim is cast in terms of a reversal in status for the other members of the pantheon from divinity to mortality. While at Deir Alla the motif of reversal described earthly corruptions of the cosmic order and divine intervention on the terrestrial plane, here it addresses the sources of that order in the divine realm. At Deir Alla reversal marks the results of divine absence on earth and the divine remedy in response. But, the focus in Ps 82 on the true source of earthly injustice and corruption in the heavenly realm, the reversal motif characterizes the correction achieved by the active presence of Israel’s God among the other gods. In Ps 82, the motif of reversal indicates the full realization of divine presence in the heavenly realm. That reversal brings about a reordering of heavenly powers. From the starting assumption in Ps 82 that Israel’s God is head of the pantheon, the demotion of the gods to mortality signals the next step in distinguishing the supremacy of Israel’s God. Not only is Israel’s God the greatest God, but the only real God, the only one who deserves to be called Elohim. As the God standing behind the true cosmic order, Israel’s God upholds that order by correcting perverted justice at its sources.97 This reordering of the divine realm means the promise of a new realization of divine presence on earth. The ‘death of the gods’ resulted from their failure to uphold their primary responsibility for the heavenly source of justice on earth. This failure of divine justice comes to earthly manifestation, among other ways, in the Babylonian destruction and its aftermath as described vividly in Pss 74 and 79. As surely as God has dealt with the 96 SEYBOLD, Die Psalmen, 326; Zenger, in HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 335. This pronouncement continues the second-person speech of the admonition that begins in v. 2. As noted above, the switch to third-person in v. 5 continues this speech, giving attention to consequences of heavenly injustice among the earth’s inhabitants. 97 As Loretz points out, in Ps 82 justice is defined by the nature of God as cosmic sovereign of the world’s order, not the other way around. In other words, ‘justice’ is not an ideal by which Israel’s God can be independently judged but is what God requires as cosmic sovereign and head of the pantheon (Mythische Götterrebellion, 404–405).

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ultimate sources of injustice in heaven, so will God answer its earthly outcomes known in the crisis of exile. With the demotion of the gods who once might have mediated oversight of the other nations of the earth (as indicated in Deut 32.8–9), that oversight now falls directly to Israel’s God as divine sovereign, who henceforth assumes direct governance of the world as the only one worthy to be called Elohim, ‘God’.98 As discussed above, singular Elohim in reference to Israel’s God might well predate the formation of the Elohistic Psalter, in keeping with the dynamics of Iron Age state religion. In the context of the Babylonian and Persian periods, the Elohistic Psalter’s near culmination in Ps 82 provides a new rationalization for this usage, in the context of geopolitical events related to the exile and restoration. The mythic imagery of the psalm makes transparent what is hidden by world events: YHWH’s supremacy among the divine powers of the world.99 This reordering of the world pantheon provides a warrant for calling on Israel’s God to overturn the outcomes of the Babylonian conquest. This pivotal psalm allows the Elohistic Psalter to stand as a call for God to reverse those circumstances and to bring judgment on the guilty enemies of God’s people, the one people who call on the name of the highest God and the only one worthy to be called God (Ps 83.17–19).100 Having estab98 As Smith and others have discussed, the conception of the divine in Ps 82 relates to that portrayed in Deuteronomy 32.8–9, in which the head of the pantheon, traditionally El (as at Deir Alla), assigns the other gods as divine patrons and protectors of the nations (SMITH, God in Translation, 131–143; Zenger, in H OSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 329, 332, 335; P ARKER, The Beginning of the Reign, esp. 549–53). Here El, named by his traditional title Elyon, assigns the nations to their territories as distributed among the ‘divine beings’ (ʭʩʤʬʠ ʩʰʡ, as attested in the text critical evidence from Qumran (4QDeutj) and in the Septuagint (LXX; see T OV, Textual Criticism, 269; SMITH, God in Translation, 139–140, 195–196). Accordingly, YHWH as one of the ʭʩʤʬʠʩʰʡ is assigned to Jacob-Israel. As scholars have increasingly noted, this mention of the ʭʩʤʬʠ ʩʰʡ tolerates a reading in which Elyon can be understood, not as a separate deity who heads the pantheon, but as a title for YHWH in this role, in keeping with Deut 4.19; 29.25; see SMITH, God in Translation, 139–143, 195–212). Thus, YHWH is understood as the head of the pantheon, who chooses to become the God of Israel. Instead of YHWH being one among other gods of the pantheon, YHWH as El Elyon is from primordial times the greatest among the gods, head of the world pantheon – the viewpoint assumed at the beginning of Ps 82 as presented within the larger Elohistic Psalter (see above). 99 Similarly, HOSSFELD AND ZENGER, Psalms 2, 335–336. 100 This thematic aspect of the Elohistic Psalter as a call for reversal is in keeping with its form as a collection of forty-two psalms, the number 42 being symbolic of divinely ordained disaster and its reversal in other parts of the Hebrew Bible and throughout the ancient Near East (see J OFFE, The Answer, 223–35; BURNETT, Forty-Two Songs, 88– 101). These and other thematic and organizational aspects of the Elohistic Psalter suggest its formation in anticipation of the Jerusalem temple’s restoration (see B URNETT, A Plea for David and Zion, 101–113).

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lished heavenly justice through the reordering of the pantheon, the focus now turns fully to circumstances on earth with Ps 82’s closing admonition leading to Ps 83, ‘Arise, O God, judge the earth; for all the nations belong to you’ (ʭʩʥʢʤʚʬʫʡʬʧʰʺʤʺʠʚʩʫʵʸʠʤʤʨʴʹʭʩʤʬʠʤʮʥʷ, Ps 82.8). As an important complement to Ps 83 and its call for God to intervene, Ps 82 portrays the celestial sources of the terrestrial world and its ordering of powers. The national god YHWH, who has always been in fact the true ‘God’ of the world (Elohim), now assumes direct rule over all the nations, whose gods have been swept aside, and will now adjudicate world events. This reversal in the divine realm provides a basis for the Elohistic Psalter’s plea for reversal of the Babylonian disaster, a reversal of the reproach to God’s name among the nations, the reversal invoked so poignantly in Ps 83. It is in this form that active divine presence as realized in heaven (Ps 82) is anticipated on earth, on a worldwide international stage. The shared portrayal and language of the divine assembly in Ps 82 and in the Deir Alla inscription bring into relief the role of reversal as a motif signaling divine presence in the Elohistic Psalter, as well as the importance of the cosmic order uniting events in heaven and on earth.

Conclusion This exploration of the Elohistic Psalter’s connections with West Semitic inscriptions has served to bring into focus a number of salient aspects of divine presence and absence as emphasized in this portion of the book of Psalms. The first realization is that the book of Psalms’ connections with various Iron Age inscriptions in stone, as established by existing scholarship, tend to cluster within the Elohistic Psalter. The pronounced concentration of these features among the Elohistic Psalms not only contributes to the understanding of the Elohistic Psalter as a distinct collection of psalms incorporated into the larger biblical book but also sharpens the understanding of its unified focus and theological view. Reflecting the same broad cultural and religious milieu as these preexilic inscriptions, the Elohistic Psalter shows a pronounced concentration of corresponding elements of literary form and religious sentiment, especially a concern for personal enemies and for those who ‘reproach’ God, and deliverance from these In similar fashion, the temple’s anticipated restoration is viewed in terms of reversal in the vision of Deutero-Isaiah, the related core of Trito-Isaiah (Isa 60.1–63.6), and adjoinging descriptions of the ruined temple still awaiting restoration (for example, Isa 63.7–64.11), as explained by Jill Middlemas: ‘The Temple is the locus of the divine reversal predicted by Deutero-Isaiah and 60.1–63.6…the earthly location of the inbreaking of Yahweh’s active presence’ (M IDDLEMAS, Divine Reversal, 182).

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enemies by YHWH, the national God of Israel. The basic form of divine presence is efficacious involvement in human events as recognized in the reversal of affliction from enemies. The vivid and elaborate references to the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem within the Elohistic Psalter provide an overarching historical frame of reference for the experience of divine absence and the desire for divine presence in the form of deliverance. This notion is central to Ps 83 which stands as the concluding and culminating psalm of the Elohistic Psalter. Also bearing a special affinity with the Elohistic Psalter is the Deir Alla plaster inscription, which envisions the divine according to the traditional West Semitic conception of the pantheon of El and the other ‘Gods’, whom it designates the Ilahin (‘the Gods’), the formal equivalent of Elohim. Along with similar attention to the divine assembly in Ps 82, the literal parallels between the inscription and Pss 46.9 and 66.5 indicate a correspondence between plural Ilahin at Deir Alla and singular Elohim as the usual title for the divine in the Elohistic Psalter. These literal parallels indicate that the divine name pattern of the Elohistic Psalter, including Elohim, El, Elyon, and other divine titles, has its roots in authentic worship and literary traditions of the Iron Age as attested at Deir Alla. References to El and ‘the Gods’ of the exodus elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible indicate that both of the collective pantheon of deities and the title Elohim were significant among Israelite liturgical and literary traditions prior to the exile. These parallels provide depth perspective for the language and conceptions for invoking and envisioning divine presence in the Elohistic Psalter. The explicit depiction of the divine pantheon occurs along with other important Deir Alla parallels in the Elohistic Psalter in Ps 82. Here as at Deir Alla, decisions within the divine council have repercussions on earth. At Deir Alla, the Ilahin decree doom in the face of disruptions to the natural and social order on earth, disruptions stated as reversals, including unwarranted ‘reproach’ (Hebrew ʳʸʧ) among living creatures. Here, the darkening of the sky is a form of divine intervention for reversing violations of the right order, violations which are themselves stated in terms of reversals. In Ps 82, members of the divine assembly are deemed derelict in their responsibilities for oversight of the cosmic order, with a special emphasis on power relationships conventionally conceived and labeled social ‘justice’. The conditions that result from this dereliction of divine oversight are ‘darkness’ and the shaking of the earth, motifs relevant to Deir Alla and its inscription. Rather than darkness being the legitimate punishment by the gods on humankind, as at Deir Alla, in Ps 82 this decree of the divine assembly is judged by its divine leader to be a perversion of justice (v. 2) and a heightened distortion of the cosmic order that the divine as-

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sembly is supposed to correct. The resulting decree by its sovereign, none other than Israel’s God in Ps 82, is a reordering of the divine realm through the complete demotion of ‘the gods’ to mortality, ‘like any human’ (v. 7). At this point, Israel’s God YHWH is clearly supreme as the only one worthy to be called God (‘Elohim’). This overturning of the divine realm by Israel’s God has its logical consequence in a reversal of this distortion of justice that the gods have allowed, hence the call to Israel’s God with which this psalm ends: ‘Arise, O God, judge the earth; for all the nations belong to you’ (Ps 82.8). The call is for divine presence on earth, where it fails for the speaker in this psalm and for the community facing the aftermath of the Babylonian conquest. This direct appeal to the Divine leads to Ps 83 with which it is paired and provides a cosmic-heavenly context for the call in Ps 83 for God to deliver God’s people from their enemies, with an emphasis on God’s supremacy, God’s name, and the reversal of contempt by God’s enemies. In this correspondence between heavenly and earthly abodes, the vision of profound divine presence in heaven offers hope for its realization on earth through the reversal of the Babylonian destruction and its aftermath.

Bibliography AHARONI, Y., The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography, Philadelphia 1967 ATTRIDGE, H. W., AND ODEN, R. A., Philo of Byblos, the Phoenician History: Introduction, Critical Text, Translation, Notes (CBQMS 9), Washington 1981 B ECKING, B., Between Fear and Freedom: Essays on the Interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31 (OTS 51), Leiden 2004 B LUM , E., Die Kombination I der Wandinschrift vom Tell Deir ‘Alla: Vorschläge zur Rekonstruktion mit historisch-kritischen Anmerkungen, in: Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozial- und Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt. Festchrift für Rainer Albertz zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 350), eds. I. Kottsieper, R. Schmitt, and J. Wöhrle, Münster 2008, 573–601 B OERTIEN, J. H., Unravelling the Threads: Textiles and Shrines in the Iron Age, in: Sacred and Sweet: Studies on the Material Culture of Tell Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla and Tell Abu Sarbut) (ANESSup 24), eds. M. L. Steiner and E. J. van der Steen, Leuven 2008, 135– 151 BRIGGS, C. A., AND BRIGGS, E. G., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms, Vol. 1 (ICC), Edinburgh 1906 B URNETT, J. S., A Plea for David and Zion: The Elohistic Psalter as a Psalm Collection for the Temple's Restoration, in: Diachronic and Synchronic – Reading the Psalms in Real Time: Proceedings of the Baylor Symposium on the Book of Psalms, (LHBOTS 488), eds. J. S. Burnett, W. H. Bellinger, Jr., and W. D. Tucker, Jr., New York 2007, 95–113 — Art. -'!#+ ’Ɵlǀhîm, + ’Ɲl, !#+Ô’Ɵlô(a)h, =#!#+’Ɵlǀhût, Theologisches Wörterbuch zu den Qumrantexten 1 (2011) 178–190

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— Forty-Two Songs for Elohim: An Ancient Near Eastern Organizing Principle in the Shaping of the Elohistic Psalter, JSOT 31 (2006) 81–102 — Where Is God? Divine Absence in the Hebrew Bible, Minneapolis 2010 CAQUOT A., AND LEMAIRE, A., Les textes araméens de Deir 'Alla, Syria 54 (1977) 189– 208 CARR, D., The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction, Oxford 2011 CRAWFORD, T. G., Blessing and Curse in Syro-Palestinian Inscriptions of the Iron Age (American University Studies, Theology and Religion Series VII, volume 120) New York 1992 CRENSHAW, J., Old Testament Wisdom: An Introduction, Louisville 1998 CROSS, F. M., Art. ʬʠÔ’Ɲl, TDOT 1 (1977) 242–261 — Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel, Cambridge 1973 — The Cave Inscriptions from Khirbet Beit Lei, in: Leaves from an Epigrapher's Notebook: Collected Papers in Hebrew and West Semitic Palaeography and Epigraphy, ed. F. M. Cross, Winona Lake 2003, 166–170 DELCOR, M., Des inscriptions de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla aux traditions bibliques, à propos des šdyn, des šedim et de šadday, in: Die Väter Israels: Beiträge zur Theologie des Patriarchenüberlieferungen im Alten Testament, eds. Manfred Görg, Augustin Rudolf Müller, and Josef Scharbert, Stuttgart 1989, 33–40 DELEKAT, L., Zum hebräischen Wörterbuch, VT 14 (1964) 7–66 DEVER, W. G., Iron Age Epigraphic Material from the Area of Khirbet El-K‫۾‬m, HUCA 40/41 (1969–70) 139–204 D IJKSTRA, M., Is Balaam also among the Prophets?, JBL 114 (1995) 43–64 EISSFELDT, O., El and Yahweh, JSS 1 (1956) 25–37 ELNES, E. E., and MILLER, P. D., Art. Elyon ʯʥʩʬʲ, DDD 293–299 F ITZMYER, J. A., The Inscriptions of Bar-GaȾyah and MatiȾel from Sefire, in COS 2: 213– 217 FRANKEL, D., El as the Speaking Voice in Psalm 82:6–8, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 10 (2010) FRANKEN, H. J., Art. Deir ȾAlla, Tell, ABD 2: 126–129 — Excavations at Tell Deir ȾAlla: The Late Bronze Age Sanctuary, Louvain 1992 GALLING, K., Die Grabinschrift Hiobs, DWO 2 (1954) 3–6 GEHMAN, H. S., ʸʓʴ ʱʒ , an Inscription, in the Book of Job, JBL 63 (1944) 303–307 G INSBERG, H. L., Psalms and Inscriptions of Petition and Acknowledgement, in: Louis Ginzberg Jubilee Volume on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. A. Marx, New York 1945, 159–171 HACKETT, J., Some Observations on the Balaam Tradition at Deir 'AllƗ, BA 49 (1986) 216–222 — The Balaam Text from Deir 'Allâ (HSM 31), Chico 1984 HADLEY, J. M., The Cult of Asherah in Ancient Israel and Judah: Evidence for a Hebrew Goddess (UCOP 57), Cambridge 2000 HOFTIJZER, J., Interpretation and Grammar, in: Aramaic Texts from Deir 'Alla (DMOA 19), eds. J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Leiden 1976, 179–324 HOFTIJZER, J., AND G. VAN DER KOOIJ, The Balaam Texts from Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla Re-Evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Leiden, 21–24 August 1989, Leiden 1991 HOSSFELD F.-L., AND ZENGER, E., The So-Called Elohistic Psalter: A New Solution for an Old Problem, in: A God So Near: Essays on Old Testament Theology in Honor of

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Patrick D. Miller, eds. B. A. Strawn and N. R. Bowen, Winona Lake, Ind. 2003, 35– 51 — Die Psalmen I: Psalm 1–50 (NEchtB), Würzburg 1993 — Psalms 2 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis 2005 HOSSFELD, F.-L., Der elohistische Psalter Ps 42–83: Entstehung und Programm, in: The Composition of the Book of Psalms (BETL 238), ed. E. Zenger, Leuven 2010, 199– 213 IBRAHIM M. M., AND VAN DER KOOIJ, G., The Archaeology of Deir ȾAlla Phase IX in: The Balaam Texts from Deir ȾAlla Re-Evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Leiden, 21–24 August 1989, eds. J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Leiden 1991, 116–129 ILLMAN, K.-J., Thema und Tradition in den Asaf-Psalmen, Abo 1976 J ACKSON, K. P., AND DEARMAN, J. A., Studies in the Mesha Inscription and Moab, ed. J. A. Dearman, Atlanta 1989, 93–130 JEREMIAS, J., Das Königtum Gottes in den Psalmen: Israels Begegnung mit dem kanaanäischen Mythos in den Jahwe-König-Psalmen (FRLANT 141), Göttingen 1987 — Die Erde ‘wankt’, in: ‘Ihr Völker alle, klatscht in die Hände!’ Festschrift für Erhard S. Gestenberger zum 65. Geburtstag, eds. R. Kessler, K. Ulrich, M. Schwantes, and G. Stansell, Münster 1997, 166–180 J OFFE, L., The Answer to the Meaning of Life, the Universe and the Elohistic Psalter, JSOT 27 (2002) 223–235 — The Elohistic Psalter: What, How and Why?, SJOT 15 (2001) 142–166 KNAUF, E. A., Art. Shadday 'f, DDD 749–753 KUTSCH, E., Art. 5:% তrp II, TDOT 5 (1986) 209–215 LAMBERT, W. G., Babylonian Wisdom Literature, Oxford 1960 LEMAIRE, A., Prières en temps de crise: Les inscriptions de Khirbet Beit Lei, RB 83 (1976) 558–568 LEVINE, B. A., Numbers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 4A), New York 2000 — The Balaam Inscription from Deir 'Alla: Historical Aspects, in: Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress in Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, 1984, ed. Janet Amitai, Jerusalem 1985, 326–339 LEVINE, B., The Deir ȾAlla Plaster Inscriptions, COS 2: 140–145 LIPIēSKI, E., On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age: Historical and Topographical Researches (OLA 153), Leuven 2006 LORETZ, O., Mythische Götterrebellion und Königliche Sozialplichten als gemeinsamer altorientalischer Hintergrund von Ps 82, in: Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozialund Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt. Festschrift für Rainer Albertz zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 350), eds. I. Kottsieper et al., Münster 2008, 393–409 MACHINIST, P., How Gods Die, Biblically and Otherwise: A Problem of Cosmic Restructuring, in: Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism, ed. Beate Pongratz-Leisten, Winona Lake, Indiana, 2011, 189–240 MCCARTER JR, P. K, The Balaam Texts from Deir ȾAlla: The First Combination, BASOR 239 (1980) 46–60. — The Dialect of the Deir ȾAlla Texts, in: The Balaam Texts from Deir ȾAlla ReEvaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Leiden, 21–24 August 1989, eds. J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Leiden 1991, 87–99 — Aspects of the Religion of the Israelite Monarchy: Biblical and Epigraphic Data, in: Ancient Israelite Religion, ed. P. D. Miller, P. D. Hanson, and S. D. McBride, Philadelphia 1987, 137–159

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— The Khirbet Beit Lei Cave Inscriptions, COS 2: 179–180 — Khirbet el-Qom, COS 2: 179 — The Royal Steward Inscription, COS 2: 180 — The Sarcophagus Inscription of Ahirom, King of Byblos, COS 2: 181 MERRILL, S., East of the Jordan: A Record of Travel and Observation in the Countries of Moab, Gilead, and Bashan, New York 1881 M IDDLEMAS, J., Divine Reversal and the Role of the Temple in Trito-Isaiah, in: Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar, ed. John Day, London 2007, 164–187 M ILLARD, M., Die Komposition des Psalters: Ein Formgeschichtlicher Ansatz (FAT 9), Tübingen 1994 — Zum Problem des elohistischen Psalters: Überlegungen zum Gebrauch von YHWH und ElohimÔ im Psalter, in: Der Psalter in Judentum und Christentum (HBS), ed. E. Zenger, Freiburg 1998, 75–110 M ILLER, P. D., Psalms and Inscriptions, in: Congress Volume: Vienna 1980 (VTSup), Leiden 1981, 311–332 NASUTI, H. P., Tradition History and the Psalms of Asaph (SBLDS 88), Atlanta 1988 NAVEH, J., Old Hebrew Inscriptions in a Burial Cave, IEJ 13 (1963) 74–92 NEUBAUER, A., La Géographie du Talmud: Mémoire couronné par l'académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, Paris 1868 N IEHR, H., AND STEINS, G., Art. ʩʣʹÔšadday, TDOT 14 (2004) 418–446 N IEHR, H., Art. ʨʴʹ šƗpa‫ ;ܒ‬ʨʴʹ šǀpƝ‫ܒ‬, TDOT 15 (2006) 411–431 P ARKER, S. B., Graves, Caves, and Refugees: An Essay in Microhistory, JSOT 27 (2003) 259–288 — The Beginning of the Reign of God – Psalm 82 as Myth and Liturgy, RB 102 (1995) 532-559 PERDUE, L. G., Cosmology and the Social Order in the Wisdom Tradition, in: The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East, eds. J. G. Gammie and L. G. Perdue, Winona Lake, Ind. 1990, 457–478 — The Sword and the Stylus: An Introduction to Wisdom in the Age of Empires, Grand Rapids 2008 P UECH, E., Le texte ‘ammonite’ de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla: Les admonitions de Balaam [première partie], in: La vie de la parole, de l’Ancien au Nouveau Testament: Études d’exégèse et d’herméneutique biblique offertes à Pierre Grelot, Paris: 1987, 13–30 — Approaches paléographiques de l’inscription sur plâtre de Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla in: The Balaam Texts from Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla Re-Evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Leiden, 21–24 August 1989, eds. J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Leiden 1991 221–238 RENZ, J., Die althebräischen Inschriften. Teil 1: Text und Kommentar (HAE I), Darmstadt 1995 — Die althebräischen Inschriften. Teil 2: Zusammenfassende Erörterungen, Paläographie und Glossar (HAE II/1), Darmstadt 1995 RÖSEL, C., Die messianische Redaktion des Psalters: Studien zu Enstehung und Theologie der Sammlung Psalm 2–89* (CTM 19), Stuttgart 1999 RUSSELL, S.C, Images of Egypt in Early Biblical Literature: Cisjordan-Israelite, Transjordan-Israelite, and Judahite Portrayals (BZAW 403), Berlin 2009 SANDERS, J.A., Near Eastern Archaeology in the Twentieth Century: Essays in Honor of Nelson Glueck, ed. J. A. Sanders, Garden City, NY 1970, 299–306 SASSON, V., The Book of Oracular Visions of Balaam from Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla, UF 17 (1986) 283–309

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SEOW, C. L., Deir ‫ޏ‬AllƗ Plaster Texts, in: Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient near East, M. Nissinen, C. L. Seow, R. K. Ritner, P. Machinist (SBLWAW), Atlanta 2003, 207–212 SEYBOLD, K., Die Psalmen (HAT I/15), Tübingen 1996 SMELIK, K. A. D., The Inscription of King Mesha, COS 2: 137–138 SMITH, M. S., Counting Calves at Bethel, in: ‘Up to the Gates of Ekron’: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin, eds. S. Gitin, S. White Crawford, and A. Ben-Tor, Jerusalem 2007, 382–394 — God in Translation: Deities in Cross-Cultural Discourse in the Biblical World, Grand Rapids 2009 — The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel, Grand Rapids 2002 2 SMITH-CHRISTOPHER, D., The Religion of the Landless: The Social Context of Babylonian Exile, Bloomington 1989 SMOAK, J. D., ‘Prayers of Petition’ in the Psalms and West Semitic Inscribed Amulets: Efficacious Words in Metal and Prayers for Protection in Biblical Literature, JSOT 36 (2011) 75–92 SPIECKERMANN, H., God and His People: The Concept of Kingship and Cult in the Ancient near East, in: One God - One Cult - One Nation: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (BZAW 405), eds. R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann, Berlin/New York 2010, 341–356 SÜSSENBACH, C., Der elohistische Psalter: Untersuchungen zu Komposition und Theologie von Ps 42–83 (FAT II/7), Tübingen 2005 TOV, E., Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, Minneapolis 20012 VAN DER K OOIJ, G., and IBRAHIM , M. M., Picking up the Threads…: A Continuing Review of Excavations at Deir Alla, Jordan, Leiden 1989 VAN DER KOOIJ, G., Book and Script at Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla in: The Balaam Texts from Deir ‫ޏ‬Alla Re-Evaluated: Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Leiden, 21–24 August 1989, eds. J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Leiden 1991, 239–262 VAN DER T OORN, K., Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible, Cambridge, Massachusetts 2007 W EIPPERT, H., AND W EIPPERT, M., Die ‘Bileam’-Inschrift von Tell DƝr ‫ޏ‬AllƗ, ZDPV 98 (1982) 77–103 YOUNGER, JR., K. L., The Kulamuwa Inscription, COS 2: 147-148 ZOBEL, H.-J., Art. 0#'+3Ô‘elyôn, TDOT 11 (2001) 121–139

Das Gebet in der Krise oder die Abwesenheit Jahwes als Thema der Psalmen MICHAEL EMMENDÖRFFER

Wie manch anderes Volk im Alten Orient musste auch Israel selber im Verlauf seiner langen Geschichte politische und militärische Niederlagen hinnehmen und größere Krisenzeiten für Land und Volk durchstehen und daran reifen. War der Fall und Untergang des Nordreiches im Jahr 722 v. Chr. nicht schon schlimm genug, folgte diesem – wie bekannt – durch politisches Aufbegehren und Ränkespiel der jeweils herrschenden Davididen knapp anderthalb Jahrhunderte später das endgültige Aus des Südreiches im Jahre 587 v. Chr. durch die Neubabylonier.1 War die erste Deportation 597 nur ein Vorgeplänkel, so wurde durch die zweite 587 v. Chr. tabula rasa geschaffen und das scheinbar endgültige Ende von Dynastie, Tempel und Land eingeläutet und bewirkt.2 Einen gewissen Eindruck von der Tiefe und Nachhaltigkeit, die diese geschichtlichen, katastrophalen Ereignisse bei den damaligen Zeitgenossen hinterlassen haben, vermögen die exilischen Texte von Threni 2 und Threni 5 wiederzugeben. Ausmaß der Zerstörung und theologische Deutung des Vorganges als Gottes eigene Tat und Ermöglichung des Treibens des Feindes stehen hier deutend nebeneinander: 1 Ach, verdunkelt hat in seinem Zorn der Herr die Tochter Zion, vom Himmel zur Erde geworfen hat er die Pracht Israels und hat nicht des Schemels seiner Füße gedacht am Tage seines Zorns. 2Vernichtet hat der Herr, ohne Erbarmen zu haben, alle Auen Jakobs, niedergerissen hat er in seinem Grimm die Festungen der Tochter Juda, zu Boden geschlagen, entweiht hat er das Königreich und seine Beamten. 3Abgehauen hat er in Zornesglut jegliches Horn Israels, zurückgezogen hat er seine Rechte vor dem Feind, und

1 Eine aktuelle, informative Orientierung über Geschichte und Religionsgeschichte von BERLEJUNG, Geschichte, 55–185. 2 „Gerade die nationale Katastrophe von 587/86 ist ein Paradigma dafür, dass ein geschichtliches Ereignis den Stellenwert einer endgültigen Tat Gottes bekommt. Die… Texte, die an die Zerstörung Jerusalems erinnern, stammen mit hoher Wahrscheinlichkeit aus späteren Phasen der nachexilischen Zeit, als sich in Jerusalem längst wieder eine Gemeinde um den Zweiten Tempel etabliert hatte. Gleichwohl bleibt die mit dem Untergang Jerusalems verbundene Erfahrung der Gottesferne gültige Referenz für das Verstehen anderer dunkler Gotteserfahrungen.“ (F ELDMEIER UND SPIECKERMANN, Gott der Lebendigen, 343).

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entbrannte in Jakob wie eine Feuersglut, die um sich frisst. 4Gespannt hat er seinen Bogen wie ein Feind, stand da – seine Rechte (erhoben) wie ein Feind – und tötete jegliches, was dem Auge lieb ist, im Zelt der Tochter Zion hat er wie Feuer seinen Zorn ausgegossen. 5Es ward der Herr wie ein Feind, vernichtet hat er Israel, zerstört hat er ihre Paläste, vernichtet hat er seine Festungen und gemehrt hat er in der Tochter Juda Jammer und Klage. 6Er zerstörte wie einen Garten seine Hütte, er verwüstete seinen Festort. Vergessen ließ Jhwh in Zion Versammlung und Sabbat, auch hat er in seinem glühenden Zorn König und Priester verworfen. 7Verstoßen hat der Herr seinen Altar, entweiht sein Heiligtum; er hat in die Hand des Feindes ausgeliefert die Mauern ihrer Paläste… 3 (Threni 2,1–7)

Wo Jahwe selber auf die Seite der Feinde und Vernichter sich schlägt, selber als Feind mit Hand anlegt, bleibt kein Stein auf dem anderen. Wo Jahwe die eigene Beziehung zur königlichen Dynastie, zu Palast und Tempel, ja letztendlich auch zum eigenen Volk aufkündigt, ist an einen Fortgang der Heilsgeschichte nicht mehr zu denken, da grundlegend von diesem Gott des Exodus und der Väter selber in Frage gestellt. Theologische Chiffre für diesen Umschwung in Jahwe selber, für das Wechseln der Seite auf die Seite der feindlichen Götter, ist die Rede vom Feind-Sein, der Zorn und die Verwerfung sind Rauch und Grimm, sind Theophanie und Epiphanie nicht zum Erweis seines Beistandes und Schutzes, sondern zum Erweis seines gegen das Volk grausamen Eingreifens. Der Gedanke der Jahwe-Kriege ist hier konsequent zu Ende gedacht und in all seiner Schärfe gegen das Volk und die Heilsinstitutionen gewandt: kein Entrinnen und Erbarmen, Jahwe räumt selber auf und lässt seinen ungestillten Zorn gegen die Schafe seiner Weide – so in Psalm 74 – schlagen. Nicht die Neubabylonier und feindlichen Heere erringen den Sieg, sondern der Gott Israels, der sein Volk, das er im Exodus gewonnen hatte, nun preisgibt. Göttlicher Zorn, Grimm, und Vernichtung führen zum Nullpunkt, an dem der nahe Gott nur noch als der ferne, weil abwesende Gott gedacht werden kann. Die Katastrophe und das Exil führen nicht in den Gedanken der Nichtexistenz und Verleugnung dieses Gottes – eine moderne Denk- und Spielart – , sondern in das theologische Pattern der Abwesenheit Gottes, der Gottesferne. Sinnbildlicher Ausdruck dafür sind der zerstörte Tempel, der zerschlagene Altar, das Aufkündigen und Dispensieren von Kult und Opfer. Kultagenten und Kultpersonal sind von Gott selber vor die Unmöglichkeit desselben gestellt. Was Amos und andere Gerichtspropheten geschaut und gekündet hatten, ist im Nu grausame Realität geworden: „ich hasse eure Gottesdienste und Brandopfer“ (Amos 5).

3 Zur Übersetzung von Threni 2 vgl. EMMENDÖRFFER, Der ferne Gott, 39–40. Grundsätzlich dazu: B OECKER, Klagelieder; WESTERMANN, Die Klagelieder; BRANDSCHEIDT, Gotteszorn.

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Abwesenheit und Gottes Ferne galt es im Exil auszuhalten und zu verkraften, theologisch zu denken. Vor Augen lagen Tempel und Palast in Schutt und Asche, zerbrochen und geborsten. Vordergründig war Israel verstoßen und verlassen, das Gottesverhältnis einseitig vom göttlichen Partner aufgekündigt. Ähnlich klingt es auch in Anklage, Bitte und Klage von Threni 5 (in Auswahl): 1

Gedenke, Jhwh, was uns geschah; schau und sieh unsere Schmach! 2Unser Erbland ist Fremden zugefallen, Ausländern unsere Häuser. 3Wir wurden zu Waisen, vaterlos, unsere Mütter zu Witwen. 4Unser Wasser trinken wir um Geld, unser Holz kommt um einen Kaufpreis hinein…11Frauen haben sie in Zion geschändet, Jungfrauen in den Städten Judas. 12Hofbeamte sind von ihrer Hand gehängt worden, das Antlitz der Ältesten wurde missachtet. 13Burschen haben die Mühle tragen müssen, und Knaben sind unter dem Holz gestrauchelt. 14Die Ältesten halten sich fern vom Tor, die Knaben vom Saitenspiel. 15Zu Ende ist die Freude unseres Herzens, in Trauer verwandelt unser Reigen. 16Gefallen ist die Krone von unserem Haupt. Weh uns, dass wir gesündigt haben!…20Warum willst du uns auf ewig vergessen, uns verlassen auf alle Zeit? 21Wende uns, Jhwh, zu dir zurück, so wollen wir umkehren! Erneuere unsere Tage wie von alters her! 22Doch fürwahr, du 4 hast uns ganz und gar verworfen und zürnest uns zu sehr!

Jahwe hat sein Volk, die gemeinsame Geschichte mit diesem vergessen, hat die Beziehung aufgekündigt, die Heilszeit kassiert. Heilsgeschichte und Heilstage (vgl. V. 21) sind vergessen, dieser Gott hat sein Volk in seinem Zorn verworfen. Bittere Anklage des Volkes, der psalmentheologisch nur noch die Klage des einzelnen aus Ps 22 zugesellt werden kann: „Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen?“ Theologisch verarbeitet, nachkultisch verortet wurde das Ganze in der Gattung der Volksklagelieder, auf die Volk und Sinnagenten (Priester) in diesem Moment zurückgreifen konnten. Gattung und Form waren vorexilisch schon vorhanden, wurden jetzt aber angesichts der grundlegenden Not und Gegenwart inhaltlich neu gefüllt und geformt. Auch das altorientalische Muster und die Gattung der Stadtklagen (s.u. die balag-Klagen), die auch – so darf man vermuten – in Israel bekannt waren, standen nun Pate, um Volksklage und Gottes (An-)Klage zu artikulieren. In nachkultischer Zeit waren es gerade Hymnen und kultische Versatzstücke, die wie Bruchstücke und erratische Blöcke hier und da in den Texten der Volksklage nun zum Tragen kamen. Ein genauerer Blick auf diese Textgattung der Volksklagen, diese spezielle Gruppe von Psalmengebeten, lässt eine gewisse chronologische Reihenfolge erkennen. Älteste Zeugnisse sind die Psalmen 74, 44 und 80, denen dann – wohl gemerkt – in nachexilischer Zeit die größere Gruppe fol4

Zur Übersetzung vgl. Emmendörffer, a.a.O., 64–65. Zu Threni 5 auch W ESTERa.a.O. 180; BRANDSCHEIDT, a.a.O., 195.; PERLITT, L., Anklage und Freispruch Gottes, 20–31.

MANN,

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gender Texte gefolgt ist: Psalmen 79, 60, 108, 137, 83, 89, 132 und Psalm 85.5 Psalmentexte, die so oder so den fernen Gott und die daraus resultierenden Folgen in der jeweilige Klage vorbringen, um in Hymnus und Bitte Gottes Herbeieilen und Nähe wieder heraufzubeschwören.6 Gott gegen Gott, der ferne gegen den nahen werden hier im Gebet nebeneinander gestellt, fast gegeneinander ausgespielt. Dazu einige Textbeispiele, die die Intensität der Klage, das Einklagen der Gottesferne verdeutlichen. 24 Wache auf, warum schläfst du, Herr, wache auf, verstoße nicht auf ewig! 25Warum verbirgst du dein Antlitz, vergissest unser Elend und unsere Bedrückung? (Psalm 44)

In provozierender Weise ergeht die klagende Bitte des Volkes gegen Jahwe. Der polemische Vorwurf, der sonst gegen Fremdgötter bzw. Fruchtbarkeitsgötter (Baal) gerichtet wird, dass sie womöglich schlafen und sich nicht regen (vgl. Elias Karmel-Urteil), wird Jahwe vorgehalten. Der Moment des Schlafes7 drückt die gespürte und auszuhaltende Tatenlosigkeit Jahwes aus; wo sonst das Vertrauen in der „Schlaflosigkeit“ dieses Gottes Israels begründet ist (Ps 121,4: „Siehe, der Hüter Israels schläft und schlummert nicht.“), sind hier Bitte und Klage verschränkt, um diesen Gott zum Eingreifen zu bewegen. Das zweimalige „wache auf“ unterstreicht dieses sinnenfällig. Die Exilskatastrophe wird als „verstoßen“ gedeutet; Jahwe hat sein Volk aufgegeben, sich von diesem abgewandt. Vergessen sind Bund und Erzvätergestalten, ganz zu schweigen von den ewigen „Dynastiezusagen“ (vgl. 2 Sam 7).8 „Ewig“ (ʧʶʰʬ) wird zur Zeitansage in dieser heillosen Zeit, mit Bedacht wird nicht auf das aufgeladeneʭʬʥʲ zurückgegriffen. Jahwe verbirgt im Widerspruch zum kultischen Segen (vgl. Num 6)9 sein Angesicht; wo das geschieht, kann dem Chaos und den unheilvollen Mächten nicht mehr Paroli geboten werden, da Gott selber sich versagt und den gottwidrigen Mächten das Feld überlässt. Das ersehnte „Heil am Morgen“ der Psalmentheologie und Beter bleibt aus; auf Heil ist nicht zu hoffen, die Nacht und Gottesferne perpetuiert die unheilvolle Dunkelheit auch für den Tag. Wo Jahwe Elend und Bedrückung nicht mehr wahr-

5

Vgl. EMMENDÖRFFER, a.a.O., 292. Wie gerade in der exilisch-nachexilischen Priesterschrift die Nähe Gottes theologisch gedacht und ausformuliert wurde, soll in einer späteren Untersuchung „Die Nähe Gottes – Zur Rede von der Anwesenheit Gottes in der Priesterschrift“ anhand der einschlägigen Stellen gezeigt werden. Durch P wurde diese Seite Gottes maßgeblich in das theologische Denken und Bewusstsein Israels hineingeschrieben, musste der ferne Gott der Nähe desselben weichen. 7 Vgl. zu diesem Motiv noch Ps 78,65 und die Auslegung von SPIECKERMANN, Heilsgegenwart, 139; dazu auch B ATTO, Sleeping God, 153. 8 Vgl. zu 2 Sam7 und Ps 89 VEIJOLA, Verheissung. 9 S. dazu den Beitrag von Berlejung in diesem Band 6

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nimmt und vergisst (vgl. dagegen bei P die Motivation des Exodus in Wahrnehmung der Unterdrückung), was bleibt da noch zu hoffen? 1

Warum, , hast du auf ewig verstoßen, raucht dein Zorn gegen die Schafe deiner Weide? 2Gedenke deiner Gemeinde, die du vor Zeiten erworben, die du als Stamm dei10 nes Erbteiles erlöst hast, (des Berges Zions, auf dem du dich niedergelassen hast). (Psalm 74)

Scharf, hart, klagend-anklagend eröffnet der Psalm den Ruf zu Jahwe; typisch für diese Katastrophenzeit und grundsätzlich für diese besondere Art von Gebeten in der Krise ist die klagende Warum-Frage.11 Angesichts der Ereignisse, der andauernden und von den Betern empfundenen Abwesenheit Jahwes stellt sich mit aller Härte die Theodizeefrage, die Frage nach Sinn, Sein und der Existenz dieses Gottes. Wie oben schon angedeutet, geht Israel – es handelt sich ja um Gebet – nie soweit, die Existenz dieses Gottes anzuzweifeln. Über Krise und Not bleibt es diesem Gott verbunden, wähnt ihn fern, jenseits der „Gebete Israels“. Für Gnade (ʣʱʧ) und Barmherzigkeit (ʭʥʧʸ) ist jetzt nicht die Zeit; es ist nicht die Gnaden- und Heilszeit, sondern die Zeit des kalten Zornes.12 Der deus revelatus zeigt sich als der deus absconditus. Zuflucht und mögliche Wendung gibt es nur in den hymnischen Versatzstücken (s. unten). Erzväterzeit als Heilszeit – wohl erst in nachexilischer Zeit als heilsgeschichtliche Figur für die doppelte Begründung Israels neben dem Exodus in voller Form ausgebildet – kommt hier nicht in Betracht. Die Nathans-Verheißung (2 Sam 7), dem Davididen in sein Stammbuch von Geschlecht zu Geschlecht geschrieben, bietet für das Volk keine Anknüpfungsmöglichkeit. Im Gegenteil werden im später, nachexilisch entstandenen Psalm 8913 diese Zusagen Gott als „Gnadentaten Davids“ wiederum als Anklage vorgehalten. Jahwe hat verstoßen (ʧʰʦ), sein Zorn raucht. „Die Vorstellungen von Verwerfung und Zorn Gottes begegnen in vorexilischen Psalmen nicht zufällig nur selten. Beide Theologoumena liegen nicht in der Gedankensphäre vorexilischer

10

Zur Übersetzung, EMMENDÖRFFER, a.a.O., 77. Vgl. auch SPIECKERMANN, a.a.O.,

126. 11 „Die Frage ‚Warum‘ hat eine überaus große Verbreitung in der exilischen Klageliteratur, sowohl in den Prosagebeten wie auch in den kollektiven Klagepsalmen. Es ist von der spezifischen Situation der Exilszeit her verständlich, daß damals die Warum-Frage eine besonders hohe Aktualität besaß; denn sie ist eine Äußerung der Verzweiflung von Menschen, die wie im Dunkeln tappen und nicht mehr weiter wissen […]. Die Exilskatastrophe bedeutete für Israel den Einbruch eines heilsgeschichtlichen Dunkels.“ VEIJOLA, Klagegebet, 297–298. 12 Zur Rede vom Zorn Jahwes vgl. auch Thr 2,1.2c.3a.6c.21c.22b; Ps 60,3; 79,5; 80,5; 85,4; 89,39.47. 13 Vgl. dazu grundlegend, VEIJOLA, Verheissung, a.a.O.

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Tempeltheologie und haben diesen Raum erst aufgrund der nationalen Katastrophe nachhaltig okkupiert.“14 Neben „Zorn“, der Zeitansage „ewig“ kommt das Bild von den „Schafen der Weide“15 hier zum Tragen. Damit ist niemand anders als Israel gemeint, ein Bild, das unbefangen und unbelastet jeglicher geschichtlicher Reminiszenz in der Anklage und im Anruf zu stehen kommen kann. Also nicht Patriarchen, nicht Exodus (weil noch nicht theologisch als Muster ausgebildet), sondern das klassische altorientalische „Hirten-Herde“-Motiv wird in Anschlag gebracht. Damit vergleichbar und auf einer Linie stehend ist die Klage aus Psalm 44: 11

Du lässt uns vor dem Feinde weichen, und die, die uns hassen, machen Beute. 12Du gibst uns wie Schlachtschafe hin und hast uns unter die Völker zerstreut. 13Du verkaufst dein Volk für nichts und wirst durch ihren Verkaufserlös nicht reich.

Die Bitte in Vers 2 wagt den Rückblick auf „heilsgeschichtliches Urgestein“. Jedes Wort ist hier theologisch aufgeladen, nur für den einen Zweck, diesen Gott zum Eingreifen zu bewegen. „Gedenke“ (ʸʫʦ) ist in sich schon als promulgativer Akt gedacht. Es ist ein „Gedenken“, das im Akt des Vergegenwärtigens das Vergegenwärtigt-Sein realisiert, Akt und Sein fallen hier zusammen. Es ist nicht das philosophische Denken als noetischer Prozess, sondern wie oft im Alten Testament (vgl. die Exodusperikope Ex 6) „Vollzug und die Wiederholung von Geschehenem, Aktion mit folgender Reaktion“.16 „Erworben vor Zeiten“ (ʭʣʷ), als „Stamm deines Erbteiles erlöst“ (ʬʠʢ) – Heilsgeschichte wird hier in für Tempeltheologie charakteristischer, mythischer Gestalt im Gebet revoziert. Dieser ferne und abwesende Gott steht und bleibt in einem besonderen Verhältnis zu diesem Volk; auch Jahwe hat dieses einzusehen, er kann sich nicht aus diesem eng geknüpften Band verabschieden. Israel und das Volk haben lange dazu gebraucht, sich selber in den Vordergrund zu rücken: Nicht Dynastie, König, Palast und Tempel, sondern die Größe des Volkes an sich – so das Ergebnis des mühevollen theologischen Ringens in der Exilszeit – rückt in den Mittelpunkt theologischen Denkens und gottesdienstlicher Handlung. Als Beweis dafür ist die hinlänglich schon bekannte „Kollektivierung“ in exilisch-nachexilischen Texten zu sehen. Mit den Stichworten ‚Nationalisierung‘ und ‚Kollektivierung‘ läßt sich dieses Phänomen umschreiben. Durch den Wegfall der königlichen Dynastie einerseits, durch die Zerstörung des Tempels andererseits mußte das Volk als Größe an sich unweigerlich in das Zentrum und den Mittelpunkt rücken. In der Aufnahme heilsgeschichtlicher Elemente (Exodus; Landnahme; Jhwh-Krieg-Ideologie) und tempeltheologischer Traditionselemente (Chaoskampf; ‚Schöpfung‘) wurde die Situation der Gemeinde und des Volkes 14

SPIECKERMANN, Heilsgegenwart, 127. Vgl. zum Motiv auch Ps 44,12–13; 79,13; 80,2. 16 EMMENDÖRFFER, Gott, 86. 15

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Israel jeweils neu gedeutet und im Gebet vor Jhwh gebracht. Klage und Anklage gegen Jhwh, die Bitte um seine Rück- und Wiederkehr spiegeln dabei Israels Auseinandersetzung mit dem ‚fernen Gott‘ und seinem Zorn wider. Das von Jhwh erwählte Volk Israel hat mit seinem Gott in dieser Zeit der größten Not gerungen und gestritten, ohne das 17 Bekenntnis zu diesem einen Gott jemals zu leugnen.

Wie vielfältig hier das Gebet und Gespräch mit dem Gott, der über Israels Gebeten thront, geführt worden ist, veranschaulichen die verschiedenen Textzeugen, die auf uns gekommen sind. Wer dabei meint, hier sei den Deuteronomisten mit ihrer Geschichtsrekonstruktion und -sicht von Gericht und durch das Volk gebrochenem Bund zu Munde geredet worden, wird sich leicht eines besseren belehren lassen müssen. Neben dieser einen theologischen Linie, die heute maßgeblich unsere Sicht des Alten Testaments und seiner Texte geprägt hat, gab und gibt es Seitenzweige, die sich dann im Laufe der nachexilischen Zeit nicht mehrheitlich durchsetzen konnten. Hier sind als Textzeugnisse unter den Volksklagen der exilische Psalm 44 und der nachexilische Psalm 89 zu nennen. Ferne und Nähe zur deuteronomistischen Denkungsart sind in Ps 44 mit Händen zu greifen. Klagend-anklagend wird der einstige Völkervernichter Jahwe zum Handeln aufgerufen. Hier schreit und klagt das mündig gewordene Volk. Der von den Deuteronomisten zementierte Bundesbruch liegt hier so weit entfernt wie der Tag von der Nacht. Das Volk weiß darum, den Bund nicht gebrochen zu haben, erklärt gleichermaßen seine Bundestreue. Wer danach den Bund gebrochen haben muss, ist offensichtlich: Jahwe selbst hat diesen sistiert. Auch Psalm 89 scheint die Sprache der Deuteronomisten zu kennen und benutzt diese, um im gleichen Moment grundlegende Theologoumena dieser Schule zu hinterfragen und zu widerlegen. Die Schuld für das Exil und die erfolgte Katstrophe liegen nicht beim Volk (so ja die Deuteronomisten), sondern bei dem göttlichen Lehnsherren der davidischen Dynastie. Was einst versprochen, ist nun gebrochen. Gnade und Segen für die Dynastie haben sich in Fluch und Unglück gewandt. Originär deuteronomistische Texte (2 Sam 7) werden hier gegen den göttlichen Partner in die Anklage gegossen. 29

Auf ewig will ich ihm meine Gnade bewahren, und mein Bund soll für ihn beständig sein. 30Ich setze auf ewig seinen Samen und seinen Thron wie die Tage des Himmels. 31 Wenn seine Söhne mein Gesetz verlassen und in meinen Rechten nicht wandeln, 32 wenn sie meine Satzungen entweihen und meine Gebote nicht halten, 33so suche ich ihr Vergehen mit der Rute heim und mit Schlägen ihre Sünde. 34Doch ich will ihm meine Gnade nicht , meine Treue nicht brechen. 35Meinen Bund will ich nicht entweihen, den Ausspruch meiner Lippen nicht ändern. 36Ein für allemal habe ich bei meiner Heiligkeit geschworen, wahrlich, nicht will ich David belügen.

17

EMMENDÖRFFER, Gott, 290–291.

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37 Seine Nachkommenschaft soll auf immer bestehen, sein Thron wie die Sonne vor mir. 38Wie der Mond soll er ewig gegründet sein. Denn der Zeuge in den Wolken ist treu. 39 Doch du hast verstoßen und verworfen, deinem Gesalbten gezürnt. 40Du hast den Bund mit deinem Knecht aufgehoben, seine Krone zu Boden entweiht.

Ein späteres Stadium der Textproduktion innerhalb der Gruppe der Volksklagen greifen wir mit dem nachexilischen Text Psalm 79. Indizien, die diesen Eindruck bestätigen, sind sowohl in der Eigenbezeichnung der Beter als „Knechte und Fromme“ Jahwes zu sehen als auch in der für Schriftgelehrte typischen Verwendung vorgefundener alttestamentlicher prophetischer Texte (Mi 3,12; Jer 26,18), die innerhalb des Gebetes zitiert werden und im Gesamtkontext eine inhaltliche Wendung erfahren. Darum wird Zion um euretwillen wie ein Acker gepflügt werden, und Jerusalem wird zu ,Steinhaufen‘ werden und der Berg des Tempels zu einer Höhe wilden Gestrüpps (Mi 3,12).

In klagendem Ton wird das eingetroffene Gericht in den ersten vier Versen von Psalm 79 beschrieben: 1

, Heidenvölker sind in dein Erbe eingedrungen, haben deinen heiligen Tempel verunreinigt, Jerusalem haben sie in Trümmer gelegt. 2Die Leichen deiner Knechte haben sie den Vögeln des Himmels zum Fraß vorgeworfen, das Fleisch deiner Frommen den Tieren der Erde. 3Sie haben ihr Blut im Umkreis von Jerusalem wie Wasser ausgeschüttet, und es war niemand, der begrub. 4Eine Schande waren wir unseren Nachbarn, Hohn und Spott bei denjenigen, die um uns herum wohnten. 5Wie lange, Jhwh, willst du auf ewig zürnen, soll dein Zorneseifer wie Feuer brennen?

Interpretament für erlittene Strafe und Abwesenheit Gottes ist wiederum sein personifizierter Zorn und der Zorneseifer. Solange dieser entbrennt, sich in der Zeit gegen die Zeit, da alle menschlichen Zeitdimensionen überbietend, erstreckt, ist an eine heilvolle Wende und Schalom von Land und Volk nicht zu denken. Mit Händen ist hier zu greifen, dass vormals elementar geäußerte Klagen und Bitten allmählich in Gebetschiffren umgegossen und zeitlos werden. Nicht mehr ein aktueller Anlass zählt, sondern das Grundmuster von Bedrohung und empfundener Not. Ähnlich den balag-Klagen (s.u.), die den urlässlichen Anhalt der alten Stadtklagen durch Form und Gestalt zeitlos machten und so eine Tradierung über Jahrhunderte ermöglichten, so auch diese schriftgelehrte Form in Psalm 79, die ab Entstehung als Gebetsformular je und je neugefüllt werden konnte: ein Gebetsformular für krisenhafte Zeiten.

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Exkurs: Die Balag-Klage UDAM KI AMUS als Antwortversuch auf Leid und Zerstörung im mesopotamischen Kontext18 Seit Kollationierung und Publikation der ersten balag-Klagen erfreuen sich diese altorientalischen Textzeugen in der alttestamentlichen Forschung besonderer Beliebtheit, da sie traditionsgeschichtlich gesehen als Parallelerscheinung, hier und da auch als Geber-Texte für die alttestamentlichen Threni und Volksklagen zu werten sind. Israel war zu sehr Kind seiner Zeit; auch die Priester waren national-international ausgebildet, so dass ihnen diese besondere Gattung von Gebetstexten bekannt gewesen sein musste. Das Reservoir an gleichen Bilderwelten und Motiven zwischen den altorientalischen Texten und den alttestamentlichen Gebeten ist hier in enger Beziehung und Bekanntschaft zu sehen. Es handelt sich nicht um sogenannte grundtypische Bilderwelten menschlicher Erfahrung, sondern es sind motivgeschichtliche Abhängigkeiten. Darüber hinaus ist das Besondere der balag-Klagen wie beim Textzeugen UDAM KI AMUS19 darin zu sehen, dass diese Gebete und Klagen von altbabylonischer Zeit (2. Jtsd. v. Chr.) bis in „jüngste“ Seleukidenzeit (3./2. Jhdt. v. Chr.) von Priestergeneration zu Priestergeneration in den Textsammlungen (Tafeln) tradiert und weitergereicht wurden. Es sind Gebetsformulare, die sich vom ursprünglichen Datum entfernt haben, fortgeschrieben und übertragen für die jeweilige Gegenwart als Formular im Kultus Anwendung fanden. Die Welt dieser Texte ist so wie ihr ursprünglicher theologischer Hintergrund: polytheistisch. Als Referenztexte zu den atl. Gebeten und Klagen zeigen sie, wie man in diesem Koordinatenkreuz von Haupt- und Untergöttern Klage, Anklage, Allmacht und Ohnmacht durchbuchstabieren kann. Was im AT und den erhaltenen Texten und Gebeten in der einen Person Jahwes verrechnet werden muss (Gott gegen Gott; Gottes Abwesenheit), ist hier unschwer und unproblematisch in der Verlagerung der Gewichte innerhalb des göttlichen Pantheons auszumachen und aufgrund der Vielzahl und unterschiedlichen Mächtigkeiten zu verorten: die „Flucht“ im Gebet vom Hauptgott, der Leid und Not bewirkt, zum persönlichen Gott, der Heil und Bewahrung schenkt, ist möglich. Die Rede, der Gedanke von der Abwesenheit eines bzw. des Gottes im Gesamtensemble des Pantheons hat hier keinen Nährboden. Die im folgenden kurz darzustellende balag-Klage UDAM KI AMUS („Wie der Sturm berührt es die Erde“) setzt die älteren Stadtklagen wie „Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur“ und andere Textvertreter dieser Gattung voraus. Die Klagekomposition ist an den Hauptgott Enlil gerichtet 18

Wichtige Literatur zu diesen Klagen: COHEN, CLAM, DERS., „balag-Compositi-

ons“. 19

Vgl. COHEN, CLAM, 120–151; EMMENDÖRFFER, a.a.O., 28–38.

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und zerfällt in mehrere Einheiten, die als Hymnen, Klagen, Bitten und Litaneien („Herzberuhigung + Bitte“) anzusprechen sind. Das Wort Enlils ist unerforschlich und geheimnisvoll, selbst Wahrsager werden aus ihm nicht schlau. Sein Wort bringt die Göttern zum Wanken, es erschüttert Himmel und Erde (Zeilen 25ff.):20 Let me bring his word to the diviner and that diviner will lie. Let me bring his word to the interpreter and that interpreter will lie. His word afflicts a man with woe. That man moans. His word afflicts a young woman with woe. That young woman moans. As his word proceeds lightly, it destroys the land. As his word proceeds grandly, it destroys habitations. (var: it kills people) His word is a covered fermentation vat. Who may know what is inside it? (var: Inside it is whirling.) His word, whose interior is unknown, its exterior tramples down (everything). His word, whose exterior is unknown, its interior tramples down (everything). His word causes men sickness. It weakens men. When his word drifts in the heavens, indeed the country is sick. When his word walks on the land, 21 indeed the land is diminished. (Z. 35–46.)

Und weiter: The honored one, the lord of the lands, the unfathomable one, whose word is true, whose orders no one can challenge, the honored one, Enlil, whose utterances are unalterable, is a storm which destroys the cattle pen, which tears out the sheepfold. (Z. 56–60) The honored one, the lord of the lands, the unfathomable one, whose word is true, whose orders no one can challenge, Enlil, whose utterances are unalterable, like the planted shuppatu-grass, like the planted elpetu-grass, like a lone poplar planted on the shore, like the cornel planted on dry land, like a lone tamarisk planted in a storm like a single planted reed the eminent one tramples me down. (Z. 69–78)

Mensch und Natur, Städte und Tempel sind von der Zerstörung durch das göttliche Wort bedroht: Gaze at the…which has been destroyed!…gaze at your city which has been destroyed! Father Enlil, gaze at your city which has been destroyed! Gaze at…Nippur, which has been destroyed! Gaze at…Ekur, which has been destroyed! Gaze at the Kiur and the Enamtila, which have been destroyed! Gaze at Sippar and the Ebabbar, which have been destroyed! (Z. 108–114)

Mit diesem letzten Zitat aus der großen Klagelitanei sei nun wieder der Blick auf Israel und seine Krisengebete gerichtet. Es bleibt nun abschließend die Frage, woran Israel in der Gottesferne und empfundenen Abwesenheit seines Gottes festhalten konnte. Was bot in der Zeit der Not und erlittenen Katastrophe so starken theologischen Halt, dass man darauf in seinen Gebeten sich beziehen bzw. daran anknüpfen konnte? Was konnte diesen Gott dazu bringen, einzulenken, zurückzukehren, sein Angesicht den Betern zuzuwenden? An diesem theologischen Nullpunkt, dem Gebet in der Krise, knüpften die Schöpfer (Kultpriester?) 21

Vgl. zur Übersetzung, COHEN, CLAM I, 136–137.

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der Gebete an dem an, was ihnen tempeltheologisch vertraut und erhalten war: die alten Hymnen dieses Gottes, Texte die von seinen wunderbaren Taten und seiner Macht aus längst vergangen Tagen kündeten. Nichts anderes wurde hier vollzogen, als Gott gegen Gott zu stellen, ihm den Spiegel vorzuhalten; von Moll wurde hier in Dur ad gloriam Dei gewechselt. Stellvertretend für eine Reihe von Zeugen, sei hier der Hymnus aus Psalm 74 zitiert, der als zweiter großer Hauptteil innerhalb dieses Klagepsalms zwischen Klage (Teil I, vv. 1–11) und Bitte (Teil III: vv.18–23) zu stehen kommt. 12

Doch ist mein König von alters her, er vollbringt Heilstaten inmitten der Erde. Du bist es, der das Meer mit Macht aufgerührt hat, der die Häupter der Schlangen über dem Wasser zerschmettert hat. 14Du bist es, der die Köpfe Leviathans zerschmettert hat, der ihn dem Volk der Wüstentiere zum Frass vorgeworfen hat. 15 Du bist es, der Quelle und Bach gespalten hat, du bist es, der mächtige Ströme trocken gelegt hat 16Tag und Nacht gehören dir, du bist es, der Sonne und Licht bereitet hat. 17 Du bist es, der alle Grenzen der Erde festgesetzt hat, Sommer und Winter, du bist es, 22 der sie geschaffen hat. (Psalm 74,12–17). 13

Das siebenmalige „Du“ der Anrede hämmert förmlich die „Heilstaten“ dieses Gottes ein, bildet den retardierenden Ton dieses Hymnus. Hier wird gesungen, um zu werben; hier wird gesungen, um zu erinnern; hier wird hymnisch aufgespielt, um suggestiv Jahwe zum Eingreifen zu bringen. Mythisch-mythologisches Material wird wie Perlen an einer Kette nebeneinander aufgeschnurt. Chaoskampf (vgl. den Baal-Mythos aus Ugarit) und Schöpfung kommen hier neben Anspielungen auf das Exodusgeschehen nebeneinander zu stehen. Ziel und Zweck des Ganzen ist, Gott zum Handeln zu bewegen. Das Jetzt der Klage wird mit dem Einst des Hymnus kontrastiert; der Hymnus ist das große Dennoch der Beter, das sie diesem Gott entgegen-beten. Trotz erlittener Niederlage und Katastrophe, trotz erfahrenem Leid und Unbill hielten diese Beter der Volksklagen und somit auch das Volk in der größten Gottesferne und Dunkelheit an diesem Gott fest und setzten Glauben und Hoffnung auf diesen Gott gegen diesen Gott. Das Gebet in der Krise machte das Volk sprachfähig und hoffnungsfähig für die Zukunft, die später in den Worten eines „Deuterojesajas“ Israel von diesem Gott zugesprochen wurde: „Tröstet, tröstet mein Volk, spricht euer Gott. Redet mit Jerusalem freundlich und predigt ihr, dass ihre Knechtschaft ein Ende hat, dass ihre Schuld vergeben ist.“ (Jesaja 40,1–2).

22

Vgl. dazu EMMENDÖRFFER, a.a.O., 77–78.

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Bibliographie B ATTO, B.F., The Sleeping God: An Ancient Near Eastern Motif of Divine Sovereignty, Bib 68 (1987) 153–177 B ERLEJUNG, A., Geschichte und Religionsgeschichte des antiken Israel, in: GERTZ, J. CH. et al., Grundinformation Altes Testament (UTB 2745), Göttingen 2006, 55–185 B OECKER, H. J., Klagelieder (ZBK.AT 21), Zürich 1985 BRANDSCHEIDT, R., Gotteszorn und Menschenleid. Die Gerichtsklage des leidenden Gerechten in Klgl 3 (TThSt 41), Trier 1983 COHEN, M.E. “Balag-Compositions“: Sumerian Lamentation Liturgies of the Second and First Millennium B.C. (SANE I/2), Malibu 1974 — The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia (CLAM), Bd. 1 & 2, Potomac 1988 EMMENDÖRFFER, M., Der ferne Gott (FAT 21), Tübingen 1998 FELDMEIER, R. und SPIECKERMANN, H., Der Gott der Lebendigen (TOBITH 1), Tübingen 2011 PERLITT, L., Anklage und Freispruch Gottes. Theologische Motive in der Zeit des Exils (1972), in: DERS., Deuteronomium-Studien (FAT 8), Tübingen 1994, 20–31 SPIECKERMANN, H., Heilsgegenwart – eine Theologie der Psalmen (FRLANT 148), Göttingen 1989 VEIJOLA, T., Verheissung in der Krise. Studien zur Literatur und Theologie der Exilszeit anhand des 89. Psalms (AASF B 220), Helsinki 1982 — Das Klagegebet in Literatur und Leben der Exilsgeneration am Beispiel einiger Prosatexte, in: Congress Volume Salamanca (SVT 36), Leiden 1985, 286–307 W ESTERMANN, C., Die Klagelieder. Forschungsgeschichte und Auslegung, NeukirchenVluyn 1990

Silent Witness The Symbolic Presence of God in the Temple Vessels in Ezra and Nehemiah*

BOB BECKING

1. Introduction What image of God is given in the books Ezra and Nehemiah?1 Is he seen as absent keeping silent about his intentions for the future of the people of Israel? Or is he interruptingly present in the lives of Israelites, leaders as well as commoners? In their recent book on the Silent God, Korpel and De Moor only refer to the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah in passing. They mention the silence of humans, such as the silence of Ezra as part of his mourning rites after having been informed of the ‘mixed’ marriages concluded by a number of the benê gǀlƗh.2 They classify this silence as an example of ‘silence because of incapacity’. In Neh 5.8 they see an example of silence between humans: the community in Jerusalem is too embarrassed to speak in reaction to Nehemiah’s words on the social injustice that arose.3 As far as I can see, they do not pay attention to the way God is described and depicted in the two books under consideration. This absence makes the question about the image of God in these two books even more interesting.

* I would like to thank Nathan MacDonald for inviting me to the symposium in Göttingen. Claus Ambos, Angelika Berlejung and Marjo Korpel were very helpful with suggestions that improved the content of my paper. 1 I am fully aware of the fact that the emergence of these two books and their Redaktionsgeschichte are heavily debated in contemporary scholarship. I will, however, not discuss this debate but rather concentrate on the text in its present form. This also implies that I will not make any historical claims in this article. 2 KORPEL AND DE MOOR, Silent God, 134. 3 KORPEL AND DE MOOR, Silent God, 101.

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2. The Linguistic ‘Image of God’ in the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah I would like to start with some observations of a more linguistic character. In the biblical books of Ezra and Nehemiah, the words ‘God’ and YHWH occur just over 150 times. It is, however, interesting to note that only in a few of these texts God or YHWH is the subject of the clause. Similarly it is only on very few occasions that God or YHWH acts directly. I will give you a few examples. The text that comes closest to depicting God or YHWH as the subject of a clause with a verb of action is Neh 4.9: And it happened when our enemies heard that it was known to us, and that God had fru4 strated their plan, then all of us returned to the wall, each one to his work.

This verse parachutes us in a way to the real problem of the image of God in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. The verb used, ʸʸʴ Hi, has a double meaning. It signifies both ‘to break’ and ‘to frustrate’. In other words it can refer both to the act of breaking something – a pot, for instance – and in a more metaphorical way to a set of mental acts by which a given relationship or a plan is nullified by breaking or frustrating it. Remarkably, in the Hebrew Bible this verb is only used in the latter sense: see the many verses that describe Israel’s disobedience in terms of ‘breaking the law, the covenant, the stipulations etc.’ In Neh 4.9 the verb is used in this latter sense too. God had acted in such a way that by his doings the counsel of the enemies of Nehemiah was nullified and frustrated; their plans did not come to actualisation. The nature of the deeds of God, however, remains unknown and hidden. A comparable remark can be made about all the other clauses that have God or YHWH as their subject. All these clauses talk in an indirect way about the divine exertion on behalf of Israel and its history. I will give you a few examples that underscore my view that in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, God or YHWH is seen as standing behind the scenes of history. The following texts indicate God’s role as a prompter: Now in the first year of Cyrus king of Persia, in order to fulfil the word of the LORD by the mouth of Jeremiah, the LORD stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, so that he 5 sent a proclamation throughout all his kingdom, and also put it in writing, saying…

4 Neh 4.9 [4.15] - all translations follow the NASB unless otherwise indicated; there is no need to change the MT here; see MYERS, Ezra, Nehemiah, 124; W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 222; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 250–251. 5 Ezra 1.1; see esp. W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 8–10; ESKENAZI, Age of Prose, 42–44.

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And they observed the Feast of Unleavened Bread seven days with joy, for the LORD had caused them to rejoice, and had turned the heart of the king of Assyria toward them 6 to encourage them in the work of the house of God, the God of Israel. neither told I any man what my God had put in my heart to do at Jerusalem.

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Thus may God shake out every man from his house and from his possessions who does 8 not fulfil this promise. Then my God put it into my heart to assemble the nobles, the officials, and the people to 9 be enrolled by genealogies.

The same indirect and evaluative language is present in passages where Ezra and Nehemiah are referring to or reflecting on the past: You are the LORD God, who chose Abram and brought him out from Ur of the Chaldees, 10 and gave him the name Abraham. This is your God who brought you up from Egypt.

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These sentences contain traditional language. However, by including these tropes into their narrative, the authors of Ezra and Nehemiah adapted the image of God that is expressed in these clauses. However, our God turned the curse into a blessing.

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Did not your fathers do the same so that our God brought on us, and on this city, all this 13 trouble? Yet you are adding to the wrath on Israel by profaning the Sabbath.

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Ezra 6.22; see, e.g., MYERS, Ezra, Nehemiah, 53–54; W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 85–86; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 133; for the expression ‘to turn the heart’, i.e. ‘to redirect the purpose’, see also Prov 21.1. 7 Neh 2.12; see, e.g., MYERS, Ezra, Nehemiah, 103–104; W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 187–188; CLINES, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 145; B LENKINSOPP, EzraNehemiah, 221. 8 Neh 5.13; the verb ʸʲʰ, ‘to shake’, is used here in a metaphorical way; see, e.g., MYERS, Ezra, Nehemiah, 131; WILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah. 241; CLINES, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 170; GUNNEWEG, Nehemia, 88–89; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 260. 9 Neh 7.5; see GUNNEWEG, Nehemia, 104–105; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 277. 10 A historical reflection in Neh 9.7 within a descriptive praise-clause, see, e.g., B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 303–304; WILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 312–313; B ODA, Praying the Tradition, 25, 101–111. 11 Neh 9.18; a historical memory on the molten calf; see, e.g., CLINES, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 195; W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 313–314; GUNNEWEG, Nehemia, 126–127; BLENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 304–305; BODA, Praying the Tradition, 151– 153. 12 A historical reflection on Balaam in Neh 13.2; see also M YERS, Ezra, Nehemiah, 207–208; W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 385; CLINES, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 237; GUNNEWEG, Nehemia, 163–164; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 350–352; KORPEL AND DE M OOR , Silent God, 178.

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The same theme is present in clauses where God – or subject of the verb:

YHWH

– is not the

…even everyone [arose] whose spirit God had stirred to go up and rebuild the house of 14 the LORD which is in Jerusalem. When the prophets, Haggai the prophet and Zechariah the son of Iddo, prophesied to the Jews who were in Judah and Jerusalem, in the name of the God of Israel, who was over 15 them. Blessed be the LORD, the God of our fathers, who has put such a thing as this in the 16 king’s heart, to adorn the house of the LORD which is in Jerusalem. and the hand of our God was over us, and He delivered us from the hand of the enemy 17 and the ambushes by the way. for they recognized that this work had been accomplished with the help of our God.

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All these observations lead me to the conclusion that in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah the following image of God or testimony about YHWH is given. God is not absent from history, but he is hidden behind the surface of the tangible. God is seen in these books as acting in an indirect instrumental way, using kings, prophets and other inspired people as accomplishers of his plans. Next to that the words God and YHWH are attested in a set of standard idioms of a formulaic character, such as: ‘God of Israel// God dwelling in Jerusalem’;19 ‘God of forgiveness’;20 ‘God of heaven’;21 ‘the hand of God’;22 ‘the command of God’;23 ‘the temple/house of God’;24

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Neh 13.18; evaluative questions on past behaviour that continues into the present based on the prophetic tradition, see, CLINES, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 244. 14 Ezra 1.5. 15 Ezra 5.1. 16 Ezra 7.27; see, e.g., J.L. WRIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, 88. 17 Ezra 8.31. 18 Neh 6.16; see, e.g., W RIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, 152–153. 19 With variations: Ezra 1.3; 3.2; 4.3; 7.1, 16; 9.4, 6, 8, 10, 13, 15; 10.2, 9, 11, 14; Neh 3.36; 4.3, 14; 8.6, 9; 13.14, 18, 22. 20 Neh 9.17, 31, 32; 13.22. 21 Ezra 1.2; Neh 1.4, 5; 2.4, 20. 22 As a theme of divine protection: Ezra 7.6, 9, 28; 8.31; Neh 2.8, 18. 23 ‘And they finished building according to the command of the God of Israel and the decree of Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes king of Persia’ (Ezra 6.14); see also 7.23. 24 Quite frequently: Ezra 1.3, 5, 7; 2.68; 3.8, 10; 4.1, 24; 5.2; 5.8; 6.3, 5, 7, 8, 16; 7.17, 19, 20; 8.17, 30, 33, 36; 9.9; Neh 6.10; 10.40; 13.4, 14, 18. Altar of God: Neh 10.29, 35.

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‘Law of God’;25 ‘wisdom of God’;26 ‘servants of God’;27 ‘offering(s) to God’;28 and ‘sinners against God’.29 These observations do not, however, suggest a deus absconditus30 or an image of God moving in a haphazard and inconceivable way. In the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, the goals of God are rather clear: He is portrayed as a divine being wanting (1) a return of his people from exile, (2) the rebuilding of the temple, and (3) a viable community. He reaches his aims by divine initiative, but not without human responsive acts.31

3. The Temple Vessels in the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah It is against the background of this image of God that I would like to read the passages in the two biblical books mentioning the temple vessels. My final question in reading these texts is: how are these temple vessels connected to God’s role as a prompter? In Ezra 1.7 Cyrus is said to have taken measures for the return of the temple vessels: Also King Cyrus brought out the articles of the house of the LORD, which Nebuchad32 nezzar had carried away from Jerusalem and put in the house of his gods.

The Persian king handed the vessels into the hands of Mithredath (Ezra 1.7–8) who had to take care of their delivery in Jerusalem. This is clearly a reference to a historical theme that is memorialized in other texts from around the Babylonian exile. Various texts refer to the ʩʬʫ ʤʥʤʩ ʺʩʡ, ‘the vessels of the house of YHWH’, which had been the vessels for the cult of YHWH in the first temple. During the conquest of Jerusalem they were taken into exile by the Babylonians (2 Kgs 25.13–17// Jer 52.17–23; 2 Chron 36.7, 18; Dan 1.2). The prophet Jeremiah had warned against pseudo-prophets sowing false hopes of the imminent return of these vessels (Jer 27.16, 18, 21; 28.3, 6). In a later and legendary story, king Belshazzar is reproved for his making use of the Jerusalem temple

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Ezra 7.10, 14, 21, 25; 10.3; Neh 8.9, 18; 9.3; 10.36, 37, 38, 39. Ezra 7.25. 27 Ezra 5.11. 28 With a variety of wordings Ezra 3.3, 5, 11; 6.9, 12, 18, 21; 9.5; 8.35; Neh 9.3, 4, 5; 12.45, 46. 29 Ezra 5.12. 30 On this Lutheran concept see now LEPPIN, Deus absconditus und Deus revelatus, 55–69; REINBUHER, ‘Deus absconditus’, 52–69. 31 See also van W IJK-B OS, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther, 14–15. 32 Ezra 1.7. 26

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vessels in a luxurious banquet (Dan 5.2–3, 23; Aram. ʯʠʮ). The return of these vessels is part of an oracle of salvation (Isa 52.11).33 I will now return to the books of Ezra and Nehemiah. In a report included in the letter that Tattenai, the governor of the satrapy ‘Beyond the River’, sent to Darius, the king of Persia, the inhabitants of Jerusalem claim that Cyrus the Great had ordered the return of the temple vessels: And also the gold and silver utensils of the house of God which Nebuchadnezzar had taken from the temple in Jerusalem, and brought them to the temple of Babylon, these King Cyrus took from the temple of Babylon, and they were given to one whose name was Sheshbazzar, whom he had appointed governor. And he said to him, ‘Take these utensils, go and deposit them in the temple in Jerusalem, and let the house of God be 34 rebuilt in its place.’ After a thorough search in the Persian archives, this claim is then confirmed by a record from the time of Cyrus that was found in Ecbatana: And also let the gold and silver utensils of the temple of God, which Nebuchadnezzar took from the temple in Jerusalem and brought to Babylon, be returned and brought to 35 their places in the temple in Jerusalem; and you shall put them in the house of God.

Both texts use the Aramaic counterpart ʯʠʮ for ‘vessel’36 and state that the utensils were made of gold and silver. In the decree of Artaxerxes, the king stipulates that: Also the utensils which are given to you for the service of the house of your God, deliver 37 in full before the God of Jerusalem.

In Neh.10.40 (ET 10.39) the ʹʣʷʮ ʩʬʫ, ‘vessels of the sanctuary’, are mentioned as a side remark in a pericope on the gathering of the firstlings of the harvest. The Israelites are supposed to bring their corn taxes for the temple to the same room where the vessels of the sanctuary are. In Neh 13.9 Nehemiah claims that he had brought back these vessels to the temple. In the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, these vessels thus mainly occur as elements of continuity with the pre-exilic cult.38 In the descriptions of rit-

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Most probably a later priestly addition. Ezra 5.14–15; see, e.g., B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 122. 35 Ezra 6.5. 36 This noun is frequently used in the Elephantine papyri. 37 Ezra 7.19; see, e.g., B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 149. 38 See ACKROYD, The Temple Vessels, 166–175; his view is widely adopted; see, e.g., W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 6–8; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah, 78; BRENEMAN, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 73; ESKENAZI, An Age of Prose, 48; FRIED, The Priest and the Great King, 167–168; BROWN, Hope Amidst Ruin, 190–191; H ONIGMAN, Cyclical Times and Catalogues, 203; although with Williamson many scholars do not think that the mention of the temple vessels in Ezra and Nehemiah is merely a literary motif. 34

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ual, ceremony and festival in the two books, surprisingly, they do not occur. Their cultic use in the post-exilic era is silenced.

4. Deification of Cultic Vessels in the Ancient Near East In this connection, it should be noted that in at least three ancient Near Eastern cultures cultic vessels were seen as deified objects. In the Ugaritic Baal Epic, it is narrated that after the construction of a palace for Baal was completed the deity offered a banquet for a variety of divine beings among whom were the ‘jar gods’: špq . ’ilm . r‫ۊ‬bt yn špq . ’ilht . dkr He caused the divine jars to drink wine 39 He caused the divine jug

Billie Jean Collins has made clear that in Hittite Anatolia cult objects could be seen as symbolic representation of the divine.40 In Mesopotamia, two deified cultic vessels are mentioned in ritual texts, where they play an important role as receptacles of bread-offerings at the inauguration rituals of newly established or rebuilt sanctuaries: dUMUN41 d 42 MU-TA-ÀM-GU7 and UMUN-MU-TA-ÀM-NAG. These examples make clear that in the Ancient Near East, cultic vessels occasionally were seen as deified and hence referring, in one way or another, to the presence of the divine.

5. The (An)Iconic Return of the Deity from Exile In this connection, attention should be paid to a feature that has been detected by Cogan. He collected about a dozen instances in Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions where mention is made of the return of divine images of subjugated people that had been deported to Assyria in earlier days.43 I will cite a couple of examples here:

39 KTU 1.4 vi:52–53; see DE MOOR, The Semitic Pantheon of Ugarit, 225. In this connection De Moor refers to other deified cultic vessels for instance a ql‫ۊ‬, ‘cauldron’, see KTU 1.115:5. 40 COLLINS, A Statue for the Deity, 13–42. 41 BE 1387 = AMBOS, Mesopotamische Baurituale, Text II.D.1.3:33. 42 Rm 10 = AMBOS, Mesopotamische Baurituale, Text II.E.4:11’. 43 COGAN, Imperialism and Religion, 14–19, 35–39.

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Hazail, King of Arabia, came with his rich gifts before me in Nineveh, my royal city. He kissed my feet and besought me to return his gods. I had pity on him and, so, AtarShamain, Daya, Nuhaya, Ruldayau, Abirillu, Atarquruma, the gods of the Arabs, I refurbished. I inscribed the strength of Ashur, my lord, and my name upon them and gave 44 them back.

Also rather interesting is a passage in the Marduk Prophecy/Autobiography. After the deity had abandoned his country, he stayed in Elam, while disaster overtook Babylon. After he had fulfilled his days and years: Then I carried myself back to Babylon and to the Ekursagil.

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After the return of the deity a happy and peaceful period is anticipated in Babylon. The ideological fabric of ‘a literary predictive text’46 resembles the ideas that are present in Jer 30–31: divine abandonment leads to distress and misery, the return will lead to peace and prosperity. In this connection a remark ought to be made about the Cyrus Cylinder.47 I will not deal here with the question whether this text refers to a generally liberal Persian policy as to the return of divine images to deported people, among whom were the Yehudites of Persian period Jerusalem,48 or to Persian propaganda based on the return of divine images on a very local scale.49 The text reflects that still in the Persian period divine images were returned to their town of origin. Evidence from the Hellenistic period hints at the continuation of this policy. Devauchelle has listed four examples from the period of the Ptolemies in Egypt that all describe the return of cult statues from Syria to Egypt. The statues presumably were brought to Syria by the Achaemenid ruler Cambyses hinting at the fact that Persian policy toward local religious traditions was not always as liberal as often assumed.50

44 Text: B ORGER, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons, §27 ep. 14:6–16; see also C OGAN, Imperialism and Religion, 35. 45 Text edited by: B ORGER, Gott Marduk und Gott-König Šulgi, 8.16: ii:14–17; see also LONGMAN, Fictional Akkadian Autobiography, 234; CANCIK-K IRSCHBAUM, Literarische Weissagungen, 1–21. The return of the deity Bel/Marduk to Esagilla took place during the reign of Ashurbanipal in 668 BCE. See P ORTER, Images, Power, and Politics, 137–148; NISSINEN AND P ARPOLA, Marduk’s Return and Reconciliation, 199– 219 (with a nice discussion of the letter SAA 13 139). 46 NISSINEN, Neither Prophecies nor Apocalypses, 134–148. 47 See the recent editions by BERGER, Der Kyros-Zylinder mit dem Zusatzfragment, 192–234; SCHAUDIG, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon, 550–560. 48 See, e.g., ACKROYD, Exile and Restoration, 140–141; BICKERMANN, Studies, 72– 108; WEINBERG, Citizen-Temple Community, 40. 49 KUHRT, Cyrus Cylinder, 83–97; READE, Greco-Parthian Nineveh, 65–83; ALBERTZ, Die Exilszeit, 98–102. 50 DEVAUCHELLE, Sentiment anti-perse, 67–80; FRIED, Priest, 71–73.

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In the Hebrew Bible we find a few reflections of this Ancient Near Eastern pattern. I will refer to a few texts. In Nah 2.3 we read: For the LORD shall return with the pride of Jacob, this is the pride of Israel.

With van der Woude, I construe the verb form ʡʹ to be a form of an unaccusative verb.51 This implies that the generally accepted translation ‘For the LORD shall restore the pride of Jacob’52 should be abandoned and that Nah 2.3 should be interpreted as the expression of the hope that YHWH shall return with his people from exile.53 In a context which is quite comparable to Nah 2.1–3, the anonymous prophet Deutero Isaiah proclaims: With their own eyes they shall see with delight 54 how the LORD returns to Sion.

Within Deutero-Isaiah, this return is connected to the idea of an ‘eschatologische Wanderstrasse’. With this idea the hope, that is especially present in Deutero-Isaiah, is expressed that God and the people of Israel shall take a road back from the exile through the wilderness to Zion/Jerusalem.55 A comparable theme is present in Ezek 43.1–11, where the return of the ʣʥʡʫ ʤʥʤʩ, ‘the Glory of the LORD’, is related, as well as in Zech 1.16; 8.3 and Mal 3.1. Finally, the context in the canticle Ps 80.13–16 makes clear that the clause ‘O LORD of Hosts, return anew’, should be construed as a wish that ʤʥʤʩ will return from exile to the devastated walls of Jerusalem. To this list can now be added my conviction that the ketîb in Jer 31.21bȕ can be taken for authentic and should be interpreted as an indication that ʤʥʤʩ shall return with the children of Rachel to Jerusalem.56 This interpretation also implies, that the line 21b should be seen as yet another example of the ‘eschatologische Wanderstrasse’.

51 VAN DER W OUDE, Book of Nahum, 117–119. Unaccusative verbs form a subcategory of the intransitive verbs that cannot be connected with a (direct) object, or – phrased more linguistically – they cannot assign an external theta-role; see HOEKSTRA, Clause Results. 52 See, e.g., SPRONK, Nahum, 86–87; FLOYD, Minor Prophets, 55–56; O’BRIEN, Nahum, 59, 92; FABRY, Nahum, 158–160. 53 VAN DER W OUDE, Book of Nahum, 117–119. 54 Isa 52.8; see Van der WOUDE, Book of Nahum, 119–120; WATTS, Isaiah 34–60, 215; KORPEL AND DE MOOR, Classical Hebrew Poetry, 495; B LENKINSOPP, Isaiah 40–55, 388; EHRING, Rückkehr JHWHs, 200. 55 Isa 40.3; 42.16; 43.19; 49.9, 11; 57.14; see, e.g., BARSTAD, A Way in the Wilderness; ZEHNDER, Wegmetaphorik, 298–299, 463–473; SCHMID AND STECK, Restoration Expectations, 53–54; EHRING, Die Rückkehr JHWHs. 56 See BECKING, Return of the Deity, 53–62.

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It can safely be concluded that the theme ‘return of the deity’ was not only a literary topos in Ancient Mesopotamia, but also a feature from reality. Divine images were returned to the sanctuaries from which they were deported. The carrying away of images into exile is evidenced iconograpically,57 but no representations of the return of images is known. The actual return of divine images is an important observation for the study of the religion in ancient Israel. At the same time this observation fuels a discussion on the religion of ancient Israel. The Hebrew Bible gives testimony of the view that the veneration of YHWH has to be aniconic. Or phrased otherwise: orthodox Yahwism was seen as an aniconic religion. Meanwhile, various prophetic polemics – especially in Deutero-Isaiah – make clear that the veneration of the Divine in the form of an image was an on-going religious practice in ancient Israel. The archaeological record has proved that Israel was not void of images: ‘in Israel gab es Bilder!’.58 It should be noted, however, that not every image was a cult image: ‘nicht alle Bilder waren Kultbilder’. Some, however, were representations of the divine. Recently, various scholars have argued on good grounds that before the exile Yahweh was venerated using an image as his presentation.59 My question would be whether these two features – the existence of iconic representation of the divine in ancient Israel and the concept of the return of the deity – could be combined in the hypothesis that one way or another the cultic vessels in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah were perceived as an image of the returning God.

6. Symbolic Presence Looking for a concept with which to grasp the connection between the temple vessels and the idea of the return of the deity, I found the idea of symbolic presence. This concept has its roots in liberal Protestantism. It was they who construed the Lord’s Supper as a symbolic representation of the divine. Or phrased differently: a silent witness of the deity.60 In my view this concept is very useful in describing phenomena of an ancient culture or a religion from olden times. It is a middle way between realism and scepticism. A realist would say that a divine image made of wood or 57

See, e.g., NA’AMAN, Graven Images, 401–404; UEHLINGER, Bildquellen, 60. SCHROER, In Israel, 1987. 59 See, e.g., NIEHR, In Search of Yhwh’s Cult Statue, 73–95; B ECKING, Assyrian Evidence, 157–171; N IEHR, Götterbilder, 227–247; K ÖCKERT, Suffering, 21–37. 60 Already in the treatise on the Eucharist by the Dutch humanist Cornelis Hoen (1525), see SPRUYT, Cornelius Henrici Hoen (Honius). For a recent survey of views on the significance of the Lord’s Supper, see W ITHERINGTON, Making a Meal. 58

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stone equals the divine. In Mesopotamian religion this realism is present in and around the mouth washing or mƯs pî-rituals and the mouth opening or pƯt pî-rites. As Berlejung has clarified, these rituals functioned in the process of vivification of the craftsmanship: the image was in a way deified by them.61 A sceptical view reduces the image to its physical identity. Needless to say many utterances of the prophets from the Hebrew Bible are written in a sceptical mood. For instance: For the customs of the peoples are delusion; because it is wood cut from the forest, the work of the hands of a craftsman with a cutting tool. They decorate it with silver and with gold; they fasten it with nails and with hammers So that it will not totter. Like a scarecrow in a cucumber field are they, and they cannot speak; they must be carried, because they cannot walk! Do not fear them, for they can do no harm, nor can they do 62 any good.

A comparable remark could be made about the sacrifices in ancient Israel. From the perspective of a sceptic they were just community meals. A realist would plead for the presence of God at the sacrifice. In my view Sylvain Romerowski is correct when he construes Israelite sacrifices as acts that symbolically represented the deity.63 The concept of symbolic presence takes into account the element of perception, since it includes the question ‘what did it mean to the practitioner?’ ‘It’ being a sacrifice, an icon, a divine image, or a claim of divine agency. The concept of symbolic presence can be seen as a metaphor for the unseeable and inscrutable divine realm and its elusive essence.64 The concept of symbolic presence not only is helpful in understanding the character of the ancient Near Eastern religions. It can also be applied to more recent phenomena. (1) Johnson and Noel argue that Christ’s passion/ crucifixion functioned within the African American psyche as a religious narrative and symbol that uniquely addressed the severe trauma they underwent during the Middle Passage and slavery by enabling them to experience the presence of God in the depths of extreme suffering. Christ’s passion/crucifixion mirrored their experience of racial oppression and, thereby, provided a critique of the system and actors that perpetuated it. The Spiritual ‘Were You There?’ is interpreted in this light. This corre61

B ERLEJUNG, Washing the Mouth, 45–72; B ERLEJUNG, Theologie der Bilder, 178– 283. See also the remarks in D IETRICH, LORETZ, Jahwe und seine Aschera, 25–37; W ALKER, DICK, Induction, 55–122; AMBOS, Mesopotamische Baurituale. For a recent edition of the texts see WALKER, DICK, Induction of the Cult Image. A comparable Hurro-Hittite induction ceremony is known from second millennium Anatolia, KUB 39, 71, see COLLINS, Statue for the Deity, 29–32 (with literature). 62 Jer 10.3–5. 63 ROMEROWSKI, Old Testament Sacrifices, 13–24; see also SOMMER, Conflicting Constructions, 41–63; HUNDLEY, Keeping Heaven. 64 See on this concept: METTINGER, Elusive Essence, 393–417.

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spondence between the African American’s historical experience and the narrative symbol of Christ’s passion/crucifixion helps explain their conversion to Christianity.65 (2) In the great theodicic novels and plays of Elie Wiesel the hurting absence of God is also seen as a symbolic absence haunting for a symbolic presence.66

7. Conclusion The cultic vessels for the temple symbolise continuity with the period before the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem. In the discourse that is reflected in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, these vessels function in the same way as the divine images discussed above. They indicate how YHWH disappeared in exile and the way he returned from exile as an inconceivable mystery that can be represented by an image, an icon, his glory or by the cult vessels. I would therefore argue that these vessels need to be construed as aniconic representations of the divine and hence as silent witness to the inscrutable presence of God. This witness runs parallel to the image of God as acting in an indirect way as detected in the language of the two books.

Bibliography ACKROYD, P. R., Exile and Restoration: A Study on Hebrew Thought in the Sixth Century BC, Philadelphia 1968 — The Temple Vessels – A Continuity Theme, in: Studies in the Religion of Ancient Israel (VT.S 23), ed. P. A. H. de Boer, Leiden 1972, 166–175 ALBERTZ, R., Die Exilszeit 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (BE 7), Stuttgart 2001 AMBOS, C., Mesopotamische Baurituale aus dem 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (ISLET), Dresden 2004 B ARSTAD, H. M., A Way in the Wilderness (JSS Monograph 12), Manchester 1989 B ECKING, B., Assyrian Evidence for Iconic Polytheism in Ancient Israel?, in: The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET 21), ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 157–171 — The Return of the Deity from Exile: Iconic or Aniconic?, in: Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman, ed. Y. Amit et al., Winona Lake 2006, 53–62 B ERGER, P.-R., Der Kyros-Zylinder mit dem Zusatzfragment BIN II Nr. 32 und die akkadischen Personennamen im Danielbuch, ZA 64 (1975) 192–234 B ERLEJUNG, A., Die Theologie der Bilder: Herstellung und Einweihung von Kultbildern in Mesopotamien und die alttestamentliche Bilderpolemik (OBO 162), Fribourg 1998 65 66

JOHNSON, NOEL, Psychological Trauma, 361–369. See, e.g., his play W IESEL, Trial of God.

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— Washing the Mouth: The Consecration of the Divine Images in Mesopotamia, in: The

Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET 21), ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 45–72 B ICKERMANN, E. J., Studies in Jewish and Christian History I, Leiden 1976 B LENKINSOPP, J., Ezra-Nehemiah (OTL), London 1988 — Isaiah 40–55 (AB 19A), New York 2002 B ODA, M. J., Praying the Tradition: The Origin and Use of the Tradition in Nehemiah 9 (BZAW 277), Berlin 1999 B ORGER, R., Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (Archiv für Orientforschung Beiheft 9), Osnabrück 19672 — Gott Marduk und Gott-König Šulgi als Propheten: Zwei prophetische Texte, BiOr 28 (1971) 3–24 BRENEMAN, M., Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (New American Commentary), Nashville 1993 BROWN, A. P., Hope Amidst Ruin: A Literary and Theological Analysis of Ezra, Greenville 2009 CANCIK-K IRSCHBAUM, E., Literarische Weissagungen aus spätbabylonisch-hellenistischer Zeit, in: Orakel und Gebete: Interdisziplinäre Studien zur Sprache der Religion in Ägypten, Vorderasien und Griechenland in hellenistischer Zeit (FAT II 38), ed. M. Witte and J. F. Diehl, Tübingen 2009, 1–21 C LINES, D. J. A., Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (NCBC), Grand Rapids/London 1984 COGAN, M., Imperialism and Religion: Assyria, Judah and Israel in the Eighth and Seventh Centuries B.C.E. (SBLMS 19), Missoula 1974 COLLINS, B. J., A Statue for the Deity: Cult Images in Hittite Anatolia, in: Cult Images and Divine Representation in the Ancient Near East, ed. N.H. Walls, Boston 2005, 13–42 DE M OOR , J. C., The Semitic Pantheon of Ugarit, UF 2 (1970) 187–228 DEVAUCHELLE, D., Le sentiment anti-perse chez les anciens Égyptiens, Transeuphratène 9 (1995) 67–80 D IETRICH, M. and O. LORETZ, Jahwe und seine Aschera. Anthropomorphes Kultbild in Mesopotamien, Ugarit und Israel. Das Biblische Bildverbot (UBL 9), Münster 1992 EHRING, C., Die Rückkehr JHWHs: Traditions- und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Jesaja 40,1–11, Jesaja 52,7–10 und verwandten Texten (WMANT 116), Neukirchen-Vluyn 2007 ESKENAZI, T. C., In an Age of Prose: A Literary Approach to Ezra-Nehemiah (SBL MS 36), Atlanta 1988 FABRY, H.-J., Nahum (HTKAT), Freiburg im Breisgau 2006 FLOYD, M. H., Minor Prophets: Part 2 (FOTL 22), Grand Rapids 2000 FRIED, L. S., Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire, Göttingen 2004 — The Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire (Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California 10), Winona Lake 2004 GUNNEWEG, A. H. J., Nehemia (KAT 19,2), Gütersloh 1987 HERMISSON, H.-J., Deuterojesaja (BKAT XI), Neukirchen-Vluyn 2010 HOEKSTRA, J., Small Clause Results, Lingua 74 (1988) 101–139 HONIGMAN, S., Cyclical Times and Catalogues: The Construction of Meaning in 1 Esdras, in: Did First Esdras Come First? (AIIL 7), ed. L. S. Fried, Atlanta 2011, 191–208 HUNDLEY, M. B., Keeping Heaven on Earth: Safeguarding the Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle (FAT II 50), Tübingen 2011 J OHNSON, M. V. and J. A. NOEL, Psychological Trauma, Christ’s Passion, and the African American Faith Tradition, Pastoral Psychology 53 (2005) 361–369

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KÖCKERT, M., Suffering from Formlessness – the Prohibition of Images in Exilic Times, JNSL 34 (2008) 21–37 KORPEL, M. C. A. and J. C. DE MOOR, The Silent God, Leiden 2011 — The Structure of Classical Hebrew Poetry: Isaiah 40–55 (OTS 41), Leiden 1998 KUHRT, A., The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy, JSOT 25 (1983) 83–97 LEPPIN, V., Deus absconditus und Deus revelatus. Transformationen mittelalterlicher Theologie in der Gotteslehre von „De servo arbitrio“, BThZ 22 (2005) 55–69 LONGMAN, T., Fictional Akkadian Autobiography: A Generic and Comparative Study, Winona Lake 1991 METTINGER, T. N. D., The Elusive Essence: YHWH, El and Baal and the Distinctiveness of Israelite Faith, in: Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. E. Blum et al., NeukirchenVluyn 1990, 393–417 MYERS, J. M., Ezra, Nehemiah (AB 14), New York 1965 NA’AMAN, N., No Anthropomorphic Graven Images. Notes on the Assumed Anthropomorphic Cult Statues in the Temples of YHWH in the Pre-Exilic Period, UF 31 (1999) 391–415 N IEHR, H., Götterbilder und Bildverbot, in: Der eine Gott und die Götter: Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel (AThANT 82), ed. M. Oeming and K. Schmid, Zürich 2003, 227–247 — In Search of YHWH’s Cult Statue in the First Temple, in: The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET 21), ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven 1997, 73–95 N ISSINEN, M., Neither Prophecies nor Apocalypses: The Akkadian Literary Predictive Texts, in: Knowing the End from the Beginning: The Prophetic, the Apocalyptic and their Relationships (JSPS 46), ed. L. L. Grabbe and R. D. Haak, London 2003, 134– 148 N ISSINEN, M. and S. P ARPOLA, Marduk’s Return and Reconciliation in a Prophetic Letter from Arbela, in: Verbum et Calamus: Semitic and Related Studies in Honour of the Sixtieth Birthday of Professor Tapani Harviainen (Studia Orientalia Published by the Finnish Oriental Society 99), ed. H. Juusola et al., Helsinki 2004, 199–219 O’B RIEN, J., Nahum (Readings), Sheffield 2002 P ORTER, B. N., Images, Power, and Politics: Figurative Aspects of Esarhaddon’s Babylonian Policy, Philadelphia 1993 READE, J. E., Greco-Parthian Nineveh, Iraq 60 (1998) 65–83 REINBUHER, T., ‘Deus absconditus’: Luthers Bearbeitung des Theodizeeproblems, Luther 77 (2006) 52–69 ROMEROWSKI, S., Old Testament Sacrifices and Reconciliation, European Journal for Theology 16 (2006) 13–24 SCHAUDIG, H., Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Grossen (AOAT 256), Münster 2001 SCHMID, K. and O. H. STECK, Restoration Expectations in the Prophetic Tradition of the Old Testament, in: Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish and Christian Perspectives (JSJS 72), Leiden 2001, 41–81 SCHMIDT, W. H., Zukunftsgewissheit und Gegenwartskritik: Studien zur Eigenart der Prophetie (BTS 51), Neukirchen-Vluyn 20022 SCHROER, S., In Israel gab es Bilder: Nachrichten von darstellender Kunst im Alten Testament (OBO 74), Fribourg 1987 SOMMER, B. D., Conflicting Constructions of Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle, BibInt 9 (2001) 41–63

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SPRONK, K., Nahum (Historical Commentary on the Old Testament), Kampen 1997 SPRUYT, B. J., Cornelius Henrici Hoen (Honius) and his Epistle on the Eucharist (1525); Medieval Heresy, Erasmian Humanism, and Reform in the Early Sixteenth-Century Low Countries (Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions 119), Leiden 2006 UEHLINGER, C., Bildquellen und ‘Geschichte Israels’: Grundsätzliche Überlegungen und Fallbeispiele, in: Steine – Bilder – Texte: Historische Evidenz ausserbiblischer und biblischer Quellen (Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihre Geschichte 5), ed. C. Hardmeier, Leipzig 2001, 25–77 VAN DER WOUDE, A. S., The Book of Nahum: A Letter Written in Exile, in I DEM , Instruction and Interpretation: Studies in Hebrew Language, Palestinian Archaeology and Biblical Exegesis (OTS 20), Leiden 1977, 117–119 VAN W IJK-B OS, J. W. H., Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther (WeBC), Louisville 1998 W ALKER, C. and M. B. DICK, The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian mƯs pî Ritual, in: Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. B. Dick, Winona Lake 1999, 55–122 — The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: the Mesopotamian mƯs pî Ritual (SAA LT 1), Helsinki 2001 W ATTS, J. D. W., Isaiah 34–66 (WBC 25), Waco 1987 W EINBERG, J. P., The Citizen-Temple Community (JSOT.S 151), Sheffield 1992 W IESEL, E., The Trial of God, New York 1995 W ILLIAMSON, H. G. M., Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC 16), Waco 1985 W ITHERINGTON, B., Making a Meal of It: Rethinking the Theology of the Lord’s Supper, Waco 2008 WRIGHT, J. L., Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah Memoir and its Earliest Readers (BZAW 348), Berlin 2004 ZEHNDER, M., Wegmetaphorik im Alten Testament: Eine semantische Untersuchung der alttestamentlichen und altorientalischen Weg-Lexeme mit besonderer Berücksichtigung ihrer metaphorischen Verwendung (BZAW 268), Berlin 1999



The Torah of God as God The Exaltation of the Written Law Code in Ezra-Nehemiah

LISBETH S. FRIED

Did Yhwh inhabit the second temple? This seems a straightforward question. The temples of the ancient Near East and Egypt were always the homes of the gods, where they lived, and where the priests who comprised their staff served them.1 This view is reflected in the biblical text. The Priestly writers portrayed Yhwh as inhabiting the tabernacle, Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled upon it, and Yhwh’s glory filled the tabernacle (Ex 40.35)

and the first temple, And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of Yhwh, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for Yhwh’s glory filled Yhwh’s house (1 Kgs 8.10–11).

Moreover, they described the twice daily temple sacrifices as Yhwh’s food.2 Command the Israelites, and say to them: My offering, my food, for my fire offerings of my pleasing odor, you shall take care to offer to me at its appointed time (Num 28.2).

The Judeans living in Elephantine shared that same world view: A temple was the home of the god, and could be destroyed only if the god who had been living in it had abandoned it. The temple of YHW had been destroyed, so therefore YHW had abandoned it (TAD A4.7).3 They came to the fortress of Elephantine with their weapons, broke into that temple, demolished it to the ground…and since this has been done (to us), we with our wives and children have been wearing sackcloth and fasting and praying to YHW Lord of Heaven… …From the month of Tammuz, year 14 of King Darius [when the temple was destroyed] and until this day [the 20th of Marতešvan, year 17 of King Darius] we have been wearing sackcloth and fasting; our wives are made as widow(s); (we) do not anoint (ourselves) 1

MARGUERON, Mesopotamian Temples, 165. ANDERSON, Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel, 15. 3 For a discussion of divine abandonment, see FRIED, The Land Lay Desolate, 21–54. 2

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with oil and do not drink wine. Moreover, from that (time) and until this day they did not make meal-offering or incense nor whole burnt offering in that Temple.

The sacrifices could no longer be performed since the god was no longer there to partake of them. For at least three years, the temple of YHW in Elephantine lay in ruins. During that time the Judeans were in mourning, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. They were in mourning for their god, in the same way that the Israelites mourned after Yhwh when the ark was kept at Kiriath-jearim: From the day that the ark was lodged at Kiriath-jearim, a long time passed, some twenty years, and all the house of Israel lamented after Yhwh (1 Sam 7.2).

In the face of all this, it seems odd to query attitudes toward the second temple. Why should it have been reacted to differently? In fact, however, according to the Rabbis, God did not dwell in the second temple, and his absence was one of the five things that distinguished the first and second temples (TB Yoma 21b):  ʯʤʥʬʠʥʩʰʹʹʣʷʮʬʯʥʹʠʸʹʣʷʮʯʩʡʥʩʤʹʭʩʸʡʣʤʹʩʮʧʥʬʠ  ʭʩʮʥʺʥʭʩʸʥʠʥʹʣʥʷʤʧʥʸʥʤʰʩʫʹʥʹʠʭʩʡʥʸʫʥʺʸʥʴʫʥʯʥʸʠ These five things [distinguish] between the first and second temple: the ark, the ark cover, the cherubim (which all count as one), the fire [from heaven], the Shekinnah, the spirit of holiness (i.e., of prophecy), and the urim and thummim.

Was this rabbinic view shared by the authors of Ezra-Nehemiah? To answer this question, I divide the book into its constituent parts and examine each in turn. First, Nehemiah’s memoir – conventionally assumed to be the first person account in the book that bears his name (Neh 1.1–7.4*; 12.27– 43*; 13.4–31); second, Ezra’s memoir, traditionally assumed to be the first person account in Ezra (Ezra 7.27–9.15). If genuine, this would be the next oldest block of text. Third, the depiction of the second temple’s construction, i.e., portions of Ezra 1–6*; and finally fourth, the third-person account framing the memoirs of Ezra and Nehemiah (i.e., third-person passages in Ezra 7–10 and Neh 8–13.3).4 I deal with each of these in turn.

1. Nehemiah’s Memoir I begin with the first person account of Nehemiah, governor of Yehud in the mid 5th century. If it is genuine, it is perhaps the earliest of the writings which comprise our book. This narrative speaks very little of the temple,

4

For this division into sources and for the relative order of the sources, see the standard commentaries.

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but when it does, it appears to recognize the sacredness of the site (Neh 6.10–11): One day when I went into the house of Shemaiah son of Delaiah son of Mehetabel, who was confined [to his house], he said, ‘Let us meet together in the house of God, within the temple, and let us close the doors of the temple (the hekal), for they are coming to kill you; indeed, tonight they are coming to kill you.’ But I said, ‘Should a man like me flee? And could someone like me go into the temple and live? I will not go in!’

This text presupposes on the one hand that the temple was a place of asylum, from which Nehemiah could not be extracted, and in which he could not be harmed (cf. Exod 21.14, 1 Kgs 1.50–53; 2.28–34; Thucydides 4.98).5 This may mean that he believed that the temple’s inhabitant (i.e., Yhwh) would protect him when the doors of the hekal were closed. The text supposes on the other hand, however, that Nehemiah’s entrance into the temple would somehow lead to his death, that his entrance into the divine sphere would enrage Yhwh enough to kill him (cf. Ex 20.21; Isa 6.1– 5; 2 Chron 26.16–21).6 The text does not seem to imply that men would execute him; indeed, if any of Nehemiah’s opponents were guarding the temple, Shemaiah could not have suggested his seeking refuge there. Rather, the implication is that Nehemiah would be killed by God. 7 This suggests that its author, perhaps Nehemiah himself, believed that Yhwh dwelt in his temple and would be there during the night to defend it.

2. Ezra’s Memoir (Ezra 7.27–9.15) We turn now to the so-called Ezra memoir, the first person account in the book of Ezra. If genuine, and if the date given in Ezra 7.7; 8 is genuine, that is that an historical Ezra arrived in the seventh year of a king Artaxerxes, then in my opinion, it dates to the beginning of the 4th century, 398 BCE, the seventh year of Artaxerxes II. 8 In Ezra’s first-person account we read that after he and his entourage arrived in Jerusalem, Ezra handed

5 R IGSBY, Asylia. GREENFIELD, Asylum at Aleppo, finds the earliest reference of asylum to Aleppo as a city of refuge already in the mid-ninth century. Beyond this the earliest extra-biblical reference is in Herodotus (I.158–160), where Pactys is dragged out of a sanctuary of Athena. WRIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, 145–150 considers this whole passage (Neh 6.10–14) to be a late intrusion. 6 So, also, W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 249. 7 So, also, W ILLIAMSON, Ezra, Nehemiah, 259. 8 The controversy surrounding the relative dates of Ezra and Nehemiah is legion and is beyond the scope of the present paper.

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some sacred vessels over to the priests to be installed in the temple (Ezra 8.32–34): We came to Jerusalem and remained there three days. On the fourth day, within the house of our God, the silver, the gold, and the vessels were weighed into the hands of the priest Meremoth son of Uriah, and with him was Eleazar son of Phinehas, and with them were the Levites, Jozabad son of Jeshua and Noadiah son of Binnui. The total was counted and weighed, and the weight of everything was recorded.

One might interpret this as an indication that Yhwh has entered his temple, not that he existed in the form of the vessels, but rather that if he were allowing his vessels to enter the temple, he must have been willing to take up residence in it.9 Did the author of this text, whether the historical Ezra or not, actually view these particular vessels as pointing to Yhwh’s whereabouts, however? Clearly the author of Deutero-Isaiah connected the reality of the temple vessels with Yhwh’s physical presence (Isa 52.7–12): How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.’ Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy; for in plain sight they see Yhwh’s return to Zion. Break forth together into singing, you ruins of Jerusalem; for Yhwh has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. Yhwh has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations; and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God: Depart, depart, go out from there! Touch no unclean thing; go out from the midst of it, purify yourselves, you who carry Yhwh’s vessels. For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall not go in flight; for Yhwh will go before you, and the God of Israel will be your rear guard.

Second Isaiah speaks of the return to Zion under Cyrus, so the text assumes here that the priests were to carry the actual vessels which Nebuchadnezzar had confiscated from the first temple and had installed in the temple of Marduk in Babylon.10 This does not apply in the case of Ezra, however. Those vessels are explicitly stated not to have been from the first temple, but to have been donated to the temple by Artaxerxes, his ministers, and by the people of Israel who still remained in Babylon (Ezra 8.25). Most notably, moreover, the first person account stops after the items are delivered to the priests. According to the first person account, there is no celebration, no ceremony, and no cloud enters the temple. We have here a matter-of-fact retelling of events. Ezra delivers the items to the temple personnel, he collects 9

ACKROYD, The Temple Vessels, 45–60; KALIMI AND P URVIS, King Jehoiachin, 449– 457; FRIED, The Land Lay Desolate; HUROWITZ, The Vessels of Yhwh (Paper presented at the National Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, 2009). I thank Prof. Hurowitz for making his unpublished manuscript available to me. See also Bob Becking’s article in the present volume. 10 FRIED, Cyrus the Messiah?, 373–393.

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his receipt, and that is it. His first person account does not provide a sense that anything out of the ordinary has happened, and cannot inform us about whether or not its author considered God to have inhabited the temple. Ezra’s first person account continues in Ezra 9, with Ezra in mourning and in prayer. This too cannot inform us about whether the author assumed that God dwelled within the temple since we have seen that the Judeans of Elephantine also prayed to God in sackcloth and ashes even though they believed that God had abandoned it. Ezra’s first person account therefore gives no indication – yes or no – about whether its author assumed the presence or absence of the divine in the second temple.

3. The Construction of the Second Temple in Ezra 1–6 The third section to be examined consists of portions of Ezra 1–6 which deal with the construction of the temple: that is, chapters 1–6 minus the lists, the letters, and the stories narrating various attempts to prevent the temple from being built. I have previously compared this temple building story in Ezra 1–6 with that of typical temple building stories of the ancient Near East.11 These temple building stories adhere to a well-defined form which has been elucidated by the work of Victor Hurowitz, 12 and developed more recently in a handbook of temple building edited by Mark Boda and Jamie Novotny.13 The articles in the handbook show that ancient Near Eastern temple building stories follow a fixed template, which I have outlined in Column I of the following table. Elements of Temple-Building in Ancient Near Eastern Building Inscriptions and in Ezra 1–6 I. ANE A. Brief History – Why was the temple in ruins? B. The Decision to Build – The king receives a divine command, usually in the first year. C. Building materials are brought from the ends of the earth. 11

II. Ezra 1–6 Missing (or 2 Chronicles 36). In the first year of King Cyrus, Yhwh stirs up the spirit of Cyrus (Ezra 1.1–2).

Wood is brought from Lebanon and floated down to Yaffa (Ezra 3.7).

FRIED, The Land Lay Desolate, FRIED, Temple Building in Ezra-Nehemiah, 319–

338. 12 HUROWITZ, I Have Built You an Exalted House; HUROWITZ, Temporary Temples, 35–50; HUROWITZ., Solomon Built the Temple and Completed It, 281–302. 13 B ODA and NOVOTNY, From the Foundations to the Crenellations.

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D. Foundations are laid and the site is prepared. E. The temple is being built.

F. A ceremony for later building stages is held (e.g., the dedication of the altar).

G. The description of the completed temple and a statement that is has been built. H. The dedication ceremony of the finished building. I. The god enters his temple. J. Celebration to welcome the god into his temple.

K. Presentation of gifts and appointment of temple personnel. L. Prayer or Curses

II. Ezra 1–6 In the second year of their arrival in the second month…the builders lay the foundations of the temple of Yhwh (Ezra 3.10). It is being built of hewn stone, and timber is laid in the walls; this work is being done quickly and prospers in their hands. (Tattenai’s Letter; Ezra 5.8). In the seventh month, Jeshua and Zerubbabel set up the altar…and they offered burnt offerings upon it. They kept the festival of booths, as prescribed, and offered the daily burnt offerings by number according to the ordinance, as required for each day (Ezra 3.1–4). And this house was finished on the third day of the month of Adar in the 6 th year of Darius (Ezra 6.15).

The people celebrated the dedication with joy (Ezra 6.16). Missing They offered at the dedication of this house of God one hundred bulls, two hundred rams, four hundred lambs, and as a sin offering for all Israel, twelve male goats (Ezra 6.17). They set the priests in their divisions and the Levites in their courses for the service of God at Jerusalem (Ezra 6.18). If anyone alters this edict, a beam shall be pulled out of his house, he shall be impaled on it, and his house made a dunghill. May the god…overthrow any king or people that puts forth a hand to alter or to destroy this house of the god in Jerusalem (Darius’ Letter, Ezra 6.11–12).

The sequence of the elements of the second temple’s building story is presented in Column II of the Table. By and large, the ancient Near Eastern template is followed. There are a few discrepancies however. There is no description of how the temple came to be in ruins, a gap that is possibly filled by the end of 2 Chronicles. Element E, a description of the building process, and Element L, the final curse, are present not in the narrative, but in Tattenai’s and Darius’ letters, respectively. What we are completely missing, however, is element H, the element in which the god takes up residence in his temple. The story of the second temple’s dedication contains no statement that Yhwh has entered his house. Nor is there mention of the temple vessels that Sheshbazzar has brought with him from Babylon; they disappear from view. There is a celebration at the dedication of

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the temple, but nothing is brought into it which might symbolize the presence of the god. Why is that?14 This answer may be found in a further examination of the Table. It is clear that some of the elements are out of order. If we look at the order of the passages in Ezra as they appear in Column 2. We have first of all, the king’s decision to build: Ezra 1.1–2 (Element B). Then in 3.7 and 3.10 we have Elements C and D. Element E appears later in the text, and placed in the mouth of Tattenai. But then we notice that Element F, the dedication of the altar, which should be late, appears in Ezra 3.1–4, before the building materials are even gathered, before the temple’s foundations are ever laid. More startling is the fact that sacrifices are offered on it even before the temple is built.15 This is totally anomalous when compared to every other ancient Near Eastern temple building inscription and also when compared to what we have seen at Elephantine. In the ancient Near East, the temple was the place where the daily life of the gods was carried out. There they were washed, clothed, and fed their two meals daily, morning and evening.16 As we have seen, this notion of the god requiring his two daily meals is replicated in the Priestly portions of the biblical text. That passage expresses the same ideology of the divine as existed everywhere in the ancient Near East. Even as late as Malachi, we read that Yhwh complains that the people are offering him polluted food. 6

A son honors his father, and servants their master. If then I am a father, where is the honor due me? And if I am a master, where is the respect due me? says Yhwh of hosts to you, O priests, who despise my name. You say, ‘How have we despised your name?’

7 By offering polluted food on my altar. And you say, ‘How have we polluted it?’ By thinking that Yhwh’s table may be despised. 8 When you offer blind animals in sacrifice, is that not wrong? And when you offer those that are lame or sick, is that not wrong? Try presenting that to your governor; will he be pleased with you or show you favor? says Yhwh of hosts (Mal 1.6-8)

14 Hurowitz suggests that the author of Ezra 1–6 did not believe that God himself inhabited the temple, but only that he established his name there (HUROWITZ, The Vessels of Yhwh). 15 The Rabbis have a hard time understanding this and there is a long discussion of it in the Talmud. The rabbis state (Zevachim 62a) that special testimony was needed to authorize the bringing of these sacrifices. One of the three prophets who returned with them from the Babylonian exile must have testified that the sacrifices may be offered on the altar if it is on its original site even in the absence of the temple. Other rabbis suggest that curtains were set up along the projected boundaries of the temple wall, and that these stood in for the temple. 16 OPPENHEIM , Ancient Mesopotamia, 188; ANDERSON, Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings, 870–886; ANDERSON, Sacrifices and Offerings, 15.

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Yhwh compares himself to the Persian governor, as you would not offer polluted food to your governor, how can you offer it to your god? The parallel is informative. Food for the governor is equated with food for the god. It is difficult therefore to understand, against the background of the ancient Near East and Judean thought manifest elsewhere in the TaNaK and at Elephantine, how the altar could have been built before the temple, and how sacrifices could have been offered on it when there was as yet no god present in his temple to consume them. I. Temples in Greek Thought This apparent anomaly can be understood however against the background of Greek thought and the Greek cult. It is reasonable to look to the Greek period to understand this text. The final version of Ezra-Nehemiah could not have been completed before the conquest of Alexander, since the list of priests in Neh 12.22 is complete down to Darius the Persian, that is Darius III. 17 The text was likely finalized under the Ptolemies. Ancient Greeks prayed and made offerings to their gods in each god’s sanctuary, like other ancient peoples. Unlike in Mesopotamia and Egypt, however, the sanctuary most common throughout the ancient Greek world consisted simply of an altar with a surrounding fence marking out the temenos, the sacred district, with no temple present at all.18 There were sanctuaries which did include both temples and a statue of the god, of course, but there were only about twenty of these, compared to the thousands of the simpler kind consisting of an altar only. In fact, the altar was the only essential ingredient in the Greek cult, and sacrifice the only essential form of worship. The gods did not require a house to live in, rather, most lived in the sky or on Mount Olympus.19 On the occasion of a sacrifice, the worshipper would begin with a prayer inviting the god to enter the sanctuary and receive the offering. If a temple was built later, it would 17

VANDERKAM, Jewish High Priests, 67–91; FRIED, A Silver Coin of Yohanan, 65– 85, Pls. II-V. 18 MIKALSON, Ancient Greek Religion. 19 LEVINE, Lpny Yhwh, 259–269 discusses the Edomite open-air altar of Hurvat Qitmit, and compares it to the bamah of 1 Samuel 9. As Levine recognizes, both of these have buildings associated with them however, which may be assumed to house the god. Levine bases his discussion primarily on the open-air sanctuaries described in Genesis. At the time of his writing (1993), these texts were associated with the J and E writers, and dated to the monarchic period. Such an early dating is no longer maintained by scholars (see e.g., DOZEMAN AND SCHMID, A Farewell to the Yahwist?). Moreover, the comparison of these descriptions of isolated altars in Genesis with the typical Greek sanctuary may warrant a date for them later than the Priestly pentateuchal texts. An investigation into these matters is beyond the scope of the present article, however.

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have been built primarily to shelter the many votive offerings dedicated to the god, one such offering being perhaps a statue of the god himself, but it was not built to house the statue. The statues, moreover, were the work of famous artists, known by name, and were simply gifts in which the god delighted. He was not considered present in his statue; the statue was simply another, albeit more grandiose, offering to him. There was no rite like the ‘opening of the mouth ceremony’ to give life to the cult image, and because the god was not present in his statue, there was no ceremony to induct it into the temple.20 Nor were sacrifices conducted twice daily in the sanctuary to provide him with food, but only occasionally, as at his festival days, or at special times of the worshipper’s personal need or thanksgiving. II. Temple Building at Epidaurus The great temple of Asclepius at Epidaurus is typical, and the presence there of a large number of inscriptions which record the course of temple building enables us to understand the temple building process in the Greek world.21 The sanctuary of Asclepius was established toward the end of the sixth-century BCE at a site three-and-a-half miles west of the city of Epidaurus. The first step in establishing a cult in the Greek world, and the first step at Epidaurus, was to set up an altar to the god and to begin conducting sacrifices on it.22 The altar dedicated to Asclepius dates to the end of the sixth-century. 23 A plague broke out in Athens in 430 and again in 427, and this was likely when a roofed building was built east of the altar. It was closed on three sides, but open on the west facing the altar. It is thought that it contained an upper story on the three closed sides with galleries for the sick to sleep. It was not until around 375, however, that a decision was made to build a temple to Asclepius, and not until 370 that the foundations were laid.24 Thus, the altar was erected two and one-half centuries before there was any thought to building a temple. This is reminiscent of the temple building process described in Ezra 1– 6. First the altar and the sacrifices, then after a period of several years, the foundations for the temple are laid. I have suggested elsewhere that Ezra 1–6 was based on the second temple’s original building inscription but that Ezra 3.3, which mentions the altar and the morning and evening sacrifices, was moved from its original position at the end of the temple-building

20

B URKERT, Greek Religion, 91. B URFORD, The Greek Temple Builders at Epidauros. I thank B. A. Levine for calling this work to my attention. 22 B URFORD, The Greek Temple Builders at Epidauros, 47. 23 B URFORD, The Greek Temple Builders at Epidauros, 48–49. 24 B URFORD, The Greek Temple Builders at Epidauros, 54. 21

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process to its present location in the text.25 It might have been moved to make the description of the temple building process conform more directly to Greek religious customs, to the way a late author may have believed that sanctuaries were ‘supposed’ to be built. This together with the absence of any statement at all of any representation of the god entering the temple suggests that the author of Ezra 1–6 did not assume that Yhwh actually inhabited the temple or indeed that it was the temple’s purpose to house him. Rather, the arrangement of these passages reflects a Greek religious sensibility in which the gods, including Yhwh, lived in the sky. III. The Work of One Redactor in Ezra 7–Nehemiah 13 We come now to the final section of Ezra-Nehemiah to be discussed – some of the third-person passages in Ezra 7–Neh 13.26 I concentrate on the editor who wrote Ezra 7.1–10, that is, the author of the introduction to Ezra’s story and to the Letter of Artaxerxes and I ask if this author believed that God dwelled in the second temple. To begin with, our author provides Ezra with a priestly genealogy going back to Aaron, the first High Priest (Ezra 7.1–5); moreover, he makes him the son of Seraiah, high priest at the time of the Babylonian conquest. By making him the uncle of Jeshua, high priest of the time of Darius I, the biblical writer places him at the end of the sixth century, the time of the temple’s reconstruction. He thereby indicates that the story of Ezra in Ezra 7 is the direct continuation and the completion of the previous six chapters, with no time elapsing between them.27 To this author, the story told in Ezra 1–6 is not complete, and the story of the temple’s construction not finished, until Ezra’s arrival with the torah scroll.28 This author identifies Ezra as ʥʩʷʧʥ ʤʥʤʩʚʺʥʶʮ ʩʸʡʣ ʸʴʱ ʸʴʱ (Ezra 7.11b),29 ‘a sofer of the sefer of the words of the commandments of Yhwh 25

FRIED, The Land Lay Desolate. I accept the notion, put forth recently by P AKKALA, Ezra the Scribe, WRIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, and others that Ezra-Nehemiah is the product of many editors and can be correctly described as a ‘rolling corpus’ with successive modifications across dozens of years. 27 Ezra is said to leave Babylon on the first day of the first month of the king’s seventh year (Ezra 7.7–9), so that he leaves immediately after the temple is completed in the twelfth month of that king’s sixth year (as described in Ezra 6.15). As Rashi states (ad loc.), no doubt also expressing the thought of the biblical writer writing in the Greek period, ‘Artaxerxes was the throne name of every Persian king,’ so that the seventh year of this Artaxerxes is the seventh year of Darius. 28 If the first six chapters originally told of Sheshbazzar’s vessels being deposited in the temple or of smoke filling it, this author may have been the one who removed those references. 29 Revocalizing ʸʴʱ with ESKENAZI, In an Age of Prose, 75. 26

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and his laws.’ Ezra is therefore a sofer, a secretary, but not a temple secretary like Shaphan was (2 Kgs 22.3), nor a prophet’s secretary, like Baruch was (Jer 36.4), but rather Ezra’s master is a book, the book of the words of the commandments of Yhwh.30 This fusion of the book and Ezra’s scribal activities implies that wherever Ezra is as scribe, so also is the book whose scribe he is. Our author’s attitude toward Ezra and toward the torah is further revealed in Ezra 7.10: ʨʴʹʮʥʷʧʬʠʸʹʩʡʣʮʬʬʥʺʹʲʬʥʤʥʤʩʺʸʥʺʚʺʠʹʥʸʣʬʥʡʡʬʯʩʫʤʠʸʦʲʩʫ For Ezra had set his heart to seek an oracle from the torah of Yhwh, and to do it, and to teach the statutes and ordinances in Israel.

In Ezra 7.10, the verb ʹʥʸʣʬ lidrosh, is used, the word commonly employed to indicate inquiry of an oracle. The infinitival qal construct of lidrosh occurs 36 times in the Hebrew Bible and in all but three instances it is used to denote the act of seeking an oracle from a god, either directly or by means of a medium or prophet.31 One of these three instances is this passage, where an oracle is sought from a text. The torah scroll has thus become an oracular device,32 a medium through which God may be accessed. Ezra 7.10 looks forward to Neh 8.1 in which Ezra the sofer brings the sefer, the book of the Law of Moses, and reads it to the people assembled before him in Jerusalem. Ezra 7.6

ʬʡʡʮʤʬʲʠʸʦʲʠʥʤ ʸʩʤʮʸʴʱʚʠʥʤʥ ʤʹʮʺʸʥʺʡ ʬʠʸʹʩʩʤʬʠʤʥʤʩʯʺʰʚʸʹʠ This Ezra went up from Babylon He was a skilled scribe Of the Torah of Moses that Yhwh the god of Israel gave 30

Neh 8.1

ʸʴʱʤʠʸʦʲ ʤʹʮʺʸʥʺʸʴʱ ʬʠʸʹʩʚʺʠʤʥʤʩʤʥʶʚʸʹʠ Ezra the scribe Scribe of the Torah of Moses That Yhwh commanded Israel

ESKENAZI, In an Age of Prose, 74–76. A second time occurs in Ezra 10.16, in which inquiry is made by the judges to determine who has married foreign women. A third time occurs in Deut 22.2 when someone comes to inquire after a lost object, but the use of the term ʹʥʸʣ may imply that inquiry occurs by divination. The term is used most often to refer to seeking an oracle from other gods (e.g., Ex 18.15; Deut 12.30), from the dead (e.g., Deut 18.11; Isa 8.19), from a seer (e.g., 1 Sam 9.9), from a medium (e.g., 1 Sam 28.7; Isa 8.19), or from a prophet of Yhwh (e.g., 1 Kgs 22.8; Ezek 20.3). 32 FISHBANE, Biblical Interpretation, 245 and VAN DER TOORN, The Iconic Book. 31

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As shown in the chart, Nehemiah 8.1 has striking similarities with Ezra 7.6, so that Nehemiah 8.1 may be considered to stem from the primary author of Ezra 7.1–10.33 Nehemiah 8.1 continues in Neh 8.2. These two verses are the first in Ezra-Nehemiah actually to portray Ezra teaching the laws and commandments in Israel, and so they both continue the thought of 7.10. Moreover, Ezra is described there first as priest (8.1) and then as scribe (8.2), following the order of titles in Ezra 7. This author’s work likely continues with Neh 8.5–6, which describes the ceremony in which Ezra lifts the torah, blesses God, the people stand, and then bow, worshipping Yhwh, their noses to the ground. ʤʥʤʩʚʺʠʠʸʦʲʪʸʡʩʥ ʭʲʤʚʬʫʥʣʮʲʥʧʺʴʫʥʤʩʤʭʲʤʚʬʫʬʲʮʚʩʫʭʲʤʚʬʫʩʰʩʲʬʸʴʱʤʠʸʦʲʧʺʴʩʥ ʤʶʸʠʭʩʴʠʤʥʤʩʬʥʧʺʹʩʥʥʣʷʩʥʭʤʩʣʩʬʲʮʡʯʮʠʯʮʠʭʲʤʚʬʫʥʰʲʩʥʬʥʣʢʤʭʩʤʬʠʤ And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was standing above all the people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. Then Ezra blessed Yhwh, the great God, and all the people answered, ‘Amen, Amen,’ lifting up their hands. Then they bowed their heads and worshiped Yhwh with their noses to the ground.

The verb ʥʧʺʹʩƐto bow down’ is used numerous times in the Hebrew Bible, often to denote respect, for example, David bows down before King Saul (1 Sam 24.9). However, it is also the very action that Moses takes when Yhwh stands before him on Mt. Sinai (Ex 34.8), and that Balaam makes before the angel of Yhwh (Num 22.31). It is thus a reaction to the presence of the divine. This is the only time in the Hebrew Bible that people are shown bowing down before a text, however, and here too it conveys more than simple respect. The ceremony described in Nehemiah 8 in which the people bow down before the torah scroll when Ezra lifts it up suggests that at this point the torah scroll has become more than a simple piece of writing, more than a simple wisdom text. It has been exalted into the physical sign of Yhwh himself.34 Here too, as in Ezra 7.10, the torah scroll has become a manifestation or an epiphany of the god Yhwh, and a medium through which God may be accessed (Neh 8.1–2, 5–6). Our author’s passage ends there with the torah reading and the people prostrate. The rest of the chapter having been added by Levitical writers intent on giving a role to the Levites.35 According to our author then, the author of Ezra 7.1–10*, Neh 8.1–2, 5–6, the people are still in the square. Ignoring the Levitical passages, Neh 8.1–2, 5–6 continue in 8.13 with the priests and the Levites coming to Ezra’s house to study the words of 33

So also PAKKALA, Ezra the Scribe, 177. NIDITCH, Oral World and Written Word, 106. 35 In agreement with Pakkala, Neh 8.12b belongs with 7, 8, 9b, and 11 as later Levitical expansions to the original chapter (P AKKALA, Ezra the Scribe, 151). They were told to rejoice in 8.9c because the day was holy to Yhwh, not because the words of the text had been explained to them. 34

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the law. This text too cannot be assigned to the author of Ezra 7.10, even though at first glance it would seem that it could. Ezra 7.10 and Neh 8.13 are compared below: Ezra 7.10

Neh 8.13

ʥʡʡʬʯʩʫʤʠʸʦʲʩʫ ʤʥʤʩʺʸʥʺʚʺʠʹʥʸʣʬ ʨʴʹʮʥʷʧʬʠʸʹʩʡʣʮʬʬʥʺʹʲʬʥ

ʭʲʤʚʬʫʬʺʥʡʠʤʩʹʠʸʥʴʱʠʰʩʰʹʤʭʥʩʡʥ ʸʴʱʤʠʸʦʲʚʬʠʭʩʥʬʤʥʭʩʰʤʫʤ ʤʸʥʺʤʩʸʡʣʚʬʠʬʩʫʹʤʬʥ

For Ezra had set his heart to seek an oracle from the Torah of Yhwh, and to do it, and to teach the statutes and ordinances in Israel.

All the people, with the priests and the Levites, came together to the scribe Ezra in order to study the words of the Torah

The difference in wording strongly suggests that these were not written by the same writer. The view expressed in Nehemiah 8.13 is more like that expressed in Josh 1.8, in which the torah is simply a book of wisdom to be studied, not an oracular device, or locus of the divine, to be consulted. Nehemiah 8.13 is thus not by the same author who described the torah reading, and does not continue that author’s work.36 The presence of the Levites in Neh 8.13 suggests that it was written by the Levitical writer who added Neh 8.7–12. Where may we pick up our author again? Not in Neh 9. Our passage in Neh 8.1–6 ends with all the people still in the square before the water gate. They do not need to be gathered again, as is stated in Neh 9.1. It is also unlikely that it continues in Ezra 9. Ezra 9 is in first person whereas Nehemiah 8 is in third person. Ezra 10 is in the third person, but it very clearly knows and follows upon Ezra 9.37 Moreover, in Ezra 10, Ezra is in front of the temple (10.1, 6), whereas in Neh 8.1–6 Ezra is in the square before the Water Gate. If we want to find the continuation of the work of the author of Ezra 7.1–10* and of Neh 8.1–2, 5–6, we need to search the book of Nehemiah for a third-person narrative that includes Ezra. We next meet Ezra, of course, in the ceremony in which Nehemiah’s city wall is dedicated (Neh. 12.36) and scholars agree that his name has been interpolated into Nehemiah’s first person account.38 Can the interpolation of Ezra’s name be attributed to our author?

36 P AKKALA, Ezra the Scribe, 156, too finds in Neh 8.13–18, the entire remainder of the chapter, an expansion by a second writer. 37 T ALSHIR, The Holy Seed, 86–110; pace P AKKALA, Ezra the Scribe, 167–170. 38 W RIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, 280–284 argues for the interpolation of Nehemiah’s words into an earlier third-person account.

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Nehemiah’s first-person account of the dedication of the wall in 12.31– 43* is prefaced by a third-person account describing the preparations for the ceremony (Neh 12.27–30). Since this third-person account begins with the Levites being recalled to Jerusalem from all the places to which they had scattered, this is the continuation of the Levitical portions of Nehe 8.7–12, in which the Levites play a prominent role, and in which the people were said to go on their way, eating, drinking and making merry (Neh 8.12). I suggest that the work of our author continues immediately after the torah reading (Neh 8.1–2, 5–6), while the people were still in the square, with the verse ‘then the priests…purified themselves; and they purified the people and the gates and the wall’ (Neh 12.30). According to our author, immediately after the torah reading, while the people were all there prostrate before the water gate, the priests (without the Levites) purified themselves and the people, as well as the gates and the wall.39 The dedication itself consists of two thanksgiving processions in which the purified people go around the top of the purified city wall in two directions and they meet within the temple, the house of God (Neh 12.40). ʭʩʤʬʠʤʺʩʡʡʺʣʥʺʤʩʺʹʤʰʣʮʲʺʥ So the two thanksgiving companies stood in the house of God.

There they offer sacrifices and rejoice, with music and singing, women and children with them (12.43). God had caused them to rejoice. These sacrifices and celebrations form the climax of Ezra-Nehemiah. Commentators generally agree that the processions begin at the Valley Gate since it is the only one not mentioned.40 A statement to this effect is missing, however. It may have been omitted by our author to imply that the processions started at the Water Gate where they still were when Ezra’s law reading ended. The purpose of purification rituals was always to enable a person to enter sacred space. In Lev 12.4 a woman is purified after her period so that she may enter the sanctuary. In Genesis 35, Jacob purifies himself and his household in order to go to Bethel and build an altar (Gen 35.2, 3). According to Num 8, the Levites must be purified before they can enter the Tabernacle and serve Yhwh; and according to the Chronicler (2 Chron 29.12–19), the temple had to be purified after Ahab’s desecrations, in order for it to be usable again, presumably in order for Yhwh to inhabit it. Thus too, here in Nehemiah 12, the people are being purified in order to enter the temple’s sacred space (Neh 12.40). 39 All of 9.1–12.29 is a later intrusion. For the reason for the present arrangement of the chapters and for the location of Ezra’s torah reading in the book of Nehemiah see FRIED, Who Wrote Ezra-Nehemiah, 75–97. 40 E.g., W ILLIAMSON Ezra, Nehemiah, 373; B LENKINSOPP, Ezra-Nehemiah; W RIGHT, Rebuilding Identity, 283.

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But what exactly is being celebrated here? Is it just the completion of the wall? If so, why does the procession not just simply conclude with the two groups meeting on the other side of the wall from where they began, showing that the wall was now complete? Why does one group stop at the Water Gate (12.37) and the second at the Sheep Gate (12.39) so that area between them is not included in the procession? Why do they end inside the house of God? I suggest that according to our author (whose writing begins in 12.30), it is not the dedication of the wall that is being celebrated here, but the dedication of the temple itself that had been postponed from Ezra 6. The wall forms the boundary between the sacred city which houses the temple and the profane world outside of it, but even so, why would the wall itself need to be purified? The wall itself is not sacred. Purification of the city wall is unique in the biblical text,41 but there are parallels of sorts both in the ancient Near East and in the Bible. Hurowitz reminds us that during Nabonidus’ dedication of Shamash’s temple Ebabbar, Nabonidus drenches the door posts, the locks, bolts and door leaves with oil in preparation for the entry of the god.42 The door posts, locks, bolts and door leaves I drenched with oil and for the entry of their exalted divinity I made the contents of the temple full of sweet fragrance. The Temple, for the entry of Shamash my lord, its gates were wide open and it was full of joy (Nabonidus #6, col II: 13–15).

The anointing ritual allows the god Shamash to pass from the area of the profane into the area of the sacred. This is reminiscent of a passage in the biblical text, which describes the ark being brought up from the house of Obed-Edom into Jerusalem. The way before the ark was purified by the repeated sacrifice of an ox and a lamb (2 Sam 6.12–13). We do not know how Jerusalem’s city walls were purified or with what, whether it was by oil, blood, by sacrifices, or by water in which the ashes of the red heifer were mixed (all of these are mentioned in biblical purification rites), but whatever the method, the text suggests that the way was being paved for the god to enter his temple. The purified people leave the area of the profane in front of the Water Gate, walk upon the wall, and enter the house of God. I suggest that according to our author, Ezra, the sofer of the book of the words of the commandments of Yhwh, is still carrying the torah from when he read it to the populace (since for this author they have never left the square), and that Ezra carries it while he walks upon the wall, that he carries it while he walks into the temple, that he carries it into the temple, 41

ESKENAZI, In an Age of Prose, 120. LANGDON, Die Neubabylonischen Königsinschriften, 258, apud H UROWITZ, I Have Built You an Exalted House, 278. 42

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and that he installs it in its place.43 This is why the city-wall itself had to be pure, because Ezra, bearing the Torah, the physical manifestation of Yhwh’s presence, walked upon it. The rabbis knew the tradition that Ezra’s torah was kept in the temple. They also knew that it would defile the hands if taken out, implying a tradition of a sacred contagion conveyed not by the meaning of the laws and commandments, but a contagion inherent in the physical scroll itself, a physical contagion dangerous to all but the high priests to whom, according to Josephus, it was entrusted.44 ʭʠʩʡʰ ʥʬʩʴʠ ʠʬʠ ʣʡʬʡ ʠʸʦʲ ʸʴʱ ʠʬʥ ʭʩʣʩʤ ʺʠ ʠʮʨʮ ʹʣʷʮʤ ʺʩʡ  ʵʥʧʬ ʠʶʩʹ ʠʸʦʲ ʸʴʱ ʭʩʹʮʥʧʥ The book of Ezra when taken out (of the temple) defiles the hands, and not only the book 45 of Ezra, but also the Prophets and the Five Books (of the Writings?) (m.Kel. 15.6).

That this scroll had indeed become an oracular device, and the manifestation of Yhwh himself, is exemplified in 1 Maccabees in which Judah Maccabee rescues the torah from the defiled temple, and consults it in order to inquire into those matters about which the Gentiles consult their gods: Then they gathered together and went to Mizpah, opposite Jerusalem, because Israel formerly had a place of prayer in Mizpah. They fasted that day, put on sackcloth and sprinkled ashes on their heads, and tore their clothes. And they opened the book of the law to inquire into those matters about which the Gentiles consulted their idols (țĮ੿ ਥȟİʌ੼IJĮıĮȞ IJઁ ȕȚȕȜ઀ȠȞ IJȠ૨ ȞંȝȠȣ ʌİȡ੿ ੰȞ ਥȟȘȡİ઄ȞȦȞ IJ੹ ਩șȞȘ IJ੹ ੒ȝȠȚઆȝĮIJĮ IJ૵Ȟ İੁįઆȜȦȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ) (1 Macc 3.46–48).

Bibliography ACKROYD, P. R., The Temple Vessels: A Continuity Theme, in: Studies in the Religious Tradition of the Old Testament, ed. Idem, London 1987, 45–60 ANDERSON, G. A., Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings, in: Anchor Bible Dictionary 6, ed. D. N. Freedman, New York 1992, 870–886 — Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in Their Social and Political Importance (HSM 41), Atlanta 1987 B ARTON, J., The Spirit and the Letter: Studies in the Biblical Canon, London 1997 B LENKINSOPP, J., Ezra-Nehemiah. A Commentary (OTL), Philadelphia 1988 B ODA, M. J., and J. R. NOVOTNY (eds), From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible (AOAT 366), Münster 2010 43

Josephus reports that torah scrolls were laid up in the temple (Ant.3.38; 5.61). Josephus, Contra Apion 1.29; B ARTON, The Spirit and the Letter, 108–121; GOODMAN, Sacred Scripture and ‘Defiling the Hands’, 99–107; LIM, The Defilement of the Hands, 501–515. 45 Quoted from M. GOODMAN, Sacred Scripture, 102. 44

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B URFORD, A., The Greek Temple Builders at Epidauros: A Social and Economic Study of Building in the Asklepian Sanctuary During the Fourth and Early Third Centuries B. C. (Liverpool Monographs in Archaeology and Oriental Studies), Liverpool 1969 B URKERT, W., Greek Religion, trans. John Raffan, Cambridge, Mass. 1985 DOZEMAN, T. B., and K. SCHMID (eds), A Farewell to the Yahwist? The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation (SBLSS 34), Atlanta 2006 ESKENAZI, T. C., In an Age of Prose: A Literary Approach to Ezra-Nehemiah, Atlanta 1988 F ISHBANE, M., Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, Oxford 1985 FRIED, L. S., A Silver Coin of Yohanan Hakkôhen, Transeuphratène 26 (2003) 65–85 — Cyrus the Messiah? The Historical Background of Isaiah 45:1, HTR 95 (2002) 373– 393 — Temple Building in Ezra-Nehemiah, in: From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible (AOAT 366), ed. M. J. Boda and J. R. Novotny, Münster 2010, 319–338 — The Land Lay Desolate: Conquest and Restoration in the Ancient Near East, in: Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp, Winona Lake 2003, 21–54 — Who Wrote Ezra-Nehemiah – and Why Did They?, in: Unity and Disunity in EzraNehemiah: Redaction, Rhetoric, and Reader (Hebrew Bible Monographs 17), ed. M. J. Boda and P. L. Redditt, Sheffield 2008, 75–97 GOODMAN, M., Sacred Scripture and ‘Defiling the Hands’, JTS 41 (1990) 99–107 HUROWITZ, V. A., I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOT.S 115), Sheffield 1992 — ‘Solomon Built the Temple and Completed It’: Building the First Temple According to the Book of Kings, in: From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible (AOAT 366), ed. M. J. Boda and J. Novotny, Münster 2010, 281–302 — Temporary Temples, in: Kinattutu Ša Darâti: Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume, ed. A. F. Rainey, Tel Aviv 1993, 35–50 — The Vessels of Yhwh and the Debate Over the Divine Presence in the Second Temple – Downgrading a Divine Symbol, Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Washington, 2009 KALIMI, I. AND J. D. P URVIS, King Jehoiachin and the Vessels of the Lord’s House in Biblical Literature, CBQ 56 (1994) 449–457 LANGDON, S., Die Neubabylonischen Königsinschriften (VAB 4), trans. R. Zehnpfund, Leipzig 1912 LEVINE, B. A., Lpny Yhwh – Phenomenology of the Open-Air Altar in Biblical Israel, in: In Pursuit of Meaning: Collected Studies of Baruch A. Levine, vol. 1, ed. A. D. Gross, Winona Lake 2011, 259–269 LIM, T. H., The Defilement of the Hands as a Principle Determining the Holiness of Scriptures, JTS 61 (2010) 501–515 MARGUERON, J.-C., Mesopotamian Temples, in: The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East 5, ed. E. M. Meyers, Oxford 1997, 165 M IKALSON, J. D., Ancient Greek Religion (Blackwell Ancient Religions 2), Chichester, West Sussex 2010 N IDITCH, S., Oral World and Written Word: Ancient Israelite Literature, Louisville 1996 OPPENHEIM, A. L., Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization, Chicago 19772

300

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P AKKALA, J., Ezra the Scribe: The Development of Ezra 7–10 and Nehemiah 8 (BZAW 347), Berlin 2004 R IGSBY, K. J., Asylia: Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenic World, Berkeley 1996 GREENFIELD, J. C., Asylum at Aleppo: A Note on Sfire III, 4–7, in: Ah, Assyria... Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33), ed. M. Cogen and I. Eph’al, Jerusalem 1991, 272–278 T ALSHIR, Z., The Holy Seed – It Did not Exist and Was not Created: Yonina Dor: Did They Really Divorce Their Foreign Wives?, Catharsis 10 (2009) 86–110 (in Hebrew) VANDERKAM, J. C., Jewish High Priests of the Persian Period: Is the List Complete? in: Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (JSOT.S 125), ed. G. A. Anderson and S. M. Olyan, Sheffield 1991, 67–91 VAN DER T OORN, K., The Iconic Book: Analogies between the Babylonian Cult Image and the Veneration of Torah, in: The Image and the Book; Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET 21), ed. K. van der Toorn, Leuven, 1997, 229–248 W ILLIAMSON, H. G. M., Ezra, Nehemia (WBC 16), Waco 1985 WRIGHT, J. L., Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah-Memoir and Its Earliest Readers (BZAW 348), Berlin 2004

Contributors

CLAUS AMBOS Heisenberg Stipendiat, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen BOB BECKING Professor for Old Testament Study, Utrecht University ANGELIKA BERLEJUNG Professorin für Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, Universität Leipzig, and Professor for Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the University of Stellenbosch JOEL S. BURNETT Director, Institute for Biblical and Related Languages and Professor of Religion, Baylor University STEPHEN L. COOK Catherine N. McBurney Professor of Old Testament Language and Literature, Virginia Theological Seminary MICHAEL EMMENDÖRFFER Studienleiter und Geschäftsführer im Evangelisches Studienhaus und Dozent für Bibelkunde, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen LISBETH S. FRIED Visiting Scholar, University of Michigan TREVOR HART Rector of St Andrew’s Episcopal Church, St Andrews, and Honorary Professor of Divinity, University of St Andrews NATHAN MACDONALD University Lecturer in Hebrew Bible, Cambridge University, Fellow of St John’s College, Cambridge, and Leader of the Sofja-Kovalevskaja Research Team, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen

302

Contributors

J ILL MIDDLEMAS Research Associate, University of Zurich WILLIAM A. TOOMAN Senior Lecturer in Hebrew Bible, University of St Andrews JOHANNES ZACHHUBER Reader in Theology, University of Oxford, and Fellow and Tutor in Theology at Trinity College, Oxford

Scripture Index Genesis 1–9 1.26 2–3 2 2.7 2.17 2.16–17 2.19 3 3.3–5 3.4 3.22 5.22 5.24 6.3 6.17 7.22 12.2 12.7–8 13.4 13.18 17.1 17.7 17.8 18.1 21.33 26.23–25 28.4 28.17 28.23 32.25–31 32.29 32.30 32.31 35.2 35.3 42.21 43.14

Exodus 101 101 241 114 101 241 241 132 241 241 241 241 161 161 101 101 101 168 145 145 145 230 167 169 145 145 145 168 239 230 239 139, 146 124, 131, 146 130 296 296 132 230

3.4 3.13 3.14 3.15 6 13 13.9 13.16 15 15.8 15.10 16 18 18.5 19.19 19.21 20 20.18 20.21 20.22–24 20.22 20.23–24 20.24 21.13–14 21.14 23.13 23.20 23.21 25.8 28.29–30 28.38 29.45–46 32 32.4 32.8 33 33.2–3 33.3 33.5 33.9 33.11

123, 129 139 133, 139 143 260 85 84 83–84 234 99 99 84 104 293 132 130 143 132 286 145 129 143 129, 143–145 144 286 144 144 145 161 83 84 161 185, 233–234 233 233 123, 140, 144 139 128 128 139 132

304 33.12–34.9 33.12 33.15 33.12–17 33.16 33.17 33.18–23 33.18 33.19 33.20–23 33.20 33.22 33.23 34 34.5–6 34.6–7 34.8 34.9 40.35

Scripture Index 123 139 128 123 128–129 139 123 124, 139 133, 139, 144–145 131 130 139 135 123, 144 145 140 139, 294 123 283

Leviticus 12.4 17.3–7 18.21 19.12 20.3 21.6 22.2 22.32 25.18 25.19 25.24 25.26 25.29 25.31 25.32 25.48 25.51 25.52 26 26.3 26.4–6 26.5 26.6 26.11–12 26.12–13 26.12 26.17 26.20

296 125 172 172 172 172 172 172 172 172 160 160 160 160 160 160 160 160 167–169, 173, 175 167–168 166 172 172 161, 169 166 161 172–173 166

26.22 26.25 26.34 26.36 26.38 26.39 26.40–45 26.40 26.41 26.44 26.45

166–167 173 172 172 172 172 164 172 172 172 172

Numbers 1.5 1.12 6 6.24–25a 6.24–26 11 11.2 11.17 11.19 11.25–26 11.25 11.26–29 11.29 14 16.22 22–24 22 22.5 22.9 22.20 22.31 23.7 23.9 23.22 23.24 24.4 24.8 24.10 24.14 24.16 24.17–19 25.12 27 27.16 27.17

230 230 258 80 80 99–100, 104, 108–109, 112, 134 112 104, 134 174 112 109, 174 134 110, 134, 174 176 101 229–230 233 231 232 232 294 232 231 233 231 230 233 134 231 230 231 167 104 101, 104 104

Scripture Index 27.18 27.21 28.2

104 104 283

Deuteronomy 1 1.6–18 1.9–18 1.12–17 1.16 1.39 2.5 2.7 2.9 2.19–22 4 4.7 4.10 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.15 4.19 4.24 4.33 4.35 4.35–37 4.36 4.37 4.39 4.45 5 5.4 5.5–6 5.9–10 5.11 5.22 5.24–26 5.24 5.26 5.27 5.30 5.31 6 6.4–5 6.4–11 6.4 6.6 6.7

104 126 112 134 126 241 132 122 132 132 131, 135 122, 129, 145 129, 141, 146 135 130, 132 131 130, 132 248 129 123–124, 128–130 131, 133 131, 133 122–124, 129 122, 124, 131, 133 129 85 84 132 145 140 142 131 131 123, 128, 130–132 128, 130–131 131 141 131 85–88 84–85, 88 84 140 84 82

6.8 6.4–9 6.6–9 6.10–15 6.10–25 6.15 6.20–25 6.20 7.6 7.9 7.21 7.24 8.7–10 9.3 9.10 10.4 10.8 10.9 10.14 11.12 11.18 12 12–26 12.1–26.15 12.2 12.3 12.5 12.7 12.11 12.12 12.13–15 12.13 12.14 12.15 12.16 12.18 12.19 12.20–22 12.21 12.23–25 12.27 12.29–32 12.30 13 14.23–24 14.23

305 83–84 82–83, 86, 88 68, 80, 82–83, 85, 88 84 84 128–129 84 84 140 80–81 122 136 129 122, 129 131 131 129 126 132 129 83–84 123–128, 136, 139–140, 142, 144–145 83–85, 124 124 125, 136 136, 138, 144 121, 128, 138, 140, 142, 144 122, 129, 143, 145–146 140 122, 126–127, 129, 143, 145–146 143 125 143 126, 143 126 122, 126, 129, 143, 145–146 126 126 126, 140, 143 126 126, 143 125 293 116 140 122, 141, 146

306 14.26 15.20 16.2 16.5–6 16.5 16.6 16.7 16.11 16.16 17.10–11 18 18.1–8 18.7 18.11 18.15–19 18.15 19.17 20.1 20.19–20 21.17 22.2 23.1–3 23.8 23.14 23.24 25.19 26.2 26.5 26.10 26.13 26.15 26.19 27.4–8 27.8 29.10 29.14 29.25 30.14 31–32 31.3 31.9–13 31.17 31.18 32.8–9 32.17 32.20 32.51 33 33.10 31.11

Scripture Index 122, 146 122, 146 140 141 125 140 141 122, 140, 146 129, 146 130 106, 134 147 122, 129 293 134, 139 136 129 122 132 106 293 141 141 122, 147 82 136 140 129 129 129 129, 131, 135 132 146 137 129 129 248 135 173 122, 131 137 173 173 245, 247 230 173 172 147 130 129

31.17 31.18 32.20 33.12 33.16 33.19 33.28 34.9 34.10–12 34.10

172 172 172 141 123 147 129 104 104 132

Joshua 1.8 8.34–35 9.27 13.14 23.7

295 137 147 127 144

Judges 2.11–19 2.18 3.10 5.4–5 6.22–23 6.22 6.24–27 6.34 7–8 8.4–9 8.16–17 11.29 13.15–20 13.17–18 13.22–23 13.22 13.25 14.6 14.19 15.14 18.30

105 105 100, 105, 134 130 124 131 125 100, 134 104 239 239 100, 105 125 139, 146 124 131 105 100, 105 100, 105 100, 105 127

1 Samuel 4.3–4 4.4 4.8 7.2 7.17 9

147 190 233 284 125 290

307

Scripture Index 9.6–10 9.9 10 10.5–6 10.5 10.6 10.9 10.10–13 10.10 10.13 11.6 14.31–35 16 16.7 16.13 16.14 19 19.18–24 19.20–24 19.20 19.23 24.9 26.19 28.7

230 293 109 105–106 125 100 105 105–106, 108 100 125 100, 105–106, 134 125 106 105 100, 106 106 109 106, 108–109 101 100 100, 106 294 160 293

2 Samuel 5.2 6.2 6.12–13 7 7.29–40 10.12 18.18 19.36 23.3 24.11

104 190 297 131, 258, 261 261–262 232 142, 144–145 241 82 230

1 Kings 1.50–53 2.28–34 3.4 6–8 8 8.10–11 8.12–26 8.12–62 8.23 8.25

286 286 125 189 142 283 131 141 142 142

8.27–62 8.28 8.30 8.33 8.35 8.39 8.41–43 8.43 8.49 8.60 12 12.28 17.18–24 18.12 18.23–24 18.30 18.46 19.5 19.7 19.9 19.11 19.11–12 19.12 19.13 22 22.23 22.38

131 142 131 142 142 131 132 131 131 132 188, 233–234 233 230 100–101 145 125 103 139 139 139 129, 139 139–140 130–131, 139 130, 139 102, 106 174 106

2 Kings 2 2.9 2.15 2.16 3.15 5.17–19 17.13 19.7 22.3 22.8 23.2–3 23.8 25.5 25.13–17 32.21

106 106 106 100–101, 112 103 160 230 174 293 124, 293 137 125 230 271 146

Isaiah 1–39 1.3

112 241

308 2.1–4 2.2 2.6–8 3.13 4 4.1–6 4.2 4.4–6 4.4 5.13–14 6 6.1–5 7.15–16 8.17 8.19 8.22 10.32 11 11.1–5 11.1–11 11.3–5 11.6–8 11.10 13.6 14 19.14 24.17–23 24.19–20 24.19 24.20 24.23 25.4 26.8 28 28.5–6 28.6 29.9 29.10 29.13–21 29.13 29.14 29.15 29.16 29.18 29.20 29.21 29.22 30.27 31.3 31.4

Scripture Index 113 165 185 246 113 112 112 113 112 241 190 286 241 173 293 241 165 111–112 111 104 111 111 111 230 232 112 241–243 243 240 243 243 112 142–143 113 112–113 112 241 112 238 238 238 241 238 238, 241 238 238 171, 241 145 99 165

32 32.1–2 32.9–14 32.15–20 32.15 32.16–17 37.7 38.9 40–55 40.1–2 40.3 40.8 40.19–20 41.6–7 41.29 41.21–24 42 42.1–4 42.1 42.3 42.16 43.19 44.1–5 44.3 44.9–20 48.1 48.16 49 49.9 49.11 51.17 51.22 52.7–12 52.8 52.11 53.10 54.7–10 54.8 54.9–10 55.11 57.14 59.2 59.20 59.21 60.1–63.6 61 61.1–3 61.1 63.7–64.11 63.10–14

113 112 112 112 111–112 112 174 219 113 275 275 110 187 187 99 241 113 111 111, 113, 174 101 275 275 111 111, 191 187 144 111 113 275 275 239 239 286 275 272 110 167 173 167 110 275 173 110 110–111 248 113 111, 113 111, 113 248 96

Scripture Index 66 66.20 66.22

190 110 110

Jeremiah 1.16 2.20–28 2.22 2.27–28 3.16 4.22 4.23–26 7.1–8.3 7.4 7.12 7.30 10.1–6 10.3–5 10.8–9 11.10–13 11.14–15 11.19 17.1 23.1–8 26.18 27.16 27.18 27.21 28.3 28.6 29.23 30–31 31.21 32.7–8 32.34 33.5 33.24 35.19 36.4 50.2 50.6–7 51.17–18 52.17–23

185, 187 185 220 187 190 241 241 185 140 134, 147 185 187 147, 187, 277 187 185 187 144 84 169 262 271 271 271 271 271 82 274 275 160 185 173 132 129 293 187 165 187 271

Ezekiel 1–3 1–7 1–24

154, 156, 158, 189 152 152–153, 157

1–36.23 1 1–39 1.1–11.24 1.1 1.4 1.5–28 1.12 1.20 1.21 1.26–27 1.26 1.27 1.28 2–3 2.2 2.3–7 2.3 2.8 3 3.4 3.4–6 3.4–11 3.7 3.12 3.14 3.16–21 3.16–27 3.22–27 3.22 3.23 3.24 4–5 4.13 4.14–15 5.2 5.4 5.5–17 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.13 6.1–10 6.1–14 6.3 6.8–9 6.8–10 6.8 6.9 6.12

309 157 155–156, 164 175 178 158 158 190 158 158 158 193 192–193, 201, 203 192–193, 201 156, 192–193, 201 155, 178 103, 158 178 162 176 154 82 154 178 162 100–101, 103, 156, 158 100, 103, 158, 176 153–154 153 152–154 103, 156 156 158 154 162 152 158 162 152 158 161, 187 158 101, 159–160 154 153 114, 165 159–160 152 162 162 162

310 6.13 6.17 7.8 7.15 8–11 8–19 8.1–4 8.1–18 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.6 8.10 8.13 8.15 8.22 8.23 8.38 8.39 9–10 9.3 9.4 9.6 9.8 10.1 10.2 10.3–5 10.3–6 10.4 10.5 10.6–7 10.7 10.9–14 10.9–17 10.9–22 10.17 10.18–19 10.18 10.19 10.20–22 11 11.1–13 11.1 11.5 11.12 11.14–16 11.14–21

Scripture Index 165 114 171, 174 114 96, 151–152, 154–156, 158, 163, 185, 189 152 156 185 114, 156 192–193, 201, 203 100, 103, 156, 158 156 156, 161 162 156 156 114 161 161 161 190 155–156 84 84 171, 174 190 155 156 155 155–156 155–156 155 155 190 155–156 151–152, 154–156, 158 158 155–156 156 156 155–156, 190 115 154 100, 103, 156, 158 103, 158 169 153, 160–161, 178 159–162, 167, 169–170, 175, 178

11.15 11.16 11.17–21 11.17 11.18–19 11.19–20 11.19 11.20 11.22–25 11.22 11.23 11.24 12.1–11 12.10 12.16 12.26–28 13.1–16 13.3 13.11 13.13 14.1–11 14.11 14.21–23 14.22–23 16 16.17 16.44–58 16.53–63 16.53 16.58 16.59–63 16.60 16.61 16.62 17.2–10 17.10 17.21 17.22–24 18 18.1–32 18.31 18.32 19.10–14 19.12 20–23 20

161–163 160, 162, 169–170 153, 158–159, 162, 168 161–162 178 114, 157, 162, 165, 174, 176–178 114, 157–158, 173, 176–178 114, 162, 165, 169–170, 176–178, 185 155 156, 190 156 100, 103, 156, 158 154 162 159 152, 157 152 158 158 158 163 153, 159, 163, 169–170 152 159 154, 201 191 152 153, 159, 161, 167, 169–170 159 159 152 161, 169, 179 159 161 154 158 158 152–153, 159 115 153–154 114, 157–158, 176, 178 114 154 158 152 154, 162

Scripture Index 20.2–26 20.2–31 20.3 20.4 20.5–26 20.7–8 20.7–29 20.8 20.13 20.21 20.24 20.27–28 20.28 20.30–31 20.32–39 20.32 20.33–34 20.33 20.34 20.33–39 20.33–44 20.38 20.39 20.40–41 20.40–42 20.40–44 20.40 20.41–42 20.41 20.42 20.43 20.44 20.49 21.5 21.12 21.18–32 21.33–37 21.36 22.1–31 22.3–4 22.15 22.18 22.31 23 23.14 23.36–49 24–37 24.1–14 24.1–27

163 162–163 293 163 153 187 161 164, 171, 174 164, 171, 174 164, 171, 174 164 164 165 163 162–163 158, 164 163 171, 174 163–164, 171, 174 159 153 163 164 164, 175 164 152–153, 159–166, 168–170, 175–176, 178 162, 164–165 161, 176 162, 176 164, 169 164, 176 164–165, 176 200 200 158 152 152, 154 171, 174 152 187 162 162 171, 174 154, 201 191 152 152 154 153

24.15–18 24.19–27 24.21 24.25–27 24.26–27 24.26–32 25–32 25.1–32.32 25.3 26.1 27.26 28.25–26 28.25 29.1 29.17 30.15 30.20 31.1 31.18 32.1 32.17 32.24–26 33–39 33–43 33–48 33–37.28 33 33.1–9 33.1–20 33.10–29 33.11 33.21–22 33.21 33.22 33.23–29 33.23–33 34 34–37 34.1–6 34.1–10 34.1–15 34.1–22 34.6 34.8 34.11–22 34.17–22 34.22 34.23–24 34.23–31 34.23

311 152 154 161 153–154 153 152 151–152, 154, 200 152, 159 161 153 158 153, 159, 161, 169–170 176 153 153 171, 174 153 153 156 153 153 157 115, 153 153 152, 157 153 152 153–154 153 152 153 153 152–153 103 153 178 201 174–175 168 153 169 168 165, 168 168 159 168 168 159, 161 152 169

312 34.24 34.25–30 34.25–31 34.25–32 34.25 34.26 34.27–28 34.27 34.28 34.29 34.30 35.31 34.26 34.27 34.29 34.30–31 35.1–15 35.8 36 36.1–15 36.1–10 36.4 36.6 36.10 36.16–23 36.16–32 36.17 36.18 36.23–32 36.23–38

36.23 36.24 36.25 36.26–27 36.26–28 36.26 36.27–28 36.27 36.28 36.29 36.30 36.31–32 36.31 36.32 37 37.1–10

Scripture Index 169 166–167 160, 165–170, 172, 175 159 167–169, 179 168 168 167 167–168 176 168–169, 176 166–167, 169 165 176 176 177 154 165 115 153, 159 162 165 165 162 115, 159 153 115 171, 174 176 114–116, 151–152, 156–162, 165, 168, 171, 174, 176, 178, 315 157, 176 176 115 114, 157, 174, 178 176–177 114, 157–158, 174, 176–178 178 114, 157–158, 174, 176–177 115, 170, 176 176 176 161 176 176 113, 115, 157 113

37.1–14 37.1 37.5 37.6 37.8 37.9 37.10 37.11 37.13–14 37.14 37.15–23 37.16 37.20–24 37.23 37.24–25 37.24–28 37.24 37.25 37.25–28 37.26–27 37.26 37.27 37.28 37.34 38.8–16 38.8 38.16 38.17 38–39 38.1–39.29 39 39.21–29 39.21 39.23 39.24 39.25–29 39.25 39.26 39.27–28 39.27 39.28 39.29 178 40–43 40–48 40.1–43.12

154, 157–158, 168, 178 100, 103, 158 158 114–115, 158 158 114, 158 158 162 161 115, 158, 173–174, 176–178 154, 159 162 161 169–170 177 152, 160, 169, 172, 174, 179 169–170, 176 169–170, 176–177 169 169, 175 161, 170 169–170, 177 161, 169–170 162 171 175 173 161 115, 157, 170, 174–175 152, 154, 158–159, 171 115 115 156, 172 115, 172 115, 172 159–161, 170–172, 174–175 162, 171–172, 176 172, 176 176 172, 176 171–172 115, 158, 172–174, 176, 152 115, 151–152, 154–158, 174–175, 189 152, 156, 158

313

Scripture Index 40.1–48.35 40.1–3 40.1 40.2 41.17–20 41.25 42.16 42.17 42.18 42.19 42.20 43.1–9 43.1–11 43.1–12 43.1 43.2–5 43.2 43.3 43.4 43.5 43.7 43.8 43.9 43.13–48.35 43.21 44.1 44.4 44.5 44.9 44.15 44.16 45.3 45.4 45.6 45.17 45.18 47.12 48.8 48.10 48.21 48.35

159 156, 190 152, 156, 164 156–158 190 190 158 158 158 158 158 156 275 151, 156, 170 156 190 156 156 156 100, 103, 156, 158, 191 170, 190, 202 186 170 152 161 161 156 161 161 161 161 161 161 162 162 161 161 161 161 161 115, 151–152

Hosea 1–3 1.6 2.2 2.7 2.14

204 172–173 204 204 132

2.16 2.17 4–13 4.5–6 4.6 4.12 4.13 5.12 5.14 6.3 7.1 7.12 7.16 8.1–6 8.4–6 8.5–6 8.6 9.7 9.10 10.5–6 10.6 11 11.1 11.2 11.7 11.9 12.4 12.5 12.11 13.1–3 13.1 13.2–3 13.7 13.8 14 14.3 14.4 14.5 14.9

204 144 204 204 241 187 125 204 204 204 171, 204 204 188 185 187 194 194 102–103 188 194 187 204 204 188, 194 188 191 146 143 204 185 188 187 204 204 204 187 187 204 204

Joel 1.15 3.1–2 3.4 3.5

230 109, 111, 172–174 110 110

Amos 3.10

241

314 5 7.12 8.8

Scripture Index 256 230 240

Malachi

230 101, 134 262 171 171 171 171 171 171 187 187

Psalms

Micah 3.7 3.8 3.12 4.7 4.9 4.10 4.11 4.14 5.3 5.12–13 5.13–14 Nahum 2.1–3 2.3

272 274

Habakkuk 2.1 2.18–19

132 187

Haggai 2.4–5

96

Zechariah 1–8 1.9 1.16 4.1–14 4.7 7.12 8.3 12.9–13.6 12.9–14 12.10 13.1–2 13.1–6 13.1 13.2 13.3

186 82 275 192 99 103, 107 275 115 115–116 115–116 115 116 115 144 82

1.6–8 3.1 3.16

2–40 3–41 3.2 6.8 7.7 8 8.3 9.9 10.5 10.11 12.3 12.8 13.2 13.5 15.3 16.5 20 20.9 22 22.5 22.7 23.5 25.20–21 27.2 27.12 28.10–15 30.4 31.12 32.7 34.16 34.24 35.6 39.9 40.12 42 42–43 42–49 42–83 42.3 42.4 42.6–12 42.10

289 275 140

219 215 222 222 222 80 222 243 222 173 158 219 173 222 225 127 80 145 257 173 225 222 219 222 222 130 142 222, 225 219 142 219 241 225 219 215 221 215 213 213 244 244 213, 246

315

Scripture Index 42.11 43 43.1–2 43.20 44 44.3–15 44.6 44.8 44.9 44.10–27 44.11–13 44.14 44.17 44.21 44.24–25 45.6–7 46 46.3 46.7 46.9 46.11 47.4 48.2 48.9 48.11 50 50.1 50.7 50.10 50.15 51 51–72 51.11 51.13 51.20–21 52 52.3 52.11 54 54.8 55 55.13 56 56–60 56.2–10 57 57–59 57.2–8 57.3 57.4

222, 225 215 244 236 227, 257, 261 216 217, 222 222 217 244 259 225 225 217 258 236 240, 243 240 216, 240, 243 232, 235, 240, 249 233 216 232 232 217 215 246 145 246 216–217 22 215, 219, 221 96 108 213, 216 221 246 217 221, 244 217 244 225 221 219 244 221 220–221 244 221, 246 221, 225

57.6 57.7 57.12 58 58.1 58.2–3 58.2 58.7 58.12 59 59.2 59.6 59.7 59.9 59.17–18 60 60.3–4 60.3–5 60.5 60.8–9 60.8–14 60.8 60.10 60.14 61.6 61.9 62.4–5 63 64 64.2 65.8 66–67 66.1–4 66.4 66.5 66.8 67.2 68.5 68.15 68.20 68.21 68.25 68.29–32 68.36 69 69.7–8 69.8 69.10 69.11 69.20

221 221 221 244 236 245 221 221 221 221, 244 221 216 221 216, 221 221 220–221, 240, 243 239 240, 244 239–240 239 258 239 239 222 217 217 244 221 244 219 216 215 233 217 232, 235, 249 233 80 217 230 246 246 246 234 246 224, 244 224 224–225 224–225 224–225 222, 224–225

316 69.21 69.36 69.37 70 71 71.13 72.19 73 73–83 73.11 73.25 73.28 74 74.1–2 74.1–11 74.3–4 74.4 74.7 74.8–9 74.8 74.10 74.12–17 74.18–23 74.18 74.21 74.22 74.23 75 75.2 75.3–4 75.3 75.8–9 75.8 76.2–3 76.2 76.13 77.10 77.13–14 77.15 78.7 78.65 78.60 78.66 79 79.1 79.1–5 79.1–7 79.4

Scripture Index 224 215 217 244 215, 244 225 217 244 215 246 236 145 225–227, 244–245, 247, 256 259 213, 216 243 222, 225 217, 225 243 225, 246 217, 225 265 213, 216 225 217 225–226 222, 226 215, 240, 244 217, 244 240 244 240 244 135 217 216 246 236 216 246 258 147 222, 225 225–227, 244, 247, 258, 262 216, 226 262 213, 216 225

79.5 79.6 79.9 79.10 79.12 80 80.4 80.7–9 80.13–16 80.19 81.10 81.15 82 82–90 82.1 82.2–4 82.2–7 82.2 82.3 82.4 82.5 82.6–7 82.6–8 82.6 82.7 82.8 83

83.1–5 83.2 83.5 83.6–9 83.10–16 83.17–19 83.17 83.18 83.19 84–85 85 86 86.11 87–89 87.3 89 89.20

226 217, 226 217 213, 216–217 217, 224–225 244, 257 80 216 275 217 145, 236 161, 216, 222 215–216, 221, 230, 235–236, 238, 240–250 215 217, 235–236, 241–242, 245–246 241–242 242, 245 242, 244, 246, 250 242, 246 242 236, 240–242, 246 241–242, 247 242 217, 235–237 241, 243, 250 215, 218, 236, 241–242, 246, 249, 251 214–218, 220–222, 224, 226–227, 229, 231, 235–236, 244, 249, 251, 258 216 218, 246 217 216 216 217, 248 217–218 246 217–218, 235–236 215 258 215 158 215 232 227, 258–259, 261 82

317

Scripture Index 89.24 89.42 89.43 89.51 89.52 91.1 93.1 96 96.10 97.3 97.12 98 99.4 102.9 102.12 104.5 104.29–30 105.24 106.11 106.37 108 108.14 109.13 109.25 112.8 119.22 119.39 119.42 119.139 119.157 121.4 125.1 132 135.13 136.24 137 138–145 139 139.1 139.7 140.5 142

222 225 222 225 225 230 240 245 240, 243 222 142 245 243 225 143 240 96, 101 222 222 230 258 222 142 225 222 225 225 225 222 222 258 240 258 143 222 227, 258 215 204 196 14, 96, 101 219 221

19.29 18.17 22.22 27.3 32.8 34.29 35.6 42.10

139 131 173 229 229

Ezra

Job 4.15–21 4.16 13.24 19.23 19.24

230 142, 145 84 101 101 173 245 171

Proverbs 6.22 14.31 21.1

82 224 269

Ruth 1.20 4.6 4.7 4.10

230 160 160 142

Song of Songs 3.4 8.6

161 83

Qoheleth 12.7

101, 174

Lamentations 2 2.1–7 5.1–4 5.11–16 5.20–22 5.21

255 255–258 257 257 257 257

Daniel 1.2 5.2–3 5.23 9.4

1–6 1.1–2 1.2

271 272 272 80–82

284, 287, 289, 292 289 270

318 1.3 1.5 1.7–8 1.7 2.68 3.1–4 3.2 3.3 3.5 3.7 3.8 3.10 3.11 4.1 4.3 4.24 5.1 5.2 5.8 5.12 6 6.3 6.5 6.7 6.8 6.9 6.11–12 6.12 6.14 6.15 6.16 6.17 6.18 6.21 6.22 7 7–10 7.1–5 7.1–10 7.1 7.6 7.7–9 7.7 7.9 7.10 7.11 7.14 7.16 7.17 7.19

Scripture Index 270 270 271 270–271 270 288–289 270 271 271 288 270 270, 288–289 271 270 270 270 270 270 270, 288 271 297 270 270, 272 270 270 271 288 271 270 288, 292 270, 288 288 271, 288 271 269 292, 294 284 292 292, 294 270 270, 293–294 292 286 270 271, 293–295 292 271 270 270 270, 272

7.20 7.21 7.23 7.25 7.27–9.15 7.27 7.28 8 8.1 8.2 8.17 8.25 8.30 8.31 8.32–34 8.33 8.35 8.36 9 9.4 9.5 9.6 9.8 9.9 9.10 9.13 9.15 10 10.1 10.2 10.3 10.6 10.9 10.11 10.14

270 271 270 271 284–286 270 270 286 293–294 294 270 286 270 270 286 270 271 270 287, 295 270 271 270 270 270 270 270 270 295 295 270 271 295 270 270 270

Nehemiah 1.1–7.4 1.4 1.5 2.4 2.8 2.12 2.18 2.20 3.36 4.3 4.9 4.14

284 270 80–82, 270 270 270 269 270 270 270 270 268 270

319

Scripture Index 5.8 5.11 5.13 5.14–15 6.7 6.10–11 6.10 6.12 6.14 6.16 7.5 7.25 8–13.3 8 8.1–2 8.1–6 8.1 8.2 8.5–6 8.6 8.7–12 8.7 8.8 8.9 8.11 8.12 8.13–18 8.13 8.18 9 9.1 9.3 9.4 9.5 9.7 9.17 9.18 9.20 9.30 9.31 9.32 10.16 10.29 10.35 10.36 10.37 10.38 10.39 10.40 12

267 271 269 272 108 286 270 108 108 270 269 271 284 294 294–296 295 293–294 294 294–296 270 295–296 294 294 270–271, 294 294 294, 296 29 294–295 271 295 295 271 271 271 269 270 269 174 104, 107 270 270 293 270 270 271 271 271 271 270, 272 296

12.22 12.26 12.27–30 12.27–43 12.31–43 12.30 12.36 12.37 12.39 12.40 12.43 12.45 12.46 13.2 13.3 13.4–31 13.4 13.9 13.14 13.18 13.22

290 271 296 284 295 296–297 295 297 297 296 296 271 271 269 270 284 270 272 270 270 270

1 Chronicles 21.29 12.18 12.34 16.4 16.30

82 107 158 144 240

2 Chronicles 6.4 15.1 15.8 18.22 20.14 24.20 25.5 26.16–21 29.12–19 36 36.7 36.18

82 107 107 174 107 107 230 286 296 287 271 271

1 Maccabees 3.4–48 John

298

320 19.30

Scripture Index 14

Revelation 7.3 9.4



84 84

Author Index Achenbach, R. 84 Albertz, R. 97

Ego, B. 84 Eichrodt, W. 97

Baillie, J. 5, 17, 18 Barr, J. 196, 206 Barth, K. 19, 29, 45, 49 Baur, F. 37–43 Beck, M. 100 Becking, B. 194 Bjørndalen, A.J. 199 Black, M. 202 Block, D. 111 Blondel, M. 47–48 Blum, E. 237 Boda, M. 287 Boertien, J.H. 229 Braulik, G. 84, 142 Breitmaier, I. 84 Brettler, M.Z. 198 Briggs, C.A. 232 Brown, D. 16, 18 Brueggemann, W. 97, 198

Farmer, H. 5, 13–14, 17–18 Feldmeier, R. 255 Fichte, I. 32 Finsterbusch, K. 84 Firth, D.G. 107 Fischer, G. 84 Frankel, D. 242 Franken, H.J. 229, 239 Friedman, R.E. 123

Calvin, J. 11 Carr, D.M. 226 Carroll, R.P. 195 Chapman, S.B. 104 Childs, B. 97 Clements, R.E. 83, 121–122, 132 Cook, S.L. 109 Crüsemann, F. 144 Curtis, E. 186–187

Halfwassen, J. 26 Halpern, B. 127 Hanson, P.D. 109 Harnack, A. von 42, 44–47, 49 Hart, T. 138 Hecke, P. van 197 Hefner, P. 42 Hegel, G. 31–34, 39, 47 Hobbs, T.R. 100 Hoftijzer, J. 227, 230 Holmes, S. 6 Hossfeld, F.–L. 214, 218, 244 Hurowitz, V. 287, 289, 297 Husserl, E. 48–49

Dalferth, I. 2–3, 5–7, 12–13, 15–16, 19 Davis, E.F. 200–201 Day, P.L. 188 Derrida, J. 48 Devauchelle, D. 274 Dick, M. 187 Diderot, D. 25 Dubiel, U. 71

Galambush, J. 200–201 Geller, S.A. 132, 135 Ginsberg, H.L. 219–220, 222 Goldingay, J.E. 97 Göschel, K.F. 32 Gottwald, N. 127 Gray, J.I. 100 Greenfield, J.C. 287 Gross, W. 123

Jacobi, H.F. 28, 30–31, 47 Jeremia, J. 244 Johnson , M.V. 277 Johnson, M. 197

322

Author Index

Kaiser, O. 97 Kant, I. 2, 27–30, 32, 34, 41–42, 47, 49 Keel, O. 83, 190 Keinänen, J. 100 Kittay, E.F. 197–198, 202 Klein, A. 115, 157, 178 Knapp, D. 123 Konkel, M. 123 Kooij, G. van der 227, 229 Korpel, M.C.A. 267 Kövecses, Z. 184 Kraemer, H. 19–20 Krug, W.T. 30–31 Lakoff, G. 197 Lambert, W.G. 244 Leene, H. 178 Lemaire, A. 223 Lenzi, A. 60–61 Levinas, E. 48 Levine, B.A. 234 Levinson, B. 143–144 Littré, E. 50 Lohfink, N. 84 Loretz, O. 244, 247 Lust, J. 157, 171 Lys, D. 97 MacDonald, N. 122, 128–130, 134, 137 Machinist, P. 241, 244–245 Macky, P.W. 197 Malebranche, N. 135 Marion, J.–L. 48–49 Marlow, H. 111 Mauchline, J. 187 McBride, S.D. 143 McCarter, K. 230, 233, 237 McConville J.G. 130 McKeating, H. 200 Merrill, S. 239 Mettinger, T.N.D. 95, 121–122, 144, 183, 187, 191 Meyers, C.L. 115 Meyers, E.M. 115 Michaelis, J.D. 219 Middlemas, J. 185, 191, 193 Milgrom, J. 164 Millar, J.G. 130 Millard, M. 218

Miller, P.D. 130, 219, 222–224 Mittmann, S. 123 Moltmann, J. 3, 6, 8–12, 14–15 Moor, J.C. de 267 Moughtin–Mumby, S. 199, 204 Mowinckel, S. 97, 103 Naveh, J. 223 Nelson, R.D. 122 Newbigin, L. 20 Newsom, C. 200 Nicholson, E.W. 122 Niditch, S. 100 Niehr, H. 192, 244 Nielsen, K. 199, 205 Nihan, C. 106, 108–109 Novotny, J. 287 Oeing–Hanhoff, L. 23–25 Otto, E. 100 Otto, R. 17, 45 Pakkala, J. 292, 294 Parker, S.B. 219, 221, 226 Plöger, O. 109 Pohlmann, K.–F. 157 Przywara, E. 48 Rad, G. von 84, 102, 121–122 Rahner, K. 48 Renaud, B. 123 Rendtorff, R. 97 Renz, J. 223 Richards, I.A. 197 Richter, L. 23–24, 50 Richter, S.L. 131, 142 Ricoeur, P. 48, 198–199, 202 Rigsby, K.J. 287 Ritschl, A. 42–44, 46, 49 Römer, T. 99 Romerowski, S. 277 Rose, M. 84 Rösel, C. 214 Russel, S.C. 234 Sasson, V. 230 Scheeben, M. 47 Scheidler, K. 32–33 Schelling, W.J. 28, 31–32, 43, 47 Schleiermacher, F. 43

Author Index Schmidt, B.B. 192, 194 Schmitt, H.–C. 105 Schniedewind, W.M. 107 Scholem, G. 9 Schroer, S. 276 Schwartz, B. 164 Schwarz, C. 33 Smith, M. 234, 246, 248 Smith–Christopher, D. 226 Smoak, J.D. 219 Sommer, B. 122, 130 Soskice, J. 202 Spieckermann, H. 84, 255 Spinoza, B. 26–28, 30–32, 47 Stade, B. 121 Stamm, J.J. 144 Steiner, G. 3–4 Steiner,G. 134, 137–138 Storr, G.C. 29 Süssenbach, C. 241 Sweeney, M. 194 Tennant, F. 5 Terrien, S. 2, 123, 135 Tigay, J.H. 143, 145 Toews, W.I. 188 Tooman, W. 185 Toorn, K. van der 145, 194 Torrance, T. 6, 11 Tov, E. 248 Tucker, W.D. 219 Turner, M. 198 Veijola, T. 83, 261 Vogt, P.T. 130–131, 135 Volz, P. 97 Vriezen, T.C. 97 Waerzeggers, C. 60–61 Weber, M. 29 Weinfeld, M. 83, 121, 127, 132 Westermann, C. 97 Wette, W.M.L. de 127 Wiesel, E. 280 Williamson, H.G.M. 272 Wilson, I. 122, 136 Wilson, R. 154 Wolff, H.W. 204 Wright, J.L. 292 Yadin, A. 132

Yee, G.A. 204 Zeller, E. 34, 36– 38, 41–43, 45 Zenger, E. 214, 218, 244 Zevit, Z. 125 Zimmerli, W. 97, 164, 190 

323