Festschrift in Honor of Professor Paul Nadim Tarazi- Volume 1: Studies in the Old Testament (Bible in the Christian Orthodox Tradition) 9781433114588, 9781453908372, 9781433114601, 9781453908389, 9781433114618, 9781453907900, 1433114585

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Festschrift in Honor of Professor Paul Nadim Tarazi

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BIBLE IN THE CHRISTIAN ORTHODOX TRADITION Vahan S. Hovhanessian General Editor Vol. 3

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Festschrift in Honor of Professor Paul Nadim Tarazi VOLUME 1 Studies in the Old Testament

Edited by

Nicolae Roddy

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Festschrift in honor of Professor Paul Nadim Tarazi / edited by Nicolae Roddy. p. cm. — (Bible in the Christian Orthodox tradition; v. 3) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Bible—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Bible—Theology. I. Tarazi, Paul Nadim. II. Roddy, Nicolae. BS511.3.F47 221.6—dc23 2012035352 Vol. 1: ISBN 978-1-4331-1458-8 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-4539-0837-2 (e-book) Vol. 2: ISBN 978-1-4331-1460-1 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-4539-0838-9 (e-book) Vol. 3: ISBN 978-1-4331-1461-8 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-4539-0790-0 (e-book) ISSN 1947-5977

Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek. Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the “Deutsche Nationalbibliografie”; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de/.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council of Library Resources.

© 2013 Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York 29 Broadway, 18th floor, New York, NY 10006 www.peterlang.com All rights reserved. Reprint or reproduction, even partially, in all forms such as microfilm, xerography, microfiche, microcard, and offset strictly prohibited. Printed in Germany

Contents Foreword ............................................................................................................ vii Preface ................................................................................................................. ix Acknowledgments ............................................................................................... xi V. Rev. Fr. Paul Nadim Tarazi: Brief Biography and Bibliography ................. xiii Abbreviations .....................................................................................................xix Wisdom is the Preservation of Life, Michael C. Legaspi ...................................... 1 Beyond Anti-History: Genesis 1 as Mašal, Philippe Guillaume........................... 25 Hearing Psalm 51: Masoretic Hebrew vs. LXX Greek, Rev. Fr. L. Theophan Whitfield ................................................... 37 Le Psaume 136, Une Eucharistie Pour le Pain, André Wénin ........................... 59 Searching for Divine Wisdom: Proverbs 8:22–31 in Its Interpretive Context, Alexandru Mihăilă ............................................................................ 73 I’m Not There: Self-Negation as Authentication in the Prophetic Tradition, Nicolae Roddy................................................................................................... 91 Rereading Isaiah 40–55 as “Project Launcher” for the Books of the Law and the Prophets, Iskandar Abou-Chaar .................... 101 The Function of Hyperbole in Ezekiel 1, Rev. Fr. Fouad Saba ........................ 129 Narrator, Audience, and the Sign-Acts of Ezekiel 3–5, Richard Benton .......... 135 Notes ................................................................................................................. 141 Index ................................................................................................................. 165

Foreword

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his three-volume compendium of scholarly papers bears witness to an unforgettable weekend dedicated to an incredible teacher, scholar, mentor, and friend—as well as father, brother, uncle, etc.—whose impact on Orthodox biblical studies cannot be overstated. On October 23, 2010, scholars and well-wishers from all over the globe gathered together in Little Falls, New Jersey, to celebrate the forty-year milestone in the career of the Very Rev. Fr. Paul Nadim Tarazi. Graciously hosted by the Very Rev. Fr. Elias Bitar and the faithful parishioners of St. George Antiochian Church, under the auspices of His Eminence Metropolitan PHILIP, Primate of the Antiochian Orthodox Archdiocese of North America, the Festchrift reflect the diversity-inunity of the Orthodox world—as well as the scope of Fr. Paul’s influence—as papers and presentations from his students and colleagues flowed from several regions of the U.S. and Canada, and also Belgium, Finland, France, Greece, Lebanon, Palestine, Romania, Serbia, and the United Kingdom. The papers contained in the present volume, the first of three, address topics pertaining to the Old Testament. Papers are arranged with an eye toward the canon, with broader studies serving as introductions to more specific topics. Michael Legaspi’s discourse on Wisdom sets the tone for studies dealing specifically with Genesis (rightly so!), the Psalms, and Proverbs; while my own general paper on the prophetic tradition introduces works that focus on specific prophetic books or passages. It is hoped that the reader not only will appreciate the logic of this arrangement, but also catch a glimpse of the unified, inter-textual cohesiveness that characterizes the Old Testament canon, a significant aspect of the Bible, as Fr. Paul and his students continue to demonstrate. Non-academic readers unfamiliar with the concept of the Festschrift need not shy away from the papers contained herein. A “Festchrift,” originally a German term meaning something along the lines of a “celebratory writing,” is customarily both an academic conference and a social event convened in honor of an eminent scholar, usually organized by his or her former graduate students who have gone on to become colleagues in the field. So while the papers in this volume are indeed scholarly, many of them accord personal tribute to

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the man who inspired them and, in this case, all bear the mark of Fr. Paul’s career mission: illuminating Scripture for the purpose of “equipping the saints for the for the work of ministry and for building up the body of Christ” (Eph 4:12). The educated lay reader will thus find in this volume friendly conversation partners bound together in love for the God of divinely-inspired Scripture (2 Tim 3:16) and for the man who ignited that love within our hearts. Nicolae Roddy

Preface

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he Holy Bible, biblical text, exegesis and understanding the biblical message in its original context, without the influence of medieval and later doctrinal and theological precipitations, truly outline the scholarly career of the Very Reverend Dr. Paul Nadim Tarazi, a leading Orthodox theologian in the field of biblical study. The professor of Old Testament at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, Professor Tarazi has also lectured extensively in universities and seminaries around the world. He is the author of numerous books and articles in the field of biblical theology and exegesis. Professor Tarazi is the founder of the “Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies” (OCABS) and its online Journal (JOCABS). He is also the founding pillar of the unit “Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions” of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL). His forty years of teaching career around the world and his theological research in the field of biblical studies has produced generations of biblical scholars with a unique and critical approach to biblical exegesis and interpretation. It was, therefore, only befitting that leading international scholars who have been students or colleagues of Professor Tarazi come together in Festschrift to celebrate the 40th anniversary of his teaching career by offering a critical appreciation of his contribution to biblical studies, and by exploring the continuing scholarly discussion of issues related to the Biblical text, exegesis and theology. A daylong celebration took place on Saturday October 23, 2010, under the auspices of His Eminence Archbishop Philip, Metropolitan of the Antiochian Orthodox Church of North America. The Festschrift convened at the conference hall of St. George Antiochian Church in Little Falls, New Jersey, was scheduled 9am–4pm, with the participation of over 30 international scholars. This book is the first of three volumes covering the proceedings of the Festschrift. It includes the papers exploring the latest scholarly debate in the fields of Old Testament Studies. Volume two will include the articles dealing with the New Testament, and volume three will publish the papers discussing biblical theology in general.

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Heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nicolae Roddy, Ph.D., Associate Professor of the Hebrew Bible/Older Testament, Theology Department, Creighton University, Omaha, Nebraska, for editing the articles of this volume. Special thanks and appreciation to Reverend Fr. Marc Boulos, Pastor of St. Elizabeth Orthodox Mission, in Eagan, Minnesota, for the layout and finalization of this volume. Finally, congratulations to Professor Tarazi–a man “approved, a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth” (2 Tim 2:15). May the Lord grant him many years of fruitful service and witnessing in the vineyard of the Lord. Bishop Vahan S. Hovhanessian, Ph.D. Series Editor

Acknowledgments

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he Very Reverend Fr. Paul N. Tarazi Festschrift Committee would like to acknowledge with deep appreciation the following supporters and benefactors:

The Reverend Fr. Marc and Alla Boulos Edward and Nina Costandi John Josef Costandi Payman and Carla Langroudi The Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies Ralph and Mary Lee Sergi Bassam Tarazi Jalal Tarazi Jamal and Christine Tarazi Nabil and Leila Tarazi and Children Nouhad and Farida Tarazi Kamal Tarazi Paola Tarazi Reem Tarazi and Family

V. Rev. Fr. Paul Nadim Tarazi: Brief Biography and Bibliography

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r. Paul Tarazi has been teaching scripture for well over forty years. His teaching ministry includes full-time professorship at St Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, as well as adjunct positions at Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology in Brookline, MA, and the St. John of Damascus Institute of Theology in Balamand, Lebanon. His courses cover the full range of scriptural studies in Old and New Testaments, Biblical Hebrew and Greek, Academic Arabic, and Homiletics. He has been a guest lecturer at numerous universities and institutions in the United States and Canada, as well as Australia, Chile, Estonia, Finland, Israel, Palestine, Romania, and Serbia, and has represented the Antiochian Orthodox Church at various ecumenical gatherings. A prolific writer, Fr. Paul has authored (as of this writing) seventeen books, including detailed commentaries on Galatians and 1 Thessalonians, a seven-volume Introduction to the Old and New Testaments, and six commentaries published in The Chrysostom Bible: A Commentary Series for Teaching and Preaching. His book, Land and Covenant, commissioned by His Eminence Metropolitan PHILIP, is a comprehensive scriptural analysis of the issues pertaining to what is popularly known as the Holy Land and to God’s promise regarding it. Many readers of this book consider it to be a thorough introduction to the totality of Scripture in both Old and New Testaments. Fr. Paul has also contributed numerous articles in books and academic journals. Ever in highest demand as a speaker, both nationally and internationally, Fr. Paul is known for his dynamic style and his ability to engage an audience’s interest while explaining complex matters of scriptural interpretation. Fr. Paul has served as theological and editorial consultant for the General Assembly of the Faith and Order Commission of the World Council of Churches. He currently serves as editor-in-chief of JOCABS, a journal of the Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies (OCABS). A group of Fr. Paul’s former theological students founded OCABS in 1999 to promote the awareness of the centrality of the Gospel in the Christian life, to provide

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resources for those who teach and preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ on the parish level, to conduct seminars in the area of advanced biblical studies, and to develop a foundation to provide material support for those pursuing advanced degrees and special research and publishing projects. Fr. Paul’s work with OCABS includes audio commentaries on all the books of the Old Testament and the New Testament. Fr Paul serves on the steering committee of the “Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions” unit of the Society of Biblical Literature, which was established in 2007 by an international group of scholars, all of which are his former students. Born in Jaffa, Palestine, Paul Nadim Tarazi moved to Cairo, Egypt and then to Beirut, Lebanon, where he studied at the Christian Brothers French School prior to attending the Jesuit University School of Medicine, in Beirut. He then pursued theological studies at the Orthodox Theological Institute in Bucharest, Romania where he received his Th.D. degree in New Testament. Ordained to the holy priesthood in 1976, Fr. Paul has shepherded parishes in Connecticut and New York and is currently assistant priest at the Assumption Greek Orthodox Church in Danbury, Connecticut.

Bibliography The Chrysostom Bible, OCABS Press Commentary series: Joshua: A Commentary (2012) 2 Corinthians: A Commentary (2012) Ezekiel: A Commentary (2012) 1 Corinthians: A Commentary (2011) Romans: A Commentary (2010) Colossians and Philemon: A Commentary (2010) Philippians: A Commentary (2009) Genesis: A Commentary (2009) The New Testament Introduction: Volume 1, Paul and Mark (Crestwood: SVS Press, 1999; Beirut: An-Nour, 2001 [Arabic]) Volume 2, Luke and Acts (Crestwood: SVS Press, 2001) Volume 3, Johannine Writings (Crestwood: SVS Press, 2004) Volume 4, Matthew and the Canon (St. Paul: OCABS Press, 2009) The Old Testament Introduction: Volume 1: Historical Traditions. Crestwood: SVS Press, 1991; rev. 2003; Beirut: An-Nour, 1998 (Arabic).

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Volume 2: The Prophets. Crestwood: SVS Press, 1994; Beirut: An-Nour, 1998 (Arabic). Volume 3: Wisdom Literature. Crestwood: SVS Press, 1996; Beirut: AnNour, 1999 Arabic). Land and Covenant. Minneapolis: OCABS Press, 2009. Galatians: A Commentary. Crestwood: SVS Press, 1994. I Thessalonians: A Commentary. Crestwood: SVS Press, 1982; Beirut: An-Nour, 1983 (Arabic). Al-Wa’aṭh. Beirut: An-Nour, 1989 (Arabic). OCABS Audio Commentaries: The New Testament (101 hours) The Old Testament (84 hours)

Selected Articles in Journals and Edited Volumes “Introduction.” Pages 1–7 in Exegesis and Hermeneutics in the Churches of the East. Edited by V. S. Hovhanessian. New York: Peter Lang, 2009. “Chrysostom on Isaiah: A Paradigm for Hearing Scripture.” In Syriac and Antiochian Exegesis and Biblical Theology for the 3rd Millenium. Edited by R. D. Miller. Gorgias Precis Portfolios 3; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006. “The Book on Jeremiah and the Pentateuchal Torah.” Pp. 7–36 in Sacred Text and Interpretation, Perspectives in Orthodox Biblical Studies. Edited by Th. Stylianopoulos. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2006. “Pursuing the Mind of Christ: Lessons on Vocation from the Old Testament.” Pp. 13–42 in Christ at Work, Orthodox Christian Perspectives on Vocation. Edited by in A. M. Bezzerides. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2006. “St. Paul and His Letters.” Ortodoksia 47 (Finland, 1998): 67–77. “Israel and the Nations According to Zechariah 14.” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 38 (1994): 181–92. “The Parish in the New Testament.” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 36 (1992): 87–102. “Continuity and Discontinuity between the Old Testament and the New Testament.” Finnish Exegetical Society (1992). “The Eastern Orthodox Christians in the Middle East.” Pp. 681–88 in Kirchen im Kontext unterschiedlicher Kulturen, Auf dem Weg, in das dritte Jahrtausen. Edited by W. Heller. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991. “An Exegesis of Psalm 93.” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 35 (1991): 137– 48.

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“The Eastern Orthodox Christians in the Middle East.” Lutheran Academy (1990). “Biblical Aspects on Justice and Peace, from an Orthodox Perspective.” Faith and Order Commission WCC (1989). “The Addressees and the Purpose of Galatians,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 33 (1989): 159–79. “Syndesmos and Its Future.” Syndesmos Twelfth General Assembly Report (Syndesmos, 1988). “Jerusalem in Christian Orthodox Perspectives.” Pp. 47–52 in Jerusalem: Key to Peace in the Middle East. Edited by O. Kelly Graham. Triangle Friends of the Middle East, 1987. “Du Baptême,” Contacts 39 (1987): 182–206. “The Antiochian School of Biblical Exegesis.” The Word 30 (1986): 7–9. “‘Thus Saith the Lord’: The Fundamental Aspects of Prophetic Preaching.” Pp. 13–26 in God’s Living Word: Orthodox and Evangelical Essays on Preaching. Edited by Th. Stylianopoulos. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Press, 1983. “The Gospel of Christ as God’s Power for Salvation (Rom 1:16).” Pp. 27–41 in God’s Living Word: Orthodox and Evangelical Essays on Preaching. Edited by Th. Stylianopoulos. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Press, 1983. “The Living Word: Effective Preaching of God’s Word Today.” Pp. 42–56 in God’s Living Word: Orthodox and Evangelical Essays on Preaching. Edited by Th. Stylianopoulos. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Press, 1983. “Covenant, Land and City: Finding God’s Will in Palestine.” The Reformed Journal 29 (1979): 10–16. “Witnessing the Dynamics of Salvation.” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 22 (1978): 179–91. “Bid’at Shuhud Yahwah.” Beirut: Nativity of the Virgin Church (1975). n.p. “Time and the Signs of the End.” St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Education Day Journal (1999): n.p. “Scripture in Theological Education.” St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Education Day Journal (1998): n.p. “What is the Gospel of Christ?” St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Education Day Journal (1997): n.p. “The Bible and Orthodox Christians.” St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Education Day Journal (1994): n.p. “Orthodox Christians and the Understanding of Scripture.” St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Education Day Journal (1991): n.p.

Selected Presentations “Hermeneutical Shifts vis-à-vis Palestine in the 20th Century, Romans 9–11.” Paper presented at the Conference on the Invention of History: A Centu-

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ry of Interplay between Theology and Politics in Palestine. Bethlehem, Palestine, August 23–29, 2009. “Paul, the One Apostle of the One Gospel.” Paper presented at the International Conference on Paul in His Milieu: Land, Religion, Culture. Tantur Ecumenical Institute, Jerusalem, May 7–14, 2009. “David and the Psalter.” Paper presented at the Conference of the Middle East Chapter of Alliance Biblique. Beirut, Lebanon, January 25–30, 2009. “The Promised Land: The Old Testament Perspective,” Paper presented at the International Theological Conference on the Promised Land, World Council of Churches, Federation of Swiss Protestant Churches, Palestine / Israel Ecumenical Forum. Bern, Switzerland, September 10–14, 2008. “Exegesis for Preaching and Teaching.” Paper presented at the International Theological Conference on St. John Chrysostom, Bucharest University. Bucharest, Romania, November 12–14, 2006. “Deuteronomy as a ‘Reprise’ of Genesis 1–2: A Redaction Critical Reading.” Paper presented at the ANZATS/ANZSTS Conference, Queens College Parkville. Melbourne, Australia, July 5–9, 2004. “Reading Scripture.” Paper presented at the Institute for Spiritual Studies. Melbourne, Australia, July 6, 2004. “The Book of Jeremiah and the Pentateuchal Torah.” Paper presented at the Conference of Sacred Text and Interpretation: Perspectives in Orthodox Biblical Studies, Holy Cross Greek Orthodox School of Theology. Brookline, MA, October 28–November 1, 2003. “Continuity and Discontinuity Between the Old Testament and the New Testament.” Paper presented at Exegetical Day, Finnish Exegetical Society. Helsinki, Finland, February, 1992. “The Eastern Orthodox Christians in the Middle East.” Paper presented at the Symposium on Churches in the Context of Differing Cultures, Lutheran Academy, Tutzing. Bavaria, Germany, May 1990. “Israel and the Nations, according to Zechariah 14.” Paper presented at the Joint Meeting of the Middle East Council of Churches and the German Task Force Group on the Middle East. Cyprus, September, 1989. “Biblical Aspects on Justice and Peace from an Orthodox Perspective.” Paper presented at the Meeting of the Justice and Peace Integrity of Creation Programme, Faith and Order Commission of the World Council of Churches. Kiev, May, 1989. “The Parish in the New Testament.” Paper presented at the Fourth Meeting of the Orthodox Theological Schools, Syndesmos. Poland, February, 1989. “Syndesmos and Its Future.” Paper presented at the Syndesmos General Assembly. England, 1988. “Du Baptême,” Paper presented at the Triennial Meeting of the Orthodox Youth of Western Europe. Paris, France, 1987.

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“Jerusalem in Christian Orthodox Perspectives.” Paper presented at the Conference on Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Perspectives, Duke University. Durham, NC, November, 1977. “Witnessing the Dynamics of Salvation.” Paper presented at the Second International Conference of the Orthodox Theological Schools. Pendeli, Greece, 1976.

Abbreviations AfOB AJSLL ANET ANF ANZATS ANZSTS AOAT AThR AYB BCBC BDB BSac Bib BZAW CBQ CBQMS COS DJD GOTR HALOT HTR HUCA JANES JBL JHS JJS JOCABS JSOTSup NICOT NTR NESTTR

Archiv für Orientforschung: Beiheft American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literature Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Ante-Nicene Fathers Australian and New Zealand Association of Theological Schools Australian and New Zealand Society for Theological Studies Alter Orient und Altes Testament Anglican Theological Review Anchor Yale Bible Believers’ Church Bible Commentary Brown, Driver, Briggs Hebrew Lexicon Bibliotheca Sacra Biblica Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Context of Scripture Discoveries in the Judean Desert Greek Orthodox Theological Review Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Journal of the Ancient Near East Society Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of the Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series New International Commentary on the Old Testament New Theology Review Near East School of Theology Theological Review

xx OCABS OTL SBL SJOT SVSQ TDOT UBS UF UT VT VTSup WBC WMANT ZAW

•PAUL NADIM TARAZI• Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies Old Testament Literature Society for Biblical Literature Scandanavian Journal of the Old Testament St. Vladimir’s Seminary Quarterly Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament United Bible Societies Ugarit-Forschungen Ugaritic Textbook Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplement Series Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft

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Wisdom is the Preservation of Life

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isdom is a conceptual framework that unifies beliefs about the world with prescriptions for human thought and action. Understood formally in this way, wisdom is not merely a biblical concept; nor is it exclusively a Jewish or Christian one. It is rather a human concept, shorthand for any of countless attempts to identify the nature, purpose, and proper conduct of life. The Bible specifies certain parameters for those who seek wisdom in its pages. As a basic account of these parameters, this essay is not a definitive, let alone authoritative biblical theology of wisdom. It is an examination not of the “wisdom literature” of the Bible but rather of its wisdom framework. The former is a scholarly historical and form-critical category used to identify genres of biblical literature. The latter term is intended to signify a thematic exploration of biblical ideas concerning wisdom and the conditions in which wisdom is possible. This particular exploration treats three sections of the Bible: Genesis 1–3, Proverbs 1–9, and Jeremiah and Lamentations. It examines passages from the three classic divisions of the Jewish Bible: Torah, Prophets, and Writings. Taken together, these texts illuminate the principal aim of wisdom: the preservation of life.

Genesis 1–3 “Man,” says Protagoras, “is the measure of all things.” In the thought-world of the Bible, though, it is not the prerogative of man ultimately to measure.1 It is rather his special predicament that he is always the one who is measured. Without exception, biblical writings of all types—narratives, laments, laws, and treatises, Old and New—assume this predicament. They explore it, perhaps, from different angles, but they never release the reader from it. That this is, in fact, the human situation is clear from the opening chapters of the Bible. When humans enter the scene, rather belatedly in the unfolding stages of creation, they take a very definite place in a cosmic order fully prior to and independent of themselves. They arrive in a world of God’s making and are immediately subject to the constraints and purposes that He, for reasons fully known only to Him, has built into it.

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That the world is suffused with divine purpose is clear from the first words: “in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Or so traditional readers understood the first words of the Bible. Some modern translations such as the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) and the Tanakh of the Jewish Publication Society (JPS) reflect the judgment of contemporary scholars that Gen 1:1 describes only the temporal beginning of creation, or the particular moment in time when God began to form the world out of watery chaos. Thus the JPS version: “when God began to create heaven and earth” or the awkward, hybrid translation of the NRSV, “in the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth.” Other versions, like the familiar Authorized Version (AV), mark a definite beginning: “in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”2 The point here is not to adjudicate the debate between scholars who, on the one hand, follow the MT and a temporal reading of Gen 1:1, and those who follow LXX and opt for an absolute beginning on the other. Traditional readers, both Jewish and Christian, read Gen 1:1 in the second sense, as a statement concerning the cause and formal principle of the world, not as a reference to its beginning in time. R. R. Reno has referred to this second, absolute reading of br’shyt in Gen 1:1 as the “substantive” sense of beginning (as in “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”).3 Thus understood, Gen 1:1 does not mark the start of God’s creating activity but its purpose or basis. It affirms that God worked according to a fundamental principle, an underlying rationale. As Reno puts it: in Genesis “Creation is for the sake of something prior and more fundamental: the divine project or plan.”4 Jews and Christians also understood the “beginning” of the world, sensibly enough, to anticipate the end for which God created it. The exact nature of this first principle or substantive beginning has been a large and divisive question. For Christians, it is God’s revelation in Christ. Thus, the archē of LXX Gen 1:1 finds its most famous echo in the prologue to the Gospel of John (1:1), where the substantive rationale for creation (its archē) is identified with Christ, the eternal Word made flesh. For Jews, it is obedience to the Torah. According to Genesis Rabba 1:1, “God looked into the Torah and created the world.”5 The first words of the Bible, then, invited traditional readers to understand the creation story and, indeed, all biblical stories not as informative or edifying tales evoking a distant form of life but rather as the purpose of creation conveyed in narrative form. To understand the “beginning” of the world was to become attuned to its order and the nature of wisdom within that order. A basic recognition of a thoroughly God-determined world in Gen 1 underlies the scriptural wisdom-seeking strategies with which we are concerned. But the opening chapters of Genesis do not allow divine determination to linger in a moral, rational, or aesthetic vacuum. The cosmic order outlined in Genesis has very particular properties that bear on wisdom. The first creation

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story (Gen 1:1–2:4a), identified by scholars with the Priestly source (P), unfolds in a didactic, disciplined, and almost austere fashion. It teaches that the created order is, above all, rational. There is a single voice and a single creative will throughout the P account, one Maker following a premeditated sequence and order: first of light, space, and land on three successive, enumerated days; then, on a second, closely correlated triad of days, of luminaries that govern time, animals that inhabit specific domains, and plants that reliably reproduce their own kinds. It is, in short, a well-organized world. Though complex, the order is not baroque; though multi-faceted, it is not intimidating. The Priestly writer describes a world that is amenable to the ordering processes of reason. God’s creative activity follows a structure; it consists, to a significant degree, in separating (1:4, 6, 7, 14, 18) naming (1:5, 8, 10), and assigning functions to things (1:6, 11, 14, 15, 20, 24, 26, 29, 30). Leon Kass has argued, with the help of Leo Strauss, that the order of the first six days of creation is thoroughly logical (not chronological), organizing created things according to place, motion, vitality, and reason. “Wonder of wonders,” he writes, “the text’s articulate speech, reporting to us God’s creative speeches, makes it possible for us intellectually to participate, long after the fact, in God’s creation of the world. Through our understanding, we are, in a sense, present at the creation.”6 One of the most salient features of the account is the prominence of divine fiat, the use of speech to call things into being. Created things are one with their names such that there is no gap between sign and signified, no room for worry about the indeterminacy and arbitrariness of language, and no lingering Platonic fear of ontological diminishment. Because the structure is cosmic and the language divine, the order set forth in Genesis 1–3 does not answer fully to human reason. But structure and language nevertheless enable and invite a derivative sort of human intellection; for humans, too, can bring order to what is disorganized and language to what goes unnamed. The created order is not only rational; it is also hospitable. It is a safe environment for life. In many ancient cosmogonies the world as we know it is the result of theomachy, battles undertaken by gods against one another or the forces of death and chaos. While it is plausible and perhaps even likely that theomachic Babylonian and Canaanite creation myths inform the biblical account at some deeply submerged level, the God of Genesis does not enforce his creative will against foes of any kind. He does not fight in order to create; he simply speaks his will into existence. Nevertheless, the Genesis account does suggest that, in ordering the world, God established supremacy over forces hostile to life. At God’s command, watery chaos and a dark formless void (1:2) give way to the divine wind and to the preternatural light of the One Day (1:5). The dragons (tanninim) that menace civilization in Babylonian myths and other portions of the Bible appear in Genesis as normal sea creatures (1:21).7

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Plants, animals, land formations, oceans, and celestial bodies are all assigned suitable domains. In Genesis 1, the ‘war’ against chaos is not bloody and heroic but rather bloodless and prosaic. The result of these efforts is an ordered cosmos capable of sustaining a variety of creatures and life forms. This is the judgment, I believe, that is captured by the repeated pronouncement of God that various aspects of creation are “good” (tob): the separation of land and sea (1:10); trees and plants that reproduce their own kind (1:12); the establishment of a greater light (sun) and lesser light (moon) to govern day and night (1:18); fish and birds that multiply in kind (1:21); land animals that reproduce in kind (1:25); the whole divine order seen in toto (1:31). All is characterized by a certain fittingness of relation, location, and reproduction. There is no struggle for life, as creatures feed exclusively on fruits and vegetables (1:29–30). The cosmic environment that plays host to life is peaceful, well-appointed, and attractive. This is not quite to say that the world is, in a strict sense, beautiful, for the idea of beauty seems to stand outside the conceptual purview, or perhaps the literary discipline of the account. The creation as we have it in Gen 1:1–2:4a is certainly made to seem appealing, but its appeal is based on its chaste and harmonious workings and not on added adornments or ravishing qualities. The creation is appealing because it weds form and function in an admirable way. As we have noted, “beginning” betokens order, specifically one that is rational and hospitable. As such, it is a fitting object for human affection and loyalty. To understand the creation in its essence as the work of a masterful God intent on the flourishing of creatures he has freely chosen to create is to see the world in profoundly moral terms. As God says repeatedly, the world, functioning as it should, is “good” (tob). It is worthy of human loyalty, not only in its admirable design but also in its fundamentally gratuitous character. The divine choice to create is not explained, but the fact that the choice was freely made is conveyed by the deliberate, irresistible character of God’s creative will throughout the account. The cosmos fulfills no divine need; the will to create corresponds to no situation external to God’s own counsel. The Genesis account intensifies the mystery of being, stressing its gratuity while veiling its basis in divine motive. In this way, it presents creation to the reader as something good and freely given and, at the same time, as rooted in a divine purpose not fully intelligible to humans. This raises the stakes in God’s relation to the cosmos. The moment the order ceases to be good, its gratuity demands that it be seen as cruel and arbitrary. This is precisely the possibility raised by the suffering Job.8 Cosmic order, then, takes on an inescapable religious valence. In this arrangement, loyalty to a biblical vision of the creation becomes a question not only of one’s affections but also of faith that being in a world of God’s making is, in a deep sense, preferable to non-being. It is to

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choose life and abhor death (Deut 30:19) and to confess that God is God not of the dead but of the living (Mt 22:32). According to Genesis, then, order is fundamental to creation. For all its rationality and functionality, though, this order must not be understood in rigid, mechanistic terms as a closed, autonomous system of exceptionless laws. In a groundbreaking study of creation in the Bible, Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence, Jon Levenson has shown that cosmic order described in Genesis and celebrated in other portions of the Bible is always precarious. To the extent that a hospitable order is in force in the world, it is the work of a “semiotiose” God who periodically renews his victories over chaos, evil, and death.9 Levenson’s persuasive demonstration is not confined to Genesis but rather relies on a wide array of biblical and extrabiblical texts to balance the serene image of God in Genesis with that of the divine warrior who must be stirred from his rest to overcome chaos and restore justice once again (e.g., Psalm 74 and Isaiah 51). Yet the images of God on the one hand as the peerless, masterful Creator and, on the other hand, as the divine champion fighting to maintain order are not totally disparate. The first creation account in Genesis in which God constructs the world bears remarkable similarities to accounts concerning the construction of the Tabernacle (Exodus) and Temple (1 Kings). This observation has led to the commonly accepted view that, as Levenson puts it, the priestly writer saw the Temple was a microcosm, and the world as a macro-temple.10 In the literary structure of Genesis and in the physical cultic structures of Israel, it is possible to see and continually re-envision the created order in its “beginning,” to behold the world in its once and future state. In light of this, it is best to understand the first creation account not as a simple description of how the world is but rather as a literary and perhaps liturgical testimony to the goodness, priority, and gratuity of a cosmic order that God is always able to enforce, even and especially when the order as such breaks down. What, then, are the possibilities for wisdom within this order? Within the context of Genesis 1–3, human wisdom is a wisdom of limits. In the cosmic order, humans stand closer to the animals than they do to God. In the opening chapters of Genesis, the primary relation is between God and the “heavens and earth.”11 Therefore, human life must be understood within the context of a larger (cf. Psalm 104), non-anthropocentric (cf. Job 38–41) cosmic order. Because the relation of God to creation is primary, any attempt at human flourishing must first account for the divine project of creation taken as a whole and, secondarily, for humankind’s role within that project. Humans come into being as other animals do: they are announced in divine speech, formed from the ground and inspired with life (2:7; cf. 1:24), and left to feed on plants and reproduce after their kind (1:28–29; cf. 1:24, 30). As purely passive recipients of being, humans are on the same level as beasts and other fellow creatures. As

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they were not in a position to decide the fact of their being in the beginning, humans are likewise not in a position to determine the nature and purpose of their being now. Yet humans are, in a qualified way, distinct from and superior to the animals. Of all created things, only humans are made “in the image” of God (1:26). Precisely what it means for humans to bear the image of God is a contested question. It will suffice here to note that immediately following the mention of divine likeness and image (v. 26), God prescribes for humans a ruling position in the world (v. 27). Therefore, the bearing of the imago Dei involves, at a minimum, the ability and responsibility of humans to rule over fellow creatures. But rule how and to what end? The language of Gen 1:26–27 evokes royal imagery. In ancient Near Eastern societies, the king was considered the “image” (tselem) or “likeness” (demuth) of the deity that appointed him and was, therefore, authorized to rule and subdue the territory of the god.12 The man, then, functions not as absolute ruler but as God’s vice-regent or “plenipotentiary representative” on earth.13 Though the exercise of delegated authority assumes a certain amount of discretionary power, the vice-royal role is ultimately an extension of the limited, subordinated role of human beings in the cosmic order, for their rule over creation on these terms is constrained by the divine will. The story of the Garden of Eden in Gen 2–3 dramatizes this predicament. The man has scope to rule, including the prerogative to inhabit the royal precinct (garden), name the animals, and eat freely of the trees in the garden, including, presumably, the tree of life. The garden was a mini-cosmos administered by the man and, later, the woman whom God “built” (2:22; Heb. wayyiben) from his rib.14 Details concerning the kinds of administrative tasks that were necessary to life in the garden are, for the most part, lacking. The biblical writer is principally interested in one feature of life in the garden: despite their capacious freedoms and privileges, the man and woman were constrained by commandment. Without a clear connection to the threatened consequence of disobedience (death) or the successful execution of the man’s larger task (to keep the garden), the commandment not to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil seems arbitrary. It is tempting, then, to suggest that it is the bare fact of commandment itself that matters in the story, not the content. God might well have commanded the man not to stand on his head or bathe in the Euphrates. I would like to suggest that the nature of the commandment has particular significance for the topic of wisdom, specifically wisdom as a kind of ruling knowledge. A good portion of the legal, narrative, and prophetic materials dealing with kings in the Bible concerns their duty to rule justly by defending the weak, punishing the predatory, and, more generally, by distinguishing properly between good and evil. To distinguish good from evil is the most

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fundamental task of the just ruler. The difficulty, of course, is how to acquire and apply such knowledge when faced with the particulars of life. For example, the general directive for the man was to rule over the animals; but, he might have wondered, what is the best way to handle an interesting but slightly suspicious serpent? How can one decide whether the talkative fellow is a help or a hindrance? This is the kind of knowledge that the man, as ruler, needed to have to carry out his duty. It would have been odd, then, for God to put just this knowledge out of the man’s reach by forbidding him the one fruit capable of imparting it to him. The serpent deceived the woman by planting in her mind the suspicion that, in order to protect his own dominion, God had done exactly this. Falling prey to the deception, the woman mistakenly identified wisdom or ruling knowledge with the act of eating the fruit, the very thing that God had forbidden, and not with abstaining from the fruit, the thing that God had explicitly commanded. The extent of her deception is clear from her semi-magical belief that the fruit itself was, in addition to being attractive and tasty, a thing “desired to make one wise” (3:6).15 In actuality, the tree was the source of knowledge, but only as long as its fruit remained uneaten. It did not produce wisdom by virtue of its inherent properties, physical or otherwise. As the object of a (token) divine commandment, it stood as a living witness to the fact that, within the cosmic order, moral discrimination and wise rule follow directly from obedience to God. The tree embodied the truth that moral knowledge depends on knowing what not to know.16 To abstain from the fruit of the tree out of deference to God is to accept human limitation and remain open to divine instruction. In the divine economy, humility and docility are prerequisites to knowledge. Disobedience, though, dislocates man within this economy and renders him unfit to advance the divine project on earth. It prevents him from receiving the wisdom necessary to fulfill the purpose for which he was created.

Proverbs The wisdom framework of Genesis 1–3 is foundational. It is not surprising, then, to find that biblical books concerned explicitly with wisdom adopt and amplify this framework. In the book of Proverbs, the quintessential book of Solomonic wisdom, the wisdom framework of Genesis is deepened and extended. There we find that the sages, too, place human life in the context of a safe, ordered, and intelligible cosmos. Just as ruling knowledge was identified with obedience to God in Genesis, so Proverbs ties competence in ruling judgment to piety: “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge” (1:7) and “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight” (9:10 RSV). The moral situation in which the book of Genesis places Adam and Eve is portrayed in Proverbs as the perennial situ-

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ation of all humankind. In Proverbs obedience is also seen as a matter of life and death. To this it adds the confirming judgment of many generations subsequent to the first. The hundreds of proverbs in the collection—observations, rules, comments on all facets of life—form a wealth of supporting evidence across the full range of human enterprise. Contained within the original command not to eat of the one tree on pain of death are thousands of derivative observations that reflect precisely the same principle. In Proverbs, tedious repetition of similar ideas and observations is not the result of lax or haphazard editorial practice; it is rather a theologically profound affirmation of the Bible’s basic wisdom principle. Wisdom is not innovative but repetitive; it is not learned as much as relearned.17 The opening verses of the book of Proverbs orient the reader to many of wisdom’s most important dimensions: The proverbs of Solomon, son of David, king of Israel: to know wisdom and discipline; to understand words of understanding; to acquire discipline in reflection, and also uprightness, justice, and equity; to give shrewdness to the simple; and to the youth knowledge and discretion. Let the wise man hear and add to his learning; and the let the man of understanding get good advice for understanding a proverb and a figure, the words of the wise and their riddles.

The figure of Solomon presides over the biblical wisdom tradition, not only because of his legendary reputation as the wisest of men (1 Kgs 4:31) but also because of his status as a great king. According to Prov 1:1, the proverbs belong to Solomon as Solomon, that is, to him as “son of David,” but they also belong to Solomon as “king of Israel.” Other kings are also memorialized as sources of wisdom: King Lemuel of Massa (31:1) and King Hezekiah, who commissioned collections of Solomon’s royal wisdom (25:1). Kings are in a particularly good position to understand what is at stake in the attainment and exercise of wisdom. As it was in Genesis, wisdom in Proverbs is a form of ruling knowledge. If it belongs to people as bearers of the divine image, then it belongs a fortiori to kings who must rule over others. The royal situation is the human situation writ large. Kingly rule ordered toward justice, equity, and protection of the weak yields stability for the whole land (e.g., Prov 29:4; 31:1– 9); unwise and unjust rule destabilizes “the foundations of the earth” (Ps 82:5). Analogously, the life of the wise individual is stable, peaceful, and prosperous, while the life of the foolish person is short, troubled, and poor. Like royal rule, which must be constantly maintained, wise self-rule must extend over an entire lifetime. Wisdom, in this sense, is not a once-for-all achievement but a path for all to follow at all times. The opening verses of Proverbs thus address both the “simple” (1:4) and the “wise man” (1:5) equally. Wisdom is acquired by the simple, but, once acquired, it must be continually supplemented: “let the wise man hear (Heb. yishma’) and add…” (1:5). As such, wisdom has a kind

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of existential urgency, much as it did in the Garden of Eden. To “hear” (Heb. shama’) is not merely to register sound but to “hearken to,” to “obey.” In facing the moral demands of wisdom, the simple must decide whether to hearken to it, but the wise man too must choose obedience. He is under constant obligation to respond to wisdom obediently or risk relapse into folly. Wisdom in Proverbs is tied to language. The “proverb” (Heb. mashal; plural meshalim) is a kind of verbal art form; it is also the wisdom form par excellence. In a penetrating discussion of the “wisdom mentality” of the sages, James Kugel argues persuasively that the acquisition and contemplation of meshalim are central to wisdom in the Bible. The mashal is a small, discrete composition; it is “essentially an independent insight, a great general rule about the way the world works, packaged in a two-part sentence [A juxtaposed with B]. It stands on its own, a one-line poem, and invites our contemplation.”18 As pithy and sometimes puzzling encapsulations, meshalim do not merely bear wisdom; they are wisdom. The form was so pervasive in the wisdom writings that, as Kugel concisely states, “wisdom meant the mashal.”19 The opening lines of Proverbs draw attention to this fact. Note that one of the marks of increased wisdom is greater competence in wisdom words. In 1:2, the simple are promised the ability to “understand words of understanding,” while the wise, in 1:6, stand to gain greater insight into the stuff of wisdom: proverbs, figures, words, and riddles. In this way the wisdom of Proverbs reflects the same linguistic particularity and confidence in language evident in the opening chapters of Genesis. But the dominance of the mashal underscores another important characteristic of wisdom in the Bible. Wisdom is thoroughly traditional. As wisdom is tied to discrete insights, growth in wisdom is identified with the accumulation of meshalim. The more proverbs one acquires, the wiser he or she is.20 Sages, then, are stewards of these accumulated insights and keepers of these bits of knowledge—moral, social, political, and religious, which they collect and pass on to their students. The point of wisdom is to preserve and extend a defined body of knowledge about the way the world in all its aspects is governed. This task is cultural: to convey truth, preserve it in a stable form, and hand it down. In this way, wisdom coincides to a great degree with what Kugel calls an “anthological temper” of mind. The sage collects, gathers, and builds. Though insightful, he is not a genius; though authoritative, he is not a guru. As Kugel points out, the notion of an anthology such as we find in the book of Proverbs presupposes some principle or set of principles that determine what is collected and what is excluded.21 In Proverbs, the foundational principle, as we have pointed out, is piety or obedience, what biblical writers called the “fear of the Lord.” But the final principle of wisdom is life, specifically the preservation of life. As Paul Tarazi has put it, “wisdom’s field of interest is the preservation of the flow of human life and of life on earth.”22 Thus one

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finds in Proverbs numerous connections between, on the one hand, wisdom and its many cognates—knowledge, discretion, uprightness, as well as words, commandments, and teachings—and, on the other hand, length of days, flourishing, and tranquil old age. Stated succinctly, whoever attains wisdom finds life (Prov 4:22; 8:35). Wisdom is identified with a “tree of life” (Prov 3:18) and a “fountain of life” (Prov 13:14) and its opposite, folly, is tied repeatedly throughout the book of Proverbs to the death, destruction, perishing, and disappearance of life. The biblical quest for wisdom, though, is not an alchemical quest for the Philosophers’ Stone or the elixir of life. Wisdom preserves life in its essential and God-given character; it is not a technological extension of life subject to human judgment. To live according to wisdom is to heed intelligently that body of knowledge that experience has shown to be a reliable guide to human flourishing. The sage lays hold of “life” and the fool embraces “death,” but both, of course, end up in the grave. The attainment of “life,” then, does not mean immortality in this context; “life” stands for a stable and durable mode of living that is characterized by whole-hearted, clear-minded conformity to the cosmic order in its social, moral, and religious aspects. The ultimate vindication of this kind of life, the “proof” that it is better than its alternative, is simply that it alone endures, while the disordered life of the unwise comes to ruin and grief. As the heart of the wisdom “theory” of Proverbs, the identification of flourishing with wisdom is simple and straightforward. As a description of actual human experience, it is, of course, problematic. Other biblical texts, notably the books of Job and Ecclesiastes, suggest that the wisdom program of the sages does not always lead to life in its expansive sense: the righteous equally come to grief, frustration, and death. In the end, though, these books and similar biblical texts (e.g., Habakkuk, Psalm 73) do not overthrow the connection between wisdom and life. They rather qualify our understanding of both wisdom and life in the light of human moral and intellectual limitations. For all of its difficulties, the path of wisdom remains the path of life. Given the nature and order of things, the most that the sages can do when they come to the outer reaches of wisdom theory is to place hand over mouth (Job 40:4) and return once again to the center where it is possible to relearn the “whole duty of humankind”: “fear God and keep his commandments.” (Eccl 12:13). We do not typically equate wisdom with the preservation of life, perhaps because our classical inheritance has taught us to think of wisdom as something more constructive, like Plato’s pure contemplation of the Good or the formidable human perfection of Aristotle’s phronimos. In Proverbs, though, wisdom is what enables the community to endure, while lack of wisdom leads to death and extinction. The connection of wisdom to life is also evident elsewhere in the Bible. In the book of Isaiah, wisdom seems to mean a strategy for survival. Thus in Isa 29:14 the Lord promises that the “wisdom of their wise

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shall perish,” that is, their strategy for communal life will come to naught. And in Isa 33:6 the Lord is identified with wisdom that bears Israel through threats and difficulties. Wisdom, says the prophet, is the “stability” of their “times.” Perhaps most interesting, though, is the case of Noah. Noah is counted among great wise men in the book of Ezekiel even though the Bible records no words of his before the flood and very few after. The basis for his reputation as a wise man has to do with his actions, not his words: through Noah’s careful and active obedience to divine command, the human race was preserved. The prophet Ezekiel thus places Noah in a group of legendary sages alongside Job and Danel (Ezek 14:14) to dramatize a prophecy so dire that even exemplary human wisdom will not be able to avert it. Even this “wisdom dream team,” Ezekiel says, will not be able to help Judah to survive the coming judgment; Noah and company “would save only their own lives by their righteousness.”23 Given the strong connection between wisdom and the preservation of life, it is reasonable to think that the desire to live would offer adequate incentive to pursue wisdom. After all, what is more basic than the will to survive? Yet long before Freud spoke of a self-destructive “death drive” in the human psyche, biblical sages recognized that humans cannot be relied upon to act according to rational self-interest. That is why the book of Proverbs, though oriented toward the preservation of life, is not framed as a survival manual. Rather it opens with a series of rhetorically charged discourses designed to get readers to choose life. The opening discourses woo readers away from selfdestruction that they, through ignorance and wantonness, are likely to embrace. If Genesis affirmed that the creation is good, then Proverbs seeks to persuade the reader that life in the created order is also profoundly good. Proverbs 1–9 contain ten speeches addressed to a member of the younger generation, a student of wisdom who is conventionally referred to as “my son.” There are also two sections (8:1–36 and 9:1–18) that portray wisdom itself (or, rather, herself) in figurative and allegorical terms as the personification of the created order. The first nine chapters of Proverbs, taken as a unit, portray wisdom as something that must be chosen and pursued and, paradoxically, as something that cannot be escaped. There are definite moments within these discourses when the sages commend wisdom by appealing to a natural abhorrence of death and destruction. Once fleeting pleasures give out, a life without wisdom runs poorly and ends badly. The order asserts itself and folly reveals itself forcibly and irrevocably. The two great forms of folly in Proverbs 1–9 revolve around sex and money. The schemer who throws in his lot with greedy companions that prey on the innocent finds, in the end, that he is only ensnaring himself: “such are the ways of all who get gain by violence; it takes away the life of its possessors.” (1:19 RSV) The wicked lose all standing and forsake their inherited places, being “cut off” and “rooted out” of the community (2:22). They become non-

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entities. The deceitful man on the make thinks all is well until “calamity” comes on him suddenly and he is “broken beyond healing” (6:15). So it is with the sexual adventurer who turns aside from the “wife of his youth” (5:18). What begins as a promising encounter with an alluring stranger becomes a death trap. When she leads the way into her bedchamber, the unsuspecting lover follows “as an ox goes to the slaughter, or as a stag is caught fast till an arrow pierces its entrails; as a bird rushes into a snare; he does not know that it will cost him his life” (7:22–23 RSV). In going to his doom, he joins a “mighty host” in the underworld (sheol), a great throng of pleasure-seekers who failed to see the grave perils of adultery. In using such stark images to characterize the consequences of sin, the sages of Proverbs employ the same kind of moral telescoping that is implicit in the death sentence issued by God in Genesis (“In the day you eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall surely die.” 2:17). In disobeying this command, the man and the woman did not immediately die. The serpent was right on this point. Yet their disobedience constituted a rejection of the only life-sustaining path open to them. They brought themselves under a long, slow death sentence. Similarly, the dishonest man and the adulterer do not immediately enter Sheol. But according to the logic of Proverbs, their chosen way of life can only end there. The stakes in the contest between wisdom and folly are high. Yet the main concern of Proverbs 1–9 is not to dangle the sword of Damocles over the head of the reader. Wisdom aims at the preservation of life, but not through the naked fear of death. The aim of the opening chapters of Proverbs is to convince the young, non-wise hearer that wisdom, as the supreme good, is worthy of allegiance. The young are not fully formed; they are not yet “wise” or “foolish.” Rather, they are uninstructed and “simple,” capable of following either the path of wisdom or the path of folly. It is the burden of the discourses of Proverbs to win the simple to the side of life, to claim their loyalties for wisdom. It is natural for the young to look at the older generation for models, to ask whose life is attractive, satisfying, and worthy of emulation. Who among their elders, they ask, can be considered, in the fullest sense, happy? Proverbs anticipates the likely (but wrong) answer: the rich and powerful. It seems obvious that happiness, if not derived from money and prestige, at least requires some measure of them. Rather than contest this point, the sage co-opts their obvious appeal and explains that wealth and honor are by-products of wisdom. They are components of a complete life, but the one indispensable thing, the true key to happiness is wisdom. According to Prov 3:13–18 (RSV), the wise man possesses wealth and honor as secondary goods: Happy is the man who finds wisdom and the man who gets understanding,

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for the gain from it is better than gain from silver and its profit better than gold. She is more precious than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her. Long life is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her; those who hold her fast are called happy.

The superiority of wisdom consists in the fact that gold and silver do not, by themselves, yield the benefits of a wise life, namely peace and longevity. Yet wisdom by itself does yield “riches and honor”; along with other benefits they follow wisdom as a matter of course. It is, to be sure, a particular kind of riches and honor, one that corresponds to the risk-averse character of wisdom. By commending a life characterized by honesty and self-control, the sages mark out a way of life that is oriented toward the slow, steady accumulation of wealth and honor, one that is disciplined to enjoy the refined pleasures of loyal friendship, stable marriage, honest work, and hard-won knowledge of the way the world works. The sages frown on risky enterprises that appeal to the young: quick fortunes, thrilling romances, and feats of daring. The move here is to highlight a different kind of risk. The point is not to show that the fool endangers himself in choosing folly, but rather that, in chasing pleasure, he risks the loss of genuine happiness. The appeal of wisdom runs deeper than its secondary benefits, substantial though they are. As a form of ordering knowledge, it answers to a deep human desire for internal moral and intellectual satisfaction, or for what, in modern idiom, might be called meaning and purpose. The person who has received wisdom from God and lives according to it does not only obey wisdom; over time, he or she begins to experience the world in a wise way. The difference between the two modes may be compared, perhaps, to a novice cook and an expert chef. The former succeeds by following recipes he may not fully understand, while the latter is able to succeed in and enjoy cooking by freely using and adapting the knowledge he has gained over many years. The facts and rules of cooking are not different for the two, but their understanding of the facts, their relation to the rules, and their experience of how the rules operate, surely are. Similarly, growth in wisdom leads to an enhanced experience of life. It ultimately effects an internalization of the cosmic order that makes wise living pleasant and skillful. This idea is expressed in Prov 2:9–10. The preceding verses (2:1–8) describe the process by which one becomes wise: attending to wisdom, searching for it intently, receiving it from God, and walking in it. But the beginning of verse nine marks a turning point:

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•PAUL NADIM TARAZI• Then (Heb. ‘az) you will understand righteousness and justice and equity, every good course of action for wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul.

The particle ‘az emphasizes a logical connection to what follows, suggesting here that growth in wisdom leads at a certain point to a new form of understanding and knowledge. One the one hand, the student of wisdom will come to understand the fundamental principles of wisdom (righteousness, justice, and equity) and identify their workings in a variety of good courses of action. He will become a theoretician of wisdom. On the other hand, knowledge of those principles will yield delight. He will become a lover of wisdom. Thus the sages in Prov 7:3–4 describe the relation to wisdom in affective terms. Wisdom’s commandments are to be inscribed on “the tablet of the heart,” and wisdom herself is to become the bride, the beloved of the sage.24 In this way, wisdom is not merely a prudential recognition of the rules but a galvanizing force in the human heart and mind. The opening discourses of the book of Proverbs reach their climax in the speeches of chapters eight and nine. There wisdom, personified as a woman (but not an altogether human woman), enters the fray of human life and addresses the people directly. She sounds many of the themes that we have already discussed: that wisdom leads to happiness (8:34); that folly leads to harm and death (8:36); that wisdom is superior to gold and silver (8:10–11) but productive of riches and honor (8:18); and that the relation of the wise to wisdom is one of love (8:17). What is striking, though, is the cosmic sweep of wisdom. She identifies herself with the substantive “beginning” of creation (8:22) and describes herself as a kind of faithful companion to God (Heb. ‘amon) over the course of time (8:30).25 She surveys the whole cosmic order, from top to bottom and beginning to end. This order includes the boundaries of the sea, the shape of the mountains, and the limits of the sky, but it also encompasses the social order. As she declares, “by me kings reign and rulers decree what is just; by me princes rule, and nobles govern the earth.” (8:15–16; RSV) Nothing stands outside her jurisdiction. When she invites the simple to learn from her (8:5–7, 10), love her (8:17), seek her out (8:35), and feast at her table (9:1–6), she does so from a position of insuperable strength and unassailable authority. Her invitations presuppose the right to refuse but not the right to refuse with impunity. In her fearsome summons, she appeals, all at once, to the reason, self-interest, moral aspiration, and affection of the hearer. It is a bid for complete loyalty. Wisdom, we learn, is not a thing to be possessed but a presiding presence to be served.

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Jeremiah and Lamentations Israel’s status as the chosen people of God did not relax its relation to the presiding presence of wisdom. On the contrary, it intensified it. The cosmic order described in Genesis and Proverbs forms the basis and background for Israel’s life under God. But the substance of that life—its history, culture, and religion—was a concrete experience of order that gave biblical wisdom even fuller and more complex expression. Israel presents a special case, as it were, of wisdom theory. If wisdom preserves life and folly leads to destruction, then the experience of Israel in particular ought to bear this out. The belief that Israel’s history did precisely this is the dominant theme of the biblical books associated with the prophets. To function as a prophet was to see and understand contemporary events in light of the underlying sacred and social orders. The prophets understood Israel’s place and participation in this order largely in terms of “covenant.” Though utterly supreme in his power over the whole world, God established a unique relationship with a particular people. In choosing Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, rescuing their descendants from Egypt, and giving them His law at Sinai, God formed Israel into a people “possessed” in a unique way by Him. (Heb. weheyiytem li segullah mikkol-ha’ammim; Ex 19:5) The God of creation became, in time, the God of Jacob and the Holy One of Israel. This dynamic narrowing of the divine interest and the subsequent imposition of wisdom on Israel is summarized nicely in the book of Deuteronomy, the great prophetic charter of Israel: Behold, to the Lord your God belong heaven and the heaven of heavens, the earth with all that is in it; yet the Lord set his heart in love upon your fore-fathers and chose their descendants after them, you above all peoples, to this day. Circumcise therefore the foreskin of your heart, and be no longer stubborn. For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of Lord, the great, the mighty, and the terrible God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. You shall fear the Lord your God; you shall serve him and cleave to him, and by his name you shall swear. (10:14–20; RSV)

This passage contains several key prophetic key themes that illustrate the continuity of wisdom and covenant. As we have seen, wisdom presumes order. As peerless cosmic proprietor, Yahweh presides over the entire cosmic order, including the “heaven of heavens,” the earth, and everything on the earth. As “God of gods,” he exercises his will without rival. In this passage, the accent falls not on the stability and rationality of the order but on its total subordination to God. As we noted earlier, this order must not be understood in mechanistic terms, for it is, at all points, dependent upon God’s active involvement. As such, it is a personal rather than impersonal order. In Proverbs, the sages identified wisdom with a static body of knowledge; nevertheless, they could

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not resist personalizing order, making wisdom, Lady Wisdom, a living and dynamic voice in human affairs. Yahweh’s adoption of Israel, His decision to “set his heart in love” on Israel and bind Himself to them by covenant, is fully compatible with this personalistic conception of order. From the perspective of Greek philosophy or modern science, it may seem strange to portray order as dynamic and communicative. But in the Bible, cosmic order, whether identified with Lady Wisdom or the living God of the covenant, is neither silent nor static. The mode of life that follows from the covenant relation expounded by the prophets is structured by precepts designed to preserve Israel’s common life in a divinely ordered world. These include duties that were prominent in Proverbs, namely care for the poor and disadvantaged (Deut 10:18) and internal loyalty to law (“circumcision of the heart”; Deut 10:16). To this the Deuteronomy passage above adds an injunction to fear, serve, and cleave to Yahweh and—as the entire book of Deuteronomy makes clear—to cleave to Yahweh alone. Both the book of Deuteronomy and the prophets in general place special emphasis on idolatry. Though idolatry in se is not a characteristic concern of wisdom texts such as we find in Proverbs, loyal service to Yahweh is identified as the basis of wisdom. Both the prophets and the sages recognized that, for people to endure in wisdom, they must do so out of deep-seated loyalty to the good and the Author of the good. As an expression of that loyalty, the covenant must be considered a vital part of the biblical framework of wisdom. It fell to the prophets, specifically Jeremiah, to make sense of life in light of God’s covenant. Known as the “weeping prophet,” Jeremiah was a southern prophet of priestly lineage who presided over the final decades of the kingdom of Judah in the late seventh and early sixth centuries BCE. In the book that bears his name, some of his recorded speeches are addressed to the people from God and a smaller number are addressed to God on behalf of himself or the people. To judge from the preponderance of speeches having to do with the social and moral failures of Judahite society, it seems that Jeremiah’s principal task was to explain the fall of Judah simply and straightforwardly as the inevitable consequence of folly. Wisdom, if heeded, would have led to the preservation of life, but, alas, the unwise way of life that Jerusalem’s kings and its people chose had now led inexorably to ruin. By rejecting wisdom, they had brought catastrophe on themselves. Throughout the book, Jeremiah documents and elaborates failure after failure. Like Socrates in search of a single just man, Jeremiah scours Jerusalem to find one person whose righteousness might redeem the city (5:1). He finds none: “all alike had broken the yoke, they had burst the bonds.” (5:5) Biblical writers used images of “bonds” and “yokes” to stand for the subjugation of a people by an oppressive ruler (e.g. Ps 2:3; Nah 1:13; Isa 52:2). Here Jeremiah uses the expression to characterize the

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attitude of Judah toward the limitations that divine wisdom had set for the social order. Though they ought to have embraced constraining commandments as life-giving (cf. Sir 6:23–31), the people chafed against them as though divine law were life-inhibiting. Instead of remaining loyal to the living God, they turned to idols of their making, a “tree” here or a “stone” there unable to hear or save (2:27). Instead of sharing responsibility for a just social order, they neglected the poor and needy (5:28), excelled in violence and destruction (6:7), and became greedy for unjust gain (6:13). Most troubling to the prophet was the hypocrisy of rejecting the prescriptions of the covenant, namely commandments against idolatry and wickedness, while claiming its great benefit: enduring divine favor. In one of the speeches that Jeremiah made in the Temple, the first “Temple Sermon” (7:1–15), he lays out his case against the people on behalf of God: Behold, you trust in deceptive words to no avail. Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, burn incense to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are delivered!’—only to go on doing all these abominations? Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, I myself have seen it, says the Lord. (7:8–11 RSV)

Jeremiah held the leaders and their “deceptive words” responsible for creating false confidence among the people. The prophets assured all that there was “‘peace, peace’ when there was no peace.” (6:14) Like shepherds preying on their own sheep, kings exploited the people for their own gain (12:10). It was painfully clear to Jeremiah that Judah could not endure under these conditions. The people took the covenant to mean that Jerusalem and its king were sacrosanct and thereby invulnerable to the sword of divine judgment. For Jeremiah, though, life under the covenant meant that the tip of that sword was pointed, above all, at his own people. To speak for wisdom in this prophetic sense was not simply an intellectual task. It is true that the prophet examined and evaluated the social order, rendering judgments about its relation to sacred reality and the prospects of divine curses and blessings. In this way he was a kind of wisdom analyst. In a more profound sense, though, the prophet became a spokesman for wisdom by embodying it and lending it his own living voice in a specific time and place. The sacred and social orders he aimed to enforce were not rigid legal constructions or impersonal systems but, as we saw in both Genesis and Proverbs, dynamic realities dependent upon God’s active will. To the extent that the prophet was a spokesman of wisdom, he was also attuned to the will and character of God as a free and powerful being not reducible to a moral system or even a particular kind of covenant. To the extent that he spoke personally to his own people, he was drawn body and soul into the drama of human life.

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The doubly engaged character of the prophet as one attuned to God but sent to a particular people is evident in the book of Lamentations. Written in the aftermath of the destruction of Jerusalem, Lamentations is a collection of five alphabetic acrostics that express profound grief, shock, and disorientation. Ancient versions and interpretive tradition attributed this work to Jeremiah.26 Modern commentators, though, question the attribution. As Delbert Hillers, author of a fine commentary on Lamentations, has argued, details within the book “suggest an author or authors more closely identified with the common hopes and fears of the people than it was possible for Jeremiah to be.”27 This argument assumes too much about the psychology of Jeremiah for my taste, and it reflects an overly narrow interest in the historiographic meaning of claims for Jeremian authorship. Given limited historical evidence for the authorship of the book, it is, I believe, more instructive to ask how Jeremian authorship functions as a hermeneutical assumption. Hillers reads Lamentations astutely as the poetic attempt of an ancient, literate layman trying to cope with grief by managing, measuring, and expressing it. There is much to learn from such a reading. However, the grief that animates Lamentations is of a very particular kind. It has a special poignancy that arises from the fact the author finds himself in the midst of almost unspeakable loss and suffering—but this loss, this suffering were wrought by the only one to whom the sufferer can appeal for redemption. Yahweh fully encloses the realm of possibility. Thus, to suffer here is to see with painful clarity the true order of things and to learn that no loyalty is safe that is not loyalty to God. That is why the Lamentations are the Lamentations of Jeremiah. To see the order of things is a prophetic act, indeed the prophetic act par excellence. Lamentations 1 places Jerusalem in precisely this situation. A city beloved by God but then forsaken by Him can only be described as utterly alone: “how lonely sits the city that was full of people!” (1:1) The city, personified as a woman, is bereft of solace. That she has no comforters, allies, or friends is a persistent refrain (1:2, 7, 9, 16, 17, 21). Jerusalem is likened to a defiled woman, left to wallow in her shame (1:8–9). The chapter is paced by profound expressions of grief: weeping, groaning, distress, astonishment, and desperate cries for help. But in the midst of this grief, there is a clear effort to discern the order of things. The effort is rough and raw, to be sure, but it is evident nonetheless. Jeremiah turns to God at various points in Lamentations 1. One can only reach understanding by explaining what is obscure in light of what is clear. The opening poem of Lamentations, then, is a bid to interpret suffering in light of what is known. For the prophet, nothing is more fundamental than the presiding presence of God. Jeremiah does not ask who God is in light of his suffering, but seeks to understand his suffering in light of who God is. Because sacred order is the more fundamental reality, it frames experience, not the other way round. An inward journey into individual pathos yields only

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confusion; it cannot produce knowledge. A downward movement from divine authority, by contrast, sets suffering in a clear light. Reasons thus begin to frame suffering. The prophet discerns divine agency. Yahweh burned with anger against Jerusalem and ensnared it. (1:13) Thus, Jeremiah begins to understand what the destruction amounts to: “The Lord is in the right, for I have rebelled against his word” (1:18). A general, formulaic explanation of suffering as divine punishment (such as this seems to be) is morally repugnant. As Job and Qoheleth insisted, a retributive theory of divine justice does not withstand intellectual scrutiny; nor does it adequately capture experience. Yet the point here in Lamentations is not to propose a general theory of suffering in poetic form; it is rather to penetrate the logic of the covenant as it functioned in the actual experience of Judah and Jerusalem. In Lamentations 2, Jeremiah ventures more deeply into the mystery of divine agency. There we find even more direct characterizations of God’s violence against the city. The verbs in this chapter are active and transitive, and Yahweh is nearly always the subject. The Babylonians are ignored. God is a besieging enemy, carefully planning the fall of Jerusalem. Like a combat engineer, he “measures out the line” (v. 8) and then proceeds to encircle the city, tear down its defenses, and sink its gates. After describing the pathetic scenes throughout the defeated city—children dying in their mothers’ laps, dignitaries collapsed in grief on the ground, young girls turned into mourners—Jeremiah declares that Yahweh accomplished precisely what he intended. “Yahweh has done what he planned, has carried out his threat as he ordained long ago.” (v. 17, NJB) To acknowledge the intentional premeditated quality of Yahweh’s all-out assault on Jerusalem is to delve more deeply into the order of things. The prophet does not identify the catastrophe with divine caprice; he does not despair of its fundamental (although necessarily incomplete) intelligibility. Rather he accepts that it was deliberate. To embrace divine agency in this way is, for the prophet, also to find a way back, to gain a foothold in a new attempt to square experience with order. Beginning in 2:18, Jeremiah starts to issue commands: “cry,” “weep,” “get up,” “pour out your heart,” “raise your hands.” These are actions that return the mourner to a vision of order. But this vision of order is not of an abstract moral framework. It is rather the perception of a new possibility that becomes visible because the mourner has actively changed his location and his point of view with respect to God. The mourner has become a penitent. Lamentations 3 is the longest and most elaborate chapter in the book. Like the other chapters it is an alphabetic acrostic, but instead of one verse for each letter of the alphabet, it has three. Written in first-person, it places the reader directly in the role of sufferer. The first third (vv. 1–21) includes a variety of images that reinforce the strong portrayal of divine agency from the preceding chapter. Though directed against the people of Judah as a whole, the

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effects of Yahweh’s attack on the city also reach the individual. The prophet identifies with the judgment poured out on the people: “I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his wrath; he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light; surely against me he turns his hand again and again the whole day long.” (3:1) The sufferer wastes away (3:4), struggles under heavy chains (3:7), and is shot through the heart with arrows (3:13). He is reduced to utter desolation: “I have forgotten what happiness is” (3:17). It has all become, to understate the matter, very personal. Nevertheless, the sufferer’s notion that divine judgment is exacted against him “again and again the whole day long” is not a narcissistic one. It rather reflects the mutual character of covenant as an intensification of divine order. If God acts as the enemy of His people, then the individual Jerusalemite—here represented by the prophet—is not an innocent by-stander, a mere casualty of war. He is the direct object of that enmity. It is precisely the refusal to understand the fall of the city as an accident of history, a fated event, or an inevitable geopolitical outcome that leads to wisdom. Verses 22 through 24 open the second third of the chapter. They mark a dramatic turning point in chapter three and, indeed, the book as a whole: The steadfast love (Heb. hesed) of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

At the climax of the prophet’s meditation on divine agency, one in which he accepts God’s deliberate acts against Jerusalem, he arrives at the core of the covenant. His painful, searching exploration of divine intent leads him unexpectedly to the reality of God’s gracious loyalty toward His people. Nothing in the situation of the fallen city suggests that God’s “mercies never come to an end.” Quite the contrary! How, then, did the prophet reach this unlikely conclusion? Though a concept disposed in every way toward order, the covenant cannot be reduced to the concept of justice. Chapters 1 and 2 brought the fall of Jerusalem into focus as a (dark) encounter with the divine order, a personal and communal experience of judgment. As we see here in ch. 3, though, the point is not that the order is merely a system of moral equity and Jerusalem has received what it deserves. The covenant is not a critical concept designed to judge experience but a constructive one aimed at the preservation of life. The verses cited above (3:22–24) bear an interesting resemblance to a passage in Jeremiah: Yahweh says this, “If I have not created day and night and fixed the laws governing heaven and earth, why, then I shall reject the descendants of Jacob and of David my servant and cease to choose rulers from his descendants for the heirs of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob! For I shall bring back their captives and take pity on them.” (Jer 33:25–26; NJB)

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Both the Lamentations passage and the Jeremiah passage recall creation. One refers to the hope inspired by each day’s sunrise, and the other invokes the totality of the created order governing day and night, heaven and earth. The judgment on Jerusalem was the result of divine intent, to be sure, but a more fundamental perspective shows that God’s most basic intent is to see the divine project through to its end. It is in reflecting on the persistence and stability of creation itself that Jeremiah discerns God’s loyalty to that creation. If the wicked world endures, it must be because God’s desire to see it through is more fundamental and more powerful than the will of humans to subvert the project. The sun has risen and set on a great deal of human treachery and misery throughout the ages, but it goes on rising and setting all the same. If the divine determination underlying that fact belongs to the God of the covenant—as the prophets believed it did—then Israel, too, has some basis for hope. As Hillers has aptly said of hesed or loyalty: “This is not a passing phase in God, but an enduring part of his nature, always being renewed toward mankind, and an ancient part of Israel’s faith.”28 In the aftermath of the fall of Jerusalem, one would certainly have been justified in thinking that Judah and Jerusalem, having come to grief through idolatry and injustice, would simply go the way of most nations and disappear. But the prophetic perspective, keyed both to covenant and creation, was based on the continuity of the sacred and social orders. If social injustice brought sacred censure, then God’s loyalty to the creation could also inspire social hope. The prophetic lamentation, in this way, becomes an affirmation of life. The last two chapters of Lamentations (chs. 4 and 5) extend the climactic insight of ch. 3. God’s loyalty to creation and his continuing mastery of the cosmic order yield the hope that He will also assume control of the social order. In other words, the prophet hopes that God will once again become king. Chapter 4 contains a series of images that focus on the plight of Jerusalem’s leaders. Dead, wounded, and starving in the streets, they are like gold and jewels that have been tarnished and discarded carelessly in the gutter (4:1). Jerusalem’s noble sons, princes, and kindly women have been reduced to cannibals (v. 10) and pathetic, disfigured wanderers (v. 8). The priests and the prophets, keepers of the sacred order, have become blind and bloody and thus, ironically, ritually unclean (vv. 13–14). The final indignity concerns the Davidic ruler. The king, the “messiah” of Yahweh, has not secured peace and security; instead he has been cast into the pits of the enemy (v. 20). With the capture of the king, the collapse of the social order is complete. But, at this point, Jerusalem has not come to an end; rather, its punishment has. Thus v. 22a: “The punishment of your iniquity, O daughter of Zion, is accomplished.” The king thus deposed, Jeremiah turns to God as enforcer of the order. Yahweh will begin to restore justice, beginning with Judah’s treacherous neighbor, Edom (v. 22b).

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Chapter 5, which is addressed directly to God, also moves from an account of suffering to a new hope in Yahweh’s kingship. It employs prophetic categories to describe the people of Jerusalem, but it does so in an unexpected way. According to Jeremiah, the city fell because it had become corrupt, unjust, and violent. In chapter five, though, the roles have been reversed: those who mistreated the disadvantaged have themselves become, in a rather rich irony, “orphans” and “widows” (v. 3). Jerusalem’s leaders have become the very poor (v. 4), oppressed (vv. 5–6, 8–13), and disenfranchised people (v. 2) that they once exploited! Knowing that God is the defender of orphans, widows, and the poor, Jeremiah appeals to God for justice on behalf of the people, a justice they were not willing to uphold when they were in a position to do so. The cost of a new saving justice is the relinquishing of Judah’s right to rule itself. Jeremiah concedes defeat: “the crown has fallen from our head” (v. 16). Jerusalem’s human leaders have failed, but God’s kingly rule remains: “you, O Lord, reign forever; your throne endures to all generations” (v. 19). The people return, then, as suppliants to the divine throne. The book thus ends with questions: “have you utterly rejected us? Are you exceedingly angry with us?” (v. 22) The people are now entirely at the mercy of God. What do Jeremiah and Lamentations contribute to our understanding of the biblical framework for wisdom? The word “wisdom” does not occur in Lamentations, and it appears only a handful of times in Jeremiah. When Jeremiah does mention it, he either refers to it derisively as a vain, human approximation of God’s wisdom (8:9; 9:23)—in other words, no wisdom at all— or, in rather stock phrasing, as the means by which God created the world (10:12; 51:15). Yet it would be a mistake to exclude these books from a discussion of biblical wisdom. Prophets are distinct from sages. The latter collect, keep, and transmit knowledge necessary to the preservation of life within the cosmic order. The prophets, however, bring this to bear on society itself. By speaking, in particular, of the covenant, they narrow and intensify the relation of the people to the divine realm. It is thus possible to see in their words and actions, a lower and upper register, a social and sacred order. Because the larger cosmic order encompasses them both, the prophets located wisdom in a maximal harmony between the two. Yet the prophetic books show again and again that this order was not a closed system. It could be investigated reliably but not exhaustively. Because God is a living God and not a lifeless idol, sound wisdom must always account for the possibility of a surprising divine loyalty. Humans can fail to live according to wisdom for reasons of moral weakness; when they do, the prophets are there to censor and inveigh. But humans can also fail in another way. According to the prophets, wisdom derived only from human investigation of order or from investigation of an order assumed to be static will lead only to frustration and despair. Careful thinking and moral reasoning must acknowledge the fact that even our best

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attempts to navigate this life remain fallible, sometimes disastrously so. They must remain open to the possibility that hesed, or divine loyalty to creation, will ultimately prove more fundamental to reality than human despair, provided there is an honest reckoning with failure and a refusal to give up. In other words, for the prophets, hope is wise.

Conclusion Wisdom in the Bible presumes and reflects the rule of God over creation. In claiming that God rules by wisdom, biblical writers characterize His rule as rational, benevolent, and just. The aim of wisdom is to preserve life on these terms. The cosmos is described in Genesis as stable, hospitable, and well ordered. Inasmuch as humans are appointed by God to rule over the creation derivatively, that is, by God’s authority, their ruling knowledge or wisdom consists in a form of moral and intellectual discrimination based on obedience to and emulation of God. This is also, in essence, the way wisdom is understood in the book of Proverbs. The anthological character of the book suggests that ruling knowledge is also traditional and linguistically defined. Therefore, it can be distilled, accumulated, and passed on. Wisdom endures, then, as an indispensable body of knowledge about life in the sacred and social orders that govern the cosmos. This knowledge works best, according to the sages, when it is studied, pursued, internalized, and actively enjoyed, when its vision of life captures the full loyalty of the individual. Prophets like Jeremiah taught that the people’s loyalty to God, necessary as it was to the preservation of life, was graciously offset by an even stronger loyalty, that of God toward his creation. This relation of mutual loyalty, expressed in the covenant between God and Israel, frames wisdom as a strategy for common life that is based on the just rule of God, a social order that accurately reflects the nature of sacred authority. The New Testament writers saw Jesus as the bearer of a new covenant who inaugurated this rule on earth, first by embodying its goodness and justice and, second, by dying a shameful death on the cross. This, for Paul, was the ultimate demonstration of divine wisdom because it made possible a new kind of human community, one based not on the existing powers but on people gathered from all nations to live in united loyalty to the only just ruler: Jesus, the kyrios (“lord”) who took the form of a doulos (“slave”; Phil 2:7) in obedience to God the Father. As a result, human wisdom manifests itself in sincere emulation of Christ’s humility (James 3:13–18; Phil 2:3–11). For all the different ways that wisdom is reflected in the Bible, the various elements of the Bible’s wisdom framework—creation, covenant, cross—never stray far from the authority of God. To say that God looms large in biblical conceptions of wisdom is to understate the matter considerably. God is the point of reference for all points of reference. Wisdom begins with God and proceeds from him on his terms, and humans reject it at their peril. Put this

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way, wisdom seems to entail an inhumane, heteronomous morality, the kind that Kant and other moderns have found so abhorrent. Though it may not be possible to save a biblical wisdom framework for Kant, it should be pointed out that the texts we have examined also entail strong criticisms of human heteronomy. That is, there is a strong resistance to forms of human rule over other humans. For example, it is humanity as a whole that bears the ruling authority associated with the divine likeness or image (Gen 1:26–27), not a specific king as in Mesopotamian texts. The failures of the monarchy, broadcast regularly and loudly by the prophets, are the basis for visions of God replacing corrupt and unjust rulers with a new order. The authority claimed by Lady Wisdom constrains and conditions human authority, for kings reign by wisdom or not at all (Prov 8:15). Jesus’s status as kyrios was understood to rival Caesar’s imperial identity, and the cross was seen paradoxically as the reassertion of God’s rule on earth. As these texts place humans into closer contact with divine authority, they denigrate the authority of human kings and emperors. If the biblical writers were uncertain about the ability of humans to rule themselves wisely, they were nevertheless sure of our ability to oppress and exploit one another. For this reason they taught that wisdom, which was written down for our instruction (1 Cor 10:11), cannot be left to a contest of human power, knowledge, and eloquence; rather, it must signal the end of that contest, and the beginning of the “good and pleasant” life known only to those who dwell together in unity as “brothers” (Ps 133:1).

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Beyond Anti-History: Genesis 1 as Mašal

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ne of the most significant developments in the revised edition of Fr. Paul Tarazi’s Introduction to the Old Testament is an even a stronger affirmation of the Bible as “anti-history.”1 Rejecting the notion that the Bible offers any sort of factual account of history, Tarazi asserts, “If you take recourse to the royal chronicles to tell you what really happened, you will only demonstrate that you are uninterested in what God has to say about kings and his people.”2 Tarazi insists that the facts recorded in the Bible cannot be confirmed by external sources nor do they require confirmation.3 The Bible is mašal, which is, as Tarazi defines it, an edifying story. The biblical story of Israel and Judah is just that: an edifying story that was never intended to be factual history. In the following article, I apply Tarazi’s concept of mašal to the creation of the Sabbath in Gen 1:1–2:4 in an attempt to demonstrate the significance of the notion of anti-history outside the “historical” books of the Bible.

In the Beginning? Genesis 1 cannot be taken as history in the modern sense of objective enquiry into what actually happened “in the beginning.” Nowhere in the Bible is it stated that Moses wrote the Torah, nor is it indicated that Genesis 1 is any sort of paleontological treatise. Moreover, the classical rendering of the Hebrew word for “in the beginning” is problematic since notions of beginning, start, or onset are usually expressed by the root 4 ‫ חדל‬while the ordinal number ‫ ראשׁון‬denotes the first element of a series.5 The confusion between “first” and “beginning” goes back to the LXX, which uses ἀρχὴ in Gen 1:1 and Hos 1:2. For the present purpose, the difference between “beginning” and “first” is crucial. Hebrew grammar confirms the impossibility of any sort of beginning at v. 1. The first narrative form (‫ )ויאמר‬occurs in v. 3. Prior to this, there is no proper beginning apart from the onset of writing, as no action is being narrated. The first two verses present the backdrop of what is about to happen. The

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full meaning of Gen 1:1 appears when it is compared with the first words of the Enuma Elish. The initial words of this Mesopotamian creation myth, usually translated “When on high,” introduce spatial categories immediately following the temporal indicator “when”: “When on high the skies were not yet named nor the earth below pronounced by name.”6 Genesis 1 delays the introduction of space, above and below, until day two, thus making the category of time the sole focus of day one, as well as for days four and seven.

The Beginning of Time (‫ )בראשׁית‬The first word of the Bible means “in the time of,” which fits well

with its usage elsewhere.7 Instead of imagining a time and a space before creation like the incipit of Enuma Elish, or a time before the appearance of matter as in the concept of creatio ex nihilo,8 Genesis starts with initial time. Gen 1:1 is the beginning of the Bible, not the beginning of creation, nor the beginning of the week or of the first day. Day one begins at the first dawn in v. 3 when light appears and ends at twilight with the onset of the first night at v. 5. That the week provides the basic structure of the heptameron is so obvious that it tends to be overlooked. Much has been written on the demythologization of the sun and the moon on day four9 and on the creation of humans in the image of God on day six. Yet, the seven-day week is a calendar unit that serves to measure time and set festivals. Beyond the initial ‫בראשׁית‬, time is the central concern of Gen 1:1–2:4. Creative activity begins at v. 3 with the appearance of light, which marks the end of darkness and the beginning of day one. The creation of light on day one enables the delimitation of the basic calendar unit, the day, through the alternation of daylight and night. Etymologically, the word “morning” (‫ )בקר‬derives from a root the primary meaning of which is “to split.” In Exod 7:15; Num 16:5; 1 Sam 9:19, ‫ בקר‬retains its original sense of “morrow,”10 when the appearance of light splits the day from the preceding night and separates calendar units. Once Judaism adopted a lunar calendar and the separation of days at sunset, ‫ בקר‬lost its original meaning and became a mere “morning,” while the “morrow” was expressed with ‫מחר‬, which originally had a wider meaning.11 The distinction between day and night in Genesis 1 signals that a day literally lasts only as long as daytime and that each day is separated by a night. The rejection of a 24-hour day (Gen 7:12) is crucial for determining the beginning of the festival of unleavened bread (Exod 12:18).12 The care with which Genesis 1 defines the duration of a day reflects the importance of the measure of time, which constitutes the theme of the first, fourth and seventh days. Day four stands at the center of the heptameron, thematically and structurally. The luminaries are granted the most elaborate discussion of their purpose, more so than humanity.13 Verses 14–18 list seven

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functions, placing the rule of the day and of the night (v. 17) at the core of the structure of the fourth day, which itself forms the center of the weekly structure of the creation account: A to separate day from night (14a) B to (indicate) festivals, and days and years (14b) C to give light on land (15b) D to rule the day…to rule the night (16) C′ to give light on land (17) B′ to rule the day and the night (18a) A′ to separate light from darkness (18b)14

The calendrical purpose of the luminaries can hardly be more clearly stated. The importance of the fourth day (Gen 1:14–19) goes beyond the mere fact that it stands in the middle of the week. Mittwoch (Wednesday) is also the first day of the year in the so-called sabbatical calendar.

The Sabbatical Calendar Jubilees 6:28–32:38 and the Astronomical Book in 1 En 72–82 fervently uphold the value of a non-Babylonian way of reckoning time commonly referred to as the Jubilee or Sabbatical calendar.15 This calendar is also attested in the Dead Sea Scrolls, one fragment referring to it explicitly.16 With 364 days per normal year, this perpetual calendar is made up of 52 whole weeks, which fixes the relationship of the days of the month with the days of the week (Table 1). Every year, the Sabbath falls on the same day of the month, which conveniently prevents the days of preparation of the Passover meal (Exod 12) from falling on a Sabbath and eliminates any possibility of the Sabbath and the festivals coinciding. Although the day/night cycle starts on day one, day four of creation corresponds with the first day of the calendar since there are no luminaries to rule the calendar before day four. Hence, day one is the beginning of the week, while day four is the beginning of the year. Every normal or leap year begins on day four. For this reason, rendering bereshit as “In the beginning” is misleading since Gen 1:1 is not the beginning of creation, nor the beginning of the week (both start in v. 3), nor the beginning of the calendar (which begins with day four). While lunar cycles traditionally determined months, Gen 1:14 ignores months from the list of calendrical elements regulated by the luminaries and mentions festivals instead.

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Table 1: The sabbatical or 364-day calendar Day

Weekday

Months I, IV, VII, X

4

Wednesday

1 8

5

Thursday

2 9

6

Friday

7

Sabbath

1

Sunday

2

Monday

3

Tuesday

1 0 1 4 1 1 5 2 1 6 3 1 7 4 3

1 5 1 6 1 7 1 8 1 9 2 0 2 1

2 2 2 3 2 4 2 5 2 6 2 7 2 8

Months II, V, VIII, XI

2 9 3 0

6 7 1

8

2

9

1 0 1 4 1 1 5 2 3

1 3 1 4 1 5 1 6 1 7 1 8 1 9

2 0 2 1 2 2 2 3 2 4 2 5 2 6

Months III, VI, IX, XII

2 7 2 8 2 9 3 0

4 5 6 7 1

8

2

9

3

1 0

1 1 1 2 1 3 1 4 1 5 1 6 1 7

1 8 1 9 2 0 2 1 2 2 2 3 2 4

2 5 2 6 2 7 2 8 2 9 3 0 3 1

Despite a commonly held scholarly opinion, the sabbatical calendar or 364-day calendar is no esoteric invention by some obscure sectarian group. In a chronological sense, it “sets the tone for the entire Scripture.”17 The travels of the biblical Patriarchs are planned with due regard for the seventh-day rest and during the Exodus the children of Israel do not start off or arrive on a Sabbath day. In fact, almost all dated events in the Hebrew Scriptures are calculated according to the 364-day calendar to preserve the sanctity of the Sabbath.18 Hence, an understanding of how this calendar works is essential for the exegesis of the Hebrew Scriptures.

Intercalation The formulae “it was good” (Gen 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31) and “it was so,” or better “it was firmly established” (‫ ) י ה י ו – ן כ‬constitute a refrain within the creation narrative. Firmness is ascribed to the dome (v. 7), the separation of the waters from the dry (v. 9), vegetation (v. 11), luminaries (v. 15), animal life (v. 20 in the LXX, and 24), and food (v. 30). Humanity is not listed since it is capable of violence, which undermines the stability of the entire creation (see Gen 6:11). Instead, humankind is blessed. The day and night cycles (Day 1) are not declared firm either, since they will be interrupted once by the Flood.19 For this reason, day two (Gen 1:6–8) is the only day without a confirmation of goodness. By contrast, the separation water and dry land is deemed firm and good (Gen 1:9–10) since the ark prevented the Flood from drowning all breathing creatures. The lack of a “goodness” notice for day two is significant. Gen 1:1–2:4 present only the first elements of the calendar, the day and the week. The 364

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days of the sabbatical calendar reflect the schematic calendar attested by the MUL.APIN treatise transmitted by Neo-Assyrian sources.20 Such a schematic calendar somewhat overcame the irregularities of lunar calendars and their intercalation. With its 364-days, the calendar falls short of a solar cycle by more than a day. It was better than lunar years that oscillated between twelve and thirteen months, an irregularity that presented major problems for commerce and credit, but it was not “good” enough. The missing day or so remained a problem to anyone seeking to account for the divinely appointed regularity of creation. Because Genesis 1 does not provide a solution to the intercalation of the 364-day calendar, most scholars consider the sabbatical calendar to be impractical21 and tend to ignore it even though most biblical dates are based on this calendar. This results in a somewhat paradoxical situation characterized by a general disinterest in chronology among biblical exegetes despite the obvious interest in chronology prevailing throughout the Bible. Biblical exegesis is more interested in extracting history from the text than in understanding the meaning of biblical chronologies that mostly disregard history. In this sense, Tarazi’s insistence that the Bible is “anti-history” is a welcome return to an exegetical stance that is more coherent with its object of study. That the scribes who produced the first biblical creation story were aware of the need for intercalation can be seen in the closing remark in Gen 2:3 that explicitly notes that “Elohim created in order to continue to make” (‫)רא לעשׂות‬ insisting that divine activity is not complete. With this note, they warn the reader that more components of the sabbatical calendar are delineated further in the text. Enoch’s rapture at age 365 (Gen 5:23) is the next element of the revelation of a comprehensive intercalation system that continues until Exod 36:13. This intercalation system in two stages—leap years of 53 whole weeks every seven years plus leap years of 54 whole weeks every 28 years—produces a mean year-length that is closer to the present reckoning of the solar cycle than the Julian system formerly in use in the Western world.22 So much for the impracticality of the sabbatical calendar! One must, however, admit that this remarkable intercalation system is “hidden.” Rather than explicitly delineating the system, the relevant data is embedded in narratives that have seemingly little in common with the measure of time. Besides Enoch’s age, calendrical hints are supplied in Abraham’s death notice (Gen 25:7–8) and in the size of the curtains of the Residence (Exod 36). As it is likely that the scribes who devised this system were attached to a temple (at Jerusalem or Bethel?) they had every interest in controlling the festivals by restricting access to the intercalation of the calendar. Another reason for embedding the data relative to the calendar has to do with the desire to write an edifying story, or as Tarazi calls it, a mašal.23

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The Mašal of Genesis 1 Drawing examples of mašal from Proverbs, Job 41:33, Jer 24:9, and Ezek 14:8, Tarazi insists that the designation mašal can be applied to Scripture as a whole.24 In Genesis 1, theologians have focused much on the doctrine of the image of God that Gen 1:26–27 applies to humanity. This “egotistic anthropocentrism”25 focuses on day six and eclipses the importance of day seven, a shift initiated by the translators of the LXX who modified the number of days of Creation. Whereas the MT states that Elohim completed his work in the seventh day (Gen 2:2), the LXX, the Syriac tradition and most latter witnesses have creation completed in six days as in Exod 20:11.26 This is a crucial variance that excludes the Sabbath from creation proper. The Sabbath becomes a period of rest after creation, which sets humankind rather than the Sabbath as the ultimate creature, the crown of creation. No doubt generations of believers have been edified by the idea that they were created in the image of God, but it is not the primary focus of Genesis 1. Comparing days six and seven reveals the importance of the Sabbath. Like humankind, the Sabbath is blessed. Unlike humankind, or any other creature, the Sabbath is also sanctified (Gen 2:3). As the only creature blessed and sanctified,27 the Sabbath is the foundation of time and the measure thereof. Setting humanity as the crown of creation misses out on the primacy of time in the first story of the Bible. The scribes who organized the Bible around a sabbatical chronology had no interest in history, but they had a great interest in chronology and believed that the calendar expressed the sanctity of God.

Chronology for the Present The rise of interest in the past led to the compilation of chronographies by scholars at Alexandria. The past had to be organized into a timeline, divided into neat eras. The ethnographic interest in other cultures that spurred the first Alexandrian historians soon turned into a competition to prove the superiority of one’s own people over the others. Egyptians, Greeks and Jews compiled comparative chronologies to show that their ancestors appeared earlier than did the ancestors of other ethnic groups. Christians soon joined in on the game. To reassert his role as advocate of Christianity, Eusebius ended up repeating arguments in favor of the antiquity of the Exodus in his Praeparatio, although, as pointed out by Syncellus, it contradicted his own reckoning in the Chronicon, where Eusebius discovered that “several events of the Greek past actually predated Moses.”28 Such a race for antiquity was a perversion of biblical chronology that was not produced for retro-calculating the past but for sanctifying the present. Unfortunately, other kinds of misuse are in vogue today.

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Creationism and “End-of-the-World-ism” Creationism opposes science and the Bible, leaving no alternative between irrational faith and “satanic” science by turning Genesis 1 into an antiDarwinian paleontological treatise. Yet the scholars who produced the Torah were scientists as well as theologians. Using the astronomical knowledge of their time, they used the 364-day calendar of the MUL.APIN treatise and devised an intercalation system that is unequalled in precision. Although corrections occur at a greater interval than in the Julian system (every seventh year against every fourth year), the difference with the actual length of the solar cycle is smaller than is the case with the Julian calendar, while the relation of the day of the week to the date in the month is for ever fixed because only whole weeks are intercalated. In this way, the sabbatical calendar is as close as one can get to a perpetual calendar, that is a calendar in which festivals occur for ever on the same date and on the same day of the week. With such regularity, the scribes expressed their faith in a God that they understood as the source of stability, the God who created order and life out of the pre-existent chaos of Gen 1:1–2. Another aberrant use of biblical chronologies is the recurrent probes of biblical prophecies to compute the date of the end of the world, currently set by some for 2012! In fact, the chronology initiated by Genesis 1 conceives a world of such stability that no end is envisaged. After the worse conceivable catastrophe of the Flood, the cycle of the sun with its seasons is confirmed as unceasing (Gen 8:22). Such a stable creation is envisaged from the vantage point of the inherent goodness of the world stated seven times in Genesis 1 (vv. 4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, and 31). The story of the Fall in the Garden of Eden in Genesis 2–4 has marred the image of the world drawn in Genesis 1 and in the entire priestly strands of the Torah, replacing it with the more pessimistic outlook of the book of Deuteronomy and opening the way to apocalyptic hopes for the end. Hoping for the impending destruction of the world is natural for people living under hopeless conditions. But the danger of hubris is never far off, since the expected end is always combined with a desire to be taken away in safety while the others are destroyed forever. This is no obscure theological point. The practical consequences of such an ignorance of the fact that these others are also created in the image of God are nowhere more obvious today than in Palestine as dispensationalist Christians actively support extremist positions to hasten the return of Christ.29 Creationism and dispensationalism must be denounced as grave perversions of the biblical message. Due to their popularity, ‘The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you” (Rom 2:24).30

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Mašal in Genesis 1 Despite apocalyptic caricatures, God’s grace for his creation is not spent. However foolishly humans may behave, God does not grow weary of his creation. On this particular point, the mašal entails challenging a last erroneous notion from Genesis 1–2, namely that shabbat means “rest.” The connection of shabbat with the idea of rest is a direct legacy of Genesis, in particular the rendering of ‫ וישׁבת‬in Gen 2:2 with the ambiguous κατέπαυσιν in the LXX, which can mean that God “ceased” or “rested.”31 The primary meaning of the word ‫ שׁבת‬has nothing to do with the notion of rest. Rest is designated by the root ‫נוח‬. Elohim rested on the seventh day not because he was tired, in spite of a suggestion of the contrary in Exod 20:11. Isa 40:28 rejects such incongruous anthropomorphism: “He does not faint or grow weary.”32 The root ‫ שׁבת‬derives from Akkadian šap/battum, from the root šaba (“to be full”) and not from sebet (“seven”). For the Babylonian lunar calendar, the new moon marked the beginning of the month and the full moon its middle. Each month was thus made of two “weeks” (new moon to full moon and full moon to new moon), the full moon bearing the Akkadian name šapatum. Genesis 1 shifted the meaning of the Sabbath from the full moon to the seventh day,33 whereas ancient biblical evidence always refers to the Sabbath as the full moon: “new moon and Sabbath” (2 Kgs 4:23; Isa 1:13; Hos 2:13; Amos 8:5).34 The burden of Genesis 1 is to introduce a new meaning for the Sabbath, from the full moon at the center of the lunar month to the seventh day of the week to support the creation and implementation of a non-lunar calendar.35 The full import of the Genesis creation narrative is missed when the Sabbath is considered as a mere appendix, a time when God did nothing because he was tired. While other creation narratives circulated with no connection to the Sabbath,36 Genesis 1 turned the creation story into the aetiology for the seventh-day Sabbath.37 The mašal of Genesis 1 is that the Sabbath, not humanity, is the crown of creation. While mašal turns the Bible into “antihistory,” as Tarazi rightly claims, the centrality of the Sabbath in Genesis 1 (and Sabbath-based chronology throughout the Bible) points towards the present rather than towards historical curiosity in the past. The aim of any calendar is to keep apace with the seasons, since the daily and yearly cycles of the sun produce the strongest impression on our senses. The alternation of day and night regulate sleep and activity, while agriculture must keep in sync with the seasons and accomplish each operation at the optimal moment in order to avoid famine. Hence, the festivals that express the seasonal rhythms should be fixed at the correct time. Here, the Hebrew Bible displays two opposite stances. On the one hand, the festivals of first fruits (Exod 34:22), of weeks and of Booths (Deut 16) are mobile festivals since they are set each year according to the advancement of the maturity of the crops. Tarazi notes that this compendium of festivals “harkens back to the creation narrative, where the earth is

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presented as a feeding mother.”38 If Gen 1:11–12 indeed supports Tarazi’s points that “God’s care is not just for a given number of chosen individuals, and the fruitful earth is not the possession of those offering the thanksgiving,”39 the calendrical aspects of the first creation narrative introduce a different perspective on festivals. The festivals that are fixed according to the sabbatical calendar (Passover, Massot, Teruah and Kippurim) are to occur on the same day of the week and on the same date of the same month every year forever because they follow the sabbatical rhythm rather than the natural advancement of the crops. The presence of both methods of time reckoning in the Bible underlines the importance of both. Yet, Judaism eventually reverted back to a lunar calendar and abandoned the sabbatical calendar. Hence, it is worth insisting on the significance of the sabbatical notion. Farmers still need to scrutinize clouds and winds to anticipate the arrival of the first and last rains and decide when to plough and to sow since these crucial operations cannot be set at fixed dates in advance. They still need to get up at the crack of dawn and use the great luminary as a clock to organize their daily work. The small luminary even remains important for the scholars in charge of the calendar to control the synchronization of lunar and solar cycles.40 What they need not worry about, however, are the stars mentioned en passant in Gen 1:16–17, which avoids attributing them any function.

“Anti-History” in the “Historical” Books If the accuracy of the synchronism of the reigns of the kings of Judah with those of the kings of Israel in the books of Samuel–Kings is vindicated by Assyrian and Babylonian sources, it does not sustain the all-too-common designation of the books of Deuteronomy to Kings as “Deuteronomistic History.” The books of Joshua, Judges and Samuel–Kings stand for individual periods in Israel’s past, but this historicizing trend goes against the grain of Scripture.41 The origin of this periodization is not yet established, however. I suggest—so far without much success—that it belongs to the last stages in the production of the collection of the LXX’s “historical books” and should be seen as an attempt by the Alexandrian translators of the books of Joshua, Judges and Kings to arrange a Jewish past along the lines of the Alexandrian chronographs who organized the Greek past into distinct periods.42 This issue is connected to the origin of the designation “Former Prophets” that designates the LXX’s Historical Books. Michael Avioz argues that the designation was coined as late as 1488, by the Soncino family, who printed those books with Rabbi David Kimchi’s commentary.43 If the designation itself is that late, it nevertheless reflects the absence of historical interest in the Bible. Even Qohelet’s frequent use of the word “I” does not mitigate the characterization

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of the Bible as “anti-history” since they are clearly pseudepigraphic and never display the authorial “I.” Of the three seats of authority that expressed themselves in pre-Hellenistic Near Eastern texts—king, tradition and divine realm— only the last is present in the Bible.44 The books of Samuel and Kings are books about prophets who criticize kings.45 The double notice about the death of Joshua, at the end of the book of Joshua and at the beginning of the book of Judges, is a clue for the lateness of the insertion of a period of the Judges between an era of the Conquest and a monarchic period.46 However early or late it might be, the periodization of Israel’s past did not lead to any historical writing. The setting of the books of Joshua, Judges and 1 Samuel into premonarchic eras may have been done in order to supply Hellenistic historians with material on the Jews as they wrote histories of the ancient people they encountered in Alexandria, but no such history entered the Bible. In the Bible, periodization, “the requisite framework and the false friend of all historywriting,”47 was at best a method to organize some books into a time-line of sorts. But the overall guiding principle remains the sabbatical chronology, a chronology that produces meaning by itself rather than with reference to the actual past. The many dated events in the Pentateuch do not pretend to recall the past. They set particular events at significant points on a chronological chain made of weekly cycles, yearly festivals as well as weeks of years and weeks of weeks of years.48 The focus on sabbatical cycles appears peculiar in a historicist framework driven by a Newtonian concept of mechanical time that flows automatically and regularly on its own. The underlying principle of Genesis 1, with its creatio ex chaos, is more congruent with the postmodern notion of “a world in constant flux, with change the norm, and any lasting sameness the result of very special conditions maintained at cost.”49 Therefore, the sabbatical calendar vindicates the notion of the Bible as “Anti-History.” In turn, “anti-history” renders the biblical mašal in tune with contemporary science, in particular fractal structures and chaos theory. Consequently, the common designation of the God of the Bible as the “God of History” sounds like a hollow slogan. The Elohim who created order and regularity out of the pre-existing tohu-wabohu50 invites humanity to reflect on the excellence of creation in a life sanctified by sacred sabbatical rhythms. Practically, this means a life free from the rule of the stars, a life free from the anxiety of the end of the world as much as from the hypnotic fascination of origins. Genesis 1 does not lift a corner of the veil that clouds the origin of the universe. Origins remain forever unattainable and irrelevant. Reading Genesis 1 as a mašal, however, does not reduce the first creation narrative to the level of a nice story. Genesis 1 is a scientific document inasmuch as it was based on the best astronomical science of the time. Reading Genesis 1 as mašal avoids the pitfalls of two extreme positions: on the one hand creationism, with its sterile opposi-

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tion to Darwinism, and on the other hand the fallacy of historico-critical exegesis when it claims to be able to reach beyond the actual form of Genesis and recover the “original” document.51 Were it possible to identify with a reasonable amount of certainty the different traditions or documents that were combined to produce the Pentateuch, little would be gained since the whole is more important than the parts. The whole is held together by chronology, a chronology based on the regular, unchangeable, sacred rhythm of the seventhday Sabbath. As Professor Tarazi celebrates the fortieth anniversary of his teaching career, I dare to suggest one further revision for the next edition of his Introduction to the Old Testament. The designation “Deuteronomistic History”52 could be dropped altogether, since from Genesis 1 to the Revelation, the Bible is indeed “anti-history.”

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Hearing Psalm 51: Masoretic Hebrew vs. LXX Greek

T

his study compares the text of Psalm 51, “Have mercy on me, O God,” between the Masoretic Text (MT) and the Septuagint (LXX)1 in order to illuminate significant differences that exist between them, especially apparent when viewed through the role of allusion. The psalm’s critical vocabulary in terms of judgment, punishment, and mercy have points of contact with other passages in the OT in which this vocabulary is used. The question guiding this textual analysis is whether or not the pattern of discernible allusions in the MT matches the pattern of allusions in the LXX. Since the translators of the LXX did not adopt a uniform translation scheme, allusions ultimately present in the MT are not present in the LXX. Since meaning is affected by allusion, differences in the distribution of the psalm’s key vocabulary within the Greek and Hebrew versions suggest that they are subject to different ranges of interpretation. Stated more simply, Psalm 51 does not read exactly the same way between MT and LXX versions. This essay reaches two basic conclusions. First, that Psalm 51 in the MT is more persuasion than plea and that it is essentially a legal brief in poetic form that litigates for mercy on the basis of certain principles and precedents. Second, the themes of corporate judgment and mercy are more easily detected in the MT than in the LXX.

The Relationship between the MT and the LXX The MT is not the parent text for the Alexandrian translators of the third century BC, but it is likely that the MT is based on a manuscript tradition that includes the Vorlage of the LXX.2 Although one cannot maintain that the LXX is a direct translation of the MT, one can defend the argument that the MT and the Hebrew Vorlage underlying the LXX are closely related. In fact, in Septuagint studies, the LXX and the MT are viewed as comparable witnesses to the putative Vorlage.3 Each represents a rich source of reliable information for reconstructing the original Hebrew text upon which the LXX is based. This study follows the consensus, which assumes the LXX’s Ps 50 is not a direct

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translation of MT’s Psalm 51. Still, the two texts are closely related. It therefore seems reasonable to say that LXX’s Psalm 50 is the translation of a Hebrew text for which the MT’s Psalm 51 is a reliable guide and that both versions of the psalm represent earnest attempts to preserve the content of an antecedent text. The LXX appears to strive for fidelity at the level of lexical structure, a translation technique known as interlinear translation. This method strives to preserve the structure and order of the words or phrases in the parent text as faithfully as possible. However, it is important to note that interlinearity does not imply translational or semantic uniformity,4 which means that a Hebrew word will not always be translated exactly the same way in the LXX.5 The LXX defers to its Hebrew predecessor and attempts to preserve the way things are said in the Hebrew text, however the LXX displays both semantic differentiation and semantic leveling. Differentiation occurs when a single Hebrew word is translated using different words in Greek on different occasions. Leveling occurs when a collection of different terms in Hebrew are translated with a single word in Greek. Although interlinearity is an important constraint on translation in the LXX, the exercise of a significant degree of freedom is still evident.6

A Comparison of the Rhythmic Features of Biblical Poetry There is a great deal of poetry in the OT. Like most poetry, biblical poetry is a stylized, rule-governed form of expression. There are certain poetic conventions to which most classical Hebrew verse adheres, and these constraints contribute to both the form and content of the poetry. In other words, the rules of biblical poetry do not simply impose a particular form on a text, but also contribute to the meaning of a poem. Thus the structural and metric features of a poem are not mere ornamentation, but are features that assist the poet in making the point, in much the same way that rhetorical devices assist the orator in making a particular case. For this reason, the question of translation technique is particularly delicate in the case of poetry. In short, it is worth noting that Hebrew verse strives for compactness and disciplined meter, but the desire for interlinearity prevents the LXX from preserving some of the basic rhythmic features of biblical poetry. The consequence of this observation has significance beyond formal poetics and touches on the issue of translational uniformity. Since compactness and meter are not priorities in the LXX, there is no reason to expect a commitment to translational uniformity; no reason to expect that a Hebrew word will always be translated by the same Greek word; and no reason to expect a standard, useful scheme for translating terms in a one-to-one fashion. As a result, the presence of semantic differentiation and semantic leveling in the LXX is not surprising.

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39

Word choice is not constrained by a desire to preserve compactness and rhythm, and so greater freedom is granted to the translators for choosing appropriate expressions in Greek.

Opening Pleas (vv. 3–4) Verses 3 and 4 are the first verses of the body of Psalm 51. As a prefix to the entire psalm, these verses set the tone for that which follows. In short, they constitute a powerful plea for mercy, rich in language about human sinfulness and divine mercy. Indeed, the opening verses of Psalm 51 contain the most frequently employed OT terminology. In the RSV, the psalmist manages to speak of “abundant mercy,” “steadfast love,” “transgressions,” “iniquity,” and “sin.” The verbs are solid and urgent: “have mercy,” “blot out my transgressions,” “wash me,” “cleanse me.” A thorough exploration of the underlying Greek and Hebrew terms in verses 3 and 4 is beyond the scope of this project, but it is important to get a basic sense of their force and semantic range. Verse 3 is composed of two versets, following an A-B:B-A pattern: A: verb phrase

B: adverbial phrase

B: adverbial phrase

A: verb phrase

ḥonnēnî ʾelōhîm

kəḥasdeḵā

kərōḇ raḥameyḵā

məḥēh pəšāʿāy

Have mercy on me, O God

according to your steadfast love.

According to your tender mercy

blot out my trangressions

Verse 3 therefore contains the parallel pairs of (1) ḥānan and māhāh, and (2) ḥesed and raḥamîm. Verse 4 also follows the A-B:B-A structure: A: verb phrase

B: adverbial phrase

B: adverbial phrase

A: verb phrase

kabbəsēnî

mēʿawōnî

ûmēḥaṭṭāʾṯî

ṭaharēnî

Wash me

from my iniquity,

and from my sins

cleanse me.

Thus v. 4 contains the parallel pairs of (3) kābas and ṭāhēr, and (4) ʿāôn and maḥāṭṭaʾt. Of the four pairs, the first pair is most critical to the meaning of Psalm 51. This is not surprising since ḥonnēnî is itself the first word of the body of the psalm. As will be argued, this first word sets the tone in the Hebrew text of Psalm 51. The remaining pairs play a supporting role in the opening plea, and so we will concentrate in this section on the significance of ḥānan and māhāh as a parallel pair. Rendered ἐλέησόν με in the LXX, ḥonnēnî is also the great cry of Jacob when he barters for mercy with his brother Esau: “Accept, I pray you, my gift

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that is brought to you (kî-ḥannanî ʾelōhîm) because God has dealt graciously with me” (Gen 33:11 RSV). In doing so, Jacob seeks favor (ḥēn) in Esau’s sight. He seeks reconciliation of the sort that will permanently turn away Esau’s justified anger.7 In a similar context, Joseph’s brothers cry out that their trials in Egypt are just punishments from God: “In truth we are guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the distress of his soul, when he besought us (bəhiṯḥanənô ʾēlênû) and we would not listen; therefore has this distress come upon us” (Gen 42:21). Here, again, the plea for mercy or favor has a certain ritualized, even legal dimension. A plea for mercy must be in some way acceptable or reasonable; at the risk of divine punishment the reasonable plea for mercy cannot be ignored. Of course, God is not bound by earthly conventions concerning mercy. Although God agrees to show Moses his glory in Exodus, he cautions, “I will be gracious (ḥannōtî) to whom I will be gracious (ʾāḥōn), and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy” (Ex 33:19). Pleas for mercy are found throughout the Psalms,8 but are found elsewhere as well. Such pleas are associated with Esther, who bargains for mercy on behalf of her people (Esth 4:8, 8:3), and with the innocent Job, who negotiates on his own behalf (Job 9:15). The prophet Isaiah brings a message of future hope to his people, saying: Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you (laḥanankem); therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice … Yea, O people in Zion who dwell at Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you (ḥānôn yāḥnəkā–showing mercy, he will show mercy to you) at the sound of your cry … (Isa 30:18–19).

Here, the God of Israel makes known that through mercy he exalts himself. His kingship over Israel is expressed through mercy, and he waits to be moved by his subjects. He shows that he is a God of justice through his response to an appropriate plea. It is the “sound of your cry” which ensures that “he will surely be gracious to you.” From the foregoing it appears that ḥānan possesses a basic legal, even commercial shade of meaning. A plea for mercy or favor is something that needs to be justified and such pleas are associated with ritualized exchanges, in which the desire for mercy is expressed through gift giving or negotiation. Further support for this analysis of ḥānan follows from the fact that in v. 3, ḥānan stands in parallel with māhāh, which is translated most frequently in the RSV as the verb “to blot out.” In antiquity, especially where writing was done on leather scrolls, erasures required ink to be washed and wiped away.9 Consequently, māhāh has strong associations with accounting, with maintaining and adjusting records. There are several references in Torah to the act of blotting out names and deeds as just punishment for evil deeds. Most vivid in this respect is the prayer of Moses that God will forgive the Israelites for their idolatrous worship of the golden calf:

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But now, if thou wilt forgive their sin—and if not, blot me (məḥēnî), I pray thee, out of thy book which thou hast written. But the LORD said to Moses, “Whoever has sinned against me, him will I blot out (ʾemḥennû) of my book” (Exod 33:32–33).

Here, the image involves the erasure of names out of the divine Book of Life itself, names of those whom God will remember no more. A similar use occurs in Ps 69:28: “Let them be blotted out (yimmāḥû) of the book of the living; let them not be enrolled among the righteous.” The verb māhāh is also used in several places in Torah to describe God’s destruction of the wicked, with a concentration of such uses in the flood narrative in particular. So the LORD said, “I will blot out (ʾemḥeh) man whom I have created from the face of the ground, man and beast and creeping things and birds of the air, for I am sorry that I have made them.” (Gen 6:7).

The use is not merely metaphorical. Here, God is “sorry” that he made man and beast. He made a mistake, and in the context of bookkeeping (and the context of Scripture!) the appropriate response to a mistake is to wipe away what one has done.10 In Psalm 51, however, māhāh is used in connection with God’s mercy, not with divine punishment. The psalmist pleads for mercy through the wiping away of his sins. This use of māhāh, however, is really just the flipside of its antecedent uses in Torah. Just as God can record names in the Book of Life, God can keep a record of the sins of humankind as well. So, too, as God maintains a record of income, so to speak, he also maintains a book of expenses. Thus showing mercy is naturally expressed as a matter of erasing or forgiving debt. There is precedence for this imagery outside the Psalm 51 as well: I, I am He who blots out (mōḥeh) your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins (Isa 43:25).

I have swept away (māḥîṯî) your transgressions like a cloud, and your sins like mist; return to me, for I have redeemed you (Isa 44:22).

Indeed, the psalmist even prays that God withhold his mercy and preserve the record of those who are indebted to him through their wicked deeds: “May the iniquity of his fathers be remembered before the LORD, and let not the sin of his mother be blotted out (timmāḥ)” (Ps 109:14).11 Here, the psalmist pleads for God to refrain from blotting out the debts of his enemies. He argues that God has no cause to show mercy. Our focus in this section was to underscore the commercial and legal shades of meaning associated with the parallel pair ḥānan and māhāh. A plea for grace (ḥēn) in the Hebrew texts has a ritualized, even transactional dimension: grace is something for which one can make a case, even if ultimately the deci-

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sion to bestow favor is at best an arbitrary choice on the part of a benefactor. This is underscored by the association of the verbs ḥānan and māhāh, especially given the connection of māhāh to maintaining and adjusting the contents of scrolls. The parallel pairs kābas / ṭāhēr and āôn / maḥāṭṭa in Ps 51:4 embellish this association of ḥānan and māhāh: the plea for mercy is expressed more concretely as a plea for being washed of iniquities and cleansed of sins. Here, the imagery is not merely poetic. Indeed, one could argue that the invocation of “water that cleanses iniquity” would be a confused metaphor if verse 3 had not already forged a connection between mercy and the ancient practice of wetting and wiping scrolls. Thus there is significant evidence in the opening plea of Psalm 51 for placing the remainder of the psalm in a legal or commercial context. In other words, in light of the imagery in the opening verses, there is evidence for reading Psalm 51 as an argument, and not simply as an inwardlooking expression of biting remorse. In short, it is poetic negotiation. Verses 3 and 4 alert the reader to an important level of meaning: Psalm 51 will attempt to make a point as it unfolds.12 On the assumption that the major themes are set forth in the opening verses of Psalm 51, the MT is our primary interest at this point. Still, a few remarks about the Greek text are necessary. First, as one might expect, the LXX preserves the grammatical structure that is present in the MT. Like the MT, the LXX follows the same A-B:B-A pattern in vv. 3 and 4, where A holds the place of a verb phrase and B holds the place of an adverbial phrase. Consequently, the LXX preserves the same four parallel pairs: ἐλέησόν, ἐξάλειψον ἔλεος, οἰκτιρμός πλῦνόν , καθάρισόν ἀνομίας, ἁμαρτίας

(1) (2) (3) (4)

ḥānan, māhāh ḥesed, raḥamîm kābas, ṭāhēr ʿāôn, maḥāṭṭaʾt.

The key question at this point concerns the relationship between ḥānan and ἐλέησόν. It was argued above that ḥānan carries a legal or transactional shade of meaning, and this claim was based on significant occurrences of ḥānan in the stories of Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Esther, Job and in the prophecy of Isaiah. In the seven passages discussed above, however, ἐλεέω replaces ḥānan only twice in the LXX (Gen 33:11, Exod 33:19). The LXX displays semantic differentiation in the other five passages, using a set of other Greek terms for ḥānan.13 As a result, it is reasonable to argue that occurrences of ἐλεέω in the LXX do not possess the same legal or transactional shade of meaning; ἐλεέω is simply not present in all the narratives that endow ḥānan with its particular semantic force. Additionally, we argued above that the transactional, even commercial content of ḥānan is underscored by its position in a parallel pair with māhāh, a term which has strong associations with keeping and maintaining records. In the LXX, the parallel of ἐλεέω is ἐξαλείφω. Does ἐξαλείφω

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carry the same connotations as māhāh? The answer is difficult to determine, both for textual and historical reasons. For instance, the occurrence of ἐξαλείφω in a passage such as Colossians 2:14 seems to suggest that ἐξαλείφω possesses the same dual sense of erasing scrolls and erasing debts possessed by māhāh: And you, who were dead in trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, having canceled (ἐξαλείψας) the bond which stood against us with its legal demands; this he set aside, nailing it to the cross (Col 2:13–14).

Whether this use of ἐξαλείφω in a Christian text is influenced by the going first-century bookkeeping procedures or by its familiar occurrences in the LXX is difficult to answer. In any case, semantically speaking, the entanglement of ḥānan and māhāh in the MT is not perfectly duplicated by the entanglement of ἐλεέω and ἐξαλείφω. The Hebrew issues the opening plea for mercy in verses 3 and 4 within a formal, even ritualized framework. In the Greek, this framework is more weakly present.

Confession and Acceptance of Guilt: Verses 5–9. In vv. 5–9, the psalmist moves from a plea for God’s mercy to an acknowledgment of sinfulness. The character of this acknowledgement, however, is colored by vv. 3–4. In the MT, it is possible to find further evidence that the psalmist is not simply pleading for mercy, he is actually arguing for mercy. In this section it will be suggested that, in short, vv. 5–9 amounts to something like a plea bargain, constituting a formal acknowledgement of guilt and an acceptance of just punishment. In schematic form, the content of vv. 5–9 can be summarized as follows: (5): (6): (7): (8):

I know my sins. You know my sins, and I accept your punishment. Even worse: I know that I am sinful. Even worse: You know that I am sinful, and I accept your punishment. (9): I accept your just punishment for my instruction. There is parallelism in these five verses on two important levels. There is the expected sort of parallelism in that each verse is composed of a pair of parallel versets. But there is another form of parallelism present as well in that the verses themselves are bound by parallel structures to other verses. Just as each verse contains parallel pairs of terms, the verses themselves can also be viewed as occurring in parallel pairs. In particular, vv. 5 and 7 contain structures

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which suggest that they be treated as a pair. The same can be said of vv. 6 and 8. (5): I know my sins. (6): You know my sins, and I accept your punishment. (7): Even worse: I know that I am sinful. (8): Even worse: You know that I am sinful, and I accept your punishment. (9): I accept your just punishment for my instruction. The result is that verses 5–9 comprise a poetic unit and that v. 9 appears to function as the climax of the unit. Given the interlinear character of the LXX, this underlying structure can be discerned in both the MT and LXX, where in v. 5 the psalmist declares in both that “my sins I know” and that “my sin is continually before me.” Knowledge of sins in v. 5 is reinforced in v. 7 by the psalmist’s admission of his thoroughgoing sinfulness: “in iniquity I was brought forth” and “in sin conceived-me, my mother.” The movement from vv. 5 through 7 is a movement from action to agent. In v. 5 the psalmist condemns his conduct and in v. 7 he intensifies this condemnation by denouncing his character as well. In vv. 5 and 7, the perspective on the psalmist’s guilt is in first-person. The acknowledgement is stated using I-language.14 In vv. 6 and 8, the perspective shifts as the psalmist describes his guilt from the perspective of God, using second person. Additionally, as in vv. 5 and 7, there is a similar movement in vv. 6 and 8 from conduct to character. In v. 6 the psalmist admits that his deeds are blameworthy before God—the psalmist acknowledges that “against you alone have I sinned” and that “evil in your eyes have I done.” In v. 8, the confession is intensified as the psalmist admits that God desires a righteous agent, not just righteous action: “behold, truth you desire in the inner parts.” And the psalmist goes on to plead for this deeper righteousness: “in the closed up places, wisdom will you make known to me.”15 It is important to note that both v. 6 and v. 8 conclude a submission on the part of the psalmist to God’s just punishment, and that this just punishment has the character of instruction: “you are righteous when you speak (bəḏoḇreḵā), pure when you judge (bəšopṭeḵā),”16 and it is for the revelation of “wisdom” that the psalmist yearns. The admission of guilt and the submission to God’s just sentence reaches a climax in verse 9 as the psalmist cries out, “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean (wəʾeṭhār, καθαρισθήσομαι); wash me (təḵabbəsēnî, πλυνεῖς με), and I shall be whiter than snow.” The parallel pair kābas / ṭāhēr which figured in the opening plea for mercy (v. 4), makes a second appearance as the psalmist concludes his confession and sets forth the terms of a hoped-for plea bargain. The psalmist knows that death is a just punishment for doing evil in the sight of

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the divine judge, but he submits his confession in the hope that he will be purged and washed. In doing so, he intends to avoid the just punishment of destruction. What differences exist in vv. 5–9 between the Masoretic and LXX texts? In our discussion of vv. 3–4 in the MT, we noted that the opening plea for mercy had the force of a formal, even ritualized request for mercy. Verses 5–9 in the MT are certainly consistent with the character of the opening verses. For example, the psalmist signals at the outset that he will submit a reasonable request for mercy, “for my transgressions I know.” The connection between the plea for mercy (vv. 3–4) and the acknowledgement of sin (vv. 5–9) is important to note. What conjoins these two poetic units is the term “for” (kî). The psalmist is not simply noting his guilt. Rather, he acknowledges his guilt and presents this acknowledgement as the reason, which justifies his plea for mercy. The desire for mercy is not simply caused by the psalmist’s remorse. The remorse is in a sense presented to God as an argument, as a basis on which it becomes reasonable for the psalmist to request a plea bargain. It is important to note the judicial imagery that emerges in the MT. The psalmist speaks of his sin sitting “in front of me” (neḡdî). He then declares to God that he has done that which is evil “in front of you” (bəʿêneyḵā). The RSV here translates bəʿêneyḵā as “in your eyes,” which is a more literal translation of a Hebrew term that is used idiomatically throughout the OT to mean “before” or “in front of” (the LXX preserves the idiom by its use of ἐνώπιόν σου). The description of sin sitting “in front of me” and “in front of you” indicates that the psalmist is face to face with God, which is the traditional image of standing under judgment in a court of law. The Hebrew in vv. 5 and 6 suggest that in Psalm 51 God functions as a judge before whom the psalmist has come to plead his case. This of course makes the use of juridical language in the second half of v. 6 much more poignant: “you are righteous when you speak (bəḏoḇreḵā), pure when you judge (bəšopṭeḵā).” The overall force of the Hebrew is not just that God is like a judge. Rather, God is a judge, and those who stand bəʿênāyw do so awaiting a sentence. We noted that in the LXX, vv. 3–4 weakly preserve the legal or transactional framework that is set forth by the opening plea in the MT. Although the LXX preserves some of the juridical language and imagery established by vv. 5–9 in Hebrew, the LXX once again does not preserve the full force of what is emerging in the MT, namely, that the psalmist stands before God, as divine judge, and offers his remorse as a reasonable argument in favor of punishment leading to instruction, rather than to destruction. This slippage between the poetic character of the Hebrew and Greek texts—the emerging differences in what Psalm 51 is trying say in the MT and LXX—is aggravated in v. 8. In the MT, the psalmist affirms that God desires

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truth “in the inward parts” (ḇaṭṭūḥôṯ), and then the request for wisdom is made (ûḇəsāṯūm ḥoḵmāh ṯôḏîʿēnî). Here, the root sṯm occurs as a masculine singular qal passive participle. What follows, ḥoḵmāh, is a feminine singular noun. Consequently, it does not seem likely that sāṯūm is used adjectivally to modify ḥoḵmāh. Instead, sāṯūm is used substantively and should be translated as “covered thing” or “covered place.” The verset in Hebrew is better translated, “and in the covered place, wisdom may you reveal to me.” In the Hebrew text, v. 8 is consistent with the language of purging, washing, and cleansing as it occurs in the preceding verses. The root sṯm occurs twelve other times in the MT. In nearly every case, it is used in connection with something that has been covered with dirt. In Genesis, Isaac once again digs the wells that were first dug by Abraham, “for the Philistines covered them (wayəsattəmûm) with dirt after the death of Abraham” (Gen 26:18; see also v. 15). For strategic reasons the Israelites also cover over (yistōmû) water sources (2 Kgs 3:19, 25; 2 Chr 32:3–4, 30). In Nehemiah, sṯm is used to refer to the defensive sealing of breaches in the walls of Jerusalem.17 The use of sṯm in Ps 51:8 evokes the sense of a heart or seat of understanding that has been “covered” by the psalmist’s sin and which, like Abraham’s wells, needs to be restored. Once uncovered, the “inward parts” may then receive the instruction (ḥoḵmāh) that leads to salvation. In the LXX, the psalmist’s request is somewhat different. In v. 8, the psalmist desires “the hidden things of your wisdom” (τὰ κρύφια τῆς σοφίας σου). Here, τὰ κρύφια (“the hidden things”) is also used substantively, but it is followed by τῆς σοφίας σου (“of your wisdom”). Thus, in the LXX the psalmist does not plead for God to reveal his wisdom to a heart that has been covered or hidden by sin. Instead, he pleads for the “hidden things of your wisdom.” In the Hebrew text, it is the heart (“inward parts”) that is hidden, covered over by transgressions. But in the Greek, it is the wisdom of God that is hidden. Thus, in v. 8, the poetic character of the Hebrew and Greek texts comes apart in more noticeably. There is nothing in the MT to suggest that the psalmist desires wisdom, which is otherwise hidden or secret, yet such a suggestion appears to be present in the LXX. In the MT, the psalmist desires that God uncover the seat of wisdom, just as Isaac uncovers the wells of Abraham. Once the human heart has been unearthed, the wisdom of God that leads to salvation may again be received. There is no suggestion that such wisdom is esoteric or hidden. The wisdom the psalmist desires is in plain sight, found throughout the Law and the Prophets. The problem lies with the human heart, not with divine wisdom. It is the human heart that needs to be disinterred from the dirt and rubble of sinfulness. In vv. 10–14, the psalmist moves from an acknowledgement of sinfulness to a direct plea for mercy. The psalmist knows that punishment will lead ei-

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ther to destruction or to instruction. Building on the argument in the preceding verses, the psalmist presses his case for punishment, which leads to instruction. We argued above that in MT, vv. 5–9 amount to something like a plea bargain. In vv. 10–14, the psalmist moves beyond accepting his just punishment and attempts to set forth the sort of merciful sentence, which he believes is appropriate in light of his confession. However, the psalmist is under no illusion, for even though he acknowledges his sin with genuine contrition, he knows that the divine judge can easily choose a punishment that leads to his destruction. The psalmist is still engaged in the overarching task of arguing for the more merciful of the two possible sentences. Thus Psalm 51 is something of a legal brief in poetic form, a feature that is easier to discern in the MT than in the LXX. In schematic form, the content of verses 10–14 can be summarized as follows: (10): Face me. (11): Do not turn away from me. (12): Face me. (13): Do not turn away from me. (14): Face me, that I might be instructed. As in vv. 5–9, there is parallelism within this unit on two levels. There is the expected parallelism of versets within the individual verses, but the verses again are bound to each other by parallel structures. Once again, the first and third verses of this unit form a pair, as do the second and fourth verses. (10): Face me. (11): Do not turn away from me. (12): Face me. (13): Do not turn away from me. (14): Face me, that I might be instructed. Above we noted that the parallel structures among vv. 4–8 appear to point to v. 9 as the climax of the unit. In the same way, vv. 10–13 point to v. 14. In v. 9, the psalmist opens himself to receiving God’s just punishment for his instruction. In v. 14 we learn more about the form of just punishment for which the psalmist is arguing in Psalm 51. Again, given the interlinear character of the LXX, this underlying structure can be discerned. In v. 10, the psalmist yearns in both Greek and Hebrew: “cause me to hear rejoicing and gladness” and “may they rejoice, the bones you crushed.” The yearning of v. 10 is made more precise in v. 12, in which the psalmist implores God: “a pure heart, create in me” and “a steady spirit, renew in my inner parts.” The main reason for treating these verses as a

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parallel pair stems from our discussion of vv. 5 and 6, in which we noted that the language of “in front of me” and “in front of you” indicates that the psalmist is face to face with God. There the psalmist is depicted as one under judgment in a court of law. Standing face to face before a judge is indeed a fearful moment, for it means that judgment will soon be pronounced. More fearful, however, is the possibility that the judge will turn his face away from the accused, for this happens when a judgment of condemnation has been pronounced. At the most basic level, vv. 10 and 12 are petitions that God maintain the stance of judgment—that is, that God remain facing the psalmist. The judge can only grant the psalmist’s plea. If he remains facing the psalmist, he can only address the petitioner’s ears, bones, hearts, and inward parts. Verses 10 and 12 are poetic repetitions of the same basic plea, to remain facing me, O God, and delay the pronouncement of my condemnation. Verses 11 and 13 carry out a similar function, imploring God to maintain the posture of judgment in order to delay the posture of condemnation. In v. 11, the psalmist begs God to turn away—not from him, but from his sins. He asks God to “blot out” his iniquities as a substitute for blotting out the psalmist himself. In v. 13, he asks God to refrain from casting him away and from removing the divine spirit. These, too, then are poetic repetitions of the same basic plea: “Do not turn away, O God, but withhold a judgment of destruction against me.” The foregoing comments are applicable to both Hebrew and Greek texts of vv. 10–14. Owing to the interlinear character of the LXX and the uniform replacement of Hebraicisms involving pāneh with πρόσωπον (rather than ἐνώπιον), the LXX preserves much of the strong judicial imagery canvassed above. However, this harmony between the Hebrew and Greek texts is only superficial. Some deep differences emerge when we turn to the issue of semantic uniformity. A useful point of entry into a discussion of the differences between the MT and the LXX is provided by the occurrence of the phrase śāśôn wəśimḥāh (joy and gladness) in v, 10, and the term śāśôn (joy) in v. 14. In v. 10, the LXX gives ἀγαλλίασιν καὶ εὐφροσύνην, while in v. 14 it gives ἀγαλλίασιν. An exploration of the LXX, however, reveals that śāśôn is not uniformly rendered ἀγαλλίασις, neither is śāśôn wəśimḥāh uniformly rendered ἀγαλλίασις καὶ εὐφροσύνη. In particular, one finds that śāśôn is rendered elsewhere in the LXX by εὐφροσύνη, not ἀγαλλίασις, in most cases. The term śimḥāh also displays significant semantic differentiation. Its occurrences in the MT are replaced in the LXX by a collection of various Greek terms, including: φῶς, εὐφροσύνη, χαρμοσύνῃ, χαρά, and all of these Greek terms are used from time to time to translate other Hebrew expressions as well. Most notably, the adjective ἀγαλλίασις (joy, mentioned in vv. 10 and 14) occurs seventeen times in the Psalter (but only once outside the Psalter!) and is used more often than

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not as a translation of rinnāh rather than śāśôn. In short, we find what we expect: occurrences of śāśôn and śimḥāh in the MT are not uniformly translated by ἀγαλλίασις and εὐφροσύνη in the LXX, and neither do occurrences of ἀγαλλίασις and εὐφροσύνη in the LXX always correspond to occurrences of śāśôn and śimḥāh in the Hebrew text. These particular terms (śāśôn, śimḥāh) may seem somewhat unremarkable and the absence of semantic uniformity in connection with them may not strike one as being terribly consequential; nevertheless, the semantic differentiation present in the LXX is noteworthy. The absence of semantic uniformity weakens the connection which exists in the MT between the use of śāśôn and śāśôn wəśimḥāh and the theme of judgment. In the MT, śimḥāh occurs eighty-nine times in numerous contexts, but the conjunction of śimḥāh and śāśôn occurs only thirteen times in the MT.18 In addition, śāśôn occurs by itself an additional nine times. In other words, although there is great deal of “gladness” (śimḥāh) in the OT, there is not nearly as much “joy” (śāśôn), and only somewhat rarely is there both “joy and gladness” (śāśôn wəśimḥāh, or śimḥāh wəśāśôn). Moreover, these thirteen occurrences of “joy and gladness” are concentrated primarily in only three OT books: Esther, Isaiah, and Jeremiah.19 This should not be overlooked. In v. 10, the expression śāśôn wəśimḥāh reaches out and makes contact with other passages in the OT, which are themselves devoted to the theme of judgment. In Esther, there was “gladness and joy” (śimḥāh wəśāśôn) for the Jews when Esther prevailed against Haman in her appeal to King Ahasuerus (8:16), and the edict of restoration from the hand of the king was likewise received with “gladness and joy” throughout the kingdom (8:17). In the same way, Isaiah prophesies that when Zion is restored: The ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy (wəśimḥāh ʿôlām) shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness (śāśôn wəśimḥāh), and sorrow and sighing shall flee away (51:11).20

When the Lord restores Zion, “he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the LORD; joy and gladness (śāśôn wəśimḥāh) will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song” (51:3). Through Jeremiah, the Lord warns the sons of Judah three times that he will smother “the voice of joy (qôl śāśôn) and the voice of gladness (wəqôl śimḥāh)” (7:34, 16:9, 25:10), but the Lord also promises that consolation will follow in the wake of destruction and that, once again, “there shall be heard again the voice of joy and the voice of gladness” (33:11). In the same way, the restoration of Jerusalem and Judah is promised through the prophet Zechariah, in that the days will come when the house of Judah will once more enjoy “seasons of joy and gladness” (8:19).

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It is worth repeating that, outside of Psalm 51, the concurrent use of “joy” and “gladness” is restricted in the MT to these few passages in Esther, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Zechariah.21 In the Hebrew, therefore, there are strong associations between śāśôn wəśimḥāh and the theme of judgment. For this reason, the occurrence of “joy” and “joy and gladness” in vv. 10 and 14 allows Psalm 51 to function as a poetic summary of the historical memory of judgment and mercy recorded in Esther, Isaiah, and Jeremiah.22 More precisely, it is reasonable to maintain that the occurrence of śāśôn wəśimḥāh in v. 14—unique in the entire Psalter—suggests an intention by the psalmist to place Psalm 51 into the same framework of corporate judgment and restoration which characterizes Esther, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Zechariah. It is significant that all twelve concurrent occurrences of śāśôn and śimḥāh outside of Psalm 51 are used to describe the joy and gladness of a people, not the joy and gladness of an individual. In this way, the Hebrew text of Psalm 51 provokes images and associations that are absent in the LXX. Since the LXX translates śāśôn and śāśôn wəśimḥāh with a wider set of Greek expressions, the link between Psalm 51 and the theme of corporate judgment and mercy in Esther, Isaiah, and Jeremiah is significantly obscured. In its Greek and Hebrew versions, Psalm 51 simply does not make the same focused, deliberate connections to other OT texts. Verses 15–19 comprise the final major unit of Psalm 51.23 Before offering an analysis, it is useful at this point to summarize our comparison of the Hebrew and Greek texts of the psalm thus far. In the main, two major differences have emerged. First, there is evidence in the MT to suggest that Psalm 51 is not so much a desperate plea for mercy, proceeding from remorse and guilt, as it is a calculated argument designed to persuade the divine judge to show mercy and leniency. Psalm 51 is not so much a confession, as it is a legal brief. We have argued that this legal or transactional character of Psalm 51 is only weakly present in the LXX. Second, there is evidence in the MT that the central theme of Psalm 51 is corporate judgment and restoration. Although the psalmist speaks through the voice of King David, it is important to keep in mind that the King is a placeholder for the nation—in the person of the king, the nation itself is summarized and represented. Psalm 51 does not contain a merely personalistic plea. It should not be thought of as the outward expression of an individual’s internal battle with guilt and shame. The true voice of Psalm 51 is that of a people. For this reason, the psalm amounts to a plea on behalf of an entire nation. Ultimately, the force of Psalm 51 resides in its connections with the covenantal history of God and Israel, not in the realistic depiction of the psalmist’s struggle against the psychological forces of remorse and shame. In our analysis of this final unit, there is much on which one could focus. We will restrict our observations to a few aspects of vv. 15–19, which are relevant to the two themes summarized above. To what extent do vv. 15–19 con-

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tribute to an argument for mercy, and to what extent do these verses contribute to the corporate dimension of judgment and restoration? Such are the main questions to be addressed. In this final poetic unit, there is a movement from dread to hope. In vv. 10–14, the urgent concern of the psalmist was to maintain face-to-face contact with the divine judge. So long as one can see the face of the judge, there is hope. Although standing “before the eyes” of the judge is the stance of one under judgment, such a stance is better than the one from whom the judge has “turned away,” for turning away is the classical stance of the judge who has issued a judgment of condemnation. In vv. 10–14, the psalmist pleads with urgency to remain before the eyes of God. This urgent plea both delays the moment of judgment and consequently creates a space in which the psalmist can negotiate on his own behalf. Into this space, the psalmist inserts vv. 15– 19. As we will see, the feverish tone of the plea in vv. 10–14 gives way to methodical litigation in vv. 15–19. In schematic form, the content of vv. 15–19 can be summarized as follows: (15) (16) (17) (18) (19)

What I learn I will teach. I have learned what true sacrifice is. What I learn I will I teach. I have learned what true sacrifice is. Repentance is the only worthy sacrifice.

As in the preceding poetic units, there is parallelism within this unit on two levels. There is the expected parallelism of versets within individual verses, but the verses themselves are again bound by parallel structures to each other. Once again, the first and third verses of this unit form a pair, as do the second and fourth verses. (15) What I learn I will teach. (16): I have learned what true sacrifice is. (17) What I learn I will teach. (18): I have learned what true sacrifice is. (19): Repentance is the only worthy sacrifice. Recall that we noted how parallel structures in the preceding poetic units appear to point to vv. 9 and 14 as the climaxes, or focal points within their groups. In the same way, vv. 15–18 point to v. 19. In the case of v. 19, however, there is more. As the third of three such poetic climaxes, v. 19 appears to be itself a focal point to which the earlier focal points (vv. 9 and 14) are themselves directed. As we will discuss below, in some sense v. 19 functions as the

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point of Psalm 51. If Psalm 51 has a basic meaning or purpose, that meaning and purpose appears to be associated with v. 19. As in the previous poetic units, this underlying structure can be discerned in both the Masoretic and LXX texts, given the interlinear character of the LXX. In v. 15 the psalmist promises in both Greek and Hebrew to “teach transgressors your ways” so that sinners will “return.” This promise in v. 15 to broadcast the righteousness of God to the lawless is made more precise in its parallel, v. 17, in which the psalmist asks God to “open my lips” so that his mouth may “show forth your praise.” Verses 15 and 17 make parallel promises to teach the nations. In the same way vv. 16 and 18 make parallel declarations concerning the content of that teaching. The psalmist asks God to “deliver me from bloodshed” (middāmîm, ἐξ αἱμάτων), and in return his “tongue will sing aloud” of “your righteousness” (ṣiḏqāṯeḵā, δικαιοσύνην σου). It is possible to interpret v. 16 as a plea for deliverance from the vengeance of enemies and as a promise in return to tell of God’s saving power. Indeed, this is the gist of the translation provided by the RSV.24 But the text supports an interpretation that is also cultic, not just militaristic in its emphasis. The “bloodshed” which the psalmist seeks deliverance from is also the bloodshed associated with temple sacrifice, for the psalmist promises to sing aloud of God’s righteousness (ṣəḏqāh, δικαιοσύνην), not of deliverance. There is, then, something of a purposeful equivocation on the meaning of dāmîm. On the one hand, the psalmist pleads for release from the guilt he has incurred from shedding the blood of others. (This is the sort of “blood-guiltiness” associated with most of the thirty-six occurrences of dāmîm in the MT.) But on the other hand, the psalmist is pleading for release from a punishment he cannot possibly satisfy. No amount of sacrificial bloodshed can suffice to cover his sins.25 The psalmist pleads for deliverance from cultic requirements, for the cultic requirements of “bloodshed” (dāmîm) are in fact powerless to achieve his release from “blood-guiltiness” (dāmîm). The promise to “sing aloud” of God’s righteousness is precisely the promise to tell of God’s absolute and arbitrary power to forgive sins, which lies quite apart from the cultic requirements of temple sacrifice. Further support for this reading comes from v. 18, which forms a parallel pair with v. 16. There the psalmist plainly says, “for you do not delight in sacrifice” (zeḇaḥ, θυσία), and that when a burnt offering (ʿôlāh, ὁλοκαύτωμα) is given, God is not pleased. The righteousness that the psalmist promises to teach is the divine righteousness that is antecedent to the system of cultic ritual through which that righteousness is expressed. At the most basic level, this righteousness is identified with God’s power as a divine and just judge to give and withhold forgiveness as he sees fit. The claim is not that God is a whimsical judge who is indifferent to human concerns. Indeed, the entire psalm is built on the premise that God can be persuaded by an appropriate plea for

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grace. The claim is that God is a divine judge whose righteousness is exemplified by the very existence of the judicial process itself. In other words, the climax to which vv. 15–19 are building is the claim that God is a righteous judge who will withhold condemnation from the one who nevertheless agrees to stand before the divine judge in full awareness of his guilt and in full submission to his power over life and death. The psalmist claims that he now knows the true nature of God’s righteousness and he promises to instruct the lawless according to what he has learned. What precisely will the psalmist teach in return for his release from condemnation? The answer is provided in summary form in v. 19, “A sacrifice (zeḇaḥ, θυσία) to God is a broken spirit, a heart broken and crushed, O God, you will not despise.” In many ways, v. 19 is a précis of the entire psalm. Indeed, one could argue that it is a précis of the entire OT. It is a one-verse description of the truth about God as just judge and sovereign of Israel, and it is the truth that the psalmist promises to teach the nations once the requirement of bloodshed is removed and grace is bestowed. Moreover, v. 19 is the legal principle on which the psalmist’s argument throughout Psalm 51 depends. Our analysis in this chapter reveals that in the MT especially, this psalm has the structure and force of a legal argument, which seeks to set aside the penalty of condemnation in favor of grace and mercy. The legal principle on which this argument proceeds is finally revealed in v. 19, which serves as both the legal and poetic climax of the psalm. Indeed, the first verset of v. 19 stands out prominently as the only verset that is expressed in purely third-personal language! All other verses include either I-language or you-language, but there is no trace of first-personal or second-personal language in the claim that “the sacrifice of God is a broken spirit.” It is a depersonalized declaration, and by uniquely stripping this verset of I-language and you-language, the psalmist underscores and elevates v. 19. Through the poetic gesture of third-personal language, in the midst of a psalm composed otherwise entirely of first-personal and second-personal language, the psalmist signals that ziḇḥe ʾelōhîm rûaḥ nišbārāh is the centerpiece of the psalm. It is the very meaning of the Psalm 51 and the basic point, which the psalm as a whole strives to make in poetic fashion. Thus far in this section we have seen that vv. 15–19 represent the culmination of a legal argument in support of a judgment of mercy. Interesting differences between the Hebrew and Greek texts of Psalm 51 have been suppressed in our discussion of vv. 15–19, but it should be kept in mind that in vv. 1–14, it is already clear that the “legal” or “transactional” character of Psalm 51 is strongly present in the MT, but only weakly present in the LXX version. To conclude our exploration of this final unit, we will turn briefly to a few of the differences that emerge when we pay attention to the issue of semantic

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uniformity in connection with the critical vocabulary of vv. 15–19. A useful focus in this regard is the sacrifice language employed by the MT and the LXX in these final verses. Although terms relating to sacrifice are translated fairly uniformly among the books of the Hebrew and Greek OT, there are a few subtle differences worth noting. We have already mentioned the use of dāmîm in v. 16 and have argued that the psalmist embraces an intentional equivocation between dāmîm as “bloodshed” and dāmîm as “blood-guiltiness.” In the LXX, dāmîm is rendered αἷμα in v. 16, and it should be noted that the relationship between dāmîm and αἷμα is highly uniform in that there is nearly a one-toone correspondence between these two terms throughout the Hebrew and Greek versions of the OT. Consequently, dāmîm and αἷμα will conjure up the same associations for their respective audiences. For instance, these terms for blood occur with high frequency in the books of Leviticus and Ezekiel in particular.26 However, whether one who hears v. 16 will in fact make these associations with, say, Leviticus and Ezekiel is a different matter. We have argued in this essay that in the Hebrew version of Psalm 51, but less so in the Greek version, it is easier to hear the connections that exist between the critical vocabulary and concepts of Psalm 51 and other OT texts of historical significance for the people of Israel. To this point, MT sensitized the Hebrew ear to make associations with critical episodes in the scriptural history of Israel. The Greek ear has not been sensitized in quite the same way by the LXX version of Psalm 51. Thus the language of “bloodshed” and “blood-guiltiness” in v. 16 may indeed lead the Hebrew listener to think of the significance of bloodshed and blood-guiltiness in Leviticus and Ezekiel (inter alia). Since the ear of a Greek listener has not been trained and sensitized by the preceding verses in the same way, these associations with Leviticus and Ezekiel may not seem meaningful or immediate in the same way. For these reasons, dāmîm may provoke associations that are more corporate than those provoked by αἷμα, despite the strong semantic uniformity that exists between these terms in the LXX and MT. Similar remarks apply to the use in v. 18 of ʿôlāh and ὁλοκαύτωμα, which are the Hebrew and Greek terms for “burnt offering.” As with dāmîm and αἷμα, the terms ʿôlāh and ὁλοκαύτωμα display a fair amount of semantic uniformity.27 In particular, the terms occur with high frequency in the books of Leviticus and Numbers. An ear that is sensitized to intertextual echoes to the occurrence of critical terms in other passages of the OT will naturally think of books such as Leviticus and Numbers given the intense concentration of occurrences of ʿôlāh and ὁλοκαύτωμα. “Burnt offering” is a term which figures prominently in the commandments of Torah and, hence, in the covenantal relationship between God and Israel. But as argued in the preceding paragraph, Psalm 51 has only weakly sensitized the Greek ear to such intertextual echoes. The Hebrew ear has been more systematically trained in this manner

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and, consequently, is more likely to hear “burnt offering” as a term with corporate significance. Unlike the pairs dāmîm/αἷμα and ʿôlāh/ὁλοκαύτωμα, the Hebrew and Greek terms for “offering” in vv. 18–19 do not display semantic uniformity throughout the LXX and the MT. The psalmist declares, “you have no delight in sacrifice (zeḇaḥ, θυσίαν)” and “a sacrifice to God (ziḇḥê ʾelōhîm, θυσία τῷ θεῷ) is a broken spirit.” However, the Greek term θυσία occurs with nearly twice the frequency of zeḇaḥ. One reason for this difference is that θυσία is often used to translate three different Hebrew terms: zeḇaḥ, minḥāh, and ʾiššēh.28 The amount of semantic leveling here is significant. Θυσία occurs somewhat generically in the LXX, while the MT prefers to differentiate among zeḇaḥ, minḥāh, and ʾiššēh. One consequence of this semantic leveling is that nearly half of the occurrences of θυσία are found in Leviticus and Numbers.29 To the Greek ear, θυσία provokes associations with one’s obligation before the law. The Hebrew ear, however, more finely discriminates between types of sacrifice and is more likely for that reason to associate occurrences of zeḇaḥ, not just with Torah, but also with other passages in the OT where zeḇaḥ is used with greater frequency. In particular, zeḇaḥ will evoke associations with historical narratives in Exodus, Judges, 1 and 2 Samuel, 1 and 2 Kings, and with the prophetic books of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel.30 To the Greek ear, the more generic term θυσία is nevertheless strongly colored by its concentrated use within Leviticus and Numbers, where the focus is more cultic than historical. Since the MT differentiates among several types of offering, it employs a range of sacrificial terms in Torah. Consequently, zeḇaḥ is not so strongly colored by its presence in Leviticus and Numbers. In other words, it is not so tightly connected to an individual’s requirements before the law. Since zeḇaḥ occurs far more prominently than other terms of sacrifice in the historical narratives, zeḇaḥ is instead more likely to evoke associations with the corporate dimension of Israel’s obligations to God under the covenant. To get a grip on the psalmist’s general meaning and intent, we have given a great deal of weight to the force of allusion—specifically, to the connections which exist between Psalm 51 and other OT texts through shared vocabulary. In particular, we have isolated a subset of the terms and expressions through which Psalm 51 expresses themes of judgment, mercy, and repentance and have explored the general significance of other OT passages in which those same terms and expressions occur. Through this approach, the general meaning of Psalm 51 is conditioned by the significance of the OT passages in which its critical vocabulary is also located. However, the presence of semantic differentiation and leveling guarantees that patterns of allusion will be different in the LXX and MT. The key vocabulary of Psalm 51 is linked to other OT passages in which the same vocabulary occurs, but the family of connections that exist in the MT is different than the family of connections that exist in the

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LXX. Owing to the absence of semantic uniformity, allusions present in the MT simply are not present in the LXX. Since meaning is conditioned by allusion, this difference in the distribution of the psalm’s key vocabulary within the Greek and Hebrew versions suggests that the Greek and Hebrew versions of Psalm 51 will be subject to different ranges of interpretation. Put more loosely, Psalm 51 will not say exactly the same thing in LXX Greek as it does in Masoretic Hebrew.

Conclusion This paper argues that a significant difference exists between the Hebrew and Greek versions of Psalm 51. Careful attention to the patterns of allusion in the MT suggests a legal argument in which the accused stands before the divine judge—not so much to plea for mercy, but to litigate for such an outcome. In Hebrew, the psalmist attempts to marshal both precedents and principles that will succeed in persuading his judge to show mercy. The setting of Psalm 51 is a courtroom, and the psalm itself is a legal argument in poetic form that builds to a particular climax, building to the invocation of the principle in v. 19 that the sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit. The point of the psalm is to set this legal principle above all competing requirements before the law—requirements concerning sin, bloodguilt, and sacrifice. The psalmist argues along the way that he has done his part as the accused and has conformed to the obligations implied by the principle. Evidence for such an interpretation is gathered also from the general structure of Psalm 51 from its organization into discrete units and from the presence of parallel relationships within and among its verses. For this reason, it is possible to discern the same presence of a legal argument in the LXX version of Psalm 51. After all, as an interlinear translation, the LXX nicely preserves the poetic structures that are present in Hebrew. Still, Psalm 51 does not strongly support such a reading in the Greek. Much of the evidence for such an interpretation of the Hebrew version is gathered from the allusions through which the vocabulary of Psalm 51 points to other OT passages. Such allusions are distributed differently in the LXX, owing to the absence of semantic uniformity. A final difference worth noting concerns the scope of the voice of the psalmist. Again, allusions which link Psalm 51 to other OT passages through shared Hebrew vocabulary suggest that the litigation undertaken by the psalmist is for the sake of a people that stands guilty before God. In the MT, one can discern associations with Israel’s obligations to God under the covenant, not just associations with an individual’s requirements before the law. In the LXX, it is much harder to discern this corporate dimension. The voice of the psalmist in the LXX seems more limited in scope, as pleading with God for mercy on behalf of the accused alone. We did not include the final two verses

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of Psalm 51 in our analysis, but these two concluding verses certainly widen the scope of the psalmist’s voice rather explicitly: Do good to Zion in thy good pleasure; rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, then wilt thou delight in right sacrifices, in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings; then bulls will be offered on thy altar (Psalm 51:20–21, RSV).

These verses may seem curiously discontinuous with the preceding nineteen verses. So quickly after the declaration that God delights in repentance rather than sacrifice, these verses speak favorably of the future restoration of cultic requirements. After an extended monologue filled with highly personalized I-language and you-language, there is a sudden shift through the mention of Zion and Jerusalem to the interpersonal. To the Hebrew ear, however, this change is not necessarily so discontinuous, for the Hebrew ear is already sensitive at this point to the corporate dimension of the talk of judgment, repentance, and mercy in Psalm 51.31 To the Greek ear, the outward movement of vv. 20 and 21 to the future and to the whole of Zion will sound much more unnatural and arbitrary, for to the Greek ear the psalmist’s voice throughout vv. 1–19 remains more personal than interpersonal.

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Le Psaume 136, Une Eucharistie Pour le Pain

L

e Psaume 136 est un poème liturgique, comme le donne à penser le passage de Jérémie 33:10–11 qui fait écho directement au début de ce poème en le situant dans un cadre cultuel. S’y déploie longuement l’invitation du verset 1 à « reconnaître » Adonaï et lui rendre grâce pour sa bonté à travers l’évocation litanique de ses œuvres de vie—les grandes merveilles qu’annonce le verset 4 et qui se déploient dans la création et dans l’histoire d’Israël.1 Dans ce bref hommage que je souhaite rendre à Paul Tarazi en gratitude pour sa vaste production exégétique et théologique, je voudrais étudier successivement le refrain et son effet poétique, la structure des éléments narratifs du poème, avant d’en donner un bref commentaire attentif à la logique interne de sa composition. En finale, reprenant une intuition de Paul Beauchamp, je voudrais suggérer que l’évocation surprenante du pain à la fin du poème dévoile ce qui est sous-jacent à toute la louange, comme si celleci était une action de grâce, une « eucharistie » pour le pain.2

Le refrain Cet élément formel très marquant donne à la composition une allure de litanie admirative et joyeuse. Ce refrain se lit déjà au Ps 118:1–4, 29, ce qui contribue à relier ce poème à la fin du Hallel égyptien. Quant à l’ensemble du verset 1, on le lit également en Ps 106:1; 107:1 et 118:1, 29.3 Traduire le refrain n’est pas simple. Le terme ‫חסד‬4 fait partie du lexique courant de l’alliance, même entre des humains (par ex. 1 Sam 20:14–15). En son sens théologique, il qualifie l’engagement de Dieu, mais aussi ce qui le détermine, ainsi que la fidélité avec laquelle il est tenu. Ses harmoniques sémantiques incluent donc l’amour promis, juré, la loyauté, la bonté, la bienveillance, la fidélité ; il désigne un amour qui, bien que s’inscrivant dans le cadre d’un pacte, est disposé à aller au-delà de la norme fixée par celui-ci. Liée à l’alliance, la catégorie théologique de ‫ חסד‬implique d’elle-même la di-

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mension historique, au sens où elle est liée à l’aventure d’Israël avec son Dieu. Dans le Ps 136, le refrain manifeste que cet amour fidèle et bienveillant d’Adonaï est la constante de l’histoire qu’évoque l’ensemble du poème. Ainsi, la contemplation de l’histoire permet la louange de Dieu pour ce que ce parcours révèle de lui. Quant à l’expression ‫לעלם‬, elle évoque la durée que suppose toute ‫ חסד‬authentique, mais elle souligne un élargissement. Le poète en effet quitte la durée purement historique qui va de l’exode à « nous », soit du début à la fin de l’histoire d’Israël (v. 10–24), pour affirmer que l’amour d’Adonaï transcende l’histoire par la permanence de la création en même temps qu’il transcende les faits singuliers de l’histoire que l’on peut énumérer : il est proprement coextensif au temps, puisqu’il va du commencement quand Dieu « fit les cieux » (v. 5) jusqu’au présent du lecteur où il « donne du pain à toute chair » (v. 25). Ce refrain suit chaque phrase du poème auquel il est relié par la conjonction ‫כי‬, que j’ai choisi de rendre de manière exclamative, bien que le sens causal ou explicatif ne soit pas absent. En réalité, à strictement parler, comme le montrent la plupart des usages de l’exclamation en dehors du Psaume 136, il ne se rattache correctement qu’aux invitatoires et à leurs impératifs (« rendez grâce », v. 1–3.26). En ce sens, chaque répétition du refrain dans les versets 4 à 25 sous-entend l’invitation à la reconnaissance, dans la mesure où il s’agit bien de reconnaître Adonaï dans les faits évoqués. Mais plus largement et complémentairement, ce ‫ כי‬s’articule aussi aux diverses affirmations concernant l’action Adonaï, même si parfois la syntaxe est boiteuse, comme c’est le cas aux versets 7–9 ou 18–20. En ce sens, c’est chaque fait rappelé qui manifeste la ‫חסד‬ de Dieu, même si c’est la « reconnaissance » qui pousse à la chanter. Le sens du refrain ainsi précisé, il faut réfléchir un instant sur sa répétition. Si l’on compare les versets 2:10 et 17 à 22 du Psaume 136 avec les versets 5 à 14 du poème précédent (Psaume 135), on constate que les hauts faits divins évoqués sont les mêmes; mais le refrain est absent. La comparaison met en évidence la différence que ce dernier introduit. Outre sa fonction liturgique évidente, il remplit en effet une fonction littéraire et contribue à nourrir la signification de l’ensemble du poème. Par le procédé d’accumulation, le poète cherche à provoquer un sentiment chez le priant et à le nourrir sans cesse : il force pour ainsi dire son admiration festive devant les œuvres de Dieu par un effet de crescendo – ce qui n’est cependant pas sans risque, car la répétition peut engendrer routine et ennui. En outre, par cette répétition, il donne une image de l’éternel qui embrasse la durée et l’excède. Mais ce n’est pas seulement la reprise inlassable du refrain qui reflète l’éternel: c’est aussi la nouveauté de chaque étape où le poète voit se révéler l’amour fidèle de son Dieu. En effet, l’éternel, c’est aussi le toujours neuf, comme les événements que le psaume évoque, un acte de salut en appelant un autre. À chaque moment de ce parcours, un défi est lancé au Dieu plein de

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‫חסד‬: sera-t-il capable de donner vie à nouveau? Car tant que le salut définitif n’est pas accompli, un doute subsiste. Mais à chaque étape, Adonaï confirme que sa ‫חסד‬, tout en étant toujours la même, ne cesse d’être l’origine de la nouveauté, du renouveau de la vie. Quant au nombre de récurrences du refrain, il est difficilement dû au hasard: vingt-six est en effet le chiffre du Tétragramme YHWH. Or, c’est précisément YHWH que le verset 1 invite à « reconnaître ».5 Ce qui permet cette reconnaissance d’Adonaï, passe par les vingt-six reprises du refrain scandant l’évocation de ses « merveilles » (v. 4) où se dévoilent ce qu’il est : celui dont la ‫ חסד‬est pour toujours.

Structure des éléments narratifs Alternant avec le refrain, et entourés par des invitatoires qui font inclusion de part et d’autre (vv. 1–3 et 26), vingt-deux stiques – autant que les lettres de l’alphabet hébreu6 – forment ensemble un récit résumant les actes divins importants depuis la création jusqu’à ce « nous » du peuple qui vit sur sa terre et y jouit de la liberté et de la paix, mais aussi au « nous » de ceux qui prient le psaume (vv. 21–24), et même « toute chair » qui reçoit le pain (v. 25). Ce parcours dans le temps ne mentionne toutefois ni les patriarches ni l’alliance au Sinaï, en tout cas, pas directement en tant que « événements »;7 mais l’affirmation inlassable de la ‫ « חסד‬pour toujours » suffit peut-être à évoquer les engagements pris par yhwh vis-à-vis des pères puis envers Israël, et la fidélité qu’il a ensuite déployée en leur faveur. La structure du texte est très ferme; elle est même polymorphe – tout dépend des éléments qui l’on privilégie pour la construire.8 Divisions majeures du poème9 Tous les auteurs sont d’accord pour isoler en tête l’invitatoire initial bien marqué par les trois impératifs identiques (‫)הודו‬, suivis de qualifications superlatives de yhwh nommé au verset 1 (vv. 1–3). En inclusion, au v. 26, l’invitatoire final y répond – j’y reviendrai. Le poème se développe ensuite en trois parties thématiquement unifiées: la création (vv. 4–9), l’exode (vv. 10–17) et la terre promise (vv. 18–23). Le thème de la première partie est clairement la création. Il est développé en six vers caractérisés par l’emploi du verbe « faire » (‫ )עשׂה‬au participe, répété trois fois. Or, ce verbe est caractéristique du récit de la création: il est utilisé à sept reprises en G ֶ◌en 1 pour les six jours de création, dix fois si l’on inclut 2:1–3 où est évoqué le repos du septième jour.10 Le quatrième verbe au participe (‫ )רקע‬sert à évoquer la création de la terre au troisième jour, tout en rappelant discrètement la voûte céleste (‫ )רקיע‬installée le deuxième jour.11 Cette partie est clairement formée de deux tercets (un pour la création du ciel et de

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la terre, un second pour la création des luminaires), l’adjectif « grand » (‫)גדל‬ étant répété au premier vers de chacun d’eux (vv. 4–9). La deuxième partie (vv. 10–17) célèbre l’exode, chanté en huit vers encadrés par l’inclusion sur « au frappant » (‫ )למכה‬et répartis en trois strophes dont chacune évoque en son premier vers l’un des trois ennemis vaincus dans cette vaste épopée de libération : l’Égypte (dixième plaie, voir Exod 12:29–36), la mer (voir Exod 14:21–22) et enfin Pharaon avec son armée (voir Exod 14:26– 28). Ces huit vers se répartissent en deux tercets entourant un distique. Quant aux verbes, ils sont conjugués au participe (4) et à l’indicatif (3), selon l’alternance suivante: participe, indicatif (1er tercet); participe, indicatif (distique central) ; indicatif suivi de deux participe (2e tercet). La troisième partie (vv. 18–23) a pour thématique le don de la terre. Comme la première partie, elle comprend six vers disposés en deux tercets. Le premier concerne les « rois », ‫ מלכם‬formant un mot-crochet qui relie cette partie à la précédente.12 Quant au second, il parle de leur « terre » donnée en héritage à Israël. Un peu à part du reste de la strophe, le verset 23 lui est néanmoins lié par le relatif dont l’antécédent se lit au verset 21. Tous les verbes ici sont à l’indicatif. Enfin, la conclusion (vv. 24–26) répond au tercet d’entrée, notamment par la reprise du verbe de l’invitatoire en finale de la strophe (‫)הודו‬. Il a un caractère plus générique, dans le prolongement du dernier vers de la partie précédente. On notera que les verbes de ces trois derniers vers reprennent successivement les trois modes utilisés dans le poème : indicatif (présent davantage dans la seconde moitié), participe (présent surtout dans la première moitié) et impératif (présent dans l’introduction). Remarquons en passant l’équilibre d’une telle structure: trois vers d’introduction et trois de conclusion; six vers respectivement sur la création, l’exode et le don de la terre, avec deux vers centraux évoquant la victoire sur la mer, le haut fait divin par excellence. De part et d’autre de ce distique, on compte donc douze vers en quatre strophes de trois. La distribution des verbes est également soignée: dans la première partie, on compte quatre participes et dans la dernière, trois indicatifs, tandis que la partie centrale alterne quatre autres participes et trois indicatifs. Réflexion à partir de la structure Après avoir ainsi mis en évidence une structure plausible pour ce poème, il faut tenter de mettre en évidence les éventuels effets de sens qui s’en dégagent. Le centre de la composition est constitué par le distique évoquant le passage de la mer (vv. 13–14). Ces deux vers, pour ainsi dire, « coupent » en deux le poème à l’image de la mer fendue par Adonaï, mais aussi à l’image de ce que la mer sépare : l’Égypte (v. 11) d’où sortent les fils d’Israël (vv. 11–12), et

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le désert (v. 16) où Dieu va guider son peuple (vv. 15–17). Les huit vers sur l’exode se trouvent ainsi au centre ; ils figurent de la sorte l’événement central des hauts-faits divins balisant l’histoire évoquée. Autour de cette partie centrale, deux paires de tercets se correspondent : la première parle de la création, la seconde du don de la terre. Au début, Dieu crée l’espace (1er tercet : cieux-terre, v. 4–6) puis le temps (2e tercet : les luminaires présidant au jour et à la nuit, vv. 7–9) ; au terme des événements de l’histoire de libération (temps, v. 18–20 où les rois sont vaincus), il donne une terre à son peuple (espace, v. 21–23). Ainsi, dans le présent d’Israël, le concret de la création, c’est la Terre donnée, qui est aussi signe permanent du salut reçu. Dans cette « terre », création et histoire se rejoignent, comme l’évoque la reprise du mot « terre » (‫ )ארץ‬aux versets 6 (création de la terre) et 21 (don de la terre à Israël). Cela dit, il est possible de voir, entre ces deux parties, des relations plus précises. I II

v. 4 : grandes merveilles v. 6 : terre conquise sur les eaux v. 7 : faire luminaires (grands) v. 8 : soleil / maître de (‫)מעל‬ v. 9 : lune – étoiles / maîtres de (‫)מעל‬

v. 21 : terre conquise aux rois v. 23 : souvenir de l’humilié v. 18 : tuer rois (puissants) v. 19 : Sihôn / roi de (‫)מלך‬ v. 20 : Og / roi de (‫)מלך‬

Dans le premier tercet de chaque partie (I), Dieu crée et donne la terre, grâce à des victoires remportées sur qui occupait l’espace auparavant (les eaux / les rois). Dans les seconds tercets (II), la syntaxe est similaire: le verbe est suivi d’un objet direct général (luminaires / rois), spécifié ensuite doublement de façon symétrique, puisqu’il y a un parallèle entre des termes synonymes : « maître » ou « roi », précisés chacun par ce qui est son domaine. Une même puissance, pourrait-on dire, est déployée par Dieu pour créer les astres qui exercent la maîtrise et pour éliminer les rois qui dominaient la terre destinée à son peuple. Dans le schéma, la symétrie d’ensemble suggère de mettre en rapport les versets 4 et 23. De fait, dans leur strophe respective, ils sont l’un et l’autre un peu à part, en raison de leur caractère plus global par rapport à la série où ils sont intégrés. Le verset 4 anticipe ce qui suit de manière générale (« au faisant de grandes merveilles, lui seul »), tandis que le verset 23 récapitule ce qui précède, plus particulièrement l’évocation de l’aventure d’Israël (« lui qui, dans notre abaissement, se souvint de nous »). N’est-il pas permis, dès lors, de lire ensemble les deux versets et de dire, au vu de l’ensemble du poème, que la grande merveille de Dieu, c’est son souvenir pour l’humilié dont le type est le peuple d’Israël.13 Aux versets 24–26, la conclusion apparaît comme une récapitulation de l’ensemble. Le verset 24 renvoie à l’histoire de l’exode, symbolique de toute

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délivrance par rapport aux ennemis–l’Égypte est en effet le type de l’adversaire, comme le suggère le jeu de mots entre ‫ מצרינו‬et le ‫ מצרים‬du verset 10. Par ailleurs, au verset 25, le don du pain suppose à la fois la création du monde et le don d’une terre concrète, d’où peut-être la reprise du verbe ‫נתן‬, « donner », utilisé au verset 21 pour évoquer l’entrée en Canaan. Quant au verset 26, on l’a dit, il fait écho à l’invitatoire des trois premiers versets. S’il en est ainsi, la conclusion a vraiment un caractère récapitulatif puisqu’elle intègre successivement le centre, les première et troisième parties et enfin l’introduction.

Lecture du poème Invitatoire (vv. 1–3, 26) L’invitatoire consiste en un appel à la tôdâ (trois fois ‫ הודו‬au début, un à la fin), c’est-à-dire à louange reconnaissante ou à la confession joyeuse. L’objet de cette tôdâ, c’est Adonaï lui-même qui manifeste son « amour fidèle ». L’expression du verset 1 est courante (voir Ps 100:5; 106:1; 118:1; 135:3). Elle synthétise pour ainsi dire l’essentiel de la louange en Israël (Jr 33,10–11). Elle renvoie en particulier au premier chapitre de la Genèse 1 en reprenant l’acclamation ‫ «( כי טוב‬Que c’est bien ») qui scande le récit de la création. Ainsi, l’admiration de l’homme devant Dieu et ses œuvres devient un écho de l’admiration de Dieu face à sa création. Car si la beauté de la création suscite ainsi la reconnaissance, c’est parce qu’elle révèle l’amour fidèle de Dieu. On notera, aux versets 2–3 et 26, la titulature de Dieu. Elle insiste sur le fait que le motif principal – ou le contenu propre – de la louange est Adonaï lui-même. Les trois titres utilisés accentuent en particulier la transcendance de Dieu et sur la souveraineté que le psaume va précisément mettre en évidence.14 Car paradoxalement, le Dieu d’Israël manifeste sa transcendance en s’impliquant dans la création et plus encore dans l’histoire d’un peuple humilié. C’est en tout cas ce qui est dit explicitement en Deut 10:17–18 qui utilise les titres des versets 2 et 3 en les liant directement à l’action d’Adonaï en faveur des faibles : « Adonaï votre Dieu est le Dieu des Dieux (‫ )להםאה ילהם‬et le Seigneur des Seigneurs (‫)י האדנםדנא‬, le Di(eu) grand, puissant et redoutable… qui fait droit à l’orphelin et à la veuve et qui aime l’étranger pour lui donner du pain et un manteau ». La création (vv. 4–9) Dans les deux tercets où il est question de la « création », seuls deux éléments sont évoqués: la dimension spatiale avec ses trois milieux fondamentaux (le ciel, la terre et la mer, correspondant aux deuxième et troisième jours de Gen 1), et le temps que scandent les astres, en particulier le rythme quotidien du jour et de la nuit (correspondant aux premier et quatrième jours). Il s’agit

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là des éléments « immobiles » de la création, évoqués avec les mots mêmes de Gen 1:3–19 – la première partie du poème de la création. Au vu de la suite, on perçoit que ce dont il s’agit pour le poète, c’est de mettre en place le cadre spatio-temporel dans lequel prend place l’histoire.15 En effet, dans la suite, l’espace se réduit peu à peu à un itinéraire allant de l’Égypte à la Terre, ce qui suppose un déroulement du temps allant du commencement jusqu’à l’aujourd’hui du verset 23. Mais dans ce déroulement temporel linéaire qui donne sa trame à l’histoire, se dévoile un autre temps, le « toujours » de la ‫ חסד‬de Dieu. De la création évoquée en Genèse 1, le poète ne garde donc que les parties immuables du cosmos, omettant ce qui passe, à savoir le vivant – et donc le précaire – soumis à l’histoire, occupant un certain espace pendant un certain temps. Il ne laisse à la « création » que ce qui est du côté du permanent, une cette perspective selon laquelle c’est dans l’histoire qu’advient la nouveauté. L’utilisation du participe est typique à ce propos, qui tient à la fois du verbe et du nom. Il tend à transformer une action (un verbe) en titre (un nom), caractéristique permanente qui définit la personne. Cette insistance sur le durable convient particulièrement à la création, comme « faire » permanent de Dieu.16 Par opposition l’indicatif décrit l’action, la raconte, la reproduit de manière dynamique ; il insiste sur la nouveauté, le ponctuel. Il va donc bien à l’histoire. Pourtant, dans la suite du poème, on constate une variation, car dans la partie concernant l’exode, le participe est encore beaucoup employé. Mais l’exode, pour « historique » qu’il soit, n’est-il pas aussi en quelque sorte une « création », un moment où l’Origine est à l’œuvre dans le commencement d’Israël comme peuple?17 Cela dit, par rapport à d’autres psaumes évoquant la création comme victoire de Dieu sur les forces du chaos, l’évocation du Psaume 136 est particulièrement irénique. L’intelligence seule (‫תבונה‬, v. 5) suffit au créateur, le ciel en étant comme le témoin. La mer n’a plus rien d’un élément chaotique rebelle.18 Quant aux astres, ce sont de simples pièces de l’horloge cosmique, des marqueurs du calendrier, et, comme en Genèse 1:14–18, le poète peut les qualifier de « maîtres », sans crainte de porter ombrage à Dieu. Bref, ici, le « combat » a quitté la sphère de la création ; on ne le retrouvera que du côté de l’histoire – où le cadre sera plutôt guerrier, du reste. L’exode d’Israël (vv. 10–17) L’épopée de l’exode est relatée en huit vers groupés en deux tercets (vv. 11–12 et 15–17) et un distique central (vv. 13–14). Pour faire apparaître la logique de la composition, on peut lire ces vers en faisant ressortir leur continuité d’une strophe à l’autre. Le premier vers de chaque strophe (vv. 10, 13, et 15) est centré sur la victoire face aux ennemis. C’est d’abord l’Égypte et les premiers-nés. Par ce bref

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rappel, le psalmiste évoque toute la série des plaies à travers la dernière qui fut décisive pour contraindre Pharaon à laisser partir les israélites. Dans la troisième strophe, c’est Pharaon et son armée que l’on mentionne en parallèle avec le verset 10: ici, sont éliminés ceux qui, chez les égyptiens, ne se sont pas avoués vaincu au moment du départ d’Israël: ils périssent dans la mer, transformée en instrument de libération. Et comment ce lieu de mort est-il devenu le lieu où le salut est donné? C’est le premier vers de la deuxième strophe qui donne la réponse au cœur même du poème: la mer – ennemie dans la mesure où elle est une menace radicale – est vaincue par séparation. Ainsi, le combat « créateur » contre la mer, qui n’a pas été évoqué dans la partie concernant la création, figure au centre de la deuxième, comme si le poète l’avait réservé pour le moment de la naissance d’Israël qui va emprunter ce chemin ouvert au cœur des eaux. Les deuxièmes vers de chaque strophe (vv. 11, 14, et 16) sont caractérisés par une syntaxe identique : un verbe de mouvement au Hifil a pour objet « Israël » ou « son peuple » avant un complément introduit par une préposition (avec éléments communs). Ces phrases dessinent un itinéraire en trois étapes: (1) faire sortir (‫ )יצא‬d’Égypte, un lieu devenu un espace fermé, lieu d’oppression et de mort; (2) faire passer (‫ )עבר‬à travers l’espace qu’il faut traverser pour sortir, ce lieu dangereux par excellence qu’est la mer – d’où la nécessité pour Israël de prendre un risque conséquent pour quitter le lieu de la mort. (3) faire aller (‫)הלך‬, dans un troisième lieu, un lieu ouvert où il faut tracer son chemin, un espace qui n’a rien d’hospitalier, mais qui devient le lieu d’une vie possible. À la faveur de ce mouvement dans l’espace (sortir – traverser – aller), un changement considérable se produit : si la sortie d’Égypte et le passage de la mer sont le fait d’« Israël », le groupe familial qui a grandi en Égypte, le groupe des libérés est appelé « son peuple » au verset 16 (‫)עמו‬. Ainsi, le changement d’appellation suggère que Dieu a acquis Israël comme peuple en le libérant de l’esclavage et de la mort à travers la mer. L’exode entraîne donc une transformation de la nature d’Israël. Mais une autre connotation est peut-être repérable. En effet, il est possible de voir ici une légère allusion à l’alliance que Dieu conclut avec Israël au désert, une alliance par laquelle il fait d’Israël « son peuple ». Enfin, les troisièmes vers des strophes 1 et 3 (vv. 12 et 17) évoquent tous deux la puissance déployée par Adonaï dans la geste de la libération d’Israël. D’une part, « à main forte et à bras tendu »19 est l’expression traditionnelle qui, dans la Torah, qualifie l’œuvre divine, précisément dans l’aventure de l’exode (Exod 6:6; Deut 4:34; 5:15; 7:19; 11:2; 26:8). Elle souligne à sa manière que, dans l’œuvre de libération, seul Dieu est à l’œuvre, et que sa présence puissante reste opérante jusqu’à ce qu’Israël ait traversé le désert, notamment dans la victoire sur les rois du désert, « frappés » comme l’Égypte20

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parce qu’ils s’opposaient au Dieu « faisant aller son peuple au désert » (v. 17). On notera que, si le passage de la mer est le point culminant de l’action divine, la puissance de Dieu n’est pas mentionnée explicitement dans ce cadre. Mais est-ce nécessaire? En effet, fendre la mer en deux est l’intervention la plus radicale et la plus décisive, puisqu’il s’agit de reproduire l’acte créateur de sorte que le permanent de la création (vv. 4–9, en particulier v. 6) soit modifié en faveur d’Israël, de sa liberté et de sa vie. Le don de la terre (vv. 18–23) La « libération » de la terre de Canaan est résumée par la liquidation des rois puissants qui la possèdent, tandis que son don à Israël est présenté comme un « héritage ». L’unité des deux strophes est appuyée par des répétitions ad litteram ou l’emploi de synonymes: v. 18 rois puissants v. 19 roi v. 20 roi

v. 21 v. 22 v. 23

leur terre en HERITAGE – son serviteur dans notre abaissement

HERITAGE

Tandis que la propriété des « rois » est donnée au « serviteur » d’Adonaï, les « puissants » sont éliminés en faveur des « humiliés », de ceux qui ont connu l’abaissement comme esclaves. Le don de la terre est présenté ainsi comme un événement qui implique un renversement de l’ordre des choses (voir Ps 37:9, 10–11, 22, 34). La première strophe évoque donc la victoire sur les rois de Canaan. Sihôn et Og, rois des Amorites et de Bashân, sont des rois cananéens. Ils figurent parmi les premiers rois de Transjordanie à avoir subi la défaite devant Israël, avant que les territoires sur lesquels ils régnaient soient occupés par le peuple d’Israël (Num 21:21–26, 31–35; 32:1b-33). Prémices de la victoire de Dieu, ils symbolisent tous les rois défaits lors de la « conquête » (v. 18). Si cela n’est pas entièrement clair dans le Ps 136, cela le devient pour celui qui a lu le psaume précédent: « Il a tué des rois forts, Sihôn roi des Amorites et Og, roi du Bashân et tous les rois de Canaan » (Ps 135,10b-11).21 Parler de « don de la terre », c’est une façon d’interpréter l’entrée d’Israël en terre de Canaan, terme du voyage initié à l’exode. Cette terre représente l’inverse de l’Égypte, comme le montre l’allitération inversée entre ‫מצרם‬ (« Égypte », v. 10) et ‫ «( ארצם‬leur terre », v. 21). Les termes utilisés dans cette strophe sont porteurs de ce sens. Israël est nommé « son serviteur » (‫)עבדו‬, en relation avec Dieu : après « son peuple » (v. 16), ce nouvel appellatif évoque l’alliance par laquelle l’Israël libéré devient le « serviteur », vassal de son Dieu, ce qui le libère à jamais d’être l’esclave de Pharaon. Quant à la terre, elle est qualifiée deux fois d’« héritage » (‫)נחלה‬, ce qui renforce l’idée de don reçu et implique qu’elle est donnée en vue d’être transmise par les pères à leurs fils,

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d’où peut-être le « nous » du verset 23 par lequel le poète évoque le présent des fils de ces abaissés qui, aujourd’hui, sont les bénéficiaires de la terre donnée et transmise. Avec la communauté des « nous » louant son Dieu pour toute cette histoire, c’est l’exode qui s’accomplit. N’était-ce pas là, en effet, le but d’Adonaï : qu’Israël soit libre, au service de Dieu (Exod 3:12; 5:1, 3; 7:16)?

Conclusion–récapitulation (vv. 24–26) Ces versets, on l’a vu en étudiant la structure, constituent une synthèse, mais ils contiennent peut-être aussi une évocation historique de la période qui va de l’entrée en Canaan au présent de « nous ». La phrase « et il nous arracha à nos adversaires » renvoie évidemment à ce qui a été dit dans le poème depuis la deuxième partie, mais peut également évoquer toutes les délivrances accordées par Dieu dans l’histoire de son peuple jusqu’à l’aujourd’hui du peuple, le « nous » qui prie ce psaume. Cela dit, une question se pose : après ce verset récapitulatif, que vient faire la mention du « pain donné à toute chair » dont il est question au verset 25? Certes, comme en inclusion avec la première partie, elle rejoint d’une certaine manière le récit de la création, puisqu’elle évoque le don de la nourriture à tous les vivants comme la fin du grand récit de Genèse 1 (vv. 29–30).22 Elle n’en déborde pas moins largement l’espace nettement plus restreint d’Israël évoqué depuis le verset 10. Cet élargissement, Luis Alonso Schökel, le comprend comme beaucoup d’auteurs comme un élargissement universel de l’idée du Dieu qui donne: « à nous, Dieu donne une terre; à tous les hommes, il donne du pain. Dieu est le “donneur,” et ses victoires débouchent sur le don qui maintient la vie, parce que la “chair” a besoin du “pain” pour subsister ».23 L’interprétation de Paul Beauchamp me semble toutefois plus riche.24 Dans l’histoire racontée dans l’Hexateuque, le don du pain, plus globalement de la nourriture, intervient à des moments cruciaux. On le trouve au terme du récit de la création puisqu’en Genèse 1:29–30, le don de nourriture aux vivants correspond à la dixième et dernière parole du Dieu créateur. De même, au terme du récit de l’aventure de l’exode, ce don occupe une place de choix : en Josué 5:11–12, en effet, dès l’entrée en Canaan, Israël reçoit à manger les fruits de la Terre (voir Deut 8:7–9a, 10). Le pain est donc l’unique fin de deux récits: celui de la création ébauché dans la première strophe du Psaume 136, et celui de l’histoire évoqué ensuite dans le poème. De la sorte, dans le pain se rejoignent la ligne du permanent, typique de la création (le ‫לעלם‬, « à jamais »), et celle du nouveau, caractéristique de histoire (la ‫חסד‬, « amour fidèle »), ce qu’évoque à vingt-six reprises le refrain. Et de fait, le pain est « quotidien », c’est-à-dire à la fois permanent et nouveau chaque jour. Ainsi porteur de

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l’éternel et de la nouveauté, ce pain dit Dieu, donne Dieu, tout en témoignant de son amour fidèle. En fait, toujours selon P. Beauchamp, on peut imaginer que ce psaume commence avec le pain qui est sur la table, un pain qui suscite la ‫תודה‬, la « reconnaissance ». Dans le pain, on « reconnaît » (aux deux sens de confesser et de remercier) Dieu tel qu’il se manifeste dans la création et dans l’histoire. Résultat du travail de l’homme sur la nature, le pain est par nature une réalité où se croisent création et histoire. Mais pour l’Israël qui rend grâce, il est aussi le pain de l’homme libre arraché à l’esclavage, le pain de l’abaissé qui n’a pas été oublié, le pain de l’opprimé arraché au pouvoir de son adversaire (vv. 23–24). C’est ainsi que, symbole de vie, le pain renouvelle chaque jour la victoire de la vie sur la mort. Aussi est-il susceptible de symboliser le présent du salut, le salut au quotidien.

Traduction littérale 1

2 3

4

5

6

7 8 9

10

11 12

13

Rendez grâce25 à YHWH, oui, il est bon / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Rendez grâce au Dieu des dieux / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Rendez grâce au Seigneur des seigneurs / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Au faisant26 de grandes merveilles lui seul / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Au faisant les cieux avec intelligence / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. À l’affermissant27 la terre sur les eaux / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Au faisant de grands luminaires / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Le soleil pour maître du jour / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. La lune et les étoiles pour maîtres de la nuit / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Au frappant l’Égypte en ses premiers-nés / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Et il fit sortir Israël du milieu d’eux / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Avec main forte et avec bras tendu / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Au partageant la mer des Joncs en parts / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle.

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14

Et il a fait passer Israël au milieu d’elle / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle.

15

Et il a culbuté Pharaon et son armée dans la mer des Joncs /oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Au faisant aller son peuple dans le désert / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Au frappant des rois grands / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle.

16

17

18 19 20

21 22 23

24

25 26

Et il tua des rois puissants / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Oui28 ! Sihôn, le roi de l’Amorite / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Et oui ! Og, le roi du Bashân / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Et il a donné leur terre en héritage / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Héritage pour Israël, son serviteur / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. (Lui) qui, dans notre abaissement se souvint de nous / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Et il nous arracha à nos adversaires29 / oui, pour toujours son amourfidèle. Donnant du pain à toute chair / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle. Rendez grâce au Di(eu) des cieux / oui, pour toujours son amour-fidèle.

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Structure : schéma INVITATOIRE 1

Rendez grâce Rendez grâce 3 Rendez grâce 2

(3 vers)

YHWH – bon Dieu des dieux Seigneur des seigneurs

3 impératifs

CREATION au faisant de grandes merveilles lui seul au faisant les cieux 6 à l’affermissant terre sur les eaux 4

(3 – espace)

5

(6 vers)

4 participes au faisant de grands luminaires (3 – temps) 8 soleil maître du jour 9 lune et étoiles maîtres de la nuit 7

EXODE 10

(3 – sortie)

au frappant l’Égypte – premiers-nés il FIT SORTIR ISRAËL du milieu (Égypte) 12 avec main forte et avec bras tendu 11

4 participes

13

(8 vers)

au partageant la mer en parts il A FAIT PASSER ISRAËL dans le milieu (mer)

14

(2 – mer)

et

15

(3 – désert)

il a culbuté Pharaon - armée au FAISANT ALLER SON PEUPLE dans le désert 17 au frappant des rois grands 16

3 indicatifs

TERRE 18

(3 – victoires)

il tua des rois puissants Sihôn roi des Amorites 20 Og roi de Bashân 19

(6 vers)

3 indicatifs 21

a donné leur terre en héritage (3 – don) 22 héritage à ISRAËL SON SERVITEUR 23 qui, dans notre abaissement, se souvint de nous CONCLUSION (3 vers)

24

il nous arracha à nos adversaires exode) 25 Donnant du pain à toute chair création-terre) 26 Rendez grâce Di(eu) des cieux invitatoire)

(voir

indicatif

(voir

participe

(voir

impératif

•

A L E X A N D R U

M I H Ă I L Ă

•

Searching for Divine Wisdom: Proverbs 8:22–31 in Its Interpretive Context

F

or good reason, the historical-critical method remains the most widely used approach in the field of biblical studies; however its obvious limitations often require exegetes to employ ancillary methods for interpreting the biblical text. Methods such as canon(ical) criticism, narratology, structuralism, and so on, not only help fill this need, but may also serve to open a path for reconsidering Patristic readings—an notion many might still regard as naïvely pre-critical. Such new exegetical methods have been used to complement older established readings,1 especially in Catholic scholarship, although this has not been without criticism.2 Paul Joyce, for example, finds it difficult to “escape the sense that the biblical text is being distorted and even abused in such Patristic exegesis. Proverbs 8 [for example] is hijacked and manipulated to suit the demands of the internal conflicts and polemics of developing Christianity.”3 With this observation as a starting point, I would like to propose an analysis of one of the most frequently cited and hermeneutically challenged passages of the Old Testament, namely Prov 8:22–31, the hymn of Lady Wisdom. The paper will begin by examining the text in its historical context and then move to a discussion of its Patristic interpretation, all the while exploring the question of whether or not these early commentators really have distorted its (most likely) intended contextual meaning. From an Orthodox Christian perspective, I am of the mind that exploring this connection may serve as a case study, providing a model that would stimulate similar kinds of research. Prov 8:22–31 is part of the introduction to Proverbs 1–9, which is assumed to date from the Persian or early Hellenistic period—or, at any rate, before the beginning of the second century BCE, since it is cited by Ben Sira.4 Chapters 1 and 8–9 serve as an inclusion reflecting the words of Wisdom and the section can be divided into smaller units.5 The poem itself forms a coherent literary whole, but may be parsed into smaller units, namely, the origin of

74

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Wisdom (vv. 22–23), its preexistence in comparison with different cosmic elements (vv. 24–26), the assistance of God during creation (vv. 27–29), and the active relation of Wisdom with God and humankind (vv. 30–31).6 The first major challenge involves the translation. In v. 22, the verb ‫ָקנָנִי‬ can be translated differently in three ways: “he created me,”7 “he begot me,”8 or “he acquired me,”9 all of which being followed up in the modern translations.10 LXX rendered ἔκτισέν με “created me”; so too the Targum (‫“ בראני‬created me”),11 while other ancient Greek translators such as Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, preferred κτάομαι (ἐκτήσατό με) “had acquired,”12 as Vulg., which translated it by possedit me. No ancient translation epitomized the second sense, “begot me” or “gave birth to me.” In the entire Old Testament, the verbal radical appears in qal form eightyone times. In about seventy-five percent of the occurrences it means “to buy” (fifty-nine times), “to acquire,” such as a nation or people (in a sense, close to the former one, but with more abstraction), always having God as subject (see Exod 15:16; Deut 32:6; Pss 74 (73):2; 78 (77):54; Isa 11:11). As an abstraction it means “to acquire knowledge,” “to understand” (Prov 1:5; 4:5; 4:7; 15:32; 16:16; 17:16; 18:15; 19:8; 23:23); “to create,” with God as subject, such as the cosmos (e.g., Gen 14:19, 22); but also humankind (e.g., Psalm 139 [138]:13), and with humanity as subject, “to give birth” (e.g., Gen 4:1). From these considerations it may be inferred that the root ‫ קנה‬originally meant “to acquire” or “to possess,”13 and that from this sense developed both the direction “to buy,” which is featured in the majority of the occurrences,14 with later abstraction in “to acquire” something (such as knowledge) and “to make” something; that is, to acquire through one’s own powers, as well as “to create,” with God as subject, and “to give birth,” when about humankind. In a noteworthy Ugaritic parallel, the verb qny indicates giving birth by a feminine divinity. The goddess Asherah was entitled “the progenitress of gods” (qnyt ʾilm),15 for the masculine divinity birthgiving is expressed by the verb bnw or bny (El, for example, is named bny bnwt the “creator of creatures”);16 nevertheless, it is interesting that in respect to Yahweh the root ‫ קנה‬was used, as in Gen 14:19.22 (‫)יהוה קנה שמים וארץ‬. The Ugaritic parallel need not be overestimated, for only once in the Hebrew Bible does ‫ קנה‬refer to a woman giving birth, namely Eve (Gen 4:1). In Deut 32:6, Yahweh acts like a father who gives birth to Israel, makes and establishes her, with three verbs used in relation with bringing into existence: ‫קנה‬, ‫ עשׂה‬and ‫קון‬, Ps 139:13 remaining the single case in which ‫ קנה‬refers to the creation of humans by God. The translation must take into account the immediate textual environment. In Proverbs the verb ‫ קנה‬in qal is used fourteen times, six of which are in the introduction (chs. 1–9). Apart from the case under discussion, other occurrences refer to the acquiring of wisdom by human beings, so that, in my opinion, the most probable translation is “Yahweh made me the beginning of

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his ways,” in the sense of “acquired me as the principle of his works,” that is, for the creation and establishment of the cosmos. Here the meaning is much closer to “possessed,” otherwise it might suggest that Yahweh did not have Wisdom beforehand.17 Humanity is called to get this primeval Wisdom from Yahweh (cf. Job 28:27). Another translation problem is raised by ‫ראשית‬,18 rendered by LXX as ἀρχή, “beginning,” “principle,” and by Vulg. as initium “inception.” The term appears fifty-one times in the Hebrew Bible, with the meaning “beginning” both temporally (Deut 11:12; Prov 17:14; Mic 1:13; being opposite to ‫אחרית‬ “ending” in Job 8:7; 42:12) and objectively, “first thing”: “first fruits” (Exod 23:19; 34:26; Lev 2:12; 23:10; Num 15:20–21; 18:12; Deut 18:4; 26:2.10; 2 Chr 31:5; Neh 10:38; Jer 2:3; Ezek 20:40; 44:30; Hos 9:10; Prov 3:9), or “first born” (Gen 49:3; Deut 21:17; Pss 78:51; 105:36, especially in the expression “the beginning of my [sexual] power”). In an abstract sense, it refers to “first rank” (Gen 10:10; Num 24:20; Deut 33:21; Job 40:19; Jer 49:35; Amos 6:1.6), “best portions” (1 Sam 2:29; 15:21; Ezek 48:14), or even to “first act” (Ps 111:10; Prov 1:7; 4:7).19 Since a literal translation of the Hebrew is impossible, two possibilities emerge: “at/in the beginning” (equivalent to ‫ )בראשית‬or “as the beginning” (equivalent to ‫)כראשית‬.20 In the latter sense, some translators choose to be more precise: “first,”21 “first work,”22 “first-fruits,”23 “first-born”24 or “principle.”25 Following the same pattern as in the former term and comparing with the proximal occurrences, I chose “first act” or “first work.” The expression ‫“ דרכו‬his way” was read by LXX as plural ἀρχὴν ὁδῶν αὐτοῦ, thus supposing ‫דְּ ַרכָיו‬. Similarly did Symmachus and Vulg., while Aquila and Theodotion preserved the singular. The Targum translated “at the beginning of the creatures” (‫)בריש בריותיה‬. Dahood proposed a completely different vocalization, resulting in the translation: “τhe Primeval directed his works.”26 The term ‫ דֶּ ֶרְך‬here means God’s “work,” or “action”27 (cf. Job 26:14; 40:19),28 confirming the choice in translating ‫( ראשית‬plan, idea), as if Wisdom were not the first creature, but the very beginning of the divine genius.29 Koch suggests “power,”30 but there is also another interesting possibility, supported by Exod 33:13, in which Moses asks God to show him his “way,” which the LXX understood as if God asks to reveal himself (σεαυτόν). Something similar appeared in Ps 103 (102):7, in which “He made known his ways to Moses,” translated literally by the LXX. Nevertheless, the passage in Job 40:19 provides an intriguing parallel to Prov 8:22: the monster Behemot, regardless of what it should be identified with, appears as the “beginning of God’s ways” ( ‫ֵראשִׁית‬ ‫)דַּ ְרכֵי־אֵל‬. Moving now to v. 23, the expression ‫נסכתי‬, translated by LXX as ἐθεμελίωσεν με “established me,” changes from first person to third person. Aquila rendered it κατεστάθην, “I was settled down,” while Symmachus (and one version of Theodotion) prefers προκεχείρισμαι, “I was invested.”

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76

Theodotion, generally, along with Quinta, employ ἡτοίμασέ με, “he prepared me,” and in another version one finds ἐδιάσθην, “I was woven.”31 Finally, the Vulgate translates it ordita sum, “I was invested.” The root ‫ נסך‬has two independent meanings: (1) “to pour,” “to pour out,” hence “to consecrate (through unction),” “to install in an office,” and (2) “to weave.” BDB considers the niphal in v. 23 to be derived from the first sense (“I was consecrated”),32 while HALOT relates it to the second one, “I was woven/shaped,” that is, a form of .‫סכך‬33 The modern translations generally follow the first sense, preferring the abstract rendering “I was set up,”34 but also translating it “I was poured,”35 with a few exceptions.36 V.A. Hurowitz associated the root ‫ נסך‬with the root ,‫“ נתך‬to pour out,” which indicates insemination (cf. Job 10:10: “did you not poured me out [‫ ]תַּ תִּ י ֵכנִי‬like milk?”), or with ,‫“ סכך‬to knit” (cf. Ps 139:13: “you… knit me together [‫ ]תְּ ֻס ֵכּנִי‬in my mother’s womb”).37 Some commentators favor the meaning “I was set up,”38 while others, “I was formed,”39 which is a weaving metaphor. As Pentiuc translates it, “I was poured out as a libation.”40 An interesting parallel offers yet another intriguing semantic relation. In Ps 2:6 the Jerusalemite king is anointed and presented by Yahweh: ‫“ נָ ַסכְתִּ י מלכי‬I have set up / anointed my king,” while in the next verse, Yahweh proclaims, “You are my son” (‫ )בני אתה‬and “today I have begotten you” ( ‫היום‬ ‫)ילדתיך‬. Vv. 22–23 has six similar expressions that depict the prior state of Wisdom before creation. Only four of them are introduced by the preposition ‫מ‬, the rest eluding it entirely. Three pairs (hendiadys) can be found: ‫– ראשית‬ ‫ראש‬, ‫ קדמים – קדם‬and ‫עולם – אז‬, with each term explaining the other. A second pattern of similarities is represented by ‫ דרך‬and ‫ פעלים‬from v. 22, which parallels ‫ ארץ‬from v. 23—the former terms showing the act and the latter the result of the act (“earth,” that is, the world). ‫ראשית דרכו‬

‫מעולם‬

‫קדם מפעליו‬

‫מראש‬

‫מאז‬

‫מקדמי הארץ‬

The difficulties in translation are due to the care of the translator for an exact rendering of the sense of the words, thus facing a coercive task in preferring one sense at the expense of another. This process is compromised especially when the original has a wide-ranging semantic sphere and the translation seems to result in real mutilation of the text. I assume that the author intended the diffused terms ‫ קנני‬and ‫ נסכתי‬in order to construct a climax in vv. 24–25. Both terms mean respectively “he acquired me” and “I was anointed,” but they might suggest creation or formation (weaving), and on a

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much deeper level both have a semantic association with birth-giving. In fact, this latter sense fits best into the context; the solution only becomes evident to the reader in vv. 24–25, by way of the verb ,‫ חוללתי‬which is not repeated. For the time being, the focus is on the origin of Wisdom. Wisdom does not belong to creation, rather Wisdom herself is the introduction to the creation work of God.41 Savignac believes that a similar conception under Hellenistic influence can be found in Eccl 6:10, where it is said that the name (‫שֵׁם‬, Gk. λόγος) pre-exists the thing in itself (‫)מָה ֶשׁ ָהי ָה‬.42 Moving now to vv. 24–25, the term ‫“ חוֹ ָללְתִּ י‬I was brought forth,” “I was born,” apparently raises no translation problems. The root ,‫ חול‬or ,‫ חיל‬means “to be in labor,” “to tremble,” hence the polal, “to be brought through labor pains.”43 The verb ‫ חול‬/ ‫ חיל‬in polal appears also in Ps 51 (50):7, Ps 90:2 and Job 15:7. In Ps 51:7, ‫ חולל‬is associated with ,‫ יחם‬in the piel, “to conceive.” In Job 15:7 is associated with ‫ילד‬, in the niphal, “to be born,” and in Ps 90:2 with ‫ילד‬, in the qal passive, also “to be born.” The LXX does not render the first occurrence of the verb, but only the second one γεννᾷ με, “bore me,” changing again the person from the first singular to the third. Aquila and Theodotion translated through ὠδινήθην, “I was born (through birthpains)” and Symmachus ἐμαιώθην, “I was born.” The Targums translate v. 25 as ‫ איתקנית‬or ,‫“ איתתקנית‬I was created,” or “I was established,” having also the variant ‫“ אתילידית‬I was born.”44 In Ps 90:2, ‫ חולל‬refers to the earth and, in Job 38:8, to the sea,45 so here it may be a metaphor. Besides this possibility, the verb eliminates a semantic confusion initiated by ‫ קנני‬and ‫נסכתי‬. In vv. 24–25, a pattern similar to vv. 22–23 is repeated. This time four constructions—three of them negatively formulated (‫ באין‬twice, and ‫)בטרם‬ illustrate the cosmic forms that Wisdom preceded, including the aquatic elements, (v. 24) and the dry land (v. 25), each of them being introduced by an expression denoting the antecedence: ‫באין‬, ‫ בטרם‬and ‫לפני‬. ‫באין תהמות‬

‫בטרם הרים הטבעו‬

‫באין מעינות‬

‫לפני נבעות‬

A similar problem obtains in Job 15:7: “Are you the first man that was born (‫ ?)תִּ ָוּלֵד‬Or were you brought forth ( ָ‫ )חוֹ ָללְתּ‬before the hills?” (RSV). If Job were the first human, he could not be born, at least not from parents, suggesting that the verse alludes to the birth of Wisdom before the creation of the world. Thus another verb denoting birth could be added, ‫ילד‬, confirming the sense of the repeated one, ‫חוללתי‬. The term ‫ אָמוֹן‬from v. 30 is the very crux interpretum of the passage. It appears in the rest of the Old Testament only as a personal name: King

78

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Ammon (1 Kgs 22:26; 2 Kgs 21:18) and the Egyptian god Ammon (Jer 46:25; Nah 3:8). It also occurs in Jer 52:15 as a collective “the craftsman,” but this reading is not sure, because LXX ignored the verse completely and the parallel text in 2 Kgs 25:11 instead has ,‫“ המון‬multitude.”46 The root ‫ אמן‬means on the one hand “to be permanent” (in the niphal), “to believe,” “to have trust in” (hiphil) and, on the other hand, “to be attendant,” or “to nurse.” Close to the latter meaning is ‫ ָאמָּן‬, “craftsman” (cf. Song 7:2), from the Akkadian ummânu, “expert,” or “scribe.”47 The old translations are to be divided into three groups. First, the LXX translated ‫ אמון‬in Prov 8:30 as ἁρμόζουσα, “harmonizing,” or “setting,” a participle present active feminine, which suggests that LXX did not read the third letter, waw, therefore having the word ‫אמן‬, vocalized ‫“( ָאמָּן‬artisan” or “handworker).” This view is attested in Wis 7:21; 8:6, where Wisdom is entitled τεχνίτις. In the same manner Syr. translates mtqnʾ hwyt (“I have established”), and in the Vulgate, compones (“composing”). In the Jewish tradition, Genesis Rabbah understood ‫ אָמוֹן‬as ‫“ אוּמָּן‬artisan,” and a Midrash identified Wisdom with the Torah presenting her as an “artisan’s tool” ( ‫כלי‬ ‫)אומנתו‬.48 Secondly, Aquila translates τιθηνουμένη “nurtured (child [fem.]),” understanding probably ‫ אֱמוּן‬or ,‫“ אָמוּן‬nurtured,” as in Lam 4:5, where it is found in the plural ,‫ ֱא ֻמנִים‬translated by the LXX οἱ τιθηνούμενοι, “nurtured,” or “grown up.” The verb appears in Esth 2:20, referring to raising a child (‫)באמנה‬,49 but also as “nurse,” (‫ )אוֹמֵן‬in the masculine in Num 11:12 and Isa 49:23, or in the feminine (‫)א ֹ ֶמנֶת‬, as in 2 Sam 4:4 and Ruth 4:16. Finally, Symmachus and Theodotion rendered it ἐστηριγμένη “fixed,” “determined,” followed by the Targum’s ‫מהימנותא‬, with the variant ,‫“ מהימנתא‬faithful.” This threefold meaning was followed by the modern translations, except that some of the versions refer the sense of “craftsman” to God, not to the Wisdom.50 R. B. Y. Scott proposes the vocalization ,‫ אוֹמֵן‬with the meaning “biding,” “unifying,” or “harmonizing,”51 but unfortunately the verb ‫ אמן‬in qal is not attested with this sense. Th. Gaster supports the interpretation “expert”;52 Murphy and J. de Savignac prefer “artist” or “architect”53; Cazelles suggests “high-ranking scribe,” “wise man,” and cosmic “counselor,”54 all relating to Wisdom; while C. L. Rogers III55 and John W. Miller56 use “craftsman” and apply it not to Wisdom, but to God. A similar meaning from a different direction is supported by P. A. H. de Boer: ‫אִמּוֹן‬, from ‫אם‬, “mother-official” or “little mother,” with the function of counselor,57 but his supposition seems too fantasist. On the other hand, C. H. Toy58 and V. A. Hurowitz argued for the sense “nursling,” “fledgling,” “novice,” or “ward.”59 For Fox, who follows Jewish medieval commentators Ibn Janaḥ and Moshe Qimḥi, ‫ אָמוֹן‬is an infinitive verb that could be translated “growing up like a child.”60 Assuming that v. 30 does not reflect the creation process, but the following period, Weeks derives ‫ אמון‬from a verb meaning “to be faithful,” considering it a noun or an adjective

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(‫ )אֱמוּן‬with adverbial function (“faithfully).”61 Finally, Waltke translates it “constantly,” or “faithfully,” assuming it to be an infinitive verb in active, not passive, voice.62 I assume that “nursling” fits better in the context than “craftsman,” because vv. 30–31 reflects the joyful activity of a child, playing and learning while God creates the universe. The translation “craftsman” cannot tackle the drawback of introducing a new idea, which was absent throughout the hymn. In Prov 8:22–31, Wisdom does not take part in the creation, but remains merely in a stand-by position, watching the Creator and frolicking with the world and humankind. The fine chiastic structure of vv. 30–31 underscores the likening to the child playing: ‫ואהיה שעשעים יום יום‬

‫משחקת בתבל ארצו‬

‫ בכל־עת‬... ‫משחקת‬

‫ושעשעי את בני אדם‬

Having witnessed nearly the entire panoply of possibilities in Prov 8:22– 31 among earlier translators, the only exception that remains for ‫ קנני‬in v. 22 is that of “brought me forth.” It appears the modern commentators reapplied ancient solutions to this difficult text, thus proving that, at least at the level of translation, exegesis has not gained spectacular insights. Some commentators consider the hymn of Wisdom as a creation account,63 but Whybray has demonstrated that this prototype is not sustained.64 More properly Wisdom speaks oracles of doom like a prophet, telling her skeptical audience how she was called by God and giving them details about her origin.65 Gerlinde Baumann, who instructively illustrates the state of Wisdom research in the twentieth century,66 asserts that interpretations fall into three categories. The earlier scholars saw in Wisdom a hypostasis67 (in 1909, Charles Hasselgrave postulated a Hellenistic backdrop, in that the term emerged in Stoic philosophy) or even a demiurge (e.g., Johann Göttsberger, in 1919). The term “hypostasis” was no longer used after Gerhard Pfeifer (1967), because it comes from a late milieu and bears ontological philosophical significances. Beginning with Paul Volz, in 1911, Wisdom was perceived as a goddess or a literary projection of a deity (“reflected mythology”). The use of mythological motifs was dictated by the post-exilic question of theodicy.68 Multiple attempts were made in this history of religions approach in order to find the wisdom prototype. W. F. Albright proposed an influence of the Aramaean-Canaanite gnomic literature, where a myth from before the seventh century BCE might have included a Canaanite goddess of wisdom, analogous to the Mesopotamian Siduri Sabitu.69 M. Smith sees in Wisdom a form of the goddess Asherah;70

80

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for M. Barker, Wisdom was also a Jerusalemite goddess, the Queen of Heaven, in the form of a winged cherub.71 All these attempts remain confined to the area of speculation,72 because such a goddess of wisdom in Canaan or Israel has yet to be discovered. On the other hand, A. Lenzi views the passage of Prov 8:22–31 as interpreting the text of Prov 3:19, using Enuma Elish 1:79– 108. He even tries to find word parallels showing that Marduk’s birth from the god Ea is replaced by Wisdom’s generation by Yahweh.73 Although Mesopotamian literature would be familiar to an Israelite scribe, such parallels remain unlikely. A wide-ranging hypothesis established a relation between the biblical Wisdom and the Egyptian goddess of cosmic order and truth, Maat.74 Authority (ḥw), knowledge (śj3) and truth (m3ʿt) accompanied the king or god AmonRa.75 Wisdom was also related to Maat in the Instruction of Ptah-hotep.76 Maat, as “Eternal Sameness” (ḏt), repeated pattern of the existence, is identified with Tefnut, the sister of Shu.77 As daughter of Ra, the Sun god,78 she is set before Ra79 and grants to the pharaoh the eternity in jubilees like Ra.80 This hypothesis presents an even more intriguing argument among the most conservative scholars, which ascribe the book of Proverbs to King Solomon, leading them to envision that “Solomon invested an Egyptian literary form with Israel’s ethical monotheism,”81 however some insurmountable inconsistencies call this into question. It is not without considerable weight that Maat never speaks for herself in the manner of biblical Wisdom, but remains inextricably related to the universal order, lacking in Wisdom’s profile.82 The hymn of Lady Wisdom seems closer to Maat-Isis prototypes,83 especially reflected in the Isis’ aretologies whose influences are more manifest as regards the book of Wisdom (Sapientia Salomonis);84 however, this doesn’t carry much implication on Proverbs 8, given the late date of the Isis figure. Richard Clifford centers on a different mythological background, assuming the reading ‫ ָאמָּן‬instead of ‫ אָמוֹן‬in Prov 8:30, a term related to the Akkadian ummānu. He draws attention to lists of apkallu and ummānu, halfdivine pre- and post-diluvial sages and civilizing heroes. For Clifford, wisdom plays exactly the same role, guiding kings (Prov 8:15–16) and describing a cosmogony (vv. 22–31).85 Unfortunately, except for this textual similarity, the relation to Mesopotamian heroes relies on tenuous base. Already before the Egyptian discoveries, Greek philosophical influence was perceived in Prov 8:22–31, for although the sage of the Proverbs is an Israelite, he lived in a Hellenized atmosphere.86 It might reflect indeed the emerging blend between the Greek philosophic thoughts and the Jewish sapiential literature that will mature in Philo’s work.87 Nevertheless, the Logos doctrine of Heraclitus is under dispute, even if Savignac revealed some connections with Prov 8:22–31, so that I could assume that this possibility is open to discussion; however, the date must be postponed for the third century

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BCE during the early period of the Stoic philosophy. Nowadays, the Pentateuch is dated by some minimalist scholars to the Hellenistic period, and Proverbs could in fact reflect an interest to meet Greek philosophy, although no certain influence of Greek literature can be proven. A third direction for interpreting Wisdom seems more likely. Her figure might be a simple literary construct, a personification of a divine quality. Von Rad assumed a personification of cosmic reason, the mysterious order that fascinates humankind.88 Murphy believes that Wisdom is the order of creation, but at the same time it is the Lord who is speaking and ancient Israel made no difference between faith and reason.89 For Miller, it is the figure of Solomon, not God. For him, the king as Wisdom penetrates God’s mysteries and mediates them to the people (cf. Prov 25:3); therefore the king himself generated the personification of Wisdom.90 Indeed Ps 2:6–7 refers to the king as God’s adopted child. The weak point of this theory is that nowhere does the king precede the universe as the first being. So even if the verse intends to illustrate the birth of the Wisdom, the expression remains a metaphor and a poetical personification, alluding to the creation narrative of Genesis 1.91 Interpreting Ps 104 (103):24 and Prov 3:19, where it is written that God created the world “with wisdom” (‫)בחכמה‬, Wisdom in Prov 8:22–31 is personified and therefore presented as an individual entity having primacy over the world, being born of Yahweh, playing like a little child in the creation, and growing side by side with the world.92 The literary device may be supported taking into account the personification of Foolishness, the silly woman who acts in opposition to Wisdom (Prov 9:13– 18), and the suggestive parallels with the strange woman in Prov 1–9. The importance of Prov 8:22–31 consists not only in its thematic content, but especially in the way it was further read and understood, applied to new backgrounds and associated with other theological ideas. In contrast to Prov 8:22–31, where the Divine Wisdom manifests herself towards humankind and calls people to heed her words, Job 28, which is earlier,93 discusses the transcendence of Wisdom. Here Wisdom is not personified or hypostasized, nor begotten by God; rather it is God who has access to her (v. 23) and, in doing so, his first act was to “see” (v. 26). So Wisdom could be regarded as coexisting with God.94 Later, starting with the second BCE, a legalization of Wisdom (Nomisierung) and a higher degree of nationalization (Israelitisierung) are recognizable.95 Wisdom is identified with the Torah (Sir 23:27; 24:23; Wis 6:4.9; 9:9; Bar 3:37–4:1; 4 Ezra and 2 Bar. 5:3–7),96 an idea already found in Ps 19:8–11 and Deut 4:5–8. According to Sir 24:8–11, Wisdom sojourned in Jerusalem, in Zion, that is, in the Temple. On the other hand, for other texts Wisdom manifests herself, wanting to find a resting place upon the earth to share her knowledge, but she doesn’t find it and returns to heaven to live

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among the angels (1 En 42:1–2; 2 Esdras 5:9–10). Bultmann considered the possibility that there existed a Jewish myth about a preexisting Wisdom who sent her messengers, the prophets, to men, but because she was refused, she thus remains hidden in heaven;97 however, M. D. Johnson argues that this concept of Wisdom did not exist.98 In Ben Sira, some important expressions of Prov 8:22–31 appear: ‫ קנני‬is translated “create,” like the LXX (ἔκτισται σοφία Sir 1:4; κύριος αὐτὸς ἔκτισεν αὐτὴν, 1:9; ἔκτισέν με, 24:9). This act of creation was performed “before all things” (προτέρα πάντων, Sir 1:4), “before the ages” (πρὸ τοῦ αἰῶνος, 24:9). In Sir 24:9 the term ‫ראשית‬, “beginning,” from Prov 8:22 is interpreted as ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς, “in the beginning” (RSV) and in Sir 1:9 the term ‫נסכתי‬, “I was anointed,” from Prov 8:23 was interpreted as “poured out” (ἐξέχεεν ἀυτὴν ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ “he [Lord] poured her out upon all his works” [RSV]). An influence of Middle Stoicism is the equation of Wisdom with Spirit (Wis 7:22–23),99 echoing the Stoic concept of the world Soul (πνεῦμα), or Logos. Wisdom bears the title “artisan,” “craftsman,” “fashioner of all things” (Wis 7:22: ἡ πάνων τεχνῖτις σοφία), a reading of ‫ אמון‬from Prov 8:30 as ‫ ָאמָּן‬as already showed above; she is “the active cause of all things” (NRSV) (Wis 8:5: σοφίας τῆς τὰ πάντα ἐργαζομένης). God has created by word and by wisdom (Wis 9:1: ὁ ποιήσας τὰ πάντα ἐν λόγῳ σου καὶ τῇ σοφίᾳ σου), and in Wis 9:9 Wisdom is presented as knowing the works of God and witnessing creation (ἡ σοφία ἡ εἰδυῖα τὰ ἔργα σου καὶ παροῦσα ὅτε ἐποίεις τὸν κόσμον). Miura classified the wisdom tradition into three groups: the hidden Wisdom tradition (Job 28), the accessible Wisdom tradition (Prov 8; Sir 24; Wis 7–9) and the apocalyptic Wisdom tradition (Bar 3:9–4:4; 1 Enoch 37– 71). She supposes that the accessible Wisdom traditions emerge from Zadokite priestly circles during the Second Temple, which formed the hierocracy.100 Much more useful is the classification proposed by C. Bennema in the Torahcentered (Sir 24; Bar 3:9–4:4; Pirqe Abot; 4 Macc 1:15–17; Josephus), Spiritcentered (Wis; Philo), and Apocalyptic-centered traditions. Thus, Prov 8:22–31 represents the precursor of the Spirit-centered Wisdom tradition, from which developed the prophetic figure.101 Already in Ps 104 (103):24; Prov 3:19; Wis 8:5 (τῆς τὰ πάντα ἐργαζομένης), God is said to have created the world with wisdom. So in 2 Enoch 30:8 (late first century CE), this was interpreted in the sense that God commanded Wisdom to create humankind.102 In the one of the earliest books of the NT, Wisdom is identified with Jesus Christ (1 Cor 1:24: Χριστὸν θεοῦ δύναμιν καὶ θεοῦ σοφίαν). In Col 1:15–19, Christ as “image of the invisible God” (a description of Wisdom in Wis 7:26), is “the firstborn of all creation” (Col 1:15 πρωτότοκος πάσης κτίσεως), thus the verb ‫ קנני‬from Prov 8:22 is interpreted as τίκτειν “to bring forth.” So Christ is (firstborn) of God, but all the other beings are created

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through Christ (v. 16: ἐν αὐτῷ ἐκτίσθη τὰ πάντα […] τὰ πάντα δι᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ εἰς αὐτὸν ἔκτισται), thus leaving κτίζειν in Prov 8:22 (LXX) unconnected to Wisdom, but only to the creatures. Christ exists before all things (Col 1:17: αὐτός ἐστιν πρὸ πάντων), because he is “the beginning” (v. 18: ὅς ἐστιν ἀρχή), thus ‫ ראשית‬from Prov 8:22 is interpreted as an attribute that illustrates the quality of Christ. The title “the beginning of God’s creation” is also applied to Christ in Rev 3:14 (ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς κτίσεως τοῦ θεοῦ). The climax is reached in Jn 1:1–3, where Word is at the beginning (ἐν ἀρχῇ) with God (πρὸς τὸν θεόν), being identified with God (θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος); all things were made by him (πάντα δι᾽ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο). Beside the Hellenistic background, there is also the proposal that John drew his Word theology from the Jewish Wisdom tradition, equating Word with Wisdom and the Torah.103 In sum, Martin Leuenberger considers the steps of wisdom conception as follows: in Job 28, wisdom is cosmologized; in Prov 8:22–31, wisdom is protologized and personified; in Sirach 24, nominized and nationalized; in Enoch 42, “uranized:; and in the Gospel of John, anthropized.104 For Philo of Alexandria105 (ca. 20 BCE–50 CE), Wisdom is more ancient (πρεσβυτέραν) than the universal world (Vir. 62). God “called that divine and heavenly wisdom by many names […] he called it the beginning, and the image, and the sight of God” (Leg. 1:43). God is the Father of creation and united with his Knowledge (ἐπιστήμη) or Wisdom (σοφία), which became “the mother and nurse of the whole universe” (τῆς μητρὸς καὶ τιθήνης τῶν ὅλων; Ebr. 30–31), “the mother of all things” (τὴν μητέρα τῶν συμπάντων; Leg. 2:49). God is “the husband of Wisdom” (σοφίας ἀνὴρ; Cher. 49), and Wisdom is the mother “by means of whom the universe arrived at creation” (δι᾽ ἧς τὰ ὅλα ἦλθεν εἰς γένεσιν; Fug. 109), or “mother, wisdom, by means of which the universe was completed” (μητέρα δὲ τὴν σοφίαν, δι᾽ ἧς ἀπετελέσθη τὸ πᾶν; Det. 54).106 Therefore “the whole world […] was created by divine wisdom” (ἔργῳ δὲ ὁ θείᾳ σοφίᾳ δημιουργηθεὶς κόσμος; Her. 199). The use of the preposition δία posits the mediating role of Wisdom as the instrument of creation. Bethuel is allegorically explained as Wisdom “the daughter of God, always a virgin” (θυγάτηρ θεοῦ […] ἀειπάρθενος; Fug. 50; cf. QG 4:97: “Who is to be considered the daughter of God but Wisdom, who is the firstborn mother of all things?”), and God is “the fountain of wisdom” (ἡ πηγὴ τῆς σοφίας, ὁ θεός; Sacr. 64). On the other hand, Wisdom, “the daughter of God,” is also “both male and a father” (τὴν θυγατέρα τοῦ θεοῦ σοφίαν ἄρρενά τε καὶ πατέρα εἶναι) because she “sows […] and begets learning in souls” (Fug. 52). Philo was the first to identify Wisdom with Logos (Leg. 1:65; Her. 191; Somn. 2:242– 245), the instrument (ὄργανον) of creation through which (δι’ οὗ) the world was created (Cher. 125–127), a common concept of Middle Platonist systems.

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In the Qumran sectarian writings, Wisdom is referred to as the power of God and the means of creation.107 In Rabbinic Judaism, Wisdom merged with the Torah, which was created before the universe,108 in order to be used by God as a blueprint of the world.109 The “beginning” of Prov 8:22 was related to the “beginning” of Gen 1:1.110 Moving now to Patristic literature, Justin Martyr cites the text from Prov 8:22–31, speaking of Christ’s wisdom as “rational power” (δύναμις λογική) of the Father,111 making yet no difference in sense between κτίζειν and γεννᾶν and applying both to the generation of the Son by the Father. Around 177 CE, Athenagoras says that the Son is God’s “mind and word,” being coeternal with the Father. For this he cites Prov 8:22, but it is not clear whether he refers the text only to Christ or also to the Spirit, about which he writes that he is an emanation (ἀπόρροια) from God, who goes forth and comes back as sunrays.112 Theophilus113 and Tertullian,114 citing parts of Prov 8:22–31, identify Wisdom simultaneously with the Logos and the Spirit. Thus, Jaroslav Pelikan concludes, the first Christian writers confounded the Persons of the Son and the Spirit, both of them being identified with Wisdom.115 Explaining the procession of Logos from the Father, they tend to speak about two stages: the first stage, when the Logos is immanent in the Father from eternity; the second, when he is sent forth in order to create the world as a divine person. Tertullian thinks of two stages of the second stage: the Father begot the Logos as the first of creation, and then the Logos created the world. Prov 8:22–31 was used to define the second or the third stage. Irenaeus, on the other hand, identifies Wisdom with the Spirit,116 promoting yet another tradition of interpretation. In the same period, the Gnostics developed their own interpretation of Prov 8, as attested by Hippolytus, who observed that Simon Magus identified the Spirit with the seventh power of God by citing Prov 8:22.117 In the Alexandrian school, Origen saw in “Wisdom” and “beginning” some of the most important titles or names (ἐπίνοιαι) of Christ based on Prov 8:22.118 In his synthetic treatise on the Christian doctrine, Origen suggests that Christ is κτίσμα119 or κτίσις, without attributing him a status equal to the creatures.120 In fact, the Logos is eternally begotten by the Father, and one must conclude that the Alexandrian theologian thought of κτίζειν (Lat. creare) as being similar to γεννᾶν (Lat. generare).121 This inaccuracy leads to the dispute between Bishop Dionysus of Rome and his counterpart, Dionysus of Alexandria, who was accused of using the term ποίημα referring to the Son and ποιητής in referring to the Father. In fact, following Origen, Dionysus of Rome did not include the Son among the creatures.122 The real exegetical problem occurred with the Arian crisis. In his letter to the Emperor Constantine, Arius wants to present himself as a biblical theologian,123 and according to some, the Arian heresy began during a public sermon of Arius interpreting precisely Prov 8:22,124 although attributing this to a sin-

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gle biblical passage seems to be too limited.125 For Arius, Christ is only a creature and before the birth of creation, he did not exist: “Before he was begotten (γεννηθῇ), or created (κρισθῇ), or defined (ὁρισθῇ), or established (θεμελιωθῇ), he did not exist; for he was not unbegotten.”126 According to Arius’ interpretation of Prov 8:22.25, explicated in a letter to Bishop Alexander of Alexandria, God “begat an Only-begotten Son before eternal times, through whom he has made both the ages and the universe; and begat him, not in semblance, but in truth; and that he made him subsist at his own will, unalterable and unchangeable; perfect creature (κτίσμα) of God, but not as one of the creatures; offspring (γέννημα), but not as one of things begotten.”127 So Arius interprets γεννᾶν in the sense of κτίζειν, as Eusebius of Nicomedia,128 who writes in the epistle to Paulinus, Bishop of Tyre, that “the Son was created, established, and begotten in the same substance and in the same immutable and inexpressible nature as the Maker,” referring to Prov 8:22–26 as the literary source. Other biblical passages are quoted (Isa 1:2; Deut 32:18; Job 38:28) in support of the meaning “to create” for the verb “to beget,” showing that the Scriptures have not spoken of Christ alone as begotten, but obviously of common creatures. In the same pattern, in Alexander’s Deposition of Arius, included in the works of St. Athanasius, the Arian belief was that “the Son is a creature (κτίσμα) and a work (ποίημα). Neither is He like in essence to the Father; neither is He the true and natural Word of the Father; neither is He His true Wisdom; but He is one of the things made and created, and is called the Word and Wisdom by an abuse of terms, since He Himself originated by the proper Word of God, and by the Wisdom that is in God, by which God has made not only all other things but Him also.”129 In the extant fragments of his main work, Thalia, Arius enlarged upon the relations of the Son with the Father: “The Unbegun appointed the Son to be the beginning of things begotten” (ἀρχὴν τὸν υἱὸν ἔθηκε τῶν γενητῶν ὁ ἄναρχος);130 God is the teacher of wisdom (τῆς σοφίας διδάσκαλος);131 “Wisdom came into existence as Wisdom by the will of a wise God” (σοφία σοφία ὑπῆρξε σοφοῦ θεοῦ θελήσει).132 He used the term μετοχή “participation” to explain the relation of the Son to the Father; he is Word and Wisdom because he participates in God’s Word and Wisdom. The Son is permanently, but not necessarily, rational and wise and participates in God’s Word and Wisdom to some degree, being in fact the highest imaginable degree; but Word and Wisdom do not constitute his essential definition, but designate accidental titles. According to Alexander, for Arius the Son is Logos and Sophia “metaphorically” (καταχρηστικῶς), or according to Athanasius “verbally” (ὀνόματι), “conceptually” (κατ’ ἐπίνοιαν).133 The Arian claim seemed unassailable,

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grounded in the literal expression of Scripture; but the crisis was an opporopportunity to scrutinize the meaning of the biblical text more seriously. It was Marcellus of Ancyra who for the first time applied Prov 8:22 to the Incarnation, assuming that the only suitable name for the Son is “Word” (λόγος).134 He asserts that Proverbs 8 does not refer to the “beginning of divinity” (οὐ τὴν ἀρχὴν τῆς θεότητος), but to the “economy of body” (τὴν δευτέραν κατὰ σάρκα οἰκονομίαν).135 Thus he agrees with the meaning “created” for ἔκτισεν, but relates it to the union of God with the human body through Virgin Mary.136 The same understanding stands for ἐθεμελίωσεν, and Marcellus cites 1 Cor 3:11 for support,137 assuming that ἐθεμελίωσεν refers clearly to the body (δηλονότι τὴν σάρκα).138 But this interpretation leads Marcellus to an awkward allegory, for in Prov 8:23, “before he made the earth,” Marcellus interprets “earth” as “our body,” which returns to earth according to Gen 3:19139; “before the depths,” “depths” as “the saints’ hearts”140; “before the fountains,” “fountains” as “the apostles,” according to the allegorical understanding of Exodus 15:27141; “before the mountains, before the hills,” “mountains” as the apostles and “hills” as the apostolic disciples.142 Marcellus is aware of his allegorical view (μυστικῶς, παροιμιωδῶς), having used the same arguments about the “ways,” applying them to the apostles in Epistula ad Antiochenos and De incarnatione et contra Arianos.143 Through this interpretation, Marcellus is closer to Arius in speaking of the created aspect of the Logos.144 The new interpretation proposed by Marcellus was followed by Athanasius of Alexandria, who said that Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria had used in the Epistle to Euphranor and Ammonius the text of Prov 8:22 together with other texts (John 15:1; Heb 1:4; 3:2) for supporting an opinion that the Arians pretended to be the same as theirs, but these texts should be interpreted as referring to the human nature.145 Athanasius offers a magnificent exegetical exposition upon Prov 8:22–31 in the second discourse Against the Arians. First, he noted the literary genre: “since, however, these are proverbs, and it is expressed in the way of proverbs, we must not expound them nakedly in their first sense, but we must inquire into the person, and thus religiously put the sense on it.” Nicene Orthodoxy became the interpretational norm for the biblical text, not the biblical text in its plain sense. If Prov 8:22 referred to angels “or any other of things originate,” then the meaning should be “created me.” But if it referred to “the Wisdom of God, in whom all things originate have been framed,” “what ought we to understand but that ‘He created’ means nothing contrary to ‘He begat.’” The meaning is showed further, in Prov 9:1, “Wisdom has built herself a house,” which Athanasius connected to the Incarnation: “Now it is plain that our body is Wisdom’s house, which It took on Itself to become man; hence consistently does John say, ‘The Word was made flesh’ (Jn 1:14).” Athanasius observed also the immediate context of ἔκτισεν: “‘The Lord

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created me a beginning of His ways for His works,’ yet not ‘created me that I might have being,’ nor ‘because I have a creature’s beginning and origin.’”146 The Alexandrian theologian concluded that the biblical passage of Prov 8:22 referred to the Incarnation, not to the eternal Birth. “For in this passage, not as signifying the Essence of His Godhead, nor His own everlasting and genuine generation from the Father, has the Word spoken by Solomon, but on the other hand His manhood and Economy towards us. […] This mere term ‘He created’ does not necessarily signify the essence or the generation, but indicates something else as coming to pass in Him of whom it speaks.”147 Athanasius then invoked some verses (Ps 101:19; 50:12; Eph 2:15.24; Jer 31:22) where the term “created” does not refer to the creation according to nature, but to the “renovation according to God.” Therefore, he said: “let ‘He created’ be understood, not of His being a creature, but of that human nature which became His, for to this belongs creation.”148 He identified the expression “He created me” with “My Father hath prepared for Me a body” (Heb 10:5). Since in some texts where it is said that Christ was made flesh (Jn 1:14) or curse (Gal 5:18) or sin (2 Cor 5:21) one need not conceive the whole Word himself to be flesh, but to have put on flesh and become man, “if it is said in the Proverbs ‘He created,’ we must not conceive that the whole Word is in nature a creature, but that He put on the created body and that God created Him for our sakes, preparing for Him the created body, as it is written, for us, that in Him we might be capable of being renewed and deified.”149 Athanasius then explores v. 25, where the idea of birth appeared. He considers that birth and creation are distinct. If “to give birth” and “create” mean the same thing, it may result in an absurdity. Christ is called “only begotten,” which revealed him as separate from all others (humans, animals). If “to give birth” means the same as “to create,” then he should be called “the first begotten,” like Reuben, who “was not only-begotten, but in time indeed first, but in nature and relationship one among those who came after him.” “Therefore if the Word also is ‘a beginning of the ways,’ He must be such as the ways are, and the ways must be such as the Word, though in point of time He be created first of them.” “If then, as I have said, the Word were creature He must have been brought into being, not first of them, but with all the other Powers, though in glory He excel the rest ever so much.” If the Word is created for the works, this shows that His creation succeeded that of the works. “Therefore if He is before all things, yet says ‘He created me’ (not ‘that I might make the works,’ but) ‘for the works’ (εἰς τὰ ἔργα), unless ‘He created’ relates to something later than Himself, He will seem later than the works, finding them on His creation already in existence before Him, for the sake of which He is also brought into being. And if so, how is He before all things notwithstanding? And how were all things made through Him and consist in

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Him? […] [He] says in the manner of proverbs, ‘He created me’ when He put on created flesh.”150 Athanasius underscored the absurdity of the Arian heresy, employing logical thinking and the dogmatic foundation of the Nicene ecumenical synod and then philological insight into the text. This is a main hermeneutical issue for the Orthodox theologian, who must bring the biblical text within the community of faith to support true teaching and not simply to proclaim one’s own hypotheses. But is this not the same thing as “deforming” the Scripture to fit the doctrine? These philological and exegetical notes helped me differentiate between the search for the original meaning of the text and the application of that text in a new framework of the community. As I noted at the beginning of the paper, Waltke—although very conservative in his exegesis—suggests that Patristic and medieval commentators “erred” when they interpreted Wisdom as a hypostasis. He also observed “the notion that Wisdom is eternally being begotten is based on Christian dogma, not on exegesis.”151 Did the Church Fathers really perform exegetical “acrobatics” (to use the malicious remark of Paul Heger about the Rabbinic exegetical struggles152) in trying to interpret the text of Prov 8:22–31 along the lines of their own dogmatic beliefs? How might Athanasius’ commentary appear to a modern exegete? If we perceive only the original meaning of the texts, then all the subsequent interpretations should be improper. Comparing Prov 8:22 with Prov 3:19, the former must be erroneous in personifying wisdom, which in the latter illustrates only the divine capacity for creation. Likewise the identification with the Torah in intertestamental literature and with Jesus Christ in the New Testament must be completely fallacious. But this would be a narrow understanding of what interpretation does. A new group of faith, which has held the ancient value-laden text in the highest regard, discovered new incentive opportunities to gain access to Scripture. The fresh approach toward the text brings it into consonance with new emerging ideas, resisting any limitation to the original meaning, because otherwise the text should be already of no account. That allows the conclusion that the search for the original meaning and the interpretation of the text epitomize two different approaches, which must be kept separate: the one constructs an objective base for a cogent argumentation, producing hypotheses and encouraging the discussions around them; the other refines the text and avowedly underpin different treatments at the same time, but expressing one coherent doctrine. Wisdom for Philo is both female and male, both daughter and mother, antinomies that could interfere with each other in the complex scheme of Platonism. In other words, these interpretations could be “erroneous” only on the surface, comparing them with the logical argumentation, but in reality they intend to transcend the text and to draw parallels with other categories.

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I would also draw attention upon the intermingling of historical-critical methodologies and the typological-allegorical approach, which often occurs in Orthodox exegetical commentaries: modern commentators are mixed up with Patristic quotations. It is better to stress the disjunction between them, because they belong to different levels of reference in the text. Sometimes a Church Father might observe textual problems critically or might compare different translations, but when they relate the text to the new background of Christianity, they do not assume a scientific objective analysis of the text.

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I’m Not There: Self-Negation as Authentication in the Prophetic Tradition

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ith the sound of thunder over the mountain cedars of Lebanon, veins pulsing from a lightning brow, and iron fingers pounding like hailstones on the scarred wooden desk before us, twice each week throughout the semester the uncompromising Word took on flesh and dwelt among us. It was an unusual spectacle for a classroom setting. Moses would have seen many burning bushes in his life, as we have seen many teachers; but that was no ordinary bush and Fr. Paul was no ordinary teacher. The bush on Mt Sinai/Horeb conveyed ultimacy from beyond itself, dangerous in that its fascinating lure carried within it the threat of destruction. Similarly, the teacher-as-man disappeared amid the fire and smoke that filled the room so that it was no longer clear whether he was commanding it or It was commanding him. In that place and for a time the medium and the message became one, imposing upon our senses a challenging reality altogether different from the rest of our classes and from the safer, far less uncomfortable experience of sharing coffee with the same person in our dormitory later in the evening. On the basis of this experience it seemed appropriate to me that the many fine papers gathered together in a volume honoring this teacher’s monumental contributions to Orthodox biblical scholarship should include some analysis of the effective and enduring dynamism of those bizarre, unsettling figures in biblical Israel whom the divine Word grasped, propelled, and sometimes killed.1 But rather than travel down well worn ruts that attempt to recover the Prophets’ elusive biographies–or in the case of Abraham Heschel’s monumental, half-century old but timelessly relevant work The Prophets, their collective psychology2–the present study will undertake a cursory literary analysis of the prophetic corpus in search of additional insights into the dynamism of its enduring value, focusing specifically on how the prophetic tradition selfconsciously presented itself. It will argue that the most salient characteristic of

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“authentic” prophecy in the biblical corpus is its sustained, conscious selfnegation vis-à-vis the Divine Word that both compels it and provides its raison d’être. Moreover, this prophetic principle of personal and institutional selfnegation permeates Hebrew scripture, running through it like the Bible’s own proverbial crimson thread, unifying the Law and the Prophets, and perhaps accounting for how, against all earthly odds in the perilous Age of Empires, the Hebrew Scriptures managed not only to survive but become a foundational pillar of the western worldview. The general assumption underlying this literary approach is that the earliest stage at which the Bible first becomes “Bible” should be posited in the aftermath of the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem’s palace-temple complex (586 BC) and the phased deportation of Judah’s elite society associated with that historical event. This is not to say that the relevant oral and written source traditions that provide the Bible’s raw materials sprung into being at this time, rather that the defining characteristic of the Bible qua Bible is not to be found in any single one of its constituent sources, but in the dynamic flux of literary tensions emanating from the tapestry produced by the uneasy weaving together of divergent priestly and royal traditions into an overall coherent worldview that standing amid the rubble at the demise of Judah’s national history attempted to answer the ultimate question, “What went wrong?” Coming to grips with the devastation left by the mighty Babylonian armies, these few faithful survivors unwilling to concede that Babylon’s deity Marduk was stronger than the Lord God of Israel, arrived at the uncanny conclusion that if the house of their national deity lie in ruins, only God alone could have brought it about. Holding all of their previously divergent triumphs together in the tension of a coherent overarching narrative, the Bible thus comes not just to be read, but experienced as something far greater than the proverbial sum of its parts. Their comprehensive response to the question of what had gone so terribly wrong provides an essential key for understanding the whole of the Bible and its relevance for readers today. From the perspective of the Exile, it was not simply that the historical fact that the Babylonians and their mercenaries had attacked Jerusalem and destroyed its palace-temple complex, but that God himself had demolished his own holy dwelling place. The process of formulating a response to the question of what had gone so terribly wrong resulted in the collective soul-searching answer “We did!” What biblical scholarship seems to have missed thus far is answering the next question, “How so?” Such is the gap that exists between traditional historical-critical approaches and the needs of the faithful in the twenty-first century that the fellowship of OCABS scholars seeks to bridge. Most people fail to appreciate the significance of such a scathingly critical self-examination such as we find in the prophetic corpus—a remarkably rare

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thing for a social group of any era to undertake. The literary principle finds analogy in the real-world phenomenon of ecstatic prophecy in which a shamanic-type figure attracts the attention of the community by abandoning his or her ego-self to some perceived otherworldly power. Any prophetic movements that result are then measured by their ability to further attract and retain followers by evoking ongoing experiences of the sacred. In all cases, what is authentic and genuine operates through and in spite of the human conduits that channel them. The imposition of personal (or collective) ego that results from a medium (or group) taking itself too seriously is akin to throwing water upon its own fire. Ironically, in order to convey the sacred authentically, one needs to “be there” without really being there. Unfortunately, it is often the case that priests, hierarchs, and, yes, biblical scholars–whose primary responsibility it is to understand, impart, and in many cases live the demands of scripture–seem to be the worst at grasping this authenticating principle of self-negation, let alone carry it out in any real or effective way. The observations that follow show how it is that the prophetic tradition remained authentically prophetic and what we who mediate scripture to the faithful might learn from its example.

Self-Negation in Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets The Book of Deuteronomy links the Law (Torah) and the Prophets (Nevi’im), serving as capstone of the former and prologue to the latter; thus the most appropriate place to begin any exploration into the realm of prophetic selfunderstanding as rooted in the divine law. There is widespread scholarly agreement that the book of Deuteronomy as we know it was produced in the late 7th C BC, and that it was revised in the aftermath of the Babylonian destruction, and that a much earlier, northern Levitical priestly law code, associated with the finding of the so-called “lost scroll” during the reign of King Josiah (2 Kgs 22:3–11), lies at its core. This series of laws, set in the form of a series of sermons placed upon the lips of none other than Moses, is primarily concerned with the nature of divine justice in light of obedience to the Torah. As such, it carries detailed proscriptions for human responsibility at all levels of Israelite society, as well as the corresponding consequences for maintaining or neglecting the instructive, life-giving Torah. It envisions a society in which justice is carried out from household to palace, one in which even the king must refrain from “exalting himself over other members of the community” (Deut 17:20). The life of Moses as recounted in the Torah, and especially in the Book of Exodus, (much of which often attributed to the fragmentary E Source, but which is more likely a product of Deuteronomistic redaction) also downplays the glorification of Moses in favor of the divine Law he receives on Mt. Horeb

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(Sinai) and mediates to the Hebrews in the wilderness. He demonstrates that he is a champion of justice, as shown in the cases of avenging the scourged Hebrew slave and subsequently defending his future Midianite wife and sisters-in-law at the well (Exod 2:11–17); yet he is portrayed as fallibly human in such things as making excuses and lacking confidence in his own abilities; moreover, Moses is described as supremely humble and tirelessly patient (see especially Num 12:3). The only instances in which Moses appears to exhibit self-promotion is found in the competing (Aaronid) Priestly tradition,3 most notably in its version of the “Water from the Rock” episode found in Num 20:2–13. In Exod 17:1–7, Moses strikes water from a rock at Meribah as a providential agent of God for a complaining thirsty people. In the Numbers account, Moses strikes water from the rock at Meribah and the act displeases the Most High to the point that Moses is not permitted to lead the Hebrews into the Promised Land. At the end of Deuteronomy Moses delivers his final words. Recounting the details of the prophet’s death, the Deuteronomistic Historian (DH) observes that Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died, “with his eyes undimmed and his vigor unabated” (Deut 34:7), which one may take to mean that right up to the moment of his death his life force was still surging within his loins and he required neither eyeglasses nor sexual enhancements. The reader is left to surmise that the long-suffering prophet’s animating spirit (nefesh) did not simply wear out and fail on its own, but was taken from him for no other reason than the fact that God was finished with it. Even more significant, the author adds another intriguing detail, stating, “no one knows the place of his burial until this day” (Deut 34:6), which suggests to his readers that looking for Moses’s grave anywhere on Mt. Nebo would be a futile endeavor. One might argue this is a literary “teaser” intended to challenge the ancient reader to go to southern Jordan and carry out his or her own quest for the lost tomb; but the obvious parallel with the search for Elijah’s body in 2 Kgs 2 reinforces the interpretation that one should not waste time looking for the graves of true prophets. In sum, the writer of the Former Prophets affirms the role of Moses as leader and lawgiver, but at the same time manipulatively minimizes his significance as a person. Moses’s significance for the prophetic redactors is not about Moses as Moses at all, but what God brings about through the agency of his exploited agents, the prophets. Turning to Elijah one sees a similar literary effort to keep the protagonist’s persona out of the limelight. Clearly fashioned according to the likeness of Moses, Elijah is the only other biblical prophet to experience a theophany on Sinai/Horeb (1 Kgs 19:11–13). He exceeds Moses’s reluctance to serve by begging to be released not only from the prophetic mission, but from his very life as well (2 Kgs 19:4). The Lord responds to Elijah’s desperate desire for

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death not with sympathy or praise for his faithfulness, but by telling him to get up and walk all the way back toward the north, beyond his original point of departure. There he is to carry out two major regime changes—one in Damascus, replacing Ben Hadad with Hazael; the other in Samaria, replacing Ahab with Jehu—only after which may he enlist Elisha as his disciple and eventual successor (1 Kgs 19:15–16). It is clear from the narrative that it matters not what Elijah himself thinks or desires; however, it seems fortunate for him that setting out he stumbles first upon Elisha; for it is none other than this new “hired gun” Elisha who goes on to carry out the divinely ordered coups d’état mentioned above (2 Kgs 8:7–15; 9:1–10). By ordering these events in such a way, the author clearly asserts that ultimately it is God pulling the strings in the ongoing drama of human history, not the prophets themselves. This fact becomes especially apparent in 2 Kgs 2, where Elisha sticks like a shadow to his master as God commands him to travel from Jericho to Bethel, then Gilgal and back to the Jordan River—an incredibly difficult circuit to travel made for no apparent reason other than the satisfaction of divine caprice. At each stage of the way, fifty illegitimate (i.e., non-Levitical) priests from the northern shrines re-dedicated by King Jeroboam in the 10th century BC, taunt the disciple, telling him what he already knows to be true, that his master is about to be recalled from service. Upon crossing the Jordan River, Elisha asks Elijah for a double-portion of his master’s spirit, referring to the two-thirds portion of a father’s estate an eldest son could expect to inherit. Elijah tells his faithful disciple that he has asked for a difficult thing, but that if he sees him as he is being taken up it would be granted; otherwise, it would not. Suddenly chariots of fire and horses of fire appear and pass between them—not separating them as most modern readers assume, but uniting them, perhaps in the way the iconstasis serves to unite Orthodox worshipers with what goes on beyond itself. Elisha then indicates that he indeed sees what he, along with the reader, is supposed to see, exclaiming “My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” as his master is taken up in a whirlwind. Contrary to Jewish and Christian traditions, the fiery chariot does not explicitly serve as Elijah’s private coach—especially given that Elisha cries out about chariots in the plural and later on in 2 Kings 6, invokes the Lord for a host of them; rather, the exclamation suggests some connection with what transpires between them. Elisha sees and therefore receives the prophetic inheritance symbolized by the chariots, which serves the writers purposes in affirming the true biblical prophets as Israel’s only effectively real line of defense. As a relevant aside, I would like to suggest that having connected Elijah with Moses on the basis of a number of shared motifs and then going on to

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establish succession of the prophetic inheritance to Elisha, the Bible writer had in mind to legitimize the so-called “prophet like me,” foretold in Deut 18:15, and if we look among this late-7th, early 6th century BC writer’s known associates, he could only be referring to none other than the prophet Jeremiah.4 If Richard Friedman is correct in identifying Jeremiah’s trusted scribe, Baruch ben Neriah, as the Deuteronomistic Historian, which he bases on a number of strikingly similar concepts and language found in the prose portions of the Book of Jeremiah, then it would hardly be surprising that the scribe would place his master in this lineage, devising the prophetic succession of Elijah-Elisha as a legitimizing link that ascribes to Jeremiah the divine spirit that once rested upon Moses himself. The fact that Jeremiah is also described as a reluctant prophet (Jer 1:16; 20:9) whose demise is shrouded in obscurity should also come as no surprise. Returning to Elijah, one sees that the illegitimate prophets of the northern shrines come up empty handed following a three-day search for Elijah’s body, to which Elisha retorts, “I told you so!” (v. 18). As in the case of Moses, the author preemptively dismisses out of hand any plans one might have for seeking the graves of true biblical prophets, lest anyone should miss the point of their lives by building a shrine to these bizarre heroes. (Ironically, a brief visit to the Holy Land, especially Mt Nebo, shows this admonition has gone largely ignored.) In any event, we see from the Elijah/Elisha cycle that the prophet’s mission is never accomplished until God deems it so. Even when the prophet’s body is all used up and ushered out of view, his life and death cry out, “This was never about me!” The textbook example that showcases biblical prophecy’s self-conscious collective ego check and illustrates the prophetic disconnect between medium and message is found in 1 Kgs 13, the story of the Man of God (ish ha-elohim) from Judah, in which an itinerant seer clearly fitting the Deuteronomistic job description for true biblical prophet as outlined in Deut 9:22 and 13:2–6, rightly prophesies the destruction of Jeroboam’s altar by the future king Josiah, but is tricked into accepting the hospitality of another one of those annoying, illegitimate prophets of Bethel (see 2 Kgs 2). Although the Man of God was deceived into disobeying the divine command not to eat or drink during the course of his mission, God nevertheless kills him and places a lion alongside him to guard his body. Pedagogically, this story serves as an effective and enjoyable classroom exercise in that it requires students to think critically about the nature of biblical prophecy. This puzzling story requires them to struggle with the question of whether or not the Man of God should be considered a true biblical prophet or not, for the question is not so easily answered. On the one hand, they argue, the actions of the Man of God achieved God’s objective, but on the other hand the Man of God, as a man, is fallibly human; nevertheless,

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he transgresses, so God kills him. But just as in the case of the Elijah/Elisha cycle’s divinely ordained regime changes, the historical objective was met irrespective of the personal identities of the agents involved. Here again our prophetical writer seems to be affirming that true prophetic activities and their earthly results have nothing to do with the person of the prophet at all.

Self-Negation Elsewhere in the Torah The principle of self-negation is present from the very start in the biblical narrative. Theologians often miss the irony inherent in the notion of being created in the image of God. Most are interested in reinforcing the idea of the nobility of humanity and calling attention to man’s putative dominion over the earth. But the flipside of being created in the image of God means that one is not God! This may seem obvious at first, but its import should not be overlooked for a comprehensive understanding of Scripture. In the Garden of Eden story, for example, one encounters a jealous Deity who will not permit humans to encroach upon his status. The Lord God plants two beautiful fruitbearing trees in the midst of Paradise, but allows the first humans to eat only of the Tree of Life only, forbidding them to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Bad lest they die.5 One should keep in mind that modern ontological categories are foreign to the minds of the writer and his audience; thus the serpent is not lying when he says to Eve, “God knows that in the day you eat of it you shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” The ancient writer did not have to add the words, “while still eating from the first tree and living forever,” because it is simply a given. From the perspective of the ancients, eating from both trees indeed would make them gods, thus the Lord God must banish them from Paradise in order to retain the proprietary status of unique deity. The remainder of the primeval narrative continues to bear out the notion that God only is God and that humans are not. Cain takes a life and must face exile; wickedness shortens the human lifespan, resulting in the need for a cleansing deluge that only the Creator can bring; and the foolhardy construction of the Tower of Babel must be thwarted before it reaches the heavens. Other stories in the Law and Prophets serve to illustrate the notion that only God is God and that humans are not accorded the status of operating within the parameters of divine imperative to honor that sovereignty, especially as it pertains to social responsibilities. For example, the both the stories of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) in the Torah and David and Uriah (2 Samuel 11) in the Former Prophets juxtapose the despicable actions of a highranking Israelite with the anonymous personal sacrifice of a seemingly marginalized characters.6 Most readers of the Bible know the characters Judah and David, but how many are familiar with Tamar and Uriah? In both of these

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stories, an Israelite leader behaves in a self-serving manner, exploiting others and doing as he pleases on the basis that that his power and status allows him to do so; while on the other hand the powerless victim makes an incredible personal sacrifice in regard to Israel’s divine law, demonstrating all the qualities their leaders would be expected to have but seem to lack. Thus, for the prophetic tradition, what it means ultimately to be human is to act with an eye toward transcending the ego-self and acting for the greater good, even at great personal expense. In the interest of genuine biblical anthropology, one sees that the commandment “You shall have no other gods before me” (Exod 20:3 / Deut 5:7) applies as much to the exercise of one’s own individual self as it does to the veneration of idols of inert wood and stone. Moving finally to the Latter Prophets, we see the prophetic tradition’s principle of self-negation is found there as well. In the Book of Amos, the prophet confronts Amaziah, Jeroboam II’s high priest at Bethel, who tells him to return to Judah and earn his living as a prophet there, to which Amos replies, “I am not a prophet, nor a prophet’s son, but I am a herdsman and a dresser of sycamores.” In biblical Hebrew, lo-nabi anoki, words echoed in a different context in Zech 13:5, may also be translated “I was not a prophet,” to which one would have to supply the words “before now,” since he appears to be behaving as one; but whether or not the words attributed to Amos mean that he is not an “official” prophet, the point of Amos’s reply to Amaziah remains clear, “Don’t make this about me! It is between the Almighty King and your king!” Perhaps the best example of all that illustrates the self-conscious presentation of the principle of self-negation in the Latter Prophets is the Book of Jonah, an oddly ironic story about a resistant prophet who does not seem to be able to grasp the fact that God’s saving activity in the world is not about him. Ironically, the Book of Jonah is numbered among the prophetic Book of the Twelve, but one finds no direct prophetic message within it. How does one make sense of the fact that this book is so different from the rest of the prophetic books? Jonah survives three days in the belly of a great fish and, perhaps even more unlikely, the citizens—and even the animals—of the fearsome city of Nineveh repent in sackcloth and ashes? The tale is obviously far more folkloric than oracular. I would argue that the tale is right at home among the Prophets and that it simply needs to be understood “inside out” as some self-directed, literary finger-poke in the eye, a self-deprecating, in-house reminder of the critical need for those who would revere the prophet—or even style themselves as “prophet”—to remain authentic to the responsibility such a role entails.7 In this sense, Jonah may be viewed as anti-prophet, a foil who exceeds even the fugitive Elijah (1 Kings 19) in terms of his utter failure to persuade the Holy One to ameliorate his own physical and

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self-righteous moral discomforts, but whose own ego interferes with the divine plan. Thus Jonah is the exception that proves the rule. Its inclusion among the Twelve diffuses any accusation that the prophetic guild may be some cold, dead institution existing for its own sake, serving as a kind of photo negative, a foil to its own tradition that invites thinking about what a prophet is truly all about—perhaps at a time when the legendary prophets of the past represented an all too unreachable standard for a waning phenomenon. The story acknowledges that prophets themselves are unique characters—and indeed each one is—but that “character” is merely ornamental, allowing for a “there/not-there” quality that permits the divine Word to be experienced. Sitting under the gourd tree, Jonah, like the fugitive Elijah, expresses his wish to die and thus be released from the burden of his servitude (a second time, if one counts Jonah’s earlier desire to be thrown overboard!). But as in the case of Elijah, there will be no validation for self-pity nor any personal protest appeased, so long as there are kings to be toppled or Ninevites to be redeemed. In sum, what binds the Nevi’im together—and unites it with the Torah, as we will see—is the prophets’ self-awareness that the Word of God must be taken seriously irrespective of the human medium through which it is conveyed. The prophet is a true religious symbol in that he participates in the realm of the Sacred, channeling the flow of divinity through his speech and actions. Whether it is Isaiah walking naked and unshod through the streets of Jerusalem (Isa 20:2–4), Jeremiah removing his soiled and tattered underwear from the cleft of a rock (Jer 13:1–11), or Ezekiel scandalizing the community by ignoring public mourning rituals upon the death of his wife, such scenarios ultimately draw attention through the medium to the Source beyond, bringing a society of transgressors face to face with the living God. The real danger for the prophetic tradition therefore would lie in having it take itself too seriously, becoming a cult of personality and neglecting the responsibility for which it has been called.

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Rereading Isaiah 40–55 as “Project Launcher” for the Books of the Law and the Prophets

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raditional scholarly exegesis and modern fundamentalist approaches share a common premise in that both treat the books of the Law and Prophets as disjunctive compositions in space and time as well as motive. The former isolates the disjunctive sources, traditions, texts and intentions, while the latter attributes everything to the peculiarities of divine authorship. In either case, the fact that the texts came to be transmitted as a canonical corpus obtains through a unifying sociological process, construed in different ways depending on the ideological, sociopolitical, or theological premises of the scholar. The present study benefits substantially from the work of others on this subject, however its investigation challenges the basic assumptions underlying most studies in this field.1 My examination of the various texts of the books of the Law and the Prophets has reveals a pattern of organization that points to evidence for redactional work recognizable in the design and motivation behind Isaiah 40–55, also known as Deutero-Isaiah. The current study argues that Isaiah 40–55 was written as a kind of “project launcher” for bringing together the books of the Law and the Prophets. The first part of this study offers a rereading of Isaiah 40–55 based on conclusions reached in my study of relevant texts. The exegetical circle, commencing from this interim conclusion, will go on to illustrate and test this investigation on several key texts in the books under consideration, focusing in this study on Jacob’s name change in Genesis 32.2 Redaction criticism is the basic method employed by this study. This methodology assumes that regardless of the traditions and sources that may have been at the disposal of the editor, the paramount factor in the shape that a specific text takes is determined by editorial intent and purpose.3 The methodology also has function critical and literary critical applications. Motifs and appellations are seen to function as types, becoming, like arguments, determinative of the functional flow of a text. Names thus become a function of liter-

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ary artifice and play a primary role in the argument of the storyline or lesson. They predispose the articulation in a given direction and function as focal points, or attractors, propelling the argument and action forward. Types are constructed and become determinative for the lesson, while the roles, in this sense, become secondary and may be subject to inversion and reversal. The general parsing of the text adopted here is basically a two-part division.4 The first part is the Jacob pericope, Isa 40:1–49:26, while the second part is that of Abraham, Isa 50:1–55:13. Two different role models will be presented, the second being the solution offered to the problem posed by the first. The four Servant Songs function somewhat as a Greek dramatic choir indicating how one should move out of one role model and into the other.

Terminological Matrices of Isaiah 40–55 Overlapping terminological matrices dominate Isaiah 40–55, informing the flow of the text. They function as dramatis personae, or at least as the accoutrement of ghost characters. It is incumbent upon us to introduce these matrices before we embark on an analysis of compositional structure. The basic terminological matrix of Isaiah 40–55 seems to be dominated by the notions of “barren land” and “power over the waters.” The term “Zion,” as the epicenter of this matrix, spreads all across the work. It appears to be a construction conjured up by the writer specifically for this text. It is extraordinary that we find it nowhere in the book of the prophet Ezekiel, considering that Ezekiel is an upper class priest from Jerusalem and primarily addressing its citizens and, through Jerusalem, all the tribes. Nowhere is the name “Zion” used more and most centrally than in the book of Isaiah. Throughout all of the book of Isaiah, chs. 40–45 indicate very purposeful, deliberate use of the name, with 52:8 being the last instance. But what exactly does the term “Zion” mean for the redactor? One might start with the term şîyãh, which means “parched land.” The term, which appears in Isa 41:18, undergoes a one-step literary construction to transform it to şîdôn (Sidon), or become şîyôn (Zion), thus associating Jerusalem with a barren and parched land. What speaks for the literary priority of our author is that the whole of the composition, which begins at 40:1, is addressed from and to such a barren place. In the second part, we have the barren Sarah coming forth in lieu of the parched land. Zion is the object of a taunt and the second part serves to call attention to the fact that the words of the Deity will water the parched Zion.5 At the same time it stands in contrast to the fertile fields of Ephraim, attached to Joseph in the book of Genesis (41:52). A second linguistic matrix is adjoined to this basic one, namely that of victorious kingship. Yahweh is declared King of Israel (Isa 43:15); thus he is

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the Savior of Israel. He sends good tidings of victory to Jerusalem/Zion (cf. Isa 40:9; 41:27; 52:7 for the pi`el verbal form of bśr, to bring good tidings). The hip`il verbal form of the root yš` (“to save”) is used profusely and exclusively (cf. Isa 43:3, 11, 12; 45:15, 20, 21; 46:7; 47:13, 15; 49:25, 26) in what is taken here to be the first part of chs. 40–45 to describe the action of the Deity. The noun yš`h (salvation) is used at the end of the first part and in the second part to describe the result of God’s actions (cf. Isa 49:6, 8; 51:6, 8; 52:7, 10). The Creator God with power over the waters is here described as also exercising the regal charge to provide victory/salvation, as happens in the psalms that celebrate Yahweh as King. Indeed, in a sense, Isaiah 40–55 can be described as an extended royal psalm. A third linguistic matrix is adjoined to the two described above. It is that of kinship and its concomitant obligations. Yahweh is described as the gō’ēl (redeemer) of Israel across the whole of this work, starting with Isa 41:14. Consequently he is also the one who comforts his people or family. The pi`el verbal form of nḥm (“to comfort”) is used to announce the work in 40:1 and is also used in 49:13; 51:3, 12, 19; 52:9; and 54:11 (the last of these in the passive pu`al). Both noun forms and verbal forms derive from the root rḥm (from which come the nouns “womb,” in Isa 46:3, and “compassion,” in Isa 54:7, and the verb “to have compassion” or “mercy,” in Isa 49:10, 13, 15; 54:8, 10; and 55:7) and are also used to describe the action of the Deity. We can conclude from this brief description of the linguistic matrices of this work that they describe an all-purpose Deity: God over the waters, warrior king, and family clansman! One very important and characteristic verb of Isaiah 40–55 seems to have been left out. It can be construed as pertaining to all three matrices described. It is the verbal root br’ (usually translated as “to create”). It is used several times throughout chs. 40–55 (40:26, 28; 41:20; 42:5; 43:1, 7, 15; 45:7 [twice], 8, 12, 18 [twice]; 48:7; 54:16 [twice]) as well as in the creation narrative (Gen 1:1, 21, 27 [three times]; 2:3, 4; 5:1, 2 [twice]; 6:7). In other cases, it appears sporadically. Its characteristic use in these two compositions (together with the word tōhô “chaos, vanity” in Gen 1:2; Isa 40:17, 23; 41:29; 44:9; 45:18, 19; 49:4) is one of the reasons often given for inferring an influence of Isaiah 40– 55 on the Genesis creation narrative.6 The meaning of the root in both Hebrew and Arabic appears diverse, but can be summed up as extracting something from a shell or protective covering, or freeing someone or something from the dirt, sickness, or guilt. As such it has a relation to the function of cleansing waters, to that of redemption, and to that of victorious or judicial acquittal. What issues from the verb has the connotation of clean, fresh out of the box, pristine, healthy, innocent, without any wart or shortcoming, free, or filial. The related root brr (employed in Isa 49:2; 52:11, otherwise sporadically) shares practically the same domain of meaning. Among the related words of

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this domain is the Aramaic word for son, br, which in Arabic also denotes an upright person, bār, and uprightness, bir). That the redactor of Isaiah 40–55 intentionally chose the root br’ and made it characteristic of the weave of his composition is underscored by its amazing scarcity and casual use elsewhere in Scripture, except for the creation narrative. As we will see, the range of possible meanings corresponds to the function of the new action of God described in chs. 50–55, in terms of the “parable” of Abraham and Sarah and prepared for by the extensive use of this verb in chs. 40–49. As stated above, it is the contention underlying this work that Isaiah 40– 55 is the “project launcher” for the books of the Law and the Prophets and, in a sense, for all of Scripture. The use of br’ in Isaiah 40–55 corresponds more aptly to the expected topic for this root than the stylized use in Gen 1:1. The creation narrative would seem to be dependent on Isaiah 40–55, announcing the new work of God, the five books of the Law, as in continuation of the initial action of God in creating the habitat of humankind.7 This is how br’ is employed in Isaiah 40–55, where it describes the modality of action of the Deity hitherto (chs. 40–49) on the basis of which new action will be taken, announced in chs. 50–55. Indeed in Isa 45:7–23; 48:6–15 we have a programmatic announcement of such a project. The words and intention of the Deity will be brought forth out of the “hiddenness” of the Deity and will proclaim the new action of this Deity. The root br’ plays a pivotal role in both these passages. In analogy to the action of the Deity, who brings all things out into functional “ex-istence,” including man and woman from out of the womb, and in continuance thereof, the words of this Deity, the “new” action will be declared clearly, or “out-spoken” (cf. 42:14).

Elements of the Redactional Scheme of Isaiah 40–55 The structuring of these matrices seems to shape the problem, then follow it up by rendering the solution. The first part, about Jacob, presents the problem, while Abraham, in the second part, offers the solution. The foibles of Jacob are juxtaposed to the response of the Deity. It is interesting that Jacob/Israel is used alternately with Jerusalem/Zion. The address is to Jerusalem/Zion, while the perspective is of Jacob/Israel (Isa 48:1). This runs parallel to what we have in the Pentateuch in general. Moreover, in Isaiah 40– 55 we seem to have a work that runs parallel to the book of Genesis with just two exceptions: The Abraham to Jacob sequence in the book of Genesis has been inverted to Jacob-Abraham, and the Exodus from Egypt is recast in Isaiah 40–55 as from Babylon. There is one major element that appears to be missing, namely the Joseph cycle/story. The question that poses itself is whether or not we have a paraphrased reworking of the book of Genesis in

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Isaiah 40–55. Might we have a blueprint of a project encompassing, at the very least, the book of Genesis?8 To further explore this question an expansion on the compositional elements and the redactional scheme of Isaiah 40–55 is necessary.

Isaiah 40:1–49:26 The appellation Jacob is used profusely and exclusively in Isa 40:1–49:26. The problem is summed up in 40:27–31; God is willing and capable of bringing succor to Jacob. Jacob does not believe it. Isa 40:1–41:29, the first major subsection, introduces the problem. God declares that he is the Creator in terminology practically identical with the creation account in the book of Genesis. He declares good tidings to Jacob, but Jacob is not convinced. The last part of this subsection, 41:25–29, points toward the first Servant Song. God seeks to find someone up to the task, but no one is in sight! A cryptic announcement of God’s new action is given in 41:25, which together with 42:14–16 brackets the first Servant Song. The first Servant Song (42:1–9), together with the commentary on it (42:10–25), introduces the central section of the first part (43:1–48:22). The song introduces the problem from God’s side. If Jacob bemoans lack of succor, God bemoans the lack of justice. The Servant cannot speak, for he is still in the womb as we learn later on. God speaks about the Servant in third person. This will be paralleled in the second part of the last song. There the Servant is no more and again only God can speak. The second Servant Song ong at the end of the first part and the third Song at the beginning of the second part have the Servant speak in the first person. He is, at that point, center stage. The first Servant Song (42:1–9) is in God’s imaginary time. When the Servant is present, he will administer justice. He will not blabber like an infant, nor break what is already broken in violence. The first part of the commentary on the song, vv. 10–17, is central to its flow. God announces that he will embark on a new venture. He has decided to release what he has held back for so long, like a pregnant woman about to give birth, he is finally going to blurt out his guts (v. 14). The second part of the commentary, vv. 18–25, is a bitterly acerbic contrast of Jacob with the wished-for Servant. This lays the ground for the following indictment of Jacob. The central subsection of part one (43:1–48:22) contains the teaching that is incumbent upon the prospective Servant. The first part in this subsection (43:1–44:23) declares God’s intention to bring salvation to the just. In ch. 43 there is a reiteration of God’s will and capability to bring about salvation (vv. 1–7). There is no other God but he. His past actions, to which the people are witnesses, are brought forward as proof (vv. 8–13). God’s new salvific action is

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about to unfold (43:14–20). However, there is one major obstacle as Jacob stands contra expectation. He has “enslaved” God to the servicing of his iniquity and as a consequence, God has decided to blot out Jacob (43:22–28). Chapter 44 introduces the notion of a conditional covenant. The promise of salvation applies to the upright (vv. 1–5). We have in v. 2 a new qualification requisite of Jacob for the promise to be applicable. He is called yŝrn (Jeshurun). This epithet is used only here and in Deut 32:15 and in 33:5, 26, in a very similar passage. In Deuteronomy, it brackets the condemnation of Jacob in the song of Moses and the pronouncement of the blessings of Moses, making the blessings hinge on Yahweh reigning as king in the midst of an upright Jacob. The epithet Jeshurun, from the root yŝr (to be upright), can be parsed as a conditional clause “when they/should they deign to function uprightly.” This will be mirrored again in an address to Jacob as the redeemed servant, conditional on remembering the teaching (vv. 21–23). As in the passage in Deuteronomy, this conditional covenant is interspersed in our text with affirmations that God alone is God (vv. 6–8, 24–28), and a tirade against idolatry (vv. 9–20). The chiastic arrangement of this chapter underlines this reading. Central to the chapter is the tirade against idolatry. This makes the send-off in v. 28 introducing Cyrus as God’s shepherd all the more astounding. In fact this anticipates ch. 45, introduced by a direct address to Cyrus (in 44:28, the address is indirect and in third person). Chapter 45 can unequivocally be called the manifesto of universal monotheism. The teaching here is addressed not only to Jacob, but to Cyrus! We had heretofore heard that the proclamation was first declared to Jacob (41:27); now it is addressed in the person of Cyrus to all nations (vv. 1–13). This had already been announced in the program description in 40:5. Cyrus will cede to the requests of Yahweh on behalf of Jacob without requesting any recompense (v. 13). This passage (45:1–13), together with the send-off from the previous section 44:28, is one of the most antithetically minded declarations against the priests and Levites of Judah. It is usual to see the more extreme hostility in Isaiah 56–66. Paul Hanson9 sees in Isaiah 56–66 a development towards a sharpening of the acrimony directed against the priests and the Levites due to the injustices in a failed new Jerusalem. But this development should be posited antecedent to Isaiah 40–55. The greatest acrimony is to be found in the source text of the school! It is the postulate of this paper that we have here in Isaiah 40–55 the master writing at the hub of the anticlerical group vituperating against the failed Jerusalem. The ultimate put-down is the total silent treatment accorded to the clerical group. It is the ultimate application of the “blessing/curse” of Jacob accorded to Simeon and Levi in Gen 49:5–7, “May I never come into their council: may I not be joined to their company” (v. 6a, NRSV). Our redactor will not even address a reprimand. Their council is not the addressee, neither positively nor negatively; it is

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not their prerogative, for no one, he says, dares to question the potter (Isa 45:9–10; cf. 41:25). But what has he said to provoke such a protest? In 44:28 he describes Cyrus as God’s shepherd, in conjunction with the divine injunction to rebuild Jerusalem and the temple. This is a kingly designation, as it comes in tandem with the mention of the palace and temple. But God has been declared as the only king and holy place in Israel (43:15) as well as shepherd of Zion/Jerusalem (40:11). Thus he gives the orders, not Cyrus. After all, one can hire a shepherd for one’s flock! But already this statement is introduced abruptly against the backdrop of the declaration of God’s omnipotence (44:24–27). What goes beyond this cold abruptness is the statement at the head of the new passage addressing Cyrus as God’s anointed. While anointment applies to the king in the first instance, by derivation it applies also to the clergy who have to service the king’s palace-temple complex. It is a title that admits of being derivative, and yet is not given to anyone else in this work. It is meticulously withheld from the Servant, who in Isaiah 53 becomes a sin offering. The same will be described as concomitant with God’s salvation, beginning in Isaiah 49, in anticipation of his work in the second part (chs. 50– 55). The designation of Cyrus as the anointed of God breaks the very purpose of anointment. Anointment consecrates the appointee so that he will be able to protect the sacral precinct from being defiled from outside; thus the very logic is destroyed, for the anointed is already the defiled outsider. The perspective is inverted. Our writer, after all, is, like Joseph in Genesis, himself in the defiled domain, yet announcing the cleansing words of God to the defiled Jerusalem/Jacob. The servant in Isaiah 53 will be in the same situation. He will be the desecrated sin offering bringing healing to Israel (Isa 53:5). The domain of the clergy, together with clerical prerogative, is totally annihilated in this passage. But this is not all. We are told that the mediation provided for the redemption of Jacob did not require any recompense (more on this as regards the Joseph story below). Suffice it here to underline that this statement is not simply to undergird the sovereignty of God. One need only read the directive in the books of Numbers (cf. Num 18:24) and the echoes thereof in Deuteronomy against the Levites amassing estates in a separate heritage to see how pugnacious this statement is in this context. Their sustenance must be assured, we are told in Deuteronomy (Deut 12:12, 18–19; 14:27–29; 16:11– 14; 26:11–13), but their services may not be such as to set up a private heritage.10 Yahweh alone is their heritage. If the preceding commentary on the first half of ch. 45 is not enough to make us start suspecting that we are standing in the seedbed of scriptural monotheism, then the second part of the chapter leaves us no choice but to

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take this suspicion very seriously. In vv. 14–17 the nations acknowledge God as the only God and as the hidden Savior. This is in contrast to deities represented with images. God is hidden and cannot be represented by images. We then have a most amazing statement about this hidden God, a god with no face. He speaks righteousness and uprightness in the open (vv. 18–19). We have here the most succinct announcement of scriptural monotheism: a God with no image, whose representation is solely in Scripture, enunciating truth and justice. This passage points to a body of “words” that will reveal the hidden deity, effectively the announcement of scriptural monotheism. The chapter ends with a call to the nations to turn to this deity. The teaching of the conditional covenant applies to the nations as it applies to Jacob. This chapter is the chiastic hub of the subsection dealing with the teaching incumbent on the prospective servant (43:1–48:22). The last part of this subsection, 46:1–48:22, starts with an extended diatribe against idolatry in ch. 46. The next chapter describes the judgment incumbent upon iniquity at the example of Babylon. Finally the address returns to Jacob in ch. 48. The “new action” (already heralded in 41:15, 25; 42:9–17; 43:18–19), about which Jacob had not been informed before (48:6), is about to be announced. Jacob is reminded of his treachery and iniquity (48:7–8). Yet the offer stands of salvation. Whoever of Jacob gives ear and acknowledges the past acts of God will be beneficiary of the new, which is about to be divulged. The final verse (v. 22) curtly summarizes the lesson of the whole subsection 43:1–48:22, namely, that there is no peace for the wicked. The first part of the work is nearing its conclusion. It corresponds to the lesson of the book of the Former Prophets. We are about to be addressed concerning the latter and new action of God. Chapter 49 concludes the first part of the work, and prepares for the second part. The second Servant Song comments on the first part; it responds to God’s call in compliance with it (49:1–6). The Servant is still hidden in God, but he can now speak in first person. Like God in the previous passages, he addresses the nations. It is clear that God has taught him. His tongue has become a sharp sword and he has been set as a just/select/purging11 arrow hidden in God’s quiver (v. 2). Out of the barren womb of Zion, God brought forth his Servant. This interpretation of the literary figure having been called from the womb (v. 1b) is justified, not only by the imagery of the preceding section but specifically by the statements we will be hearing in the following section. Although Jacob will not be mentioned after this chapter, Zion will be invoked heavily in the subsection preceding the fourth song (cf. 49:14ff in conjunction with 51:3). The imagery from here to the fourth Servant Song is that of converting the barrenness of Zion into the Garden of Eden. The Servant has become the military armory of God. We have a similar metaphor applied to Elijah in the

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book of the Former Prophets (2 Kgs 2:12). This Servant has learned what was incumbent on Jacob to learn in the first section. He has hitherto been hidden in God. This references what we were told in 48:6b–7. The Servant is concomitant with what is new—to be announced for the first time, for up to now we have heard only about the past. Indeed, Cyrus belongs to the past action of this Deity. As in apocalyptic literature, the lesson from the past was the launching pad for the announcement, which is new. The mission of the Servant is to bring God’s solution to the problem God has with Jacob as expounded in part one. The closing verse reiterates what we saw in chs. 45–48. The mission is addressed equivalently to all the nations. The passage 49:7–13 is an extended commentary on the second Servant Song. It is also a signature of the redactor of Isaiah 40–55. The Servant is a despised and abhorred Servant of rulers, and yet recipient of adulation by the same. His day is one of salvation. This is the second time after 49:6 that we have seen use of the term “salvation” in this work. It will again be used in 51:6, 8 and 52:7, 10. Hitherto we have seen use of the verbal form (“to save”), including the hip`il participial form (“savior”), to describe the work of God in part one. We will still have a last use of the verbal and participial form in 49:25, 26 together with the last use of the name Jacob in 49:26. In part two, Jacob is no longer at work, only the Servant. His day of work is called a day of salvation. His day will bring God’s salvific work to fruition, in contrast to Jacob’s bringing to naught God’s past actions. He will be a covenant for the people. This is a regal term, however much it recalls the Abrahamic covenant in the book of Genesis. He will parcel out and apportion heritages. This is quintessentially a description of a suzerainty treaty. He will also release the imprisoned, feed the hungry and bring water to the thirsty. Most importantly he will bring comfort to the afflicted people, fulfilling the program announced at the outset in 40:1ff. At this point, in vv. 7–13, it is difficult not to see a description of Joseph in the court of Pharaoh. Even more significantly, the work described here is in fact a description of the implicit design and task guiding the editorial work of the Pentateuch and the books of the Former and Latter Prophets. This is a blueprint for the redaction of those books. These will be the new action and words that God has withheld in the past and is about to issue in the author’s own present. The last passage (49:14–26) echoes the objection of Jacob in 40:27. It stands in contrast to the response of the Servant in 49:4 to the same situation. The Servant trusts in God’s succor, Jacob/Zion bewails the lack of succor. God quotes Jacob/Zion at the end of part one as he did at the beginning. The time of Jacob is over, the time of the Servant, of the covenant, is about to begin anew. Against the backdrop of Jacob’s continuing objection, God asserts his intention to resume his program with a new action. The objection in v. 21

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becomes that of a barren woman incredulous about giving birth. The image was prepared for already in the response of God to the objection voiced by Zion in v. 14. God there is likened to a nursing mother (v. 15). The use of Zion to represent Jacob’s objection (49:14) prepares the transition from the image of a barren parched land, Zion, to that of a barren woman not expecting children. This prepares for the invocation of the parable of Abraham and Sarah (Isa 51:2) in part two of the book, the solution to the problem expounded in part one. The last verse closes by citing the credentials of the Deity, “Then all flesh shall know that I am the Lord your Savior, and your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob” (NRSV). The word ‘ābîr (Mighty One) is used only here as a divine epithet in the composition we are dealing with. In Isa 46:12 it is used only generically. It seems strange that the last word in this part was neither introduced previously, nor will it be explained in the following part. In the Pentateuch we find it used only once, in the blessing of Joseph by Jacob (Gen 49:24). In Isa 49:26 we are told that God is the only strongman Jacob needs (cf. Isa 31:1–3, where the school of Isaiah expands on this motif). This word provides a backdrop for the following section. The verbal root from which comes the name Joseph, ysp (“to add,” “increase,” or “to provide more”), is used only twice in Isa 40–55: first at the outset of the judgment of Babylon in ch. 47 (in lieu of Adam, including Jacob), and twice in the last two judgment pronouncements before the fourth Servant Song (51:22: 52:1). This use, alongside the two parts of the work, marks the transition from part one to part two. God’s judgment will fall on the wicked as he provides the salvation he intended. This is described as the end of the travail of his people and as the bountiful increase in their fortune and progeny. However, the use of the verb in all four instances is in the negative. In short, there will be “no more” of the bad stuff. We should remember that the “bad stuff” suffered by Jacob was described in the first part as resulting from the “bad stuff” produced by Jacob (43:22–28; 48:18–19). This same accusation is repeated in the first verse of part two (50:1). Jacob will not be mentioned by name in part two. He, like Babylon, must give way to the Servant. His “increase,” expressed as treachery in part one (48:8), led to the increase of the “bad stuff.” The writer announces in all four instances that there will be no more increase of this type, sounding in Hebrew very close to “no more Joseph.” Not only Jacob must disappear in part two, but Joseph/increase of this semantic pedigree must also disappear. In Gen 30:22–24, Rachel gives birth to Joseph as the culmination of the work and rewards of Jacob. He has acquired wealth and progeny, built himself up, and obtained his favorite bride. In a word, he has it made. He is on the increase beyond measure. The birth of Joseph announces the climax of Jacob’s dealing. Indeed, the announcement of the story of the actions of Jacob and their results (Gen 37:2), expressed in the Hebrew text of Genesis as tôlēdôt,

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starts with the Joseph story. He is the summa of all the stories of Jacob. The naming of Joseph by Rachel at his birth, in Gen 30:22–24, becomes a resume of the passages demarcated by the use of the verbal root ysp in Isa 47:1, 5; 51:22; 52:1, astride the two parts of Isaiah 40–55. Rachel, utilizing a wordplay on the consonance of the two roots ‘sp (here meaning to lay aside) and ysp (to add), describes the significance of the moment. The passage reads: “Then God remembered Rachel, and God heeded her and opened her womb. She conceived and bore a son, and said, ‘God has taken away (‘sp) my reproach’; and she named him Joseph, saying, ‘May the Lord add (ysp) to me another son!’” The verb indicating the end of the bad situation, her barrenness and shame, although from another root (‘sp, in a usage corresponding to the negative of ysp), is used as the justification for the name Joseph. It is significant to note that the statement of Rachel underlines also that the appellation Joseph implies that more of the same will come. In other words, Joseph not only describes the past of Jacob, but represents also the awaited, wished for future perspective, increase upon increase. The function of Benjamin in this passage, who is the one outstanding son of Jacob not yet born, is to underline the semantic implication of Joseph “more of the same.” Left at this point, the story of Jacob will continue as more of the same. The passages we saw in Isa 40–55 say “no more of the same!” Isaiah 40–55will go on in part two to offer another track. Jacob will be sidetracked.12

The Second Part: Isaiah 50:1–55:13 The first part described the problem posed by Jacob as Adam redux; Jacob is repeatedly addressed and arraigned. The second part describes God’s solution, which I refer to as the Abraham part. Statistically this does not compare with the use of the name Jacob. In fact, statistically the name Abraham is used once in the first part (41:8) and once in the second part (51:2). In 41:8 it is used as a qualifier for Jacob from God’s point of view. It anticipates as such the action of God in the second part, which is promised in the first part. In 51:2 it is not Abraham who is addressed. All those who seek righteousness are addressed and told to look at what can only be described as the parable of Abraham and Sarah. The word parable is not used, but the function of the statement “look to” is the same. The action will be addressed to Jacob, but will be in continuation of Abraham. The image of Jacob as a woman initiates this section. The divorce was because of her own actions. God neither sold her to get credit, nor had he been short of the means to retain her. The plaint of God is voiced, “Why was no one there when I came? Why did no one answer when I called?” (50:2a NRSV). The answer to the plaint comes from the third Servant Song (50:4–11), which initiates God’s solution. The third Song picks up on the second. The

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Servant has been taught by God and has become a disciple capable of teaching and sustaining the weary with a word. God has opened his ear that he might accept teaching, but Jacob has stubbornly refused to give heed. The Servant is described as not having done any of the wrongs that Jacob is accused of doing in the first part. He has suffered every possible indignity and ridicule and yet persisted. Here again we have what appears to be a signature of the redactor, as we saw in 49:7ff. He stands alone, and sets his face as flint against the indignities of outrageous fortune that he must suffer. Yet he continues to place his trust in God, again in contrast to Jacob. The word that is often translated as flint in this passage is ḥallāmîŝ. The four other instances of the use of this word in the OT (Deut 8:15; 32:13; Job 28:9; Ps 114:8) all employ the word to indicate an otherwise forbidding obstacle. But the word in the context of the third Song can be heard also as a pun in reply to a to be inferred taunt. One of the indignities our author would have to suffer is that he is a daydreamer. He set his face “indeed as flint, as a man dreaming [the taunt would have been “the man has been dreaming,” hlm h’yŝ] and was certain he would not be put to shame.” This is the taunt Joseph is faced with on the part of his brothers (Gen 37:19). They call him a ba’al of dreams, which means a daydreamer. In deed, Joseph proves to be an expert in dreams, knowing precisely what will come to pass. In the Joseph story the dream world expresses the reality of the Deity. The non-dream world expresses the reality of either Jacob or Pharaoh, while the liminal Joseph stands between the two worlds. Even if the pun is not intended as such in Isa 40–55, the function of the delimiting nature of flint against catcalls and ridicule on one side, and trust in God’s “imaginary” reality on the other, is expressed in the Joseph story as the liminality between the dream world and the real world. The notion is the same, the spin-off possibly a pun in reply to a taunt. In Isa 50:10, the voice of the Servant makes the profile just presented a lesson and an invitation for whosoever would follow. The Song ends with an abrupt and ominous warning. Those who play with fire will have to face the consequence of their actions. There is no hint whether fire here points to idolatry as in 44:19, or whether it implies warlike actions as in the ambivalent verse 47:14. In view of the first part of the composition (chs. 40–49), dabbling in idolatry would be the closer meaning at hand; but in view of the fourth Servant Song in conjunction with 49:26, it could be a cryptic reference to those who would take to warlike actions to achieve their gain. In this case Isa 31:1–3 would be a further expansion on this. God announces his salvation in 51:1–52:12. A crescendo of exhortations to those who would be righteous and wish to join the company of his servant catapults the reader/hearer to the ultimate lesson of the fourth Song, the well pleasing offering of the Suffering Servant. The first subsection (51:1–8) of this

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hortatory section (51:1–52:12) introduces immediately the leitmotif of the whole second part (chs. 50–55). The lesson of Abraham and Sarah (51:1–8) is the one to be heeded by those who would pursue righteousness. It is proposed here that this lesson is constructed and expounded for the first time here in the composition we are studying, that is by the redactor of Isaiah 40–55. As in the case of the appellation of “Zion” for Jerusalem, the lesson about Abraham and Sarah is not borrowed from outside the text, but is the very substance of the text at hand. The renaming of Abram to Abraham in the book of Genesis remains unexplained and unjustified there. The statement that this is because he will become a father of a multitude of nations is not a linguistic one. The pun utilized is rather a reference to the function of Deutero-Isaiah’s Servant to be an emissary of God to all nations. It is an enactment of the lesson of Isaiah 40–55. The linguistic and pedagogical import of the name Abraham is given in Isaiah 40–55 and represents the very fabric of the “new” lesson being expounded here. Here an attempt will be made to demonstrate this. First off, the book of Ezekiel has no knowledge of Abraham. The one mention in Ezekiel 33:24 is patently a gloss. It comes as an objection voiced mimicking the lesson of Isa 51:1–8 to draw an opposite conclusion to that made in Isaiah 40–49, that is, that only those pursuing righteousness will be saved. It reads like a taunt in response to the text of Isaiah 50–55. The response to the objection is a resume of Isaiah 40–49. The passage, Ezek 33:24–29, is sandwiched between 33:1–20, a passage about individual judgment being meted out after the prophet gives due notice, and Ezek 34:1– 31, which addresses God as the good shepherd. These passages are most likely the basis for the teaching and imagery we have in the two parts of Isaiah 40– 55. But Ezek 33:24–29 has a different Sitz im Leben than the two bordering passages. The occasion indicated in 33:21, the fall of Jerusalem, stands in tension with the vaticinium ex eventu of the body of the passage. The mention of Abraham comes in the objection of the people. The objection and the response do not deal with the meaning of the name Abraham, but are an occasion to thresh out the conflicting positions regarding the promise to the one person and the false security of trusting in greater number. Were the invocation of Abraham, as regards content, directly related to ch. 34, it would have been synthetically a construct of that text. But in fact, the invocation is purely incidental to this text and polemical.13 The more conceivable literary matrix for the lesson about Abraham and Sarah is Isaiah 40–55. The redactor will have taken the teaching of Ezekiel about the good shepherd in Ezek 34 to coin or adopt the name. But the lesson is synthetically part and parcel of Isaiah 40–55. The mention of Abraham as being one at the time of his calling corresponds to the third song of the servant and to the exhortations that follow. The inferred Sitz im Leben of the

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redactor is also reflected in this motif. He stands alone and calls those who would be of like mind to join. The story in Genesis copies this topic and lesson, but the matrix is not original to it. The introduction of Sarah is in continuation of the motif barren land/woman, which, as we have seen in discussing the term Zion, is so fundamental to the fabric of Isaiah 40–55. The main reason for this conjecture, however, lies in the semantic field covered by the name Abraham, and its elucidation in the fourth song of the suffering Servant. This name and Song are the cornerstone of the entire composition, bringing all the strands of argumentation together. Abraham, ‘abrāhām in Hebrew, is to be derived from the Arabic. The fact that the name is also shared by the Ishmaelites may indicate an Arabic original also, but the lesson constructed is the teaching of Isaiah 40–55. The name is made up of ‘ab (“father”), which is the same in both Hebrew and Arabic, and rāhām, which without vocalization becomes the triliteral rhm. In Arabic rahām refers to a lean and emaciated sheep or goat. It takes also the vocalization rohām. The adjective is rahûm. Another adjective from this root is ‘arham (more fruitful or plentiful), from rihmah (“a light drizzle”). Another noun from the root is marham, referring to an unguent or dressing that is placed on a wound to bring about healing.14 These usages of the tri-literal root in Arabic correspond to the description and function of the suffering Servant in the fourth Servant song. He is down, yet we take healing from his wounds, and the result of his work is a return of plenty and fruitfulness to the barren land/woman. Ezekiel makes of God the good shepherd who goes after and cares for the weak sheep. The composition of Isaiah 40–55 goes beyond that and makes the emaciated Servant the instrument of salvation. Further on we will see that he is presented as the scapegoat, the living sin offering. It is interesting to note that rihmah in Arabic, as well as its plural, means a light drizzling rain lasting a long time. In Hebrew the plural of the word śā`îr is used in Deut 32:2 to refer to a drizzle. The same Hebrew word in the singular is at the same time the designation used for the scapegoat in Leviticus 16, sent out on the Day of Atonement. This derivation is still only the tip of the iceberg. Abraham becomes the father of this emaciated Servant. The Servant in the fourth song becomes the offspring of the story of Abraham. Jacob is bypassed semantically, and the continuation of the Abraham lesson is in the suffering Servant. So in fact the apparent discrepancy mentioned above in the sequence of Abraham and Jacob between Isaiah 40–55 and Genesis, is resolved as such: In Isaiah 40–55 we have the sequence Jacob son of Abraham followed by the suffering Servant son of “Ab-raham,” while in Genesis we have the sequence Abraham followed by Jacob, son of Isaac, followed by Joseph. Abraham cannot be Abraham unless there is a rahām/suffering Servant of which he would be the father. It is Abraham who is defined by the Servant and not vice-versa. The name Abraham in this composition is a referential to the Servant. In Genesis, the

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promise of Gen 17:19 to Abraham stands in tandem with the testing of Abraham in Genesis 22 (cf. vv. 16–17). Until Abraham is associated with an oblation resembling that of the suffering Servant of Isaiah 40–55, the name Abraham is still not promulgated and the promise is still at risk of being annulled.15 This dependency on Isaiah 40–55 is further highlighted by the wordplay of Abram becoming Abraham (Gen 17:5). “Abram” can be translated as exalted, first, or founding father.16 This construction is analogous to Hiram, the lofty king of Tyre. One of the implicit reproaches of the Deuteronomistic historian against Solomon is that he modeled his temple and riches after those of Hiram. Abram is also similar to Abiram, my exalted father. His title to fame in the Pentateuch is that of a Reubenite who joined the rebellion of Korah against Moses and was swallowed by the ground. Abiram could also be parsed as “their strongman,” from the noun ‘ābîr, “strongman,” with the attached possessive pronoun. In the previous section we saw the biblical writer end part one with the affirmation that God is Jacob’s “strongman,” ‘ābîr.17 In conjunction with the fourth Servant Song it becomes clear that there is no other source of strength to which one may resort. The abrogation of Abram in the story of Genesis, whether in the meaning of exalted forefather, or in the meaning of “resorting to one’s own strength” or “strongmen,” corresponds to the teaching and rhetoric running through the redaction of Isaiah 40–55. This is the implication of 51:1 “Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness, you that seek the Lord. Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug.” Do not confuse your pedigree. Look to the Servant, the new tidings from God and the order to which one must conform to become privy to the announced salvation. Introduction of the name Sarah is also part of the new construct. As we have seen, Jacob is cast at the beginning of this section in the image of a woman. Jacob will not be used as an appellation in part two. Jacob had been used in conjunction with Zion in part one (Isa 40:9; 41:27; 46:13; 49:14). Zion was the parched land being offered salvation, but like Jacob, objecting that God had forsaken her (cf. 49:14 echoing Jacob’s objection in Isa 40:27 and 44:21). The parallelism between Jacob and Judah was spelled out in 48:1. We followed the shift in metaphor from barren land to barren woman. The name Sarah corresponds to Jerusalem, a woman’s name being appropriate as a designation for a city, in Hebrew as well as in Greek. Zion, as a designation for a barren city, will again be offered salvation in the second part, precisely in the section 51:1–52:12, described above as a crescendo of exhortations leading up to the fourth Servant Song. The introduction of Sarah just before these exhortations shows that it functions as an invitation to Jacob/Jerusalem18 to assume a different vocation conforming to the parable of Abraham. This corresponds not only to the role of Sarah in the book of Genesis, but more

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specifically to the renaming of Jacob in the mysterious passage in Genesis 32, to be discussed below. The redactor of Genesis 32 chose to interpret the name Israel in terms of the verb śrh, identical to the name Sarah, thus reenacting in the granting of the title Israel to Jacob. Thus the call to Jacob in Isaiah 40–55 conforms to the parable of Abraham and Sarah as Jacob assumes the name Sarah. As we saw at the commencement of the second part (50:2), Jacob is addressed as the divine consort (in the sense of a city belonging to a deity) who is divorced because of her treachery. Jacob is now asked to rectify his divine consort status in order to become Sarah. This appellation, in the context of Isaiah 40–55, is a pun on the title Israel, which along with the name Sarah will be discussed further below. “Ab-raham” will modify the appellation “Israel.” In Isa 51:9–16, the first of three emphatic exhortations in series (beginning with a double imperative) is addressed to Yahweh, but is in fact an exhortation addressed to Zion to remember its God. The first invocation of Zion in the second part of Isaiah 40–55 was already in the previous subsection in 51:3. There the tenor and purpose of the repeated use of Zion in this part, Isa 51:3, 11, 16; 52:1, 2, 7, 8, is made clear. Zion, the barren parched wilderness, is about to be converted into a Garden of Eden. In this subsection, Zion is named twice. In the second invocation in 51:16, the prophet of God voices the words of exhortation, saying to Zion “You are my people.” The language is reminiscent of the book of Hosea addressed to the Northern Kingdom and announces the re-adoption of Jerusalem. The second emphatic exhortation (51:17–23) is addressed to Jerusalem, reminding her of her previous discharge. None of her children is up to the task of giving her guidance. In terms of the role required of her, she is like a childless woman, as seen in 51:1–52:12, the central passage. The metaphor of giving birth will be repeated twice following the fourth Servant Song, announcing accomplishment. In 54:1, it refers to the barren woman; in 55:10 it rejoins the cosmic image of fertilizing the land and making it bear forth, accomplished by agency of God’s word, wrapping up the use of this image begun in 40:3. The other basic linguistic image (cf. section 2.1 above), expressed in the pi`el verbal form of nḥm (to comfort), is also invoked as a question in this central subsection, “who will comfort you?” After it was set as the leitmotif of the work in the opening 40:1, its use becomes characteristic of the second part of the work. In 49:13, it is picked up in anticipation of the second part and repeated in 51:3, 12, 19; 52:9; 54:11 (the last of these in the passive pu`al form). The third emphatic exhortation, 52:1–6, is expressly addressed to Zion from the outset. In this section we have a reiteration of what we saw in 45:13 and 50:1. The redemption will not require any silver. The fifth and last subsection of the hortatory section 51:1–52:12, subsection 52:7–12, prepares for the fourth Servant Song. This subsection is a song

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of the implied author as a bringer of good tidings. While comfort and redemption are mentioned in v. 9, the vocabulary used in this passage is that of the victorious king bringing salvation and announcing it to all the nations. The redemption of the imprisoned is itself described as a victory at war (v. 11ff). The terminology is reminiscent of the Exodus.19 It is at this point we have the fourth Servant Song (52:13–53:12), which at once sums up and modifies the entire work. It is paradoxically juxtaposed to the passage that announces ultimate victory (52:7–12). This victory was not achieved by the power of silver (52:1–6); it will also not be achieved by force of arms. The polemic reflected especially in 30:1–31:9, is very clear and appears to be commentary on the part of the redactional school. It is interesting that Rahab is mentioned as a name for Egypt in 30:7, and as a mythological monster in 51:9. Given that the former instance purports to explain a previous reference, priority in this instance is given to Isaiah 40–55. Like the first Servant Song, which is framed as an expression of a wish on the part of God, the fourth song is also in the third person—only here it is a judicial ruling following the event, as a listing of the facts (53:1–9) and the pronouncement of God’s verdict (vv. 10–12) follows the summary of the case in 52:13–15. If the first song was in God’s imaginary/wishful future, the fourth song is in the redactor’s wishful future. God will endorse the work that is being written out. The “Amen” of God will be spoken to the work in progress. It is an expression of the trust in Yahweh of the servant that we were told of in the second and third songs. The section 53:1–9 begins with a rhetorical question, the function of which is to call disciples to the teaching being expounded, “Who hath believed our report and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?” (53:1 KJV, differently the NRSV). A paraphrase giving a feel of the Hebrew within the flow of the whole composition would be: “Who will say ‘Amen’ to the pronouncements we have decreed/made to be heard, who has had his eyes opened to see in them the power of the arm of Yahweh?” It is an appeal to would-be disciples to adopt the disposition of the Servant as the only well pleasing oblation to Yahweh, in order to have a share in the promised covenant. It is the Servant who has been set as a běrît (covenant) for the people according to the first song (42:6) and the commentary extension of the second song (49:8). What is explicated in the following verses is the very fabric of the eternal covenant, which will be referred to in 54:9–10, invoking Noah, and in 55:3, invoking David. The Abrahamic covenant in part two is an unconditional covenant, in contradistinction to the one with Jacob explicated in part one. Paradoxically the only port of access to it and to a share in its heritage is in the form of the Servant of the fourth song. The notion of salvation/victory is being redefined here such as to be in total contradiction to that held by the opponents! The one Servant stands against the many and

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remains disjunct from all. Those who would join his company must become obedient to the pronouncement in this section as expressing God’s mindset and as defining of the domain of his rule. The word translated as “report” in 53:1 is šĕmû`â (that which is heard/a report). In the LΧΧ, it is translated as ακοη. It is from the same verbal root, šm` (“to hear”), as the name Simeon, šim`ôn.20 To hear is to obey in the Semitic usage.21 Obedience must be given to the teaching of Isa 40–55, exemplified in the teaching about the Servant. In the following verses we are given a profile of the faceless Servant. We have already discussed his profiling as a rahām with all of its possible connotations, but this emaciated sheep has anothe job description added to his profile. Although he is not called a goat outright, he shares his job description with the scapegoat as outlined in Leviticus 16. He is, from the point of view of God, an acceptable living sin oblation, rejected outside the land of the living (v. 8). Verse 9 repeats the three things negated in him. He has done no violence, his speech harbors no deceit or treachery and he is by mistake buried with the rich, implying that he was not by the nature of his job description to be associated with the wealthy or aggrandized.22 Verse 7 in this passage has two particularities. The Servant is likened to a sheep being led to the slaughter. The word for sheep here is śeh, which is so translated because it fits the image of the animal one leads to slaughter; however, in fact the term refers to a male sheep or goat. Thus the reference to a goat, while not explicit, is maintained. The second thing to be noticed, is that in the parallel expression “like a sheep that before its shearers is silent” (NRSV), the word used for sheep in Hebrew is rāḥēl, which refers to a ewe. This fits into the shift in metaphor to that of a barren woman bereft of her children. The word implies a healthy, well-tended ewe.23 In Isa 53:10–13, trust in the verdict of God is expressed. Although God was pleased to see the Servant bruised with blows and left emaciated, he will surely pronounce him not guilty. The restitution involves the many, because his wounds brought healing to those who had been onlookers; his oblation was a sin offering for others; and he made intercession for the transgressors. Thus restitution takes on the aspect of enthronement for the victorious. The aspect of his work that triggers all of this is that on behalf of the many he had made himself destitute of all things to the point of death. This stands in stark contrast to Jacob, both as represented in Isaiah 40–49 and in Genesis, where he makes a grab for anything he can get his hands on—from the heel of his brother at birth, to the two sons of Joseph, Ephraim and Manasseh, on his deathbed. The two disjunct tracks of Jacob and the Servant, who as the emaciated lamb is in continuation of the story of Abraham as the father of the weak lamb, have now been put into perspective. As for the priests and the Levites, the desecrated Servant outside the camp has declassed the sacred precinct. His sin offering has proved to be the

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acceptable and effective oblation. The living scapegoat, who carries the sins of others, including those of the priests and Levites, has made their offerings on behalf of sins a lame duck oblation. This is not only reflected in Isaiah 40–49, but throughout the books of the Former and Latter prophets as well. The image of the barren woman meets us again at the beginning of the last section of the second part and of the work as a whole (54:1–55:13). The regalia of the Servant has already been described in 52:13–53:12, and now the victory achieved is announced. The image of the divine bridegroom is used in tandem with the image of the barren woman. The over-abundant fruitfulness to come upon her is solely the work of this bridegroom, her God. In ch. 55, the theme of the benefit coming to all nations will be echoed. Central to ch. 54 is the announcement that the new covenant of the Servant will be eternal and non-conditional, like the decision to stop the destructive waters at the time of Noah.24 This is fitting in conjunction with the image of the God of all the earth (v. 5). It also prepares for ch. 55 and the introduction of the nations. Forthwith, God will not act destructively. The last verse in ch. 54 reminds the reader that the announcement of victory and the concomitant covenant applies to the servants of Yahweh. The shape of the servant has already been communicated. The opening verse of ch. 55 brings forward a central motif, which is introduced in Isa 40:11 and which appears also in the Joseph story. In the Joseph story the exhortation is to all who have need to come and be fed. The image used here, however, is that of thirst and water. We are returned to the basic vocabulary of barren land and God of the waters as at the outset in ch. 40, and this will remain throughout this last chapter. No silver will be required. We are told that the new covenant, concomitant with being unconditional, is unilateral and freely given. To underline this, reference is made this time to the hard and fast love of God for David. Central to ch. 55 is the call to return to Yahweh (v. 7). The covenant is unilaterally worked out by Yahweh, but everyone is exhorted to take to heart the announcement so as to enter into its proffered benefits. The work is carried out by the unfailing work of God’s word, which accomplishes its task and bears fruit (v. 11). The exhortation is a call to hear the communication of the word as regally effective. We had already been told that God alone is king in part one. The reference to David in the last chapter returns this image to the fore, together with the announcement of victory.25 The victorious king demands obedience to the reign of his alone effective word. He is gracious and full of mercies. The last verse, indeed the last word, underscores this with a pun. The signs of his victory will never be broken. This is a play on the Hebrew expression used to express the promulgation of a covenant. In Hebrew the expression is “cut/break (krt) a covenant.” This is an ominous sign that warns of the consequence incumbent on a breach of contract. The negated passive of the same

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verb is used here, which sounds more ominous. It is as if the redactor were saying, “try as you may, what you may, this covenant will stand unbroken.”

The Reenactment of the Lesson of Isaiah 40–55 in Genesis 32 The reading suggested above makes three principal points. The first is that Isaiah 40–55 was written as a “project launcher” for the books of the Law and the Prophets. The second is that it posits two juxtaposed tracks: the one of Adam/Jacob as the problem, the other of God acting in terms of the parable of Abraham and Sarah as the solution. The third point is that the paradigm of the servant-rahām presented provides at the same time the basic module with which to effect a literary transformation and thus produce/generate the texts and motifs in conformity with and as required by the project. Since the basic organization of Isaiah 40–55 as deciphered above is a contrast between the actual character of Jacob with the required servant-rahām and an invitation to Jacob to enter into the covenant that is concomitant with the servant-rahām, it should be possible to test this thesis by comparing it to the passage in Genesis that offers Jacob a new venue by way of his new name “Israel” (Genesis 32). This pericope, as will be demonstrated, describes the requisite conditions for the land to open up to Jacob and for the granting of the title “Israel.” Israel corresponds to the name Sarah, introduced in the parable of Abraham and Sarah in Isaiah 40–55. In order to be granted the title and the venue, Jacob will have to “put on” the servant profile as a validation of his credentials at the port of entry into the coveted land of plenty. The chapter runs in “imaginary” time, the time of the wishful thinking of the Deity, as can be seen by the immediately subsequent developments setting in with ch. 34 and functioning as a foil to ch. 32. The names “Jacob” and “Israel” play the major role in the chapter. As will be suggested below, the name Israel will be reinterpreted in terms more conducive to the arguments of Isaiah 40–55. At the same time, it will be seen that a certain polemic can be discerned in the chosen motifs and terminology, which seems to be directed against a “mystery religion” type of religious induction.

The Name “Jacob” “Jacob,” in Hebrew, basically means “acolyte,” “adjutant,” or “manservant.” It can also mean someone who follows after someone or something, whether in a friendly or hostile sense. This notion is played upon in Lev 25:42, 55, “For to me the people of Israel are servants: they are my servants whom I brought out from the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God” (v. 55, NRSV). This comes in an address by God to Moses (Leviticus 25–26), culminating the Code of Holiness in the book of Leviticus, and recapitulating the basic address of

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Isaiah 40–55 to Jacob. In fact, the one and only mention of Jacob by name in the book of Leviticus comes towards the end of this address (26:42). It is reasonable to assume that Jacob pertained to a class providing services, but having no domain of its own and, consequently, no king. More important though is the word play that is exercised on the name. Jacob derives from the Hebrew root `qb, which connotes a doubling back, a protrusion, a heel, a chicane, chicanery, a pursuer, that pursuant upon (as in the use of `qb with the meaning “in consequence of,” indicating cause), and thus can be employed with the connotation crooked, treacherous, making a grab for something. This last is highlighted in Gen 25:26, through the interpretation of the name Jacob given upon his birth. The explanation given is that he grabbed at his twin brother’s heel as he emerged from the womb. This is reiterated in the plaint of Esau in Gen 27:36. Esau cries out that Jacob lives up to his name, having grabbed and usurped both his birthright and his blessing. We have a similar appreciation of the name in Hos 12:4. An interesting pun on the name is found in Isa 40:4. In a description of the program of God as delineated in Isaiah 40–55, we are told that “the uneven ground (“crooked,” in the KJV) shall become level” (NRSV). The “uneven ground” in Hebrew is `āqōb, from the same tri-literal root as Jacob. The Hebrew word translated as “level” is mîšôr, this means also “upright,” and is from the root yšr, from which the adjective and verbal root “to be upright” comes. As we saw above, the problem posed in Isa 40–49, for which an answer is given in Isa 50–55, is precisely how to make of Jacob an upright person!

The Name “Israel” In Gen 32:29, we are provided with a derivation of the name “Israel” from the rare and obscure verbal root śrh (śry), which is repeated in Hos 12:4. Another derivation, or possibly an intended pun, is given in Hos 12:5, from śwr or possibly śrr (“to arise,” as in the case of a ruler), which is from the same root as the name Sarah, śrh (if this last is understood as “princess,” the feminine form of the noun for prince). The basic meaning of this last root, śrr, would seem to have the meaning “to rise high.”26 As such the noun “Sarah,” śrh, would be etymologically distinct from the identically written verb śrh. The verbal root śrh is found only in the two aforementioned verses, Gen 32:29 and Hos 12:4. Translators, having no other recourse other than these two pericopes to try to surmise the meaning of the word, usually derive contextually the translation “strive with” for lack of a more informed translation. This seems to fit with the story line, and indeed, the suggested derivation is not an etymological designation, but a pun on the name to highlight the teaching of the story. As we have seen, it is the identical formal equivalent to the name Sarah, even though it is not usual to derive the name Sarah from this root).

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The Arabic language provides additional help in deciphering the enigmatic use of this verbal root in Gen 32:29. The matrix of meanings associated with the cognate Arabic roots śry, śr, śrr, and śrw match very well with the story as in Genesis 32. These include “secret,” “night travel,” “night escapade,” “concubine” (free or slave), “pleasure,” “to be elevated,” as well as a type of tree from which arrows are made, the “highest part.”27 Note that all of these meanings can be subsumed under the general heading of either masculine virility or nighttime activity. The possibility suggests possible use in forms of initiation, such as a mystagogical initiation into the intimacy of a supposed higher order. There is a later parallel to this usage in the Islamic tradition about the miraculous night journey (“assumption”) of the prophet Mohammad to the farthest mosque. It is named al-isrā, from this same root.28 The analogy from the Islamic use in conjunction with the miraculous night journey of the prophet Mohammad, which initiates him into the divine designs of God’s address to Israel and Moses, and to humankind through the verses of the Qur’an, would point to a journey or transposition to a new awareness, insight, or body of secrets. On the other hand, if this root were to be applied as a feminine noun, one would expect it to indicate the autonomous domain of a man, in one sense or another, with the connotation of private or secret. In the parable of Abraham and Sarah, Sarah represents Jacob, the barren Zion, called by the Deity to become his consort city. As such, it is a political usage. In Isaiah 40–55, God’s measure of manhood is the suffering Servant. The Servant has his hidden dwelling in the Deity; he expresses the divine gratia and his elevation is the work of the Deity. It is highly likely that the play on the root śry would have been borrowed from polemical usage against forms of certain mystery religions and employed as a political term, in line with the teaching in Isa 40–55 that the hidden God is made manifest through his words. Socio-linguistically, a more likely derivation for the name “Israel” would be from the common source of the Arabic yśr.29 The connotations of various constructions can be summarized as “easy,” “made easy,” “well off,” or “left side.”30 It stands opposite to the right side (as indicative of power or might), and as an obstacle course. As such it stands opposite to the “forked” Jacob, and opposite to Benjamin (more below on Benjamin as indicative of a warrior clan, might, or power). If this derivation is correct, one could sum up the linguistic meaning as “making it,” or “being on easy street.”31 The aspiring yuppie Jacob would have his heart’s desire set on making it to easy street while remaining subject to the mighty and powerful. This etymology is not made by the text, but it would fit both the sociological class we seem to be confronted with, as well as the caricature of Jacob we have in the Jacob cycle, grabbing every which way in order to “make it.” This would be more applicable to a general usage not impacted by Isa 40–55 (the notion of wealth being associated by Isaiah 40–55 with the wicked and not expressive of well-being).

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Jacob, if and when functioning optimally, would make it to God’s “easy street.” With the notion of wealth not being viewed as a measure of success by the redactor of the songs of the Servant, it is very plausible to conjecture that he reinterpreted the title Israel in terms of the root śry. This would have served a double purpose. On one hand, he would have downgraded the notion of wealth as a measure of divine success. On the other, he would have polemically countered the attempt to lure “Jacob” into religious practices indicated as Canaanite in the books of the Law and the Prophets, but apparently very similar to what we encounter in the Hellenistic period. That we do have a reinterpretation of the term “Israel” in Genesis is thus very likely. In the case of Abraham we have a change of name, which, as discussed above, appears to be a construct of Isaiah 40–55. Analogous to it, we have a change of name for Sarah. The pericope that initiates the change of name for Jacob in Genesis 32 introduces a “new” title, which is not really new. The book of Ezekiel uses the name Israel extensively. Moreover, it is in common usage throughout the literature we are dealing with, as well as being attested extrabiblically. The suspicion arises that in Genesis 32 we do not have a new designation for Jacob, but a redefinition of the title Israel. The conjectured “original” derivation from the Arabic yśr would have been reinterpreted in terms of the root śry. It is proposed here that this is the work of the author of Isaiah 40–55. The analysis in the following sections will try to demonstrate that Isaiah 40–55 indeed lies behind the redaction of the pericope in Genesis 32. The passage in Genesis 32 remains enigmatic. As it is central to the redactional scheme directing the flow of the storyline, we must fall back on other elements in the passage to decipher the intended situation. The time of day is given as nighttime before the break of dawn. The action of the stranger who jumps (nip`al of ‘bq “jumped him like a sandstorm/engulfed him like fine dust”) Jacob is described in terms of a deadly sandstorm (‘bq), like the plague that hits Egypt in the book of Exodus (Exod 9:9). It is a very severe testing situation. The use of the pun on the obscure root śrh, which I summarized from Arabic under the general title of “masculine virility,” after Jacob had left himself naked of all goods and alone, would indicate a test expressed in terms of a rite of passage, or possibly initiation into a mystery religion. Highlighting the ford of Jabbok (to be derived from the root bqq) as the location for the story shows that it is a test in terms of a passage into another order. The sparsely used Hebrew root bqq would appear to highlight the notion of a destructive test. The Arabic usage of bqq, in the sense of dividing and consequently opening a breach, would support the notion of opening a passage. The Arabic root bqy in the sense of “remain” or “prove to be perdurable” goes also in the direction of a proving test. Indeed, the root bq (bqy, in Syriac) includes

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the meanings “to try,” “prove,” “examine,” “inquire into,” “investigation,” or “trial.”32 The meaning of the passage would seem to indicate that Jacob undergoes a very severe testing (śrh would have to be understood as such rather than as “to strive.”) He persists until he proves himself, and becomes a worthy inductee. The acolyte has come of age and become the initiate of God, “Isra-el.” How this functions within the wider context will be discussed in the following sections.

Mahanaim The master location given for the events of Genesis 32 is indicated in v. 3 as Mahanaim. This sets the framework for the ensuing events. Jacob recognizes the place as God’s encampment and uses the dual form of the word “encampment” as the place name. Theatrically, we are in God’s location and in God’s time. The use of the dual plural is to be expected in a toponym. But in view of the developments described in Exodus 33, following the events surrounding the worship of the golden calf by all the people, whereby God removes his tabernacle to a tent outside the encampment of Jacob so as not to destroy Jacob, the name Mahanaim assumes a critically important redactional function. The location is described as at a time and place where and when Jacob can encounter the Deity face to face and survive (compare Gen 32:31 with Exod 33:20–23), effectively a time and place where the encampment of Jacob and the Tent of Meeting are located in the same place.

Genesis 32 as Reenactment of Isaiah 40–55 and Reinterpretation of the Title “Israel” The story of Jacob in Genesis 32 culminates in his exorbitant increase, symbolized by the birth of Joseph on the eve of his return to the land where his fathers sojourned. It is equivalent to the situation of Jacob/Israel at the end of the Pentateuch, with Moses looking across the Jordan to the Promised Land. Jacob paradigmatically does what is required in order to be granted access to the land and, consequently, to have the name Israel bestowed upon him. In vv. 4–9, Jacob divides his camp defensively into two camps. He is apprehensive about the reception his brother Esau prepares for him on his crossing the Jordan. In vv. 10–13, Jacob prays to God for succor in order to be allowed reentry into the land. This elucidates fully the topic of the pericope. In vv. 14–21, Jacob prepares a gift to appease his brother and gives exact commands to the leaders of the companies sent as to what to say to Esau. Having done all actions that are humanly advisable—defensive, diplomatic and, most importantly, making supplication to the Deity—Jacob still remains in his own camp, outside the land, reminiscent of the parable of the rich man

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in the Gospel of Mark (10:17–27). Jacob still has to find a way to pass through the proverbial eye of the needle! It is at this point that we have the reenactment of the role of the Servant in Isaiah 40–55. The Deity, from whom he requested succor, has very specific requirements before succor, safe passage and entry can be granted. He must be severely tested to determine whether or not the requirements have been satisfied, that he may become an inductee into the Promised Land. The environmental circumstances surrounding the events in this pericope set the tone for the developments. It is nighttime, and obscurity is the dominant motif. A cloud of darkness and mystery engulfs the players. These circumstances bring together two different sets of topics; thus we have a double motif: one is the set of topics associated with testing and mystagogical induction; the other is the syntactical presentation of Isa 40–55. The God of the Servant is a hidden God, and the Servant is trained for public service while hidden in the hiddenness of God. In Gen 32:23–32, Jacob acts out the Servant of Isaiah 50–55. He first makes himself bare of all that appertains to him of wealth and children, Joseph emblematically being the last one to be remitted, as we are informed in the passage immediately following (33:2), which describes and reenacts the entry. He then stands alone with the faceless and nameless figure of the Deity, taking blows from God and man, remaining until the early hours of the morning, not releasing the Deity until morning dawns and he is blessed. His “battle flag” remains through the night, enduring all assault, unrelenting in the face of despair and thus earning the title “Israel.” The land, represented by his brother Esau/Edom, opens up to him. This is the work of the Servant in Isaiah 50–55, standing opposite to that of Jacob in 40–49. Genesis 32 expresses the imaginary time of the Deity of the redactor of this text, his unrealized wish as expressed in Isaiah 40–55. Only by denuding himself of all his possessions and taking the shape of the suffering Servant, enduring all possible injury from men and God and holding on to hope in the blessing of the nameless and hidden Deity, does he achieve entry into the land/blessings of the covenant. The verb śry proves to mean in this context, “going the road with God, being tested and proven, and becoming intimate with God!”33 According to the redactor, this is made possible for Jacob because Benjamin has not yet been born to him. He still does not have a warrior clan.34 Our writer, after all, wishes to understand the name Israel in this pericope as derived from śrh, as indicating becoming intimate of the Deity and being initiated into the realm of God; in other words, proving himself worthy of entering into the realm, not as someone over and above God. God, the Stranger who ambushes him and has the upper hand, will function as his strongman and as his King, exactly as in Isaiah 40–55. The inductee will function as subject under the protection of the inducting Stranger. This is why

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he insists on receiving the blessing from the Stranger, and names the locale as the place of meeting with the nameless Deity, yet surviving. It was not by his strength that he passed the test, but by holding on to the Stranger and sustaining all the bruising from God and men. Hosea will understand it as repentance before God, as weeping and entreating him (Hos 12: 5), thus becoming proven, making the clan of Jacob the addressee of God, recipient of his word. In Gen 34–35, real time resumes, in which we have the beginning of the story of the collapse of Jacob, expressed as the sins of the sons of Jacob. The birth of Benjamin, the warrior clan in Gen 35:18, then puts an end to Jacob’s good time with Rachel.

Conclusion The thesis argued here is that Isaiah 40–55 was written as the “project launcher” for the books of the Law and the Prophets (Former and Latter), which presents the basic scheme of these scriptures through the lens of the parable of Abraham and Sarah in conjunction with Isaiah’s Servant songs. At the same time, it functions as the transform, or transformational paradigm to be applied on the redacted materials, making the various passages and pericopes modules reflecting this scheme. I borrow the term “transform” from mathematics, employing it in the sense of a predisposed literary transformation to be applied to the material. Isaiah 40–55 is thus the redactional implement launching and delineating the materials that require editing according to the redactor. The primary structuring element is the setting up of two tracks of action, interlocutive yet disjunct: on the one hand, Jacob/Adam representing the sins of all Adam; on the other hand, God and God’s word, delineated by the servant-rahām. Together they present the paradigmatic form of the Servant-rahām, providing the rule for the promulgation of the covenant with God and for arriving at the solution to the problem posed by Adam/Jacob. This Servant stands outside the camp of Jacob and consequently stands opposite the clerical organization being set up by the opponents.35 The elucidation of the major elements of this thesis will require the study of several texts and motifs in the books of the Law and the Prophets. The central argument comes in a second part discussing the Joseph type and its transformation in the Joseph cycle in the book of Genesis. The illustration of the thesis in the analysis of Genesis 32 and the reinterpretation of the title “Israel” in this chapter is proposed as emblematic of the program and procedure put forth by the writer of Isaiah 40–55 and implemented in the production of the corpus of texts of the Law and the Prophets. The unity of the corpus is one proposed, launched and generated by the text of Isaiah 40–55. The verification of the thesis awaits the analysis and the argumentation of key

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texts, types, and structuring elements in the ongoing developments of this study.

Postscript The thesis underlying this paper is that the Pentateuch and the books of the Former and Latter Prophets are a redactional project initiated by the redactor of Isaiah 40–55, and completed by his school. The work presupposes and is founded upon the corpus of the work and the approach of Paul Nadim Tarazi, accessed both through his written works, as well as through his oral teaching and discussions. In several recent works he has postulated the book of Ezekiel as the writing from which and around which Scripture formed. He has expressed this in different ways,36 including description of the book as the blueprint37 for the Law and the Prophets. In two other instances he mentions Second Isaiah in conjunction with Ezekiel.38 The priority of the book of Ezekiel is concurred to and premised in this paper. It is also premised to be the bone of contention between the Isaiah 40–55 group and their opponents with primarily a priestly and levitical posture.39 On the other hand, I propose Isaiah 40–55 as deliberately and technically the blueprint, or proposal, for the redaction of the full corpus we know as the Law and the Prophets. It is part and parcel of the “new” that “will be heard for the first time” (Isa 48:6–8). The centrality of Ezekiel is that it is the text that is being reclaimed, after having been misappropriated by the temple group40 according to the Isaiah 40–55 group. The new corpus is being proposed as the “place” within which Ezekiel is to be read, as opposed to the temple. Moses becomes the frame of reference for the reception of Ezekiel, not the temple and the priesthood. Hanson sees in Isaiah 56–66 a development towards a sharpening of the acrimony directed against the priests and the Levites due to the injustices of a failed new Jerusalem.41 He projects this as having occurred after Isaiah 40–55. I shift this conjectured development to the interval of time between the book of Ezekiel and Isaiah 40–55, as argued above. In the first three sections of the paper, the attempt was made to show the impact of Isaiah 40–55 on the redaction of Genesis 32 and the reinterpretation of the title “Israel.” This remains only an initial piece in the jigsaw puzzle, albeit a paradigmatic one. The cornerstone of the argument will come in a discussion of the Joseph type and its transformation. Much of the evidence adduced could point to an inverse theory to the effect that Isaiah 40– 55 is a resume of Scripture. I believe enough evidence was cited to call this into questioning. A final decision would await a survey of all the books of the Law and the Prophets. It should be pointed out that if Isaiah 40–55 is seen as a perfect resume of Scripture, then it is practically equivalent to stating that it

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expresses the design behind the work. Still, technically, the thesis presented here is that it actually is the blueprint composed to set off work on the project.

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The Function of Hyperbole in Ezekiel 1

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he opening lines of the book of Ezekiel present a compelling irony: how could something as heavy as the “glory of the Lord” (‫יְ הֹוָ ה‬-‫ ) ְכּבוֹד‬be moved or carried? (1:28).1 Yet such is Ezekiel’s message. This presentation will examine the book of Ezekiel through the lens of Ezekiel 1, arguing that Ezekiel’s opening lines provide a model for the rest of Scripture and serve a didactic function in admonishing readers and hearers to learn from their transgressions. It will be argued further that Ezekiel’s hyperbolic expression of divine judgment and consequence have pastoral as well as academic implications. Several literary mechanisms control the direction of the hyperbole. The metaphorical language in Ezekiel 1 engages and compels the reader to continue reading all the way through relentless hyperbole of Ezekiel’s unimaginable prophetic visions, challenging the reader to see the invisible God in almost material form, as perhaps some sort of dynamic statue. It is a major assumption of this writer that the book of Ezekiel is indispensible for understanding the whole of Scripture. The careful reader will notice a number of similarities between Ezekiel and other OT books, especially the Pentateuch the Psalms. As Paul Tarazi notes: Ezekiel’s vision left a lasting stamp on nascent Judaism, detectable in both the content and form of its scriptures, especially during the first part, the Torah, or Pentateuch. Genesis starts with the one and only universal God who creates the world and everything in it (chs. 1–3) and is the God of all humanity and all nations (chs. 2– 11). It is this universal God who appears to Israel’s forefather Abraham in Babylon and leads him into an exodus towards Canaan (ch. 12).2

Tarazi establishes an important link between Babylon and the Pentateuch. Both are set in the wilderness from which Abraham, their forefather was called, and there is nothing to distract the reader from focusing solely on the life provided by God himself. God presents himself to Ezekiel on a plain in a distant land, not a mountain, which is the customary meeting place between the Deity and his representative. It is thus in the land of exile that the people

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of God are transformed by the God of Israel, who becomes the God of all nations, no longer bound by a single city or temple. By removing Jerusalem and its palace-temple complex from the picture, God demonstrates that he alone remains the true King among his people, as in the days before the monarchy, showing the nations that he acts to save his people.3 God removes the power of the city, the king, and the temple and in order to do so, he removes Ezekiel from the priesthood and makes him his powerfully obedient agent.

Ezekiel 1:1–3 The book begins by introducing clearly Ezekiel as a priest who receives a call by God, when “the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi...” (1:3; ‫בּוּזִ י ַהכּ ֵֹהן‬-‫יְ ֶחזְ ֵקאל ֶבּן‬-‫יְ הֹוָ ה ֶאל‬-‫ ) ָהי ֹה ָהיָ ה ְד ַבר‬Zimmerli writes: The three introductory verses of the book plainly fulfill a double function: they introduce the following great vision of the prophet. Like other similar visions (8:1 ff; 40:1 ff) or experiences of receiving of the divine word (20:1 ff 26:1ff) this vision is chronologically established by the reference to a date. At the same time the three introductory verses give certain biographical information about the prophet, which is similar to that found in the headings of other prophetical books.4

This label or function of Ezekiel as priest puts the reader in the current situation of the city of Jerusalem. Ezekiel is, perhaps, one of the first to be exiled, given the time of his call. Introducing Ezekiel as a priest, a label, which is later dropped, the author intends to display later on a formation of Ezekiel by God into his prophet. The very mention of the priesthood automatically correlates the system of the temple, which is on a mountain in a city with a king. All of this is important later in the book when he sits with the people and elders, for Ezekiel, the priest of the now destroyed temple, becomes the prophet and full representative of God himself, the ultimate Judge. God called Ezekiel at a certain place, far from Jerusalem and the temple and at a certain time just before the full destruction of Jerusalem, which God abandoned despite Ezekiel’s pleading.5 God’s action of leaving the city means that it is vulnerable to attack now that there is no deity to defend it. The destruction of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar,6 the King of Babylon, left Ezekiel bereft of his priestly function, removing any reason for being a priest now that the house in which God dwelt had been destroyed. For the author of the book of Ezekiel, God does not require a house in which to dwell. He can go wherever and whenever he pleases; thus he goes to Ezekiel, who sat by the river Chebar among the exiles (1:1; ‫ ְכּ ָבר‬-‫נְ ַהר‬-‫גּוֹלה ַעל‬ ָ ‫ ַה‬-‫)וַ ֲאנִ י ְבתוְֹך‬, in the land where God would also reside. ”Chebar” literally means “to join” or “to couple,” as its position is at the confluence of other rivers and canals. This location in lower Mesopotamia, with the river Chebar running southeast of Babylon, is a reminder to the exiles who were settled there that Abraham was from the south-

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ern city of Ur, in the “land of the Chaldeans.”7 The land that was promised to Abraham and his descendants is now again viewed from the perspective of Abraham’s place of calling, only now they have nothing to account for except the reason for their destruction and deportation, namely, their harlotry.8 God had put them back to the place from which he called their father Abraham and from which he would eventually bring them back in a new exodus and a rebirth of his people. But for now they must remain as exiles in a foreign land, estranged from the land that God had promised them in Abraham, which was not the situation they had come to expect. Dazed and confused, the exiles must await salvation from their God, who reveals himself through his prophet when he pleases. Returning now to ch. 1, one finds allusions to the calendar, maintenance of the temple, and the functions of the exiled priest and worshippers. As exiles, the former calendar is ineffective. They know nothing of their deliverance nor have any control over their situation. Later, in Ezekiel 20, they presume that God is going to save them, just as he did from Pharaoh in Egypt. Their arrogance plays a significant role here, as Tarazi explains: Yes, says Ezekiel, the Lord acted for his name’s sake in the original exodus; but there was nothing automatic about it. It was always the Lord, the divine person constrained by no one, who acted of his own free will. It was his decision, his action, and exclusively for his name’s sake; and in spite of whatever the elders may think, he will not be caught at his own game. This time, and in the sight of all nations, he will lead the Judahites out of Babylonia and into the wilderness, and the nations will see with their own eyes that he is almighty.9

Ezek 1:3 presents some interesting considerations. The name Ezekiel (‫)יְ ֶחזְ ֵקאל‬ presents two important aspects to understanding the purpose of God’s message to the exiles. The first sense is that “God holds firmly,” or “God holds tightly.” The former images the notion of the grasp of a hand.10 This will come into play at the end of Ezekiel’s call, when he is commanded to eat the scroll given to him by God, meaning he is to utter only what God told him to say. God had complete control of Ezekiel for his purpose. This is the overarching thesis of the book of Ezekiel where God is in complete control of everything and everyone including the nations, such as Babylon, which destroyed Jerusalem. Ezekiel 39 reads: And I will set my glory among the nations; and all the nations shall see my judgment, which I have executed, and my hand, which I have laid on them. The house of Israel shall know that I am the Lord their God, from that day forward. And the nations shall know that the house of Israel went into captivity for their iniquity, because they dealt so treacherously with me that I hid my face from them and gave them into the hand of their adversaries, and they all fell by the sword. I dealt with them according to their uncleanness and their transgressions, and hid my face from them.11

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The second aspect of Ezekiel’s name is the ending,) ‫“ אל‬el,” or “God”), thus providing a connection with a universal God over all nations. The same idea is repeated by the author at the end of the verse, saying, “and the hand of the Lord was upon him there” (‫יְ הֹוָ ה‬-‫)וַ ְתּ ִהי ָע ָליו ָשׁם יַ ד‬.This repetition will be important for the aforementioned reason of representing God totally and for realizing that God operates outside his temple and his city. This sets up the reader for the Ezekiel’s vision, which he has for the remainder of the first and second chapters, after which he would need to face his people, “the nation of rebels” (2:3) against God. Thus, Ezekiel must stand apart and subject to God, as will be the case in ch. 3 with the eating of the scroll, which coupled with the meaning of the name of Ezekiel secures God’s will as the prevailing will over his great enemy—not the Babylonians, but God’s own people, the “nation of rebels.”

The Vision (1:4–28) While in exile, Ezekiel is confronted by a vision of God (1:4–28), which begins ַ ). This strong and destructive imagery of with a “stormy wind” (1:4; ‫רוּח ְס ָער ָה‬ the ‫ רוּח‬eventually becomes a calm and gentle “breeze” in ch. 37, when God is able to give life to the dead through his ‫רוּח‬. This serves as a reminder of creation itself (Gen 2:7). For life to be possible, ‫ רוּח‬must be controlled and only God is able to do this. The wind/spirit/Spirit of God can annihilate and destroy, but God always has it under his control. In 1:4, this same ‫ רוּח‬brings a great cloud, in the midst of which are four living creatures (v. 5). This cloud will later will carry transport Ezekiel over great distances. Tarazi gives a great contrast between Ezekiel and other prophets regarding the ‫רוּח‬. He writes: This spirit plays a central role throughout the book of Ezekiel, in contrast to Jeremiah, where the divine dabar (word) occupied center stage. Yet the one does not replace the other; rather, the two are inextricably intertwined: “And he said to me, ‘Son of man, stand upon your feet, and I will speak with you.’ And when he spoke to me, the spirit entered into me and set me upon my feet; and I heard him speaking to me.” (2:1–2) The content of the “spirited/spirit-borne/inspired” message is none other than the content of the “word” of the scroll, which also “entered into” him (3:3). In other words, the spirit within Ezekiel is not only his personal “chariot” whisking him around from place to place but is also the “chariot” of God’s word, the means by which the divine message is conveyed to him.12

The chariot of God moves in all four directions, as it has four creatures to whom each was given a wheel and “each went straight forward; wherever the ‫ רוּח‬would go, they went, without turning as they went” (1:12, 17). The meaning is quite obvious here; the wheels go where the ‫ רוּח‬goes. In other words, this chariot can go anywhere without hindrance as the ‫ רוּח‬wants. The chariot is described in great detail, beginning with the four creatures who would “carry” the chariot, the fire and lightning among the creatures, the

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wheels by which the chariot is carried, the firmament above the chariot, the throne above the firmament, and, finally, the appearance of fire. The author ends this lengthy and detailed description of the chariot to present as a final point, “the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord…” (1:28; -‫ְכּבוֹד‬ ‫) ַמ ְר ֵאה ְדּמוּת יְ הֹוָ ה‬. It is the glory of the Lord upon the chariot, which is paradoxically immovable due to the heaviness of the “glory,” yet movable in any direction the Lord pleases. The Lord is not limited to one place, but can go anywhere and everywhere. This scene should remind the hearer to listen to the “voice” of the judge who sits upon it, rather than to imagine the judge himself. The writer intentionally presents the chariot to fulfill the task of conveying a powerful rendering of the judgment upon Jerusalem, which happens later in the book. Tarazi draws upon this, stating: A god, who is not tied to any city or shrine as a permanent abode but rather shows himself to be ubiquitous, is already no longer a local or national god but a universal one. And this is precisely how the Lord who commissions Ezekiel to speak on his behalf now appears. To be sure, the Lord who spoke through Amos, Isaiah, and Jeremiah did also address the nations as their de facto master; still, he was always first and foremost the deity of Jerusalem. But now the priorities are suddenly reversed. In Ezekiel the Lord is the universal God who happens to be also the Lord of Jerusalem. His primary abode is the mobile and ubiquitous chariot (ch.1), not Jerusalem.13

The glory presented here is thus the power of judgment on display before all the nations. Ezekiel saw this dynamic chariot with the glory of the Lord resting upon it, saying, “when I saw it, I fell upon my face, and I heard the voice of one speaking” (1:28). God commands Ezekiel, the “Son of man,” to stand so that he might speak with him (2:1). God eventually gives Ezekiel the scroll of everything he wants Ezekiel to say to the house of Israel. Ezekiel’s job is to represent exactly what God wants him to be. The God of Israel shows displeasure against his people and this is precisely the motive behind the importance of God’s control over Ezekiel, namely, to proclaim God’s displeasure to the people through his spirit upon the dynamic chariot. The emphasis in the account of the vision is the power and control of the ‫ רוּח‬over everything, including Ezekiel the Prophet, into whom the ‫ רוּח‬enters (2:2). This same spirit gathers the dry bones of the people in ch. 37, a pivotal chapter for understanding that the chariot goes precisely “wherever the spirit would go” (1:20– 21). This will become even more important later on, when the new Jerusalem that God promises is not established at a specific location or in a temple on a mountain, but on an open plain. The closing verse of the book of Ezekiel reads, “and the name of thy city henceforth shall be ‘the Lord is there’” (48:35; ‫ ָה ִעיר ִמיּוֹם יְ הֹוָ ה ָשׁ ָמּה‬-‫)וְ ֵשׁם‬. Here Tarazi points out a very important issue relating back to the kingship of God. He writes, “Upon his entrance into the new Jerusalem (43:1–12) God is declared to be king forever in the New Jerusa-

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lem, i.e., a king whose throne shall not be shaken by any eventual enemy.”14 The emphasis of stating what is to take place corroborates the very purpose of the prophetic teaching to admonish the people to seek the way of their God, in order not to end up as exiles outside the new city. The imagery, therefore, of the vision in the first chapter was to set the tone for unimaginable God pressuring the hearer to be just that, a hearer. The elaboration of the vision of the chariot in ch. 1 is readily understood by the word ‫ ְדּמוּת‬, “likeness,” which is used several times, stressing the importance of what would remain after the vision, the “voice” which Ezekiel the priest hears in Babylon! (1:28). The opening vision and the later detailed explanation of the new city and temple, with the renewed nation of the twelve tribes surrounding it, are quite fascinatingly related to the emphasis made in the book of Exodus over the building of the Ark and the Tent of Meeting. In the wilderness, the Israelites set up this special tent wherever they journeyed. There the glory of the Lord met them whenever they were in the tent; therefore the holy place of God is wherever he decides to present himself before his people. The message of this chapter, as well as the rest of Scripture, is as of the instructive attitude of a father teaching his children to avoid all the dangers of life. If the children are attentive to their father’s instruction, they will be saved. Scripture was designed to be a prescriptive teaching to those who desire to be saved, which first requires a person to listen to instruction and then to respond with obedience, for obedience to the will of the father is the sole path of a child who would be saved. This is the clear and simple message of Scripture, as emanating from the hyperbole in the first chapter of the book of Ezekiel.

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Narrator, Audience, and the Sign-Acts of Ezekiel 3–5

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our Eminences, Fathers, Brothers and Sisters, I would like to thank you for the honor of presenting my research in honor of my teacher, Fr. Paul Tarazi. upon whose shoulders I stand. His blood, sweat and tears not only inspires this paper, but all my previous graduate and future professional work. I thank Fr. Paul for his wisdom and constant encouragement to me, as well as his inspiring example of following one’s ideas faithfully and reading the biblical text fearlessly. While the glory lies with Jesus Christ, my gratitude remains with Fr. Paul for giving me the Word of God. Two presuppositions that I gained from him lie at the base of my work: 1) the Bible is a book; and, 2) the text is trying to convey something. The simplicity of these ideas belies their wisdom, and only now am I beginning to understand their profundity. I pray that the current paper can in some way contribute to the conversation begun by Fr. Paul. The bizarre visions and actions of the prophet Ezekiel continue to surprise and astound readers. These prophetic actions are known as “sign-acts.” Among other actions, Ezekiel is called upon to lock himself in his house and tie himself up, before he lays on his side for over a year, eats strange bread cooked on cow dung, and shaves and chases his hair around with a sword. On the one hand, the actions conveyed a message from the Lord. On the other hand, the actions seem to go beyond what prophets are normally asked to do. This paper examines how the perceptions of the reader of the sign-acts differ from the perception of Ezekiel’s audience because of the difference in point of view. It will also draw a distinction between the “audience” within the book and the “reader” of the book. Events in the book of Ezekiel are limited to the point of view of the narrator, while the reconstructed, “original” audience of the signacts would have had a more wider, informed view. For the sake of brevity, I am limiting myself to the series of sign-acts in Ezekiel 3–5, although such sign-acts are found elsewhere in this and other prophetic books. Scholars of the book of Ezekiel have most often looked at the prophet’s sign-acts from the point of view of the audience described in the book, not

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from the reader’s point of view.1 Most commentators agree that the purpose of Ezekiel’s is to teach his audience; thus sign-acts are seen as part of Ezekiel’s repertoire of rhetorical tools.2 However, they do not generally discuss the effect the sign-acts has upon the reader.3 So while the audience experienced the signacts visually, readers only have access to them as narrative events.4 Narrative criticism seeks to understand how a narrative transmits meaning to readers.5 This method closely parallels the close-reading methods taught by Paul Tarazi by looking at the biblical text as a book with meaning. In his work on narrative criticism, Shimon Bar-Efrat chooses to focus on, among other things, “types of narration.”6 I will use narrative criticism to examine the types of narration of the sign-acts of Ezekiel to understand the various ways in which meaning is imparted to the reader. These strategies fit with the overall purpose of the narrative. Sternberg writes, “Our primary business as readers is [...] to explain the whats and the hows in terms of the whys of communication.”7 Thus a narrative addresses the reader with a purpose. It is not enough to state simply that the book of Ezekiel narrates sign-acts—that is, the whats; one must delve more deeply into the hows and, ultimately, the whys. In this paper I will show that the use of various points of view in the narration of the sign-acts in the book of Ezekiel serves to place the reader above the audience depicted in the narrative in order to give the reader a final chance for repentance.

Understanding Point of View A complex of points of view lies at the base of any narrative. Mieke Bal identifies and distinguishes among the points of view of narrator, focalizor, and actor. Briefly stated, the narrator is the one who tells the story, the focalizor is the point of view from which the events are seen, and the actor is the one who performs the actions. In the sentence “The man thought the clown’s stunt was crazy,” we can see all three roles. The clown is the actor who performs the action, the stunt. We see the stunt through the point of view of “the man”; hence “the man” is the focalizor. The report comes to us through the voice of the narrator, the one presenting the entire event. However, the judgment about the stunt comes not from the narrator’s point of view but from the man’s. The narrator has relegated judgment to the focalizor.8 The reader perceives narrative events only by means of the narrator, whose eyes subjectively select certain information for us, thus coloring the entire event. David Gunn and D. Fewell write, “We experience biblical characters as mediated through a narrator who selects and shapes what we experience.”9 In effect, the narrator presents the reader with select details that offer a particular perception of the story. This is not an objective report. The reader cannot bypass the narrator and decide what is most significant on the scene. Bar-Efrat

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writes, “The narrator is, quite simply, inside the narrative; he or she is an integral part of the work, one of its structural components, even one of the most important ones.”10 Narrators develop as characters just like their counterparts in a narrative work. Wayne Booth writes, “Many novels dramatize their narrators with great fullness, making them into characters who are as vivid as those they tell us about . . .”11 The reader must be attentive to the development of narrators over the course of the story. Attentive reading will demonstrate how an author makes use of the narrator’s point of view in order for us to view the story in a particular way that serves, in Sternberg’s words, the whys of communication; that is, the narrator serves the overall point of the narrative. Like the narrator, the focalizor has a particular relationship with the events of the narrative. Bal writes, “A choice is made from among the various ‘points of view’ from which the elements can be presented.”12 The events of the story come from the point of view of the narrator, but the narrator may make his or her point of view that of another character. Thus the reader must consider any intersection of these roles in order to understand fully the meaning of the narrative.

Ezekiel as Narrator The next question is what sort of narrator the book of Ezekiel presents, and how his use of focalizors colors the narrative. In vv. 2–3 of the book, an external narrator presents Ezekiel, situating him among the first wave of exiles to Babylon. More importantly, as we read in v. 3, “the hand of the Lord came upon him there.” Ezekiel thus begins as a reliable character, a prophet, who receives the following words directly from the Lord.13 The reader knows something of the character, who purports to know the words of the Lord, thus giving Ezekiel the benefit of the doubt as narrator.14 However, the reader finds out immediately that although he is a prophet, Ezekiel as a character is limited in his ability to know. For example, the reader is first introduced to Ezekiel by way of the depiction in the first vision, in ch. 1. The language of the vision is vague, since Ezekiel often uses forms of ‫מראה‬ (“appearance”)15 and ‫“( דמות‬likeness”),16 mere approximations of what he sees. One wishes that the prophet had more insight into the actual details of the chariot, but, unfortunately, the visionary depicted it with comparisons and analogies.17 Furthermore, in 1:28 we see that his reaction to seeing this sight is to fall on his face, where he can no longer see the vision. The spirit has to set him back up on his feet. Immediately, Ezekiel shows his subjective limitations to the reader as a narrator and character reacting to the events in the story.18 This restriction on Ezekiel’s narrating ability affects how the sign-acts are portrayed.

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The Lord as Focalizor The narrator makes the Lord the focalizor. Ezekiel defers the description of the sign-acts to the Lord, so the reader must see them through the Lord’s speech,19 of which there are four aspects: 1. The words that Ezekiel will speak will be the words of the Lord, not of Ezekiel. After eating the scroll containing the Lord’s words in 3:1–3, the prophet was told to “speak according to [or by means of] my words.” Similarly, in 3:24–27, Ezekiel can only come out of the house when he is ready to speak exclusively the Lord’s words. The narrator has allowed his role to be usurped by the focalizor from whom his words will come. The prophet-narrator allows the narrative to proceed by the Deity’s speech. 2. The sign-acts are described in a future time reference. The brick and plate siege in 4:1–3; the lying down on one side and the other in 4:4– 8; the strange bread in 4:9–15; and the rest, all point to how Ezekiel will carry out the sign-acts. Significantly, the Lord describes the signacts, but we do not hear a report of the sign-acts actually carried out, with the exception of Ezekiel’s eating the scroll.20 In 4:14, Ezekiel interjects and so demonstrates at least a plan to perform the acts, but this will be in the future. It is natural for the reader to imagine Ezekiel carrying out these sign-acts. The bizarre nature of the actions demanded by the Lord invite one to imagine Ezekiel lying on one side for 390 days or chasing his hair shavings with a sword. When we do so, however, we are bound to the description of the Lord, or else we must depart from the text. 3. The sign-acts come with an interpretation from the mouth of the Lord. The scroll with the Lord’s words that Ezekiel ate in 3:1–3, implies that the prophet will speak the Lord’s words, in 3:4. The brick of Jerusalem covered by the iron plate in 4:1–4 represents a siege. Ezekiel’s actions and props are presented to the people for an “omen.” When Ezekiel is to lie on his side for 390 days, the Lord explains that this number is for the number of years of Israel’s punishment (4:5). Baking the strange bread on dung represents the uncleanness of the food for the Israelites in exile in 4:13, and the anxious rationing of food and water in exile in 4:16–17. It is difficult to determine what exactly Ezekiel was to tell his audience. The actions are clear and detailed, but the verbal addresses themselves are not. In ch. 4, the Lord does not order the prophet to explain the reason for being tied up or the measuring out of his unclean bread. Only in 5:5–17, following Ezekiel’s act of burning and chasing his hair, do we have an address to the people, albeit somewhat

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unclear. In Hebrew one can see that the Lord speaks of Jerusalem in the third person feminine singular, “she,” in 5:5–6, and switches to the second person—alternating between feminine singular and masculine plural—for 5:7–17. If the reader wanted to try to reconstruct what Ezekiel may have actually said, he or she would have to do so based on the words of the Lord.21 Thus any speculation of what Ezekiel may have said to his audience regarding the other sign-acts cannot be conclusive. 4. The Lord predicts the people will ignore his words. The Lord not only tells Ezekiel what to do and say, but he predicts the people’s reaction. In 3:7 the Lord says they will not want to listen to Ezekiel because they will not want to listen to the Lord. Nevertheless, the people’s actions are not pre-determined, as 3:18–21 implies that the listener can choose to listen to the warning of Ezekiel and turn from his or her wickedness. The end of the chapter (v. 27) allows the possibility that certain individuals will listen, but the prediction is pessimistic. According to 4:17, the people will be sorry once the punishment comes for not listening. The Lord confidently implies that they will not listen and require punishment. In the final analysis, the people will be punished for not following the rules of the Lord or turning from their wickedness (5:6–7). Thus the people will refuse the opportunity to turn from their ways and repent. Punishment for their rebellion is a foregone conclusion. If the people will not pay attention to the Lord via his prophet, then why would the Lord order Ezekiel to perform such bizarre acts? Friebel argues that the sign-acts are intended to change the theological presuppositions of the audience.22 But the Lord says they will not change their ways. The purpose of Ezekiel’s mission is described in 3:17–21. If Ezekiel warns them, then he is free of guilt, whatever the people decide. The sign-acts, therefore, seem to serve to acquit the Lord and Ezekiel from any unfairness on their part.

Point of View of the Reader Let us now return to the point of view of the reader to see how it differs from that of Ezekiel’s imagined contemporary audience. As seen in point one above, the reader is bound to the words of the Lord, as we have minimal commentary on the words of the Lord. We can see that the prophet succeeded in fulfilling this first command, while the audience could not have known whether Ezekiel’s words were his own or the Lord’s. Relating to point 2, the reader has to trust what the Lord said would come about, while the audience could have

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seen Ezekiel’s actual performance. As to point 3, the reader is privy to the conversation between Ezekiel and the Lord. As a result, the reader cannot separate the sign-acts from their interpretation. It is not clear what Ezekiel’s audience heard for the interpretation of the sign-acts. Finally, with respect to point four, the reader knows that the audience rejected the warning. Any warning or threat to the audience is a foregone conclusion for the reader. We can now see how the whats and hows of the sign-acts build up the whys of communication. The actions may have appeared strange, fantastic, or simply forgettable to Ezekiel’s audience. If the readers had seen these acts with their own eyes, they could have made a decision about what was important, as the audience in the narrative may have done. However, by presenting the sign-acts to the reader through the Lord’s point of view, the text creates a situation where the reader: 1) is bound to the Lord’s words; 2) must trust the Lord’s description of the sign-acts; 3) cannot separate the sign-act from its interpretation; and 4) knows that the Lord made good on his threats. The sign-acts function as a much clearer warning to the reader than to the audience.

Conclusion The function and role of the narrator affects the reader’s perception of the sign-acts in Ezekiel. While many scholars have looked at the acts from the point of view of the audience, their reading of the text has not considered the perspective of the reader. This prophetic book uses focalization to mold the reader’s perception of events. Ezekiel is the narrator, and he has shown his limitations. He has abdicated his point of view to that of the Lord. As a result, one reads an essentially limited, mortal narrator depicting the Lord’s omniscient view of events. The reader finds him or herself in a precarious position, compared to the audience of Ezekiel. The prophet’s audience was confronted by bizarre acts. While it is not clear what sort of understanding was granted to them, they were pronounced guilty, nonetheless. In contrast, the reader understands precisely the meaning of the sign-acts, and we gain insight that Ezekiel’s audience did not have. The audience was confronted by acts carried out by a man of questionable sanity; the text presents itself as the unequivocal word of the Lord. If the audience was punished for not following the word that the Lord presented them, how much more will the reader fall under judgment if the words of the Lord are not followed. Now has come the reader’s final opportunity for repentance.

Notes Wisdom is the Preservation of Life 1

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In a fundamental sense, this is true, though the point will be nuanced below. As a moral and rational being, he exercises deliberative powers that assume the capacity to judge and measure; but this form of judgment is derivative, subordinate in all points to God’s authority. The issue turns on the vocalization of the Hebrew particle (bǝ or ba) appended to the first word (re’shit). The standard Hebrew text (MT) supplies a vowel (ǝ) that suggests that Gen 1:1 begins with an adverbial temporal clause: “when God began…” Ancient versions such as the Greek Bible (LXX) and later translations like the AV reflect an alternate vowel for the Hebrew particle (a), which suggests that the word “beginning” is definite; thus: “in the beginning” (Gk. archē). R. R. Reno, Genesis (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2010), 30. Ibid., 38. Cited in James Kugel, The Bible As It Was (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 1997), 55. Leon Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 35. Levenson, Creation, 65. On the biblical treatment of disaster and misfortune as a threat to order, see the section below on Lamentations. Levenson, Creation, 50. Ibid., 86. Paul Nadim Tarazi, Genesis: A Commentary. The Chrysostom Bible (St. Paul, MN: OCABS Press, 2009), 35. Tarazi has argued persuasively that the opening chapters of Genesis recount the origins (Heb. toledot) of the “heavens and earth” (Gen 2:4) and are therefore not to be understood primarily as the story of humankind. Genesis 1–4 embeds humans within the creation, specifically as creatures of the ground (Gen 2:7; 3:14, 19) alongside the beasts of the field. Tarazi, Genesis, 41–42. Ibid., 52. On the significance of the odd use of the verb “build,” see Tarazi, Genesis, 59–64. The trees that God creates in 3:9 are “pleasant to the sight and good for food.” In considering the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the woman entertains these exact impressions but adds, in her mind, that the tree itself can endow one with wisdom.

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Philip Rieff, in Fellow Teachers (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1985), refers to a “science and art of limits,” a reconstruction of the “primal feeling” for “what we have long known is not to be done” (36). Philip Rieff makes a similar point in Fellow Teachers when he argues that culture is based on the ‘No’ that must be “studied and interpreted almost without break,” (136). James L, Kugel, “Wisdom and the Anthological Temper,” Prooftexts 17 (1997): 9–32, p. 16. Ibid., 17 (original emphasis). Note the way, for instance, that Solomon’s wisdom was quantified in 1 Kgs 4:32: “three thousand proverbs and a thousand five songs.” The super-sage Qoheleth also boasts not of superior wisdom but of having a greater amount of wisdom than his predecessors (Eccl 1:16). Kugel, “Wisdom and the Anthological Temper,” 18–19. Paul Nadim Tarazi, The Old Testament: An Introduction, Vol. 3: Psalms and Wisdom (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1996), 116. The word “wisdom” does not occur in Ezekiel 14, but “righteousness” does. It seems, then, that the ability to preserve life here has to do with righteousness and not wisdom. In fact, the two concepts are closely connected. One of the preeminent marks of wisdom is a durable social order that is sound because it is just. According to Proverbs 8, wisdom leads to secure wealth and prosperity (v. 18) because the acquisition of that wealth has not been at the expense of the weak and the poor. Wisdom secures prosperity for people, but always with proper regard for the poor, that is, through “righteousness” and “justice” (v.20) rather than through greed. Job was righteous in exactly this sense; he was wealthy and honorable by virtue of his righteous concern for his fellows (see Job 29). Danel was a Canaanite king who had a reputation for being a wise and just ruler protective of widows and orphans (see M. Coogan, trans. and ed., Stories from Ancient Canaan, Louisville: Westminster, 1978, 27– 28). Interestingly, he is referred to as “wise” in another passage in Ezekiel (28:3). Noah is described as righteous in Gen 6:9, where his mode of life contrasts directly with the corruption and violence—the unrighteousness—of his neighbors (6:10). Perhaps one of the reasons he was chosen by God is that he would be able to reinstitute a just and enduring social order after the flood. His wisdom would facilitate the preservation of life after the flood as well as during it. It is possible, in light of these connections, to understand “righteousness” in Ezek 14:14 as the special aspect of wisdom that the author wished to highlight in referring to the ability to preserve life through justice. My thanks to Joel Kaminsky for pointing out the need to clarify this connection. Prov 7:4: “Say to wisdom, ‘You are my sister,’ and call insight your kinswoman (Heb. moda’).” The terms ‘sister’ and ‘kinswoman’ betoken marital relation here not blood relation. Cf. the use of “sister” in Song of Songs 4:9, 10, 12; 5:1, 2. Verse 30 is one of the most difficult and contested verses in the Bible. The meaning of the rare word ‘amon is unclear; translations range from “master craftsman” or “workman” (RSV; New Jerusalem Bible) to “confidant” (JPS) to “one brought up” (AV). The ancient versions also vary widely: LXX: harmozousa (“joiner”); Vulgate: conponens (“joiner; composer”); Targum: mehaymananutha (“in faithfulness”). See Stuart Weeks, “The Context and Meaning of Proverbs 8:30a,” JBL 125 no. 3 (2006): 433–442 for a helpful and concise discussion. Weeks’s suggestion to take ‘amon as an adverbial usage of the singular substantive ‘emun (“faithful one”) benefits from the additional move of reading 8:30a in the context of what follows rather than what precedes the verse.

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See Delbert R. Hillers, Lamentations: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Anchor Bible 7A; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 10–15, for a discussion of the authorship of Lamentations. Hillers points out that the LXX, Vulgate, Targum, and Peshitta all contain headings that ascribe the work to Jeremiah. Hillers argues, though, that the headings were secondary additions, and that the MT, which contains no Jeremian heading, preserves the older tradition, according to which the compositions in Lamentations were taken as anonymous compositions. 27 Ibid., 13. 28 Ibid., 128.

Beyond Anti-History: Genesis 1 as Mašal 1

Compare Paul Nadim Tarazi, The Old Testament: an Introduction. Volume 1 Historical Traditions (Crestwood, NY : SVS Press, 2003), 15–80 with Paul Nadim Tarazi, The Old Testament: an Introduction. Volume 1 Historical Traditions (Crestwood, NY: SVS Press, 1991), 11–70. References to the introduction will follow the revised edition throughout this study. 2 Ibid., 20. 3 Ibid., 11. 4 See Gen 8:4; Judg 13:5, 25; and Hos 1:2. 5 See Gen 8:13; Exod 12:2; 40:17; Lev 23:5; Num 10:13; 20:1. 6 W.W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1:111, 391; S. Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 233. 7 E.g., Jer 26:1; 27:1; 28:1; 49:34. See J. M. Arambarri, “Gen. 1,1–2,4a. Ein Prolog und ein Programm für Israel,” in Gottes Wege suchend (ed. F. Sedlmeier; Wurzburg: Echter, 2003), 65–86 (67–68). Other meanings of ‫ רשׁאית‬are “origin, fundament, premium quality” (Exod 23:19; 34:26; 1 Sam 15:21), “bloom” (Jer 2:3; 49:35; Ps 78:51), “firstling, ripe time” (Hos 9:10). See Jean L’Hour, “Ré’shît et beré’shît encore et toujours,” Biblica 91 (2010), 51–65. 8 The skies and the land are created in vv. 7 and 9 respectively, but the hodgepodge (tohu wabohu), the darkness, the Deep, the wind or spirit and the waters are pre-existent. Creatio ex nihilo postulates that matter was created, but even late texts such as Wis 11:17; Jub 2:1– 2; Ant. 1.27 do not mention creatio ex nihilo. 2 Macc 7:28 marks the first mention of it. Julian the Apostate (C. Gal. 49D–E) insists that Genesis 1 does not mention it. It is through Christian exegesis that Rabbinic literature will accept it; see M. R. Niehoff, “Creatio ex nihilo Theology in Genesis Rabbah in Light of Christian Exegesis,” HTR 99 (2006): 37–64; J. Barr, “Was Everything that God Created really Good?” in God in the Fray (ed. T. Linafelt and T. K. Beal; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 55–65. 9 A. S. Kapelrud, “The Mythological Features in Genesis Chapter I and the Author’s Intentions,” VT 24 (1974): 178–86. D. Bergant, “Is the Biblical Worldview Anthropocentric?,” NTR 4 (1991): 5–14. 10 HALOT, 1:152. 11 HALOT, 2:572: “in the future” (Exod 13:14; Deut 6:20). 12 See my Land and Calendar (New York: T & T Clark International, 2009), 91–94.

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W. Vogels, Nos origines: Genese 1–11 (L’horizon du croyant; Ottawa: Novalis, 1992), 44– 47 (53); W. Vogels, “The Cultic and Civil Calendars of the Fourth Day of Creation (Gen. 1,14b),” SJOT 11 (1997), 163–80 (174). Ibid., 172–173. A. Jaubert, La date de la cène (Paris: Gabalda, 1957), 32–38; A. Jaubert, The Date of the Last Supper (trans. I. Rafferty; New York: Alba House, 1965); A. Jaubert, “The Calendar of Qumran and the Passion Narrative in John,” in John and Qumran (ed. J. A. Charlesworth; London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1972), 62–75. J. S. Croatto, “Reading the Pentateuch as a Counter-text,” in Congress Volume: Leiden, 2004 (ed. A. Lemaire; VTSup 109; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 383–400. The term “solar calendar” is inappropriate and should be avoided; see U. Glessmer, “Calendars in the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls After Fifty Years (ed. P. Flint and J. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 213–78 (231). 4Q252 II 3 is the only non-reconstructed reference to a 364-day year; see G. J. Brooke, “4QCommentaries on Genesis A and Genesis D,” in Qumran Cave 4, XVII, Parabiblical Texts, Part 3 (ed. G. J. Brooke et al.; DJD 22; Oxford: Clarendon, 2003), 198–99. Other Dead Sea Scrolls reflecting the 364-day calendar are 1Q32; 1Q34; 4QMMT; 4QShirShabb; 4Q252 frag. 1ii.3; 4Q317–30; 4Q319–336; 4Q365; 4Q559; 6Q17; 11QTemple; 11QPsaDav Comp 27.6; cf. S. Talmon, “Calendars and Mishmarot,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 1:108–17; T. H. Lim, “The Chronology of the Flood Story in a Qumran Text (4Q252),” JJS 43 (1992), 288–98. Paul N. Tarazi, The Chrysostom Bible. Genesis: A Commentary (St Paul, MN: OCABS Press, 2009), 21. R. T. Beckwith, “The Significance of the 364-day Calendar for the Old Testament Canon,” in Calendar, Chronology and Worship (ed. R. T. Beckwith; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 54–66. There are only two exceptions. Esther 9:15 dates the massacre of 300 inhabitants of Susa on the fourteenth day of Adar. This day, though, is not necessarily a Sabbath, since Adar indicates that Esther does not use the sabbatical calendar, which uses numbered months only. The second exception is the starting date of Solomon’s building of his temple, occurring in 2 Chr 3:2 on a Sabbath, perhaps to underline that the whole project was doomed from the start. The Flood chronology based on the sabbatical calendar presupposes a suspension of time between the day the ark came afloat and its resting on Mount Ararat; see Land and Calendar, 73–74. H. Hunger and D. Pingree, MUL.APIN, an Astronomical Compendium in Cuneiform (AfOB 24; Horn: F. Bergern & Sohne, 1989). B. Z. and S. Wacholder, “Patterns of Biblical Dates and Qumran’s Calendar: The Fallacy of Jaubert’s Hypothesis,” HUCA 66 (1995), 1–40. See 4Q319 and 4Q503 and the details in Guillaume, Land and Calendar, 53–68. See Tarazi, Introduction, 22–23. Ibid., 22. Tarazi, Genesis, 29. Tellingly, Tarazi, Genesis, 33 uses the expression “six days of creation” within a chapter that passionately refutes the anthropocentric exegesis of Genesis 1. A unique phenomenon in the entire Old Testament. See Exod 20:11 quoting Gen 2:3, and Arambarri, “Prolog,” 77.

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Syncellus 75:16–24; see William Adler, “Moses, the Exodus, and Comparative Chronology,” Scripture and Traditions (eds. P. Gray and G. R. O’Day; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 47–65. T. P. Weber, On the Road to Armageddon: How Evangelicals Became Israel’s Best Friend (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2004); L. Marsden, For God’s Sake: The Christian Right and US Foreign Policy (London: Zed Books, 2008); S. Spector, Evangelicals and Israel: The Story of American Christian Zionism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). Tarazi, Introduction, 19. Tarazi, Genesis, 48–53. Tarazi shows how Scripture articulates the two different meanings. G. Robinson, “The Idea of Rest in the Old Testament and the Search for the Basic Character of the Sabbath,” ZAW 92 (1980), 32–42. The subsequent Hebrew, Syriac and Arabic meanings “to rest” all derive from the transformation carried out in Genesis 1 and Exodus 16 (the manna story), despite the absence of any etymological basis. N.-E. A. Andreasen, The Old Testament Sabbath (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1972); Tarazi, Genesis, 32–4. W. W. Hallo, “New Moons and Sabbaths,” HUCA 48 (1977), 1–18. C. H. Gordon, “The Seventh Day,” UF 11 (1979): 299–302; K. A. D. Smelik, “The Creation of the Sabbath (Gen. 1:1–2:3),” in Unless Some One Guide Me… (ed. J. W. Dyk et al.; Maastricht: Shaker, 2001), 9–11 (10). W. H. Schmidt, Die Schopfungsgeschichte der Priesterschrift (WMANT 17; Neukirchen– Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1964), 70–73. M. Weinfeld, The Place of the Law in the Religion of Ancient Israel (VTSup 100; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 99. Paul N. Tarazi, Land and Covenant (St Paul, MN: OCABS Press, 2009), 102. Ibid., 103. E. J. C. Tigchelaar, “Lights Serving as Signs for Festivals (Genesis 1:14b) in Enuma eliš and Early Judaism,” in The Creation of Heaven and Earth (ed. G. H. Van Kooten; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 31–48 (46–47). L. Brack-Bernsen, “Predictions of Lunar Phenomena in Babylonian Astronomy,” in Under One Sky (ed. J. M. Steele and A. Imhausen; AOAT 297; Munster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2002), 5–19. Tarazi, Genesis, 91–3. See Karl Geus, Eratosthenes von Kyrene (München: Beck, 2002), 309–32. Michael Avioz, “On the Origins of the Term Nevi’im Rishonim,” Jewish Studies: An Internet Journal 8 (2009), 1–7 (Hebrew). See Peter Machinist, “The Voice of the Historian in the Ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean World,” Interpretation 57 (2003), 117–37 (135). Tarazi, Introduction, 161–7. P. Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah (London: T & T Clark International, 2004), 227–53. Barry S. Strauss, “The Problem of Periodization: the Case of the Peloponnesian War,” in Inventing Ancient Culture (ed. M. Golden and P. Toohey; London: Routledge, 1997), 165–75. Guillaume, Land and Calendar, 80–108. C. Dyke, “Strange Attraction, Curious Liaison: Clio meets Chaos,” Philosophical Forum 21 (1990), 369–92.

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50 See Tarazi, Genesis, 31. 51 But see J. Hutzli, ‘Tradition and Interpretation in Gen 1:1–2:4a’, JHS 10 (2010), Article 12, who continues unabashed with the artificial distinction between Tat and Wort. More so than any other text, Genesis 1 strives to show that word and action are inseparable. 52 Tarazi, Introduction, 139.

Hearing Psalm 51: Masoretic Hebrew vs. LXX Greek 1

Psalm 51 is numbered Psalm 50 in the LXX. Almost all modern translations of the OT are based on the MT, so most readers know this great penitential plea as Psalm 51. For the sake of readability, this essay will employ Psalm 51 for both versions. Also, the versification system adopted in this essay follows that of the MT and LXX versions. In both, the inscription makes up vv. 1 and 2 and the psalm contains twenty-one verses. Caution should be exercised when consulting an English translation such as the RSV, where the versification system differs. Since the inscription is not among the numbered verses, one finds only nineteen verses. 2 Karen Jobes and Moises Silva, Invitation to the LXX (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2000), 146–150. 3 Jobes and Silva, Invitation, 152. 4 This framework for analyzing the translation techniques of the LXX is discussed in Albert Pietersma and Benjamin Wright, eds., A New English Translation of the LXX (New York: Oxford, 2007), xiii–xx. The authors speak of translational “equivalence” rather than “uniformity.” See also the translator’s introductions preceding the individual books of the LXX, where details relating to uniformity, leveling, and differentiation are provided. 5 These observations are made by comparing the MT and the LXX. Although the MT is not the Vorlage of the LXX, we are here embracing the assumption that the MT does not depart strongly from the Vorlage of the LXX. 6 For example, lēḇ in the MT of Genesis is translated in the LXX as καρδίᾳ five times (6:5, 20:5, 20:6, 42:28, 50:21) and διάνοια six times (8:21, 17:17, 24:45, 27:41, 34:3, 45:26). Where καρδίᾳ typically denotes the seat of physical, emotional, or intentional life, διάνοια typically denotes the mind, thought, or intelligence. An example of semantic leveling in Genesis may be seen in that sixty-three occurrences of ʾîš and twenty-seven occurrences of ʾāḏām are rendered in common as ἄνθρωπος in the LXX. All frequency analyses are based on search results obtained through the BibleWorks concordance software, BibleWorks 8 (Norfolk, VA: BibleWorks, 2008). 7 TDOT (ed. G. J. Botterwerk and H. Ringgren; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1986), 5:29. 8 There are many corporate pleas for divine mercy, but the Psalter is also the only place where personal pleas for mercy are found in the imperative mood, as in Psalm 51:3. Such imperative uses occur seventeen times in the Psalms; see TDOT, 5:32. 9 R. Laird Harris, Gleason L. Archer, and Bruce Waltke, Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (Chicago: Moody, 1980), 1178. 10 See also Gen 7:4, 7:23; Exod 7:14; Num 5:23; Deut 9:14, 25:6, 25:19, and 29:19. In the Torah the verb māhāh consistently has the dual association with divine record-keeping and divine punishment. 11 If Ps 109:14 invokes the imagery of the Book of Debts, then the preceding verse invokes the companion Book of Assets/Life: “May his posterity be cut off; may his name be blotted

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out in the second generation.” Verses 13 and 14 here employ the imagery of these two Divine books—one for the blessed, one for the wicked—providing a nice “one-two” punch. In this discussion we have not touched on the remaining parallel pair ḥesed and raḥamîm. It is enough to note that like the pairs kābas / ṭāhēr and āôn / maḥāṭṭa, the entanglement of ḥesed and raḥamîm in vv. 3–4 with ḥānan and māhāh is a signal that the plea for mercy in Psalm 51 is not strictly a psychologized one. That is to say, the plea is not a purely emotive outcry proceeding solely from a sense of shame or remorse, although these emotions are indeed involved. Rather, the plea for mercy has a cognitive dimension in that the psalmist will be trying to make a case for the free gift of mercy. How this is possible, and why this might be the psalmist’s aim, are questions we will address along the way. These include καταδέω, Gen 42:21; δέομαι; Job 9:15; παραιτέομαι; Est 4:8; ἀξιόω, Est 8:3; οἰκτίρω; Isa 30:18, although in 30:19 occurrences of ḥānan are matched with occurrences of ἐλεέω. In fact, in both the MT and the LXX, v. 5 contains an occurrence of the first person pronoun (ʾānî, ἐγὼ), which in most contexts is suppressed. Its occurrence here underscores the emphasis on the speaker’s perspective. The English translation of v. 6 provided here follows the MT, but not necessarily the LXX. There are some interesting differences in the wording of v. 6 as it occurs in the MT and the LXX. We will return to these differences later in this section. Here the MT uses the characteristic construction of preposition + infinitive construct. The LXX does not include the expected Hebraicism in both cases. Although it has ἐν τῷ κρίνεσθαί σε in place of bəšopṭeḵā, it replaces bəḏoḇreḵā with a preposition + noun phrase: ἐν τοῖς λόγοις σου. In Ezekiel and Daniel, sṯm is used in connection with secrets that are hidden (Ezek 28:3), or with visions and words that must be hidden (Dan 8:26; 12:4,9). Est 8:16, 17; Psa 51:10; Isa 22:13; Isa 35:10; Isa 51:3; Isa 51:11; Jer 7:34; Jer 15:16; Jer 16:9; Jer 25:10, Jer 33:11; Zech 8:19. Apart from the books of Esther, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, there is a single occurrence of “joy and gladness” in Zechariah. Interestingly, there are no other occurrences of śāśôn wəśimḥāh in the Psalms, outside of 51:10. This is also the text of Isa 35:10. The only other occurrences in the entire MT are Isa 22:13 and Jer 15:16. Historically, the Psalms were likely written before Esther. Psalm 51 would function as this kind of historical summary from the point of view of the final editor or redactor of Scripture. Verses 20 and 21 function as a sort of conclusion, and we will explore these verses briefly below. “Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, Thou God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of thy deliverance.” One does not have to commit to a theological reading of this desire to be released from cultic requirements. Is the psalmist making the theological point that sacrifice is insufficient to atone for human sinfulness? Perhaps. But the psalmist may also be making the practical point that his sins are too numerous and there is neither time nor resources enough to perform the required (but otherwise efficacious) sacrifices. Or, depending on the date of authorship, he may be making the historical point that sacrifice is insufficient since there is no longer a temple in which to perform such sacrifices. In Psalm 51, the psalmist is making

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the claim that cultic requirements are not enough to achieve forgiveness. Whether the psalmist is making theological, practical, historical, or some other kind of point is a separate matter. Forms of dām occur eighty-eight times in Leviticus and fifty-five times in Ezekiel. Forms of αἷμα occur eighty-two and forty-eight times respectively. Both terms occur approximately 360 times each in the books of the OT. Forms of the noun ʿôlāh occur just over three hundred times in the MT, but ὁλοκαύτωμα occurs just over two hundred times. In some cases, the meaning of a form of ʿôlāh is related to the meaning of the verb ʿālāh, which means “to ascend” or “to go up.” In nearly all cases, where ʿlh has the meaning of burnt offering, the LXX uses ὁλοκαύτωμα. When ὁλοκαύτωμα is not used, it is often the case that the LXX uses the close variant ὁλοκάρπωσις. The term zeḇaḥ often has the meaning of “animal sacrifice” in its cultic context, whereas minḥāh has the meaning of “animal offering” in the secular context (in which case the offering or sacrifice is a gift to appease a human agent). In the cultic context, minḥāh often has the meaning of “grain offering,” but is also used generically to mean “offering.” For example, both Cain and Abel offered a minḥāh to God in Gen 4:4–5. The term ʾiššēh has the meaning of an offering by fire (similar to ʿôlāh). See zeḇaḥ, minḥāh, and ʾiššēh in Harris, et al. (1980). 162 of 330. Occurrences of zeḇaḥ in these historical narratives account for nearly half of its 308 occurrences. In contrast, these historical narratives contain less than one-third of the occurrences of minḥāh (sixty-one of 211), which occurs with greatest frequency in Leviticus and Numbers (ninety-eight occurrences). The same is true of iššēh to an even greater extent in that Leviticus and Numbers contain fifty-eight of its sixty-five occurrences. The argument here is that the final two verses are not somehow discontinuous with the rest of Psalm 51. For another argument in favor of this same conclusion, see P. Tarazi, The Old Testament: An Introduction. Vol 3, Psalms & Wisdom (Crestwood, NY: SVS Press, 1996), 1–106 (especially 69 ff.) There the identity of king and high priest is underscored, and “the uniqueness of the king as the medium between deity and people makes out of him the point of contact between them in either direction. He not only acts on behalf of the deity toward the people but also intercedes with the deity on behalf of his subjects” (69). From this approach, the king repents and the temple service of the (new) Jerusalem is restored. Tarazi’s argument has a much wider scope. He argues that this “point of contact” thesis is characteristic of the entire Psalter, whereas our focus in this essay has been a single psalm. Also, Tarazi’s methodology is much more comprehensive in that his argument is based largely on linguistic, historical and literary evidence. By comparison, our methodology is much narrower, but reaches the same conclusion, namely that the line between what is personal and what is corporate is a fluid one in the psalm. In the person of the king there is an intertwining, sometimes blending of concern for the individual and the group.

Le Psaume 136, Une Eucharistie Pour le Pain 1 2 3

À ce propos, voir L.C. Allen, Psalms 101–150 (WBC 21; Waco, TX, 2002), 294. Voir P. Beauchamp, Psaumes nuit et jour (Paris, 1981), 196–198. Ce refrain est présent dans des textes qui supposent une situation liturgique : Jer 33:10– 11 ; Esd 3:11; 2 Chr 5:13; 7:1–3, 6; voir encore Sir 51:12, Hébreu ms B.

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Le terme est souvent accompagné de ‫אמת‬, vérité, fiabilité, loyauté ; ‫( ברית‬alliance, cf. Deut 7:9.12 ; 1 Kgs 8:23 ; Isa 54:10; 55:3 ; Ps 89:29 ; Dan 9:4 ; Neh 9:32 ; 2 Chr 6:14) ; ‫רחם‬ (miséricorde, cf. Exod 34:6; Hos 2:22, don de Yhwh; Ps 40:11–12; 57:4; 138:2). C’est l’unique occurrence de ce nom divin dans le poème. La particularité est notée aussi par G. Ravasi, Il libro dei Salmi. Commento e attualizzazione. Vol. III°, 101–150 (Bologna: EDB, 1984), 731. La même absence des patriarches et de l’alliance se repère dans les « petits credos historiques » repérés par G. von Rad en Deut 6 :21–23; 11:2–6 et 26:5–9. Voir des propositions différentes chez P. Auffret, « Note sur la structure littéraire du psaume CXXXVI », VT 27 (1977) 1–12, contestée par M. Girard, Les Psaumes redécouverts. De la structure au sens. Vol 3, 101–150 (Québec, 1994), 402–411. La structure proposée ici s’inspire de celle de G. Ravasi, Il libro dei Salmi. III, p. 732–734. Pour une proposition un peu différente, R. Meynet, Appelés à la liberté (Rhétorique sémitique 5; Paris, 2008), 207–222. Voir en annexe le schéma de la structure. On sait que bien des termes sont répétés en base 5 ou 7 en Gen 1:1–2 :3 (voir A. Wénin, D’Adam à Abraham ou les errances de l’humain (Lire la Bible 148; Paris, 2007), 23, et note 15. Le verbe « faire » combine pour ainsi dire les deux constantes. Le rapprochement est fait par beaucoup. Voir par ex., récemment, J.-L. Vesco, Le psautier de David. Vol. 2 (Lectio Divina 211; Paris), 1269. Les rois évoqués à la fin de la deuxième partie sont sans doute les rois du désert qui s’opposent à l’avancée d’Israël vers la terre (voir Exod 17:8–16 ; Num 20:14–21, bien que le roi d’Édom ne soit pas frappé et 22–24 où le roi de Moab est frappé d’impuissance à travers les oracles de Balaam). En revanche, dans la première strophe de la troisième partie, il s’agit sûrement des rois de la partie transjordanienne de Canaan (Num 21:10–35) dont la défaite va permettre l’installation des premières tribus dans le pays. Une telle thématique n’est pas absente du premier testament: voir Ps 148:13–14, ou encore Deut 7:7. « Dieu du ciel » : titre assez rare et postexilique : voir Gen 24:3,7; Jon 1:9; Esd 1:2; Neh 1:4–5; 2:4,20; 2 Chr 36:23. En Ps 136:26, il a une forme particulière puisque le nom divin n’est pas ‫ אלהים‬mais ‫אל‬. En araméen, voir Dan 2:18–19, 37, 44. Voir en ce sens, par ex. K. Schaefer, Psalms (Berit Olam; Collegeville MN, 2001), 320, et surtout P. Beauchamp, Psaumes nuit et jour, 195. Les spécialistes parlent du « participe hymnique », dont le type se trouve dans les trois passages d’Amos évoquant la création, Amos 4:13; 5 :8; 9:5–6. Pour cette distinction entre Origine et commencement, voir P. Beauchamp, L’un et l’autre Testament 2. Accomplir les Écritures (Paris, 1990), 33–34. Voir en ce sens Ps 24:2 ; 89:10–11 ; 93:3–4, ou encore Isa 51:9–10 ; Job 38:8–11. Main et bras figurent la puissance ou la capacité de quelqu’un pour gouverner, exercer une violence, punir, etc. L’expression désigne la puissance de Dieu, en particulier lors de l’exode (Exod 13:9; 3:19). Le participe évoquant la victoire divine est identique aux versets 11 et 17 (‫)למכה‬. Noter au v. 17, le jeu d’allitération entre ‫ למכה‬et ‫מלכם‬. En ce sens, R. Meynet, Appelés à la liberté, 215.

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P. Auffret, « Note sur la structure littéraire du psaume CXXXVI », le souligne, en mettant en relation structurelle les versets 4–9 évoquant la création et le verset 25. Voir aussi G. Ravasi, Il libro dei Salmi 3:735. L. Alonso Schökel, Treinta Salmos : poesís y oración (Estudios de Antiguo Testamento 2; Madrid, 1981), 398. P. Beauchamp, Psaumes nuit et jour, 196–198, que je reprends pour le commentaire de ce verset. « Rendez grâce », mais aussi « reconnaissez yhwh » : il s’agit d’une reconnaissance au double sens de remercier et de reconnaître. Les trois participes de cette strophe sont caractéristiques de l’hymne où l’on décline les titres (donc les qualités permanentes) de celui qui est loué, comme « motifs » de louange. Voir aussi vv. 7, 10, 13, et 15–17. Le verbe employé ici (‫ )רקו‬signifie affermir, rendre solide. C’est sur ce verbe qu’est construit le substantif ‫ רקוע‬qui désigne la voûte des cieux en Gen 1:6 et qui est traduit communément « firmament ». Je lis le lamed comme particule emphatique avec M. Dahood, Psalms III (AB 17; Garden City, NY, 1970), 262, suivi par L. C. Allen, Psalms 101–150, 287 ; on pourrait aussi lui donner un sens explicatif (« à savoir »), comme HALOT, sub voce I, 22. Un jeu de mots est ici présent : ‫ « מצרנו‬de nos adversaires » ou « de nos angoisses » reflète le nom hébreu de l’Égypte (‫)מצרם‬. Voir en ce sens, par ex., J.-L. Vesco, Le Psautier de David, 2:1273.

Searching for Divine Wisdom: Proverbs 8:22–31 in Its Interpretive Context 1

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“Document on the Interpretation of the Bible in the Church: September 21, 1993,” in The Scripture Documents: An Anthology of Official Catholic Teachings (ed. and trans. Dean P. Béchard; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002), 244–317. Gerhard Maier, Das Ende der historisch-kritischen Methode (Wuppertal: Theologischer Verlag Rolf Brockhaus, 1974); Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (London: SCM Press, 1979). Paul Joyce, “Proverbs 8 in Interpretation (I): Historical Criticism and Beyond,” in Reading Texts, Seeking Wisdom: Scripture and Theology (ed. David F. Ford and Graham Stanton; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 89. Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AYB; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 6. The division of Proverbs 1–9 into seven columns based on Prov 9:1 is proposed by Patrick W. Skehan; see “The Seven Columns of Wisdom’s House in Proverbs 1–9,” CBQ 9 (1947): 190–98; “Structures in Poems on Wisdom: Proverbs 8 and Sirach 24,” CBQ 41 (1979): 365–79; as well as his analysis of the entire book of Proverbs in which he recalculates a totality of 45 columns, in “Wisdom’s House,” CBQ 29 (1967): 468–86. Gale A. Yee, “An Analysis of Prov 8:22–31 According to Style and Structure,” ZAW 94 (1982): 58–66. Yee observes a gradual development: the preexistence (v. 22–26), the role as God’s assistance during creation (vv. 27–29) and Wisdom’s relation to humankind (vv. 30–31).

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Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 279; Crawford H. Toy, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Proverbs (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1899), 173–174. Allen P. Ross, Proverbs (vol. 5 of The Expositor’s Bible Commentary with the New International Version; ed. Frank E. Gaebelein; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1991), 946. Roland E. Murphy, Proverbs (WBC 22; Dallas: Word, 2002), 47. William A. Irwin, “Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?,” JBL 80 (1961): 133–42; Bruce K. Waltke, The Book of Proverbs: Chapters 1:1–15:29 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 409. Bruce Vawter, “Prov 8:22: Wisdom and Creation,” JBL 99 (1980): 205–17; Eugen J. Pentiuc, “A Self-Offering God and His Begotten Wisdom (Proverbs 8:22–24),” GOTR 46 (2001): 259–60. Modern translations face the same problems: (a) “created me” (RSV, NRSV, NJB, NJPS, NET), “m’a créée” (BJ), “hat mich geschaffen” (EÜ), “made me” (JPS); (b) “begot me” (NAB), “brought me forth” (NIV), “m’a engendrée” (TOB); (c) “possessed me” (KJV, NASB), “hat mich schon gehabt” (LUT). The Targum adjusted also ‫ דרכו‬as ‫“ בריותיה‬his creations” (‫)ייי בראני בריש בריותיה‬. Fridericus Field, Origenis Hexaplorum quae supersunt (vol. 2; Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1964), 326. Vawter, “Prov 8:22,” 205–17. For Irwin, the idea of possession was also implied in acquisition (Irwin, “Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?,” 134). Also ‫“ ִמ ְקנֵה‬richness,” “cattle,” ‫“ ִקנְי ָן‬merchandise” (Lev 22:11). UT 51, I:23; III:26, 29–30, 35; IV:32, cf. Loren R. Fisher, ed., Rash Shamra Parallels: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible (vol. 1; Rome: Pontificum Institutum Biblicum, 1972), 326. UT 49, III:5,11; 51 II:11; III:32; 2 Aqht I:25, cf. Cyrus Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook (2nd ed; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1998), 373. Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 408. E. Lipi ski, “‫ ָקנָה‬,” TDOT 13:268–72. Cf. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 280. (a) “at the beginning” (RSV, NRSV, NAS, NJPS), “in the beginning” (KJV), “im Amfang” (LUT, EÜ); (b) “as the beginning” (NIV). Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 409. “Erstling[swerk],” cf. Wolfgang Oswald, “Das Erstlingswerk Gottes–zur Übersetzung von Gen 1:1,” ZAW 120 (2008): 417–21. “first-fruits” (NJB), “prémices” (BJ), “prémice” (TOB). “first-born” (NAB). Vawter, “Prov 8:22,” 214–15. M. Dahood considered ‫ דרכו‬as a verb with pronominal suffix (dativus commodi) and ‫ קדם‬as the name of God, “The Primeval,” according to his understanding of Ps 55:20 and Deut 33:27. Mitchell Dahood, “Proverbs 8:22–31: Translation and Commentary,” CBQ 30 (1968): 513–14. HALOT 232. Cf. Deut 32:4, where ‫ דרך‬is paralleled by ‫“ פעל‬deed.” Toy, Proverbs, 173. Jean de Savignac, “Note sur le sens du verset VIII 22 des Proverbes,” VT 4 (1954): 430–31. “Le Seigneur m’a produite comme sa manifestation première, les prémices éternelles de ses oeuvres.”

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30 K. Koch, “‫דֶּ ֶרְך‬,” TDOT 3:286. 31 Field, Origenis Hexaplorum quae supersunt, 2:326. 32 BDB 651. 33 HALOT 703. 34 “I was set up” (KJV, RSV, NRSV), “I was firmly set” (NJB), “je fus établie” (BJ), “Ich bin eingesetzt” (LUT), “I was established” (NASB), “I was appointed” (NIV), “j’ai été sacrée” (TOB). 35 “I was poured forth” (NAB). 36 “I was fashioned” (NJPS), “… wurde ich gebildet” (EÜ). 37 V.A. Hurowitz, “Nursling, Advisor, Architect? ‫ אמון‬and the Role of Wisdom in Proverbs 8:22–31,” Bib 80 (1999): 391–400 (394). 38 Murphy, Proverbs, 47–48. 39 Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 411. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 281, proposing a different vocalization, ‫נְסַכּ ֹתִ י‬, from the root ‫סכך‬. 40 Eugen Pentiuc, “A Self-Offering God and His Begotten Wisdom,” 256–59. 41 Vawter, “Prov 8:22”: “That is to say, wisdom appears here as a being existing before all created things, not a creature, therefore, but a prior to creation, which was attainable and attained by God, who then concurred with it in the creation and ordering of the universe,” 207. 42 de Savignac, “Note sur le sens du verset VIII 22 des Proverbes,” 430–31. 43 HALOT 311; Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 282; Pentiuc, “A Self-Offering God and His Begotten Wisdom,” 261. 44 Stephen A. Kaufman, ed., Targum Proverbs, with text from L. Diez Merino, Targum de Proverbios (Madrid, 1984), with variants from P. Lagarde, Hagiographia Chaldaice. 45 Toy, Proverbs, 174. 46 Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AYB; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 319, prefer the reading from 2 Kgs; however, Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 37–52: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AYB; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 522 only mentions the difference, without excluding the reading “craftsmen.” 47 Jeremy Black, Andrew George and Nicholas Postgate, A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (2nd ed.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2000), 422. 48 Michael V. Fox, “ʾAmon again,” JBL 115 (1996): 700. 49 Carey A. Moore, Esther: Introduction, Translation and Notes (AYB; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 29–30 reads beʾ āmnah (i.e. preposition accompanied by infinitive qal with pronominal suffix), instead of beʾomnâ (that is, a preposition with feminine nomen, cf. G.R. Driver, VT 4 [1954]: 235). 50 (a.1) “craftsman” referring to God: “I was beside the master craftsman” (NJB); (a.2) “craftsman” referring to the Wisdom: “as a master workman” (NASB), “like a master workman” (RSV), “like a master worker” (NRSV), “as his craftsman” (NAB), “then I was the craftsman at his side” (NIV), “j’étais à ses côtés comme le maître d’oeuvre” (BJ), “je fus maître d’oeuvre à son côté” (TOB); (b) “as one brought up with him” (KJV), “als sein Liebling” (LUT), “als geliebtes Kind” (EÜ); (c) “as a confidant” (NJPS). The UBS Handbook for translations retained two meanings, “master craftsman” and “child”, relating the former to God. Cf. William D. Reyburn and Euan McG. Fry, A Handbook on

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Proverbs, (UBS Handbook Series, Helps for Translators; New York: United Bible Societies, 2000), 194–95. R. B. Y. Scott, “Wisdom in Creation: the ʾāmôn of Proverbs VIII 30,” VT 10 (1960): 219– 20, 222. Theodor H. Gaster, “Old Testament Notes,” VT 4 (1954): 77. Murphy, Proverbs, 47–48; J. de Savignac, “La Sagesse en Proverbes VIII 22–31,” VT 12 (1962): 212. Cf. Dave Bland, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, & Song of Songs (The College Press NIV Commentary OT Series; Joplin: College Press, 2002), 100–101. Ross, Proverbs, 946–47. Henri Cazelles, “A iqar, Ummân and Amun, and Biblical Wisdom Texts,” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (ed. Ziony Zevit, Seymour Gitin and Michael Sokoloff; Grand Rapids: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 45– 55. Cleon L. Rogers III, “The Meaning and Significance of the Hebrew Word ‫ אמן‬in Proverbs 8:30,” ZAW 109 (1997): 208–21. John W. Miller, Proverbs (BCBC; Scottdale: Herald, 2004), 96–7. P.A.H. de Boer, “The Counselor,” in Wisdom in Israel and in Ancient Near East: Presented to Professor Harold Henry Rowley by the Society for Old Testament Study in association with the Editorial Board of Vetus Testamentum, in celebration of his sixty-fifth birthday (VTSup 3; ed. Martin Noth and D. Winton Thomas; Leiden: Brill, 1955), 42–71 (70). Toy, Proverbs, 177–78. Hurowitz, “Nursling, Advisor, Architect?” 391–400. Fox, “ʾAmon again,” 699–702. Fox, Proverbs 1–9, 287. Stuart Weeks, “The Context and Meaning of Proverbs 8:30a,” JBL 125 (2006): 440–42. Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 420. Richard J. Clifford, Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and in the Bible (CBQMS 26; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1994). R.N. Whybray, “Proverbs VIII 22–31 and Its Supposed Prototypes,” VT 15 (1965): 504– 14. Kathleen A. Farmer, Who Knows What Is Good?: A Commentary on the Books of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes (ITC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmands, 1991), 52. Gerlinde Baumann, Die Weisheitsgestalt in Proverbien 1–9 (FAT 16; Tübingen: MohrSiebeck, 1996), 1–57. S. Mowinckel, RGG2 2: 2065: “eine halb selbständige, halb als Offenbarungsform einer höheren Gottheit betrachtete göttliche Wesenheit, die eine Personifizierung einer Eigenschaft, einer Wirksamkeit, eines Gliedes uzw. einer höheren Gottheit darstellt.” Cf. also Helmer Ringgren, Word and Wisdom: Studies in the Hypostatization of Divine Qualities and Functions in the Ancient Near East (Lund: Håkan Ohlssons, 1947). Burton L. Mack, “Wisdom Myth and Mythology: An Essay in Understanding a Theological Tradition,” Int 24 (1970): 46–60. Aramaen Ahiqar Proverbs in Papyrus Sachau 53, 16–54, 1, dating from 7th century BCE, but preserved in a fifth century BCE manuscript: “[Wi]sdom is [from] the gods, and to the gods she is precious; for[ever] her kingdom is fixed in he[av]en, for the holy lord elevated [her ---]”. W.F. Albright, “The Goddess of Life and Wisdom,” AJSLL 36 (1920): 285–87; From the Stone Age to Christianity: Monotheism and the Historical Process (Baltimore: John

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Hopkins, 1940), 283–84. He also mentioned the attribution of Wisdom to Baal in the Ugaritic literature. Mark Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 133–35. Margaret Barker, “Wisdom: the Queen of Heaven,” SJT 55 (2002): 141–59. John Day, Yahweh and the Gods And Goddesses of Canaan (2nd ed.; JSOTSup 265; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 66–67. Alan Lenzi, “Proverbs 8:22–31: Three Perspectives on Its Composition,” JBL 125 (2006): 687–714. Christa Kayatz, Studien zu Proverbien 1–9: Eine form- und motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung unter Einbeziehung ägyptischen Vergleichsmaterials (WMANT 22; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1966). Cf. Bruce K. Waltke, “The Book of Proverbs and Ancient Wisdom Literature,” BSac 136 (1979): 221–238 (here 232–234). “The Admonitions of an Egyptian Sage: The Admonitions of Ipuwer,” translated by Nili Shupak (COS 1.42:97, n. 38). “Justice is great, and its appropriateness is lasting; it has not been disturbed since the time of him who made it, (whereas) there is punishment for him who passes over its laws. It is the (right) path before him who knows nothing. Wrongdoing has never brought its undertaking into port. (It may be that) it is fraud that gains riches, (95) (but) the strength of justice is that it lasts, and a man may say: “It is the property of my father.” “The Instructions of the Vizier Ptah-hotep,” translated by John A. Wilson (ANET, 412). “From Coffin Texts Spell 78,” translated by James P. Allen (COS 1.7:11, n. 3); “From Coffin Texts Spell 80,” trans. James P. Allen (COS 1.8:12, n. 4). “The Pyramid Texts of Pepi II,” 513, in The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts (trans. James P. Allen; Writing from the Ancient World 23; Atlanta: SBL, 2005), 291: “Everything that will happen to Pepi Neferkare, the same will happen to Father’s Enforcer, the Sun’s daughter on his thighs. Everything that will happen to Pepi Neferkare, the same will happen to Adversary (of disorder), the Sun’s daughter on his thighs.” Richard J. Clifford, “The Pyramid Texts of Pepi II,” 31 in The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts, 244: “Pepi Neferkare will put] Maat before the Sun on the day of the New-Year’s festival. The sky is in contentment and the earth is in gladness, for they have heard that Pepi Neferkare will put Maat [ … and they will] greet Pepi Neferkare’s [entrance] in his court because of the correct phrase that comes from his mouth.” The same is expressed in “The Pyramid Texts of Queen Neith,” 7 in The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts, 312: “Neith will shine by day (as) one who removes transgression and sets up Maat behind the Sun.” In a variant of spell 424, “Pepi sets up [Maat] like the Sun” (cf. The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts, 344). “Karnak, Campaign against the Hittites,” translated by K.A. Kitchen (COS 2.4E: 30). Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 408. Michael V. Fox, “World Order and Maʿat: A Crooked Parallel,” JANES 23 (1995): 37–48. Burton L. Mack, “Wisdom Myth and Mythology: An Essay in Understanding a Theological Tradition,” Int 24 (1970): 54. John S. Kloppenborg, “Isis and Sophia in the Book of Wisdom,” HTR 75 (1982): 57–84. Richard J. Clifford, Proverbs: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1999), 24–27. The first apkallu is U’an, mentioned by Berossus as Oannes, and the last umm nu is the Aramaean Ahiqar. The so-called van Dijk list was discovered in Uruk.

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86 Toy, Proverbs, 172. 87 Toy, Proverbs, 172. 88 Gerhard von Rad, Israël et la sagesse (trans. Étienne de Peyer; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1971), 183–84. 89 Roland E. Murphy, “Wisdom and Creation,” JBL 104 (1985): 3–11. 90 Miller, Proverbs, 97. 91 Duane A. Garrett, Proverbs. Ecclesiastes. Song of Songs (NAC 14; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1993), 108. 92 Daniel H. Williams, “Proverbs 8:22–31,” Int 48 (1994): 275–79; William P. Brown, “Proverbs 8:22–31,” Int 63 (2009): 286–288. 93 Martin Leuenberger, “Die personifizierte Weisheit vorweltlichen Ursprungs von Hi 28 bis Joh 1: Ein traditionsgeschichtlicher Strang zwischen den Testamenten,” ZAW 120 (2008): 377. 94 David J.A. Clines, Job 21–37 (WBC 18A; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006), 920–22. 95 Leuenberger, “Die personifizierte Weisheit,” 379. 96 Shannon Burkes, “‘Life’ Redefined: Wisdom and Law in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch,” CBQ 63 (2001): 55–71. 97 Rudolf Bultmann, “Der religionsgeschichtliche Hintergrund des Prologs zym JohannesEvangelium”, in: Erich Dinkler (ed.), Exegetica. Aufsätze zur Erforschung des Neuen Testaments, J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), Tübingen, 1967, pp. 10–35. The Wisdom myth might be found in Wis 7:27; Sir 24:32–34; Bar 3:38; Herm. Vis. 1.2.2; 2.4.1; 3.1.6. 98 Marshall D. Johnson, “Reflections on a Wisdom Approach to Matthew’s Christology,” CBQ 36 (1974): 44–64. In Q the Wisdom motifs are present only in Luke 7:35; 11:49. 99 “There is in her a spirit that is intelligent, holy, unique, manifold, subtle, mobile, clear, unpolluted, distinct, invulnerable, loving the good, keen, irresistible, beneficent, humane, steadfast, sure, free from anxiety, all-powerful, overseeing all, and penetrating through all spirits that are intelligent, pure, and altogether subtle” (NRSV) (ἔστιν γὰρ ἐν αὐτῇ πνεῦμα νοερόν ἅγιον μονογενές πολυμερές λεπτόν εὐκίνητον τρανόν ἀμόλυντον σαφές ἀπήμαντον φιλάγαθον ὀξύ ἀκώλυτον εὐεργετικόν φιλάνθρωπον βέβαιον ἀσφαλές ἀμέριμνον παντοδύναμον πανεπίσκοπον καὶ διὰ πάντων χωροῦν πνευμάτων νοερῶν καθαρῶν λεπτοτάτων). 100 Nozomi Miura, “A Typology of Personified Wisdom Hymns,” BTB 34 (2004): 138–49. 101 Cornelis Bennema, “The Strands of Wisdom Tradition in Intertestamental Judaism: Origins, Developments and Characteristics,” TynBul 52 (2001): 61–82. 102 “And on the sixth day I commanded my wisdom to create man out of the seven components,” cf. “2 (Slavonic Apocalypse of) Enoch,” translated by F.I. Andersen in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; vol. 1; New York: Yale University Press, 1983), 150. 103 David A. Reed, “How Semitic Was John? Rethinking the Hellenistic Background to John 1:1,” AThR 85 (2003): 709–726; Rendel Harris, The Origin of the Prologue of St John’s Gospel (Cambridge: University Press, 1917). 104 Leuenberger, “Die personifizierte Weisheit,” 366–386. 105 For the Greek text, cf. Peder Borgen, Kåre Fuglseth and Roald Skarsten, The Works of Philo: Greek Text with Morphology (Logos Research System, 2005); for the English translation, cf.

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The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged (rev. ed.; trans. C.D. Yonge; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1996). Thomas H. Toblin, “The Prologue of John and Hellenistic Jewish Speculation,” CBQ 52 (1990): 252–269 (258). 11QPsa Hymn to the Creator: “Blessed is he who created the earth with his power, who established the world with his Wisdom.” The Sifre of Deuteronomy 11:10: “The Law, highly prized than everything, was created before everything.” Genesis Rabba 1:1: “Thus God consulted the Torah and created the world, while the Torah declares, ‘In the beginning God created’, ‘beginning referring to the Torah, as in the verse, ‘The Lord made me as the beginning of his way’.” Midrash Rabba 15:19: “The Torah says, ‘I was the architectural instrument of the Holy One.’ It is customary that when a human king erects a palace he does not build it in accordance with his own ideas, but according to the ideas of the architect. The architect likewise does not depend only upon his thoughts, but has the necessary parchments and tablets to know how he is to plan the rooms and entrances. So did the Holy One, blessed be He, look into the Torah and created the universe accordingly.” Shimon Bakon, “Two Hymns to Wisdom: Proverbs 8 and Job 28,” JBQ 36 (2008): 226. Dialogue with Trypho 61 (ANF 1:227). Embassy for the Christians 10.4 (ANF 2:133). To Autolycus 2.10 (ANF 2:98). He cites Prov 8:27. Against Hermogenes 18 (ANF 3:487), citing Prov 8:27–31; Against Praxeas 6 (ANF 3:601), citing Prov 8:22–25:27–30. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100–600) (vol. 1 of The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine; Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1971), 191. Against heresies 4.20.3 (ANF 1:488). The Refutation of All Heresies 6.9 (ANF 5:77). Commentary on the Gospel of John 1.22 (ANF 9:307): “Christ is demiurge as a beginning (arche), inasmuch as He is wisdom.” Simonetti, “Sull’interpretazione patristica di Proverbi 8,” 22–24. Commentary on the Gospel of John 1.39 (ANF 9:317): “the Wisdom of God which is above every creature (τὴν ὑπὲρ πᾶσαν κτίσιν σοφίαν) speaks of herself, when she says: ‘God created me the beginning of His ways, for His works.’ By this creating act (δι’ ἣν κτίσιν) the whole creation was enabled to exist.” Origen, De principiis 1.2.2 (ANF 4:246; PG 11:131a–c): “And who that is capable of entertaining reverential thoughts or feelings regarding God, can suppose or believe that God the Father ever existed, even for a moment of time, without having generated this Wisdom (extra hujus sapientiae generationem)? For in that case he must say either that God was unable to generate (generare) Wisdom before He produced her, so that He afterwards called into being her who formerly did not exist, or that He possessed the power indeed, but—what cannot be said of God without impiety—was unwilling to use it; both of which suppositions, it is patent to all, are alike absurd and impious […] And therefore we must believe that Wisdom was generated before any beginning that can be either comprehended or expressed. And since all the creative power of the coming creation was included in this very existence of Wisdom, […] having been formed beforehand and arranged by the power

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of foreknowledge; on account of these very creatures which had been described, as it were, and prefigured in Wisdom herself, does Wisdom say, in the words of Solomon, that she was created the beginning of the ways of God (creatam esse sapientia initium viarum Dei), inasmuch as she contained within herself either the beginnings, or forms, or species of all creation.” Simonetti, “Sull’interpretazione patristica di Proverbi 8:22,” 26–28. Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 107. Rudolf Lorenz, Arius Judaizans? Untersuchungen zur dogmengeschichtlichen Einordnung des Arius (Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 31; Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 68. He referred to St Epiphanius, Panarion 69.12.1, where Arius introduced his heresy by interpreting Prov 8:22–25, cf. The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Books II and III (Sects 47–80, De fide) (Nag Hammadi studies 36; transl. Frank Williams; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 332. Lorenz cited also Agapius of Menbidj (Hierapolis), ca. 942 CE who asserted that Arius was asked to explain the verse Prov 8:22 applied in a sermon to Christ and he fulfilled this urging in a second one. Williams, Arius, 107–08. Other passages are Ps 45:7–8; Isa 1:2; Deut 32:18; Job 38:28; Rom 11:36; Ps 110:3 and John 8:42. “The Letter of Arius to Eusebius, Bishop of Nicomedia,” cf. Theodoret, The Ecclesiastical History 1.4 (NPNF2 3:41). According to M. Simonetti, ὁρισθῇ was added for metrical reasons, cf. Simonetti, “Sull’interpretazione patristica di Proverbi 8:22,” 33. St Athanasius, Councils of Ariminium and Seleucia 16 (NPNF2 4:458). Winrich Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 2),” ZAC 10 (2006): 123. “The Son has been timelessly (ἄχρονος) begotten by the Father and, since he has been created and founded (Prov 8:22–23) before the eons, there was no time before he had been generated. The Son alone (μόνος) is from (ὑπό) the Father” (cf. Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 2),” 129). Theodoret, The Ecclesiastical History 1.5 (NPNF2 3:42). St Athanasius, Deposition of Arius NPNF2 04, p. 70. Winrich Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 1),” ZAC 9 (2006), 524–60 (548). Thalia, fragment West 6. Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 2),” 137. Thalia, fragment West 8. Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 2),” 138. Thalia, fragment West 16. Löhr, “Arius Reconsidered (Part 2),” 142. R.D. Williams, “The Logic of Arianism,” JThS 34 (1983): 56–81 (here 74–78). Jon M. Robertson, Christ as Mediator: A Study of the Theologies of Eusebius of Caesarea, Marcellus of Ancyra, and Athanasius of Alexandria (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 114. Sara Parvis, Marcellus of Ancyra and the Lost Years of the Arian Controversy 325–345 (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 35–36. Die Fragmente Marcells 9, cf. Erich Klostermann, Eusebius Werke (vol. 4; GCS 14; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrich, 1906), 186–187. Die Fragmente Marcells 10, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 187. Die Fragmente Marcells 17, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 187. Die Fragmente Marcells 20, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 188. Die Fragmente Marcells 21, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 188. Die Fragmente Marcells 22, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 188. Die Fragmente Marcells 23, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 188–89.

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142 Die Fragmente Marcells 27, cf. Klosterman, Eusebius Werke, 189. 143 Klaus Seibt, Die Theologie des Markell von Ankyra (Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 59; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1992), 317–23. 144 Parvis, Marcellus of Ancyra, 66. 145 On the Opinion of Dionysius 10–11 (NPNF2 4:180). 146 Four Discourses against the Arians 2.19 (NPNF2 4:372). 147 Four Discourses against the Arians 2.19 (NPNF2 4:372–73). 148 Four Discourses against the Arians 2.19 (NPNF2 4:373). 149 Four Discourses against the Arians 2.19 (NPNF2 4:374). 150 Four Discourses against the Arians 2.19 (NPNF2 4:374–75) 151 Waltke, The Book of Proverbs, 409, n. 104. 152 Paul Heger, The Three Biblical Altar Laws: Developments in the Sacrificial Cult in Practice and Theology: Political and Economic Background (BZAW 279; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999), 39, 90, 169.

I’m Not There: Self-Negation as Authentication in the Prophetic Tradition 1

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The term “biblical Israel” refers to the narrative world produced by a prophetically influenced, priestly scribal community writing from the perspective of the late exilic period (sixth century BC). Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets (1962; Reprinted by Hendrickson: Peabody, MA, 2007). The Torah, especially Deuteronomy, and the quasi-historical narrative that follows reveal two major competing priestly lineages, namely an older (probably northern) Levitical tradition that traces its lineage directly back to Moses, and a Zadokite priestly line that stems from Aaron. See W. Millar, Priesthood in Ancient Israel (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001). The likely identification of Jeremiah with the prophet like Moses can be traced to Isaac Abravanel (or Abarbanel), a 15th C Portuguese Jewish sage. See W. L. Holladay, “The Background of Jeremiah’s Self-Understanding: Moses, Samuel, and Psalm 22,” JBL 83 (1964), 153–64; see also, C. R. Seitz, “The Prophet Moses and the Canonical Shape of Jeremiah, “ ZAW 101 (1989), 3–27. Usage of this phrase may well be a merismus, an idiomatic way of expressing knowledge about everything under the sun. See G. von Rad’s Commentary on Genesis and also A. M. Honeyman, “Merismus in Biblical Hebrew,” JBL 71.1 (1952), 11–18. However, the boundary markers of a merismus determine the category of a set comprised between them. The phrase Dan and Beersheba, for example, includes all Israelite cities in between. Thus it seems that all things within the perspective domain of good and bad is what the author most likely intended. After all, why not say “high and low,” or knowledge of “east and west?” If this is a wisdom motif, and I would argue that it is, the universality of eastern wisdom would not be out of place. The fact that Eve sees that the tree is “good for food and to be desired to make one wise” would similarly recast universal wisdom into “fear of the Lord.” Like Uriah, Tamar bears a Hebrew name (“date palm”), however her ethnic origins remain obscure.

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N. Roddy, “Foreword,” How Jonah is Interpreted in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.” Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, eds. (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2011), i-v.

Rereading Isaiah 40–55 as “Project Launcher” for the Books of the Law and the Prophets 1 2

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In this respect, my work builds from and complements the ongoing work of Paul N. Tarazi. The study of the Joseph type and its transformation for the Festschrift, which is a centerpiece of the argument, proved to be too long for the space limitation incumbent upon a single article; thus it remains for future publication. For this we are largely indebted to the redaction critical work of Willi Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus (2nd ed.; Göttingen; Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959). For a review of recent proposals that seem to come close to the one being proposed here, but diverge as regards the description of the second part, cf. Peter Höffgen, Jesaya: Der Stand der Theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt: WBG, 2004), 101–105. This is why the last instance of its use is in Isa 52:8, occurring just before the redactor reveals the resolution of the problem in the fourth Servant Song. Paul Nadim Tarazi, Genesis (The Chrysostom Bible; St Paul, Minn.: OCABS Press, 2009), 27–33. The functional connection between the use in Gen 1:1ff and Isaiah 40–55 seems best reflected in Isa 4:5, a pivotal verse in the introductory section of the book of Isaiah as a whole. The first five chapters of the book of Isaiah, which were probably the last part of the book of Isaiah to have been added, are a summary of the entire book, and consequently introduce also chs. 40–55. The action of God as regards the reconstituted and cleansed remnant, Isa 4:2–6, is described as a creation event corresponding to the giving of the law on Sinai, and as a coming to the assembly where the reading of the law takes place: “Then the Lord will create (br’) over the whole site of Mount Zion and over its places of assembly (miqrā’ehā, assembly to hear a reading) a cloud by day and smoke and the shining of a flaming fire by night. Indeed over all the glory there will be a canopy” (Isa 4:5, NRSV). It is precisely in comparison with an apparently missing Joseph cycle that it will be possible to start giving an answer to this question, a problem that will be addressed in a forthcoming study as part two of this work. Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic (rev. ed.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979). P. Tarazi, “Deuteronomy as a ‘Reprise’ of Gen 1–2: A Redaction Critical Reading” (Paper presented at ANZATS/ANZSTS Conference, Queens College, Parkville, Melbourne, Australia, July 6, 2004). The word here is bārûr, from brr. Compare this with the use in Isa 52:11 of the same root in the nip`al as a description of the ritual purity requisite of those who bear the vessels of the Lord. The question posed in the forthcoming second part of this study will be whether or not the semantic weight of the name Joseph in the book of Genesis has been subjected to modification. In other words, does the storyline effect a semantic transformation on this appellation or type? See W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2 (trans. James D. Martin; ed. P. D. Hanson and L. J. Greenspoon; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 191–202. Zimmerli analyzes the

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incongruities in the flow of the text as it stands and juxtaposes the use of the mention of Abraham in Ezekiel with that in Isa 41:8 and specially Isa 51:2 (see esp. pp. 198–99). Cf. also Walther Eichrodt, Ezekiel (trans. Cosslett Quin; OTL; London: SCM, 1970), 456– 467. Edward W. Lane, An Arabic-English Lexicon (London: Williams & Norgate, 1863), 1171– 72. (Sept. 23, 2010). Even if, for argument’s sake, one were to concede the originality of the mention of Abraham in Ezek 33:24, the expiatory function of the weak lamb reflected in Genesis 22, is inherently the synthetic composition of Isaiah 40–55. P. Tarazi, The Old Testament: An Introduction: Vol. 1: Historical Traditions (rev. ed.; Crestwood, N.Y.: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003), 92–94. This feature functions as a send-off from part one, introducing the second part juxtaposing the parable of Abraham and Sarah to Jacob, much as in the case of Gen 17:5 where Abram is to become Abraham. Indeed, to Judah, cf. 48:1. Note that Jerusalem is used in parallel with Zion in both parts one and two. It is in this subsection that we have the last use of the term Zion in this composition. The Servant of the fourth song will bring to an end the barrenness of Jerusalem. The Servant fulfills the role that Jacob failed to provide, which thereby made Jerusalem a barren ground. The Servant, as a scapegoat, will end the drought. The significance of this appellation will be expanded upon in the forthcoming part two in connection with the Joseph story. In the Joseph story Jacob must cede obedience to Joseph. See Kamal Abou-Chaar, “The Two Builders: A Study of the Parable in Luke 6:47–49,” NESTTR 1 (1982): 44–58, especially par. II.B. This last ambivalence is reduplicated in the liminal character of Joseph in the Genesis story. It is also the name “Rachel,” mother of Joseph and Benjamin, and favored bride of Jacob. The invocation of Noah is especially pertinent in terms of the parallels with Jacob as presented in chs. 40–49. Jacob had been practically annihilated as a result of his sins and yet is being offered an analogous unbreakable covenant. The name “Noah,” nh, is also to the point, equivalent to the unvocalized hollow root nḥ/nûḥ, meaning “to rest” or “give rest.” Although not the same as nḥm (“to comfort”), which is the leitmotif of Isaiah 40–55, it is a term (as “interim rest”) that bears analogy to it. In accordance with the teaching of part one, where God alone is King over Jacob (43:15), David is not called king, but only a prince and commander. There is no mention of a covenant with him (this is predicated only of the Servant in Isaiah 40–55). The covenant with the Servant has the same attribute of “being sure,” like the “love” manifested to David by God. The reference to David/Jerusalem following the reference to Noah in the previous passage, makes David’s blessings hinge on and subject to the Noahic promise to the nations. This is reflected in Isa 1–39 (Isa 2:2–4; 11:6–9) and runs parallel to the teaching found in Jer 29:7. The surety expressed to David is similar to the surety expressed to the nations, and both find their fulfillment in the covenant that comes concomitant with the Servant-rahām. The Servant, as we saw, has neither lineage nor progeny. The opposing received versions of the promised divine love for David/Jerusalem (e.g., Ezek 37:22,24) are channeled to and subsumed under (critically so) the covenant of the Servant-rahām, much as the covenant with Ab-raham subsumes all other subsequent actions of God with Jacob.

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I would suggest that Hos 12:4–5 does not present a synonymous parallelism, but rather a climactic one that follows the storyline of Gen 32:2–35:15. This explains the two different derivations in vv. 4–5. Lane, An Arabic-English Lexicon, 1337–1340, 1353–1356. Qur’an 17:1. As in the Arabic name “Yasser.” Lane, An Arabic-English Lexicon, 2975–2978. Our texts indeed associate the name Israel primarily with the Northern Kingdom, Ephraim. Ephraim is described as very wealthy and fruitful (cf. Gen 41:52; Hos 12:8–9). See J. Payne Smith, ed., A Compendious Syriac Dictionary: Founded Upon the Thesaurus Syriacus of Robert Payne (Oxford: Clarendon, 1903). (Sept. 23, 2010). The mysterious blow Jacob receives to his hip joint in v. 26 appears also to be assimilation to the profile of the Servant in the fourth Servant Song. The hip would stand for the procreative capacity of a man. The Servant appears to have no progeny that would keep his memory (Isa 53:8). I derive Benjamin from the Arabic root ymn indicating “right hand” or “good fortune” in the sense of wielding power by means of a mighty right arm or “having the upper hand.” See Paul N. Tarazi, “The Book of Jeremiah and the Pentateuchal Torah,” in Sacred Text and Interpretation: Perspectives in Orthodox Biblical Studies (ed. Theodore G. Stylianopoulos; Brookline, Mass.: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 2006), 7–36. Tarazi, Old Testament: An Introduction, 23–25, 29–40. Paul N. Tarazi, “Paul, the One Apostle of the One Gospel,” JOCABS 2.1 (2009): 15–18. (Sept. 23, 2010). Tarazi, The New Testament: An Introduction: Volume 4: Matthew and the Canon (St Paul, Minn.: OCABS Press, 2009), 48 n.9, and Tarazi, Genesis, 32–33, where Ezekiel and Second Isaiah are named as the two “Fathers of Scripture.” This position is given expression and argued at length, as regards the Pentateuch, in: Tarazi, “The Book of Jeremiah and the Pentateuchal Torah.” Idem. Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic.

The Function of Hyperbole in Ezekiel 1 1 2 3 4 5

Ezek 1:28b. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are taken from the Revised Standard Version (RSV). Paul N. Tarazi. The Old Testament Introduction: Prophetic Traditions (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1994), 160. Ezekiel 20 elaborates upon this, as the time when God will act to deliver his people, which he placed in Babylon because of their sin. Walther Zimmerli. A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), 100. Ezekiel 9–11 gives the account of the vision of Ezekiel in Jerusalem. God shows Ezekiel the place about to be destroyed, and God’s “glory” leaves the city. Ezekiel pleads with God, but to no avail.

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Ezek 24:1–2 announces the actual siege, whereas the preceding chapters gave a vision of its destruction. Gen 11:27–31; cf. Ezek 1:3. Ezekiel 16 and 23. God begins his word to Ezekiel on Jerusalem’s harlotry with a reminder of where they came from: “Your origin and birth are of the land of the Canaanites; your father was an Amorite, and your mother a Hittite” (16:3). Tarazi, Old Testament Introduction, 154–55. See also 2:9. Ezek 39:21–24; see also 36:22–36, 37:1–15. Tarazi, Old Testament Introduction, 151. Ibid., 151–52. Ibid., 159.

Narrator, Audience, and the Sign-Acts of Ezekiel 3–5 1

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Usually researchers address the meaning the acts may have had for Ezekiel’s contemporaries. For example, Walther Zimmerli considers the sign-acts beyond symbolic or simple biographical facts, but as a form of preaching carried out in deed; see W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24 (ed. F. M. Cross and K. Baltzer; trans. R. E. Clements; Hermenia; Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress Press, 1979), 156–7. In a similar way, Daniel Block considers the signacts to be dramatizations of some future event; see D. Block, The Book of Ezekiel, vol. 1, Chapters 1–24, The New International Commentary on the Old Testament (ed. R. L. Hubbard, Jr.; Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1997), 164–66. Beyond these points, Moshe Greenberg emphasizes that the acts were necessarily to be performed in front of an audience since they are not “magical” (cf. Jer 51:61–4) and have no effect independent of those who sees them. Greenberg agrees with Block in that the acts function to visualize the prophet’s message; see M. Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Anchor Bible, vol. 22 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 122. Overall, these writers understand that the prophet conveys his point to his contemporaries via sign-acts. Finally, Kelvin Friebel examines how Ezekiel’s acts functioned as rhetoric for his audience at the time he performed the actions. In his book on “rhetorical nonverbal communication,” Friebel writes that the aim of the acts was to communicate, persuade the people standing before Ezekiel at the time, and to elicit appropriate responses; K. Friebel, Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts: Rhetorical Nonverbal Communication (JSOTSup 283; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 13. Friebel, Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts, 11. Friebel writes, “A distinction must be made between the respective audiences: the viewers of the actions, and the readers of the literary accounts who are not assumed to have been present at the time of the performance of the sign-act,” Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts, 13. Robert Alter defines this term: “A proper narrative event occurs when the narrative tempo slows down enough for us to discriminate a particular scene; to have the illusion of the scene’s “presence” as it unfolds; to be able to imagine the interaction of personages or sometimes personages and groups . . .”; R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 63.

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One should note that narrative criticism only rarely deals with prophetic books, as it tends to prefer the narratives of the Pentateuch and DtrH. Shimon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (trans. Dorothea Shefer-Vanson; JSOTSup 70; Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 10. Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1985), 1. One must be careful not to confuse the narrator and focalizor; see M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, 2d ed (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 19. David M. Gunn and Danna Nolan Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 52. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art, 13. Gunn and Fewell say this more strongly: “We would urge the reader of biblical narrative, therefore, to observe that the narrator is not the author but a fictional construct,” Narrative, 52. The current work does not discuss this view, however, because of his use of the word “fictional,” which goes beyond the present scope. Wayne C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), 152. For a discussion on this topic in more recent fiction, see John Mullan, How Novels Work (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 45–47. Bal, Narratology, 8. By putting the narrative in the mouth of a reliable character, the reader tends to take what is said more seriously, according to Eric S. Christianson, A Time to Tell: Narrative Strategies in Ecclesiastes (JSOTSup 280; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 57. Bal mentions the same effect when she writes, “The difference between an EN and a CN, a narrator that tells about others and a narrator that tells about him- or herself—such a narrator is personified—entails a difference in the narrative rhetoric of ‘truth.’ A CN usually proclaims that it recounts true facts about her- or himself. ‘It’ pretends to be writing ‘her’ autobiography, even if the fabula is blatantly implausible, fantastic, absurd, metaphysical”; Narratology, 22. Similarly, Michael Fox writes, “It would be too easy to look upon Uncle Remus as a cute and simple “darky” with his dialect and his animal stories. Harris wants us to treat him seriously, so he provides a frame-narrative that treats him seriously”; “Frame Narrative and Composition in Qohelet,” HUCA 48 (1977), 95. This strategy contrasts significantly with Isaiah, for example, where in the opening verses, the reader has a difficult time understanding who is speaking and cannot make a clear judgment about the narrator. Ch. 1 has sixteen occurrences. Ch. 1 has ten occurrences. This also may show that Ezekiel is speaking at a level at which the “mere mortal” reader of the text could also understand, thus creating solidarity between reader and narrator. Another time that one sees Ezekiel’s restrictions is in ch. 9, in the description of the slaughter of the inhabitants of Jerusalem. The story describes in great detail the events inside the temple: how many men there were and where they were standing (v. 2) and what the Lord told them they needed to do (vv. 4–7). Significantly, there is no information about how they actually carried out their duties. One would like to know who received the “X” and was saved, but from the inside of the temple, Ezekiel cannot see this. All that Ezekiel reports about the event is in v. 11, when the man in linen says to the Lord, “I acted according to everything you commanded me.” Spatially, the events depicted are limited to where Ezekiel is. Clearly, Ezekiel does not narrate with omniscience, so the reader’s

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understanding of events is limited to the narrator’s demonstrably finite point of view. In this same scene, one finds another limitation to Ezekiel’s point of view. In 10:13 he reveals that he did not even know what the ‫ גלגל‬was, until someone said it “in his hearing” (I am grateful to Lisa Shine for bringing this to my attention). Mullan calls this phenomenon “the inadequate narrator,” who makes the reader “supply what the narrator cannot understand”; How Novels Work, 50. So while Ezekiel is a prophet, the reader has to create part of the vision in his or her own head. The reader may not be able to trust Ezekiel’s verbatim depiction of events. Interestingly, in 12:11, Ezekiel is supposed to tell the people that he performed the events, but even this is from the Lord’s narrative and point of view, not Ezekiel’s. Moreover, the only times that ‫ עשה‬appears with Ezekiel as the focalizor, he refers to the command of the Lord for a description of the acts, e.g., ‫( ואעש כן כאשר צויתי‬12:7) and ‫ואעש בבקר כאשר צויתי‬ (24:18). Friebel discusses the various discussions on whether the sign-acts were actually carried out; Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts, 20–34. In other sign-acts, namely in 12:9; 21:12; 24:29; 37:18; the audience asks questions, implying they do not understand the sign-acts on their own; Friebel, Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts, 415. Friebel, Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s Sign-Acts, 463.

Index Abraham, 15, 29, 46, 64, 102, 104, 109. 110–17, 120, 122, 123, 126, 130–31 Adam, 7, 120, 126 Ahasuerus, 49 Akkadian, 32, 78, 80 Alexander of Alexandria, 85 Alexandria, 30, 34 Ammon, 78 Ammonius, 86 Amos, 98, 133 Anti-history, 25, 29, 33–35 Aquila, 74, 75, 77, 78 Aristotle, 10 Arius, 84–86 Ark, 134 Asherah, 74, 79 Astronomical Book, 27 Athenagoras, 84 Athanasius of Alexandria, 85, 86, 87, 88

Canaan, 64, 67, 68, 80 Chaos, 2–5, 31, 34, 65, 103 Creation, 2–6, 21–23, 26, 29–30, 31–34, 59–69, 74–79, 81–84, 87, 103–05, 132 Cyrus, 106–09 David, 33, 50, 97, 117, 119 Dead Sea Scrolls, 27 Deuteronomistic historian, 33–35, 93–96, 115 Divine kingship, 22, 40, 102–03, 106, 107, 119, 125 Dionysus of Alexandria, 86

Babylon, 3, 33, 92, 104, 108, 110, 130, 131, 134, 137 Babylonian literature, 3, 19, 25– 26, 32, 33, 92 Ben Sira, 73, 82 Blood, 52, 54 Book of Life, 41 Bread, 59, 60–68

Eden, 6, 9, 31, 49, 97, 108, 116 Edom, 21, 125 Egypt, 40, 62, 64, 65, 66, 104, 117, 120, 123, 131 Elijah, 94–96, 98, 99, 108 Elisha, 95–96 Elohist Source (E), 93 Enuma Elish, 26 Enoch, 29 Esau, 39–40, 121, 124, 125 Eucharist, 59-72 Eusebius of Nicomedia, 83 Eve, 7 Ezekiel, 99, 102, 113, 114, 127, 129–34, 135–40

Calendar, 26–33

Flood, 28

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Fool, 8, 10, 12–13, 32, 81 Hazael, 95 Hippolytus, 84 Image and likeness of God, 6, 8, 24, 26, 30–31, 82, 97 Irenaeus, 84 Isaac, 15, 46, 114 Isis, 80 Israel, 49, 53, 54, 60, 62–66, 67, 68, 80, 91, 103, 107, 116, 120, 121–23 Jacob, 15, 40, 42, 102, 105–12, 115–16, 120, 124, 125–26 Jeremiah, 16–22, 49, 96 Jerusalem, 16, 18–20, 21–22, 40, 46, 49, 57, 81, 104, 114, 119, 127, 130, 131, 133 Jesus Christ, 2, 23, 24, 82–85, 87 Jonah, 98, 99 Joshua, 34 Judah, 16, 17, 21, 49, 92, 96, 97, 106, 115 Justice, 14, 19, 21, 22, 40, 93, 94, 105, 108 Justin Martyr, 84 Kant, Immanuel, 24 Lady Wisdom, 16, 24, 73, 80 Levites, 106, 107, 118, 127 Logos, 84, 85, 86 LXX, 2, 24, 30, 33, 37, 39, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 52–56, 74, 75, 78 Maat, 80 Mahanaim, 124 Marcellus, 86 Mashal, 25, 29, 30, 32, 34

Mesopotamian texts, 24 Moses, 30, 40, 91, 103, 105, 106, 108, 118 MUL.APIN, 29, 31 Noah, 11, 117, 119 Origen, 84 Priestly Source (P), 3, 5, 31, 103, 140 Patristic sources, 73, 84, 88, 89 Pentateuch, 34, 35, 81, 104, 109, 110, 115, 124, 126, 129 Pharaoh, 62, 66, 80, 109, 112, 131 Philo of Alexandria, 80, 82, 83, 88 Plato, 10 Platonism, 83, 88 Protagoras, 1 Queen of Heaven, 92 Qumran, 95 Rachel, 122–23, 139 Righteousness, 11, 14, 16, 44, 52– 53, 120, 123, 124, 127 Sabbath, 25, 27, 28, 30–32 Sarah, 102, 104, 110–16, 120–23, 126 Servant songs, 102, 105, 108–17, 126 Sheol, 12 Shu, 80 Sign acts, 135–40 Socrates, 16 Solomon, 8, 80–81, 87, 115 Stoicism, 79, 81, 82 Symmachus, 74, 75, 77, 78 Tabernacle, 5, 124 Targums, 77–78

•FESTSCHRIFT–VOLUME I• Tefnut, 80 Temple, 5, 17, 29, 52, 81, 82, 92, 107, 115, 127, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134 Tent of Meeting, 124, 134 Tertullian, 84 Theodotion, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78 Theophilus, 84 Torah, 1, 2, 25, 31, 40, 41, 54, 55, 66, 78, 81, 83, 84, 88, 93, 97, 99 Tree of Life, 6, 10, 97 Ugaritic, 74 Wisdom, 1–24, 46, 73–89 Zion, 49, 57, 81, 102, 104, 107, 109, 110, 113, 114, 115–16, 122

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BIBLE IN THE CHRISTIAN ORTHODOX TRADITION Vahan S. Hovhanessian, General Editor

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