Reading the Political in Jewish and Christian Texts (Biblical Tools and Studies) 9042940336, 9789042940338

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Biblical Tools and Studies 

R

eading the Political in Jewish and Christian Texts

Edited by

Julia A. Snyder Korinna Zamfir

PEETERS

READING THE POLITICAL IN JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TEXTS

BIBLICAL TOOLS AND STUDIES Edited by B. DOYLE, G. VAN BELLE, J. VERHEYDEN KU Leuven

Associate Editors G. BAZZANA, Harvard Divinity School – A. BERLEJUNG, Leipzig K.J. DELL, Cambridge – J. FREY, Zürich – C.M. TUCKETT, Oxford

Biblical Tools and Studies – Volume 38

READING THE POLITICAL IN JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TEXTS

EDITED BY

JULIA A. SNYDER AND KORINNA ZAMFIR IN COOPERATION WITH SPENCER HEALEY

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT 2020

Cover: T±v kain±v Diaqßkjv †panta. Eûaggélion Novum Iesu Christi D.N. Testamentum ex bibliotheca regia. Lutetiae: ex officina Roberti Stephani, 1550. in-folio. KU Leuven, Maurits Sabbe Library, P225.042/F° Mt 5,3-12

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm or any other means without written permission from the publisher. A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

ISBN 978-90-429-4033-8 eISBN 978-90-429-4034-5 D/2020/0602/17 © 2020, Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven (Belgium)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF IMAGES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

VII

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

IX

Korinna ZAMFIR Reading the “Political” in Jewish and Christian Texts: An Introduction

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SECTION A RELIGION AND POLITICS IN JEWISH TEXTS AND CONTEXTS Eberhard BONS “Seek the Welfare of the City Where I Have Sent You into Exile”: Reflections on Jeremiah’s Instructions to the Exiles in Jer 29,5-7 . .

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Johannes KLEIN Für mehr Zuverlässigkeit Gottes: Die Wächter an den Mauern Jerusalems (Jes 62,6-9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Zoltán OLÁH “The pride of his people was Simon the High Priest” (Sir 50,1): A Leader, Not Just in the Temple? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Barbara SCHMITZ Judas Maccabee in 2 Maccabees: “Political” Perspectives in 2 Maccabees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Jan Willem VAN HENTEN Good and Bad Rulers in Josephus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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SECTION B ANTI-EMPIRE CHRISTIANS? Babett EDELMANN-SINGER Herrscherkult und Neues Testament: Ein Beitrag aus althistorischer Perspektive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109

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Sandra HUEBENTHAL Anti-Gospel Revisited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Tobias NICKLAS Jesus und Vespasian? Das Markusevangelium als politisch interessiertes „Anti-Evangelium“ zum Aufstieg der Flavier? . . . . . . . . . . . 159 Hans KLEIN Jesus and the Roman State in Luke’s Gospel: A Contribution to the Discussion about Church and State  . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 Martin MEISER Acts and Roman Authorities  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 Beate KOWALSKI Conflict among Christians in the Political Setting of Asia Minor . . 213 Julia A. SNYDER Apostles and Politics in the Roman Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 Michael SOMMER Reading the Apocalypse of Peter Politically: Depictions of Christ and Trajan  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257 SECTION C READING THE “POLITICAL” IN CONTEMPORARY CONTEXTS James G. CROSSLEY Contemporary Politics in Ancient Texts: Some Ways to Read Scholarship on Christian Origins as Ideological History . . . . . . 277 Hans KLEIN Biblische Hermeneutik in der Zeit des Kommunismus . . . . . . . 295 LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311 INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES . . . . . . . . . . 315 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 INDEX OF SUBJECTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339

LIST OF IMAGES

Mildenberg 85.12; Meshorer 233; Hendin 711. Courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group. RIC II 212. Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society. RIC II 549. Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society. RIC II 249. Courtesy of Pegasi Numismatics and with permission of wildwinds.com. RIC II 723. With permission of wildwinds.com. 1994.92.4 (American Numismatic Society). Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society. Milne 760. David Lowe Collection, with permission of wildwinds.com.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The editors would like to express our gratitude to all those who supported the production of this volume. Tobias Nicklas was indispensable in helping to organise the 2015 conference in Cluj, Romania, out of which the volume emerged. The Diocese of Regensburg contributed to the organisation, and the Porticus Foundation generously supported a larger project on Religion, Human Rights and Politics at the Centre for Biblical Studies, of which the conference was a part. We are grateful to the Faculty of Catholic Theology at the University of Regensburg and the Centre for Advanced Studies (Beyond Canon; FOR 2770) for underwriting later aspects of the book editing process. Thanks to Spencer Healey for language editing support, Severin Nüßl and Domenico Incannova for help with formatting and proofreading, and Marko Jovanovic for compiling the indices. We also thank Tobias Nicklas for many helpful suggestions along the way. Finally, we would like to express appreciation to BiTS series editor Joseph Verheyden and the staff at Peeters for their work in the publishing process. Julia SNYDER and Korinna ZAMFIR

READING THE “POLITICAL” IN JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TEXTS: AN INTRODUCTION

This volume offers fresh perspectives on the “political” in texts valued by early Jewish and Christian communities. It contributes to an ongoing discussion of how foundational texts engaged with “political” and “cultural” aspects of their society, a topic that has been attracting considerable scholarly interest in recent decades. Highlighting the work of scholars in Eastern and Western Europe, this volume features exegetical studies with literary and/or historical interests, as well as hermeneutical reflection on what it means to read the “political” in ancient texts today. This volume grew out of a conference called Religion and Politics: Jews, Christians and the Empire(s), which took place on 5-6 November 2015 and was organised by the Centre for Biblical Studies at Babeș-Bolyai University, Cluj, Romania. The conference launched an interdisciplinary project on Religion, Politics and Human Rights and proposed, as a first step, to tackle the manner in which textual sources construct the relationship of early Jewish and Christian communities with the state and with political authorities. At the end of the conference, speakers were invited to formulate theses summarising their understanding of the topic, many of which are integrated into this introduction. One fundamental insight concerned the complexity of the topic. Reading the “political” means asking not only about how Jewish and Christian texts engage with the political sphere and “imperial” authority, but also about the reception history of texts and the manner in which scholars’ own contexts shape interpretation. It was pointed out that scholars need to think about how they approach texts and about the influence these texts have on their own stance towards contemporary politics. Most papers from the conference addressed specific texts and considered how certain communities related to the political sphere. To expand the scope of the volume the editors invited further contributors to focus on how contemporary contexts and political developments shape scholarship and the interpretation of biblical texts.

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1. TRENDS IN CURRENT SCHOLARSHIP One noteworthy feature of the conference was that speakers from a variety of cultural and confessional backgrounds repeatedly challenged the entrenched assumption that most ancient religious communities had conflictual relationships with political authorities. This raises questions about trends in current scholarship and about how the authors in this volume relate to those trends. A brief survey of literature published in recent years suggests an increasing interest in the political dimension of biblical texts, sometimes based on the assumption that the Bible provides clear-cut responses to contemporary questions regarding Christian attitudes towards political authority and forms of government. It is impossible to offer a full overview of relevant literature here, but a small selection of titles will highlight some tendencies and introduce the sorts of questions that emerge when one attempts to read the “political” in early Jewish and Christian texts. These questions include: Are there political conceptions and political theories proper in the Bible? Is there a single “biblical perspective” on forms of government and how Jews or Christians should perceive political power, or does one discover a diverse and contradictory array of approaches? Are there “right” and “wrong” attitudes towards political authority, to the state or the “Empire”? Is resistance or submission the appropriate answer? Should one opt for liberating readings of biblical texts? Are the responses, the models and norms found in Jewish and Christian texts still valid and normative for contemporary contexts? How far can paralleling and actualisation go? Richard Bauckham has authored a rather broad overview of the topic, formulating some hermeneutical principles for interpreting political aspects of biblical texts.1 Against an uncritical application of the Bible, Bauckham raises awareness of the linguistic, literary, cultural and historical contexts of biblical texts, which were quite different from those of contemporary readers. Notwithstanding changing circumstances, he argues that the Bible continues to be a source of political and moral principles. In terms of hermeneutical options, Bauckham favours a canonical reading of the Bible. Although admitting that the Bible records different perspectives, he underscores their authoritative canonical context, which he sees as supporting a coherent perspective. In his view, the Old and New Testament converge in political matters. This harmonisation of traditions results in a levelling of the differences between 1. R. BAUCKHAM, The Bible in Politics: How to Read the Bible Politically, Louisville, Westminster John Knox, 1989, 22011.

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different biblical positions. This impression remains even when Bauckham admits that the ideological abuse of certain texts such as Romans 13 can be corrected by other texts that are critical of unjust government. He acknowledges the need for contextual readings of the Bible, but tends to emphasise a universal perspective in global political issues, which he sees as the responsibility of the universal Church. Sometimes the book lacks a critical distance from the texts. Emphasising the enduring value of the Bible as a source of morality, Bauckham does not address those problematic texts that require critical engagement. In a discussion of Jesus’s political views and taxation, he equates the position of the Gospels with that of the historical Jesus too easily. Addressing the relationship of early Christ-believers with Rome, Bauckham takes over the rhetoric of Revelation: he speaks of the satanic, evil, antichristian Roman power, and advances an unreflected image of the emperor cult. Comparisons of the mourners of Babylon/Rome with multinational companies, the advertising industry and the arms trade seem exaggerated. Actualisation goes perhaps a bit too far. One of the best reflections on the political aspects of the Hebrew Bible comes not from a biblical scholar, but from a political theorist, Michael Walzer.2 He reads the Hebrew Bible against the grain, with a critical mind. The Hebrew Bible, Walzer stresses, neither articulates a political theory proper nor advocates a specific model of government. A diversity of political perspectives are expressed – or rather, diverse religious and moral teachings related to public life. He eventually outlines two main political perspectives. On the one hand, a hierarchical, patriarchal option voices absolutistic morals and expresses enmity towards outsiders. On the other hand, there appears to be an “almost-democracy”, built on a covenantal perspective that encompasses everyone, including the marginalised. In Walzer’s view, the king has no legislative power proper, but is subject to divine law, and this allows for dissent and criticism, at least on the part of prophets. All members of the covenantal community share a duty to act justly. This conception of the public sphere does not constitute full democracy, because the people do not partake in governing, but only assent to being governed. Walzer finds no space for political debate, independent decision-making or substantive political engagement in the Hebrew Bible, which he sees as advocating passivity on the part of both leaders and the people: one should embrace God’s saving activity without engaging in political negotiation and action. The omnipotence of God (the “shadow” of God) does not allow for 2. M. WALZER, In God’s Shadow: Politics in the Hebrew Bible, New Haven, Yale University Press, 2012.

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human politics proper. Walzer does not project contemporary political theories and concerns back into the Bible. While moral lessons can be learned, leading to concern for the destitute and the oppressed and addressing the abuse of power, the Hebrew Bible is not a handbook of political theory that can be applied today. Walzer is certainly more critically minded than some biblical scholars. At the opposite end of the spectrum, a volume by Matthew B. Schwartz and Kalman J. Kaplan proposes a rather apologetic approach, envisaging a model of opposition between Jews or Christians and surrounding society.3 They posit a contrast between biblical and other ancient Greco-Roman views in three areas. The Bible allegedly promotes individuality and differentiation over against a Greek and Roman drive toward uniformity and conformity. It also proposes a human, organic morality rather than an abstract equilibrium, and encourages hope as opposed to fear of the future. In this account, the Bible provides a timeless model for politics even with regard to forms of government (i.e., monarchy), as opposed to Greek and Roman political theories and models. Even ancient and contemporary democracies are found to be deficient. This reading of biblical narratives and their paralleling with contemporary events and processes is rather naïve. The interpretation of present-day democracy and institutions, especially in European contexts, is strikingly derogatory. The political message of the Bible is framed as the only truly relevant position today. The political dimension of biblical texts is a major topic notably in New Testament scholarship, and the number of works published on the topic continues to increase. Perhaps most characteristic is the tendency of interpreters in the USA and Europe to discover an anti-imperial edge in New Testament writings. Reacting to developments in American society and politics, the Paul and Politics group of the Society of Biblical Literature (re-) politicizes Jesus and Paul and discovers a political dimension in numerous New Testament writings. The founding figures of Christianity, as well as other voices of the Jesus-movement such as the Gospel of Mark, are portrayed as challenging Roman oppression and imperialism. Paul and the Gospels purportedly voice resistance to the dominant social, cultural and even political order. Such scholarly accounts often presuppose that early Christian communities were made up of the destitute, who developed bonds of mutuality to survive in a repressive socio-political system. Paul’s letters are read as reflecting strategies of concealed resistance against imperial ideology and 3. M.B. SCHWARTZ – K.J. KAPLAN, Politics in the Hebrew Bible: God, Man, and Government, Lanham, Aronson, 2013.

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social and political oppression. This approach largely relies on the work of James C. Scott on forms of passive social resistance to domination by means of “hidden transcripts” of defiance.4 Scott’s ideas have found wide acceptance among scholars in the Paul and Politics group, who have posited such hidden transcripts in the Gospels and several Pauline epistles.5 Anti-imperial interpretation of the Gospels has found its way in German scholarship, as well. The Gospel of Mark, especially, is read as a critique of Rome and a response to the ruler ideology of Vespasian, a construction evaluated by two essays in this volume (Huebenthal and Nicklas).6 This scholarship has the merit of situating the writings of the New Testament within their socio-political context. The followers of Jesus are seen as part of a real world, shaped by the realities of the Roman Empire and Roman rule. The readings have a number of problems, however. The circumstances and power-relations of the Roman Empire are too easily associated with those of modern colonial powers or with US imperialist policies. This reading also leads to an indiscriminate identification of Roman rule with abuse and violence, economic exploitation and political oppression. These aspects cannot be denied or excused, but there was more to the Roman Empire than that. The contribution of the Romans to civilization and infrastructure (cf. “What have the Romans ever done for us?” as asked in Monty Python’s Life of Brian) was already debated in the Babylonian Talmud (cf. b.Shab. 33b). More importantly, opposition to Roman rule is generalised in scholarship to the point that one discovers hidden transcripts of resistance in almost every New Testament writing and statement. The obvious differences between the various New Testament traditions are 4. J.C. SCOTT, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1990. 5. R.A. HORSLEY (ed.), Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society, Harrisburg, Trinity, 1997; id., Paul and Politics: Ekklēsia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl, Harrisburg, Trinity, 2000; id., Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder, Minneapolis, Fortress, 2003; Paul and the Roman Imperial Order, Harrisburg, Trinity, 2004; Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul (Semeia Studies, 48), Leiden, Brill, 2004; Jesus and the Politics of Roman Palestine, Columbia, University of South Carolina Press, 2013. For further titles on specific books of the Bible, see the essays of Tobias Nicklas and Sandra Huebenthal in this volume. 6. M. EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier, in Biblische Notizen 116 (2003) 28-42; id., Das Markusevangelium: Neu übersetzt und kommentiert, Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2008; B. HEININGER, “Politische Theologie” im Markusevangelium: Der Aufstieg Vespasians zum Kaiser und der Abstieg Jesu ans Kreuz, in C. MAYER (ed.), Augustinus Ethik und Politik: Zwei Würzburger Augustinus-Studientage (Cassiciacum, 39,4 = Res et signa. Augustinus-Studien, 4), Würzburg, Echter, 2009, 171-201; further titles in the essay of Tobias Nicklas.

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disregarded in the process and an anti-empire perspective is read into texts that hardly evidence such a stance.

2. SUMMARY OF THE VOLUME This volume is not meant to respond to every possible question and address all relevant texts. The editors and authors have mainly tried to bring some nuance into the discussions outlined above. Against oversimplification, we propose a critical approach, especially with respect to the prevailing anti-empire perspective. It should be said that as editors we did not attempt to identify “correct” responses to questions regarding the relationship between religious communities and the political sphere, nor did we propose a canonical reading. We wanted to acknowledge the diversity of traditions within the Bible and to give a hearing to works that are not part of the canon. We were also not driven by an apologetic desire to claim that Jewish and Christian responses necessarily contradict those constructed in non-Jewish or non-Christian texts or are superior to them. Moreover, we did not focus on drawing immediate lessons for today’s communities, even if some insights and values clearly emerge from the papers. Essays in the volume are organized into three sections. A first set reflects on “political” aspects of Jewish texts and contexts, from the Hebrew Bible and Septuagint to Josephus and 2 Maccabees. A second group of essays examines Christian texts. A noteworthy feature of these essays is repeated engagement with the question of whether the texts are “anti-imperial”. Two final essays examine the ways in which contemporary political situations are reflected in scholarship on ancient texts. We will introduce each of the essays in turn. 2.1 Religion and Politics in Jewish Texts and Contexts Some passages of the Hebrew Bible encourage work for the common good, even in a society that appears to be foreign and hostile. Eberhard Bons (Strasbourg) examines one of the most remarkable politically oriented statements of the Hebrew Bible, Jeremiah’s call to Judean exiles to settle in the land of Babylon and pray for and contribute to the peace and welfare (šālôm) of the city (“Seek the Welfare of the City Where I Have Sent You into Exile”: Reflections on Jeremiah’s Instructions to the Exiles in Jer 29,5-7). Bons discusses several common interpretive models that see Jeremiah as advocating

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different degrees of distancing, assimilation, or integration between the Judean exiles and the indigenous population of Babylon. He rejects the view that Jer 29 demands preserving distance from Babylonian society or engaging in non-violent resistance. Other readings draw on the idea of a universal creator god and see Jer 29,5-7 as a plea for substantive integration, even including exogamy and intermarriage. Bons interprets the call for “seeking the šālôm of the city” in the light of the DSS as calling for the establishment of a climate in which exiles and Babylonians live together in good neighborly relationships. “Seeking the šālôm of the city” would include participation in Babylonian economic life (attested, e.g., by the Murashu archive). Jeremiah’s call to build houses, plant gardens, and marry reveals the link between marriage and economic welfare (a link reflected in a negative way by Ezra 9). Bons points out that the text does not directly answer the question of intermarriage, although the exiles probably practiced it historically. Reflecting on a key passage from Trito-Isaiah, Johannes Klein (Bern / Făgăraș) discovers an indirect message to political leaders in response to social problems faced by the post-exilic community (Für mehr Zuverlässigkeit Gottes: Die Wächter an den Mauern Jerusalems [Jes 62,6-9]). Initial euphoria in the wake of the consecration of the Temple had been followed by disappointment. The prophecy pronounced on the occasion of the consecration, a public event with political implications, calls for watchmen stationed upon the unfinished walls of Jerusalem to invoke the Lord until he pledges to promote social justice and equity. Klein argues that the watchers to whom the prophet belongs do not intend to remind God of a past, unfulfilled promise, but entreat him to commit himself to do justice in Israel. The prophecy does not directly address or blame those in charge, but engages them indirectly, inviting them to join the watchmen and contribute to restoring justice. Klein speaks of a prophetic critical accompanying (kritische Begleitung) of those who hold political responsibility. This points to a constructive attitude towards those in charge, despite failures. Other texts assign religious leaders a larger role in shaping politics. Zoltán Oláh (Alba Iulia) points to the political role of the high priest in Second Temple Judaism, based on the example of Simon II (“The pride of his people was Simon the High Priest” (Sir 50,1): A Leader, Not Just in the Temple?). From numismatic evidence, Oláh concludes that the high priest may sometimes have held the position of provincial governor in the Persian period. The Septuagint version of Sir 50,1-24 also emphasizes the role of Simon the high priest in renovating the Temple and fortifying the city, possibly in

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the context of the third-century Syrian wars. These actions point to the political leadership of the high priest. (One might add that these projects are clear examples of euergetism, which places the high priest in the ranks of Hellenistic benefactors.) Oláh argues that the celestial symbolism employed in praise of Simon, especially a star metaphor, may evoke Num 24,17 and depict the high priest as a messianic figure. This Simon the high priest was not only a religious leader, but also a major player in the political life of Judah. Barbara Schmitz (Würzburg) explores the political perspective of 2 Maccabees, a book known primarily for its theological focus on issues like Temple, resurrection, martyrdom, and intercessory prayer. In a thorough analysis of the literary depiction of Judas Maccabeus, Schmitz shows that beyond the religious message, the author expresses a “political” perspective quite different from that of 1 Maccabees. Whereas the latter emphasises the heroism and military prowess of the Maccabees as part of legitimising Hasmonean rule, the portrayal of Judas in 2 Maccabees is much more reserved. He receives less personal credit for military victories; achievements are accredited to the whole group of those who fight for Judaism. Heroism is displayed in the endurance of the martyrs. Judas organises the military resistance, fights apparently hopeless combats against overpowering armies and reconquers the Temple, but the omniscient narrator who voices the thoughts of God discloses the true source of his success. Victories are won not because of military superiority, but by prayer’s power to elicit God’s mercy and help. God, the pantokrator fights alongside Israel as a fellow warrior and rescues them through heavenly warriors. Judas is praised for acting appropriately from a theological perspective, when he attests his faith in resurrection and the power of intercessory prayer, and instils faith in God’s saving power in his men. The Maccabees are thus less prominent in this text. The Hasmoneans seem to be subjected to an implicit critique, probably in response to their accumulation of offices, the usurping of the high priesthood and the expansionism of John Hyrcanus. Political changes may in their turn shape the assessment of religious and political institutions. Jan Willem van Henten (Amsterdam / Stellenbosch) tackles Josephus’ assessment of the monarchy and individual kings from the beginnings of the kingdom in Israel to the Hasmonean dynasty and Herod the Great, reflecting on differences between the Antiquities and the Jewish War (Good and Bad Kings in Josephus). Van Henten attributes a shift in perspective to Josephus’ interaction with his Roman context and political changes occurring in the 90s CE, supposedly paralleled by a different

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attitude towards the Jews (e.g., the deaths of King Agrippa II and Domitian, and the transition to the Nerva-Antonine dynasty). As van Henten puts it, Josephus may have hoped that “if kings are out, priests may be in again”. Josephus embraces the anti-monarchic perspective of certain biblical traditions, and presents aristocracy as an ideal, divinely ordained form of government. Kings are assessed with regard to their ability or failure to live virtuously according to the key virtues of piety and justice. A further essential quality is reliance on God, the chief artisan of military success. (One remarks here a similarity with the portrayal of Judas in 2 Maccabees.) While critical of kingship, Josephus repeatedly underscores Hasmonean rulers’ holding of the high priesthood, and claims that Judas also held this office (in contrast to 1 Maccabees). 2.2 Anti-Empire Christians? The second set of essays in the volume look at Christian texts. Participants at the Cluj conference repeatedly underscored that while some ancient texts may express anti-imperial views, one should not label a text “antiimperial” simply because political figures or institutions are mentioned. Before assessing producers’ political perspectives, it is important to understand how texts function as literary works and to evaluate the implications of “political” references in light of the genre, structure, and purpose(s) of the text as a whole. Narratives should thus be read first of all as narratives and not as allegories to be translated into a counter-story to Empire. Moreover, texts without active anti-imperial aspirations can still be interesting from a “political” perspective. Conference participants remarked that it seems some scholars, having abandoned a “good Christianity vs. bad Judaism” divide, have replaced it with another problematic paradigm opposing “good Christianity” with “bad Empire”. They felt one should exercise caution here, and distinguish between political attitudes of texts and the idea that these texts offer an “anti-empire” perspective. While many texts and even statements of Jesus are “political” in some sense, with indirect consequences for imperial issues, many texts discussed in this volume probably do not offer a real “antiempire” viewpoint. The fact that even scholars from Romania who had lived in an oppressive political context for many years opted not simply to assume the generativity of anti-imperial reading is striking. The first essay in this section examines the emperor cult. Babett EdelmannSinger (Munich), professor of ancient history, draws attention to contemporary research on the socio-political and cultural significance of the emperor

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cult in the Eastern provinces and its consequences for New Testament interpretation (Herrscherkult und Neues Testament – Ein Beitrag aus althistorischer Perspektive). The emperor cult was not an instrument of political control imposed from above on the provinces, but a way in which Roman rule integrated various peoples and cultures in a communis patria based on consensus and loyalty. The phenomenon comprised a diversity of manifestations, with regional differences. The emperor cult was an important part of the religious, socio-political and cultural world of ancient urban societies. The koina and priests of the cult not only supervised cult activities, but also held regional and local importance, thus providing local elites with an avenue for political ascension and allowing provinces to pursue their own political interests. The actors of the emperor cult partook in the formation of a new provincial identity with a distinct system of hierarchy and honour. Edelmann-Singer challenges an older tendency to view the emperor cult as a purely political and non-religious issue, and points to the contemporary preference for a sociocultural interpretation. (One might note in passing that the question is not actually whether the cult had a religious character or not, but how “religion” is defined. Simon Price has adopted Geertz’s functional definition of religion.) Edelmann-Singer pleads for dialogue between ancient historians and New Testament scholars and challenges the argument of many New Testament scholars (notably from the SBL Paul and Politics group) that the New Testament expresses resistance against Rome and the emperor cult as an instrument of oppression. In her critique of this widespread anti-imperial bias, Edelmann-Singer makes a point similar to conclusions drawn by James Crossley, Tobias Nicklas and Julia Snyder in this volume. Much New Testament christology was not shaped in opposition to the emperor cult, but by the appropriation of its concepts and phrases. Sandra Huebenthal (Passau), author of a volume on the Gospel of Mark as collective memory, proposes a critical assessment of the so-called “antigospel hypothesis” that has marked part of German scholarship. Huebenthal is sceptical that the Gospel of Mark, which is a foundation story of Christianity, was written as a reaction to Roman imperial propaganda and the rise of Vespasian, as an “anti-gospel” proposing a counter-identity for the Markan community. She argues that the anti-gospel hypothesis is a reception category, “an interpretation that has been influenced by the context, questions, knowledge, and ideas of interpreters who argue this way, as well as by their religious, political and socio-cultural environments”, and remarks, “The anti-gospel hypothesis says more about how Mark might be received than about the intentions of its producer.” Reception categories are driven by the desire to make sense of the material. The reception of Jesus

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in Mark is framed by themes and characters from the Hebrew Bible more than by non-Jewish frames of reference. She notes the length of time necessary for such a reception category to develop, a point that makes conventional production-oriented versions of the anti-gospel hypothesis implausible. Huebenthal concludes that a reception category like the antigospel-hypothesis can still be an interesting attempt to (re-)construct particular reception scenarios for Mark, without speaking however about the production of the gospel or about the author’s intent. Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) challenges the anti-gospel hypothesis about the Gospel of Mark from a different perspective (Jesus und Vespasian? Das Markusevangelium als politisch interessiertes “Anti-Evangelium” zum Aufstieg der Flavier?). Engaging with the work of Martin Ebner and Bernhard Heininger, Nicklas reflects on the arguments they see as suggesting that Mark was written in reaction to the ascension of Vespasian. He focuses on three key issues: the background of the term εὐαγγέλιον, the title υἱὸς θεοῦ, and the Markan itinerary. While εὐαγγέλιον may be in some cases linked with an imperial context, Nicklas finds that the literary evidence is insufficient to suggest that the term would automatically evoke imperial propaganda. He notes two other possible associations for the term from Isaiah 61,1 and 52,7. Turning to the second argument, Nicklas observes that the reading υἱοῦ θεοῦ in Mark 1,1 is uncertain from a text-critical perspective. He also considers it is implausible that the title would allude to Vespasian, given the lack of evidence that it was actually used for the latter – or would have suited Vespasian’s lowly origin. Nor do the itineraries of Jesus and Vespasian really overlap, as argued by other scholars, apart from Caesarea Philippi. Jesus’ travel to and dying in Jerusalem is arguably not part of a constructed itinerary, but based on historical fact. Moreover, Peter’s messianic confession takes place in Caesarea Philippi, which Vespasian visited only after Josephus’ prophecy, and not in Jotapata, where Josephus presaged Vespasian’s ascension. While the Gospel of Mark has a political character in that it proclaims the Kingdom of God and has references to Roman rule (cf. Mark 5,1-20), Nicklas concludes that there is insufficient grounds for reading Mark as an anti-gospel reacting to the ascension of Vespasian. Hans Klein (Sibiu) examines the political message of the Gospel of Luke (Jesus and the Roman State in Luke’s Gospel: A Contribution to the Discussion about Church and State). From a historical perspective, Jesus’ proclamation of a coming Kingdom of God could have been understood as a challenge to the Roman state. A zealot named Simon was among his disciples, and his preaching seems to have had violent overtones, at least on a verbal level. That Jesus’ activities were considered subversive is also shown by his

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execution by crucifixion. In this context, Luke endeavors to show that Jesus, his family and his disciples had been loyal to Rome. Klein discusses a variety of passages, including the infancy narrative, the instruction to buy swords, Jesus’ response to the question about paying taxes, and Luke’s passion narrative. In the latter, a number of elements casting blame on the Roman administration are omitted, Pilate and Herod state Jesus’ innocence, and Jesus is ultimately recognised as a righteous man. Acts similarly emphasises the loyalty of Christ-believers toward the empire. Luke-Acts thus expresses a rather positive attitude towards the state, comparable to that of the Pastoral Epistles and in contrast to the book of Revelation. Klein also raises the significant question of reception of the texts. Calling Jesus sōtēr (Luke 2,11) could be taken for anti-imperial polemic or simply read in line with the Hebrew Bible. Even if Luke intended the latter, however, ancient (and, we might add, modern) readers may have had their own associations. Martin Meiser (Saarbrücken) starts his essay on Acts and Roman Authorities by surveying several common lines of interpretation with regard to the text’s political stance or agenda (apologia pro ecclesia, apologia pro imperio, critique of empire, equipping the church for witness). He notes that Acts is not consistently positive or resolutely negative about Roman authorities. Meiser then sketches Roman political realities at the time that Acts may have been composed, which he places around 90 CE, although possibly up to 120 CE. Drawing on other ancient sources, he describes assessments of Domitian, Nerva, Trajan, and Hadrian, before moving on to analyse Luke’s account. Meiser suggests that Luke probably was not writing in the context of active persecution, although he may have had concerns about coming affliction. He also notes that past emperors and officials could be criticised fairly safely as long as current authorities were not challenged. Luke’s account makes it clear that there are both upright and corrupt officials, and that Christians should not rebel against authority. Acts enables the followers of Christ, a minority within the Empire, to resolute missionary work; this requires loyalty and protecting the in-group. Beate Kowalski (Dortmund) explores how Revelation responds to the situation of Christians in Asia Minor in the context of the powerful Roman Empire in a time of crisis marked by high uncertainty as to their legal standing (Conflict among Christians in the Political Setting of Asia Minor). John, a prophetic figure, offers a strongly political theology, which would appeal to later Christians living under repressive political systems. Kowalski employs a socio-narrative approach based on Sönke Finnern’s character analysis to assess John’s perspective, which she finds to be one-sided, radical, and almost fundamentalist, excluding nuance, dialogue, and interaction. John emphasizes

INTRODUCTION

13

suffering and calls for faithfulness amidst persecution, expresses belief in the omnipotent God and in predestination, and demands total rejection of the political and religious life of the Empire. His radical ethical demands include the willingness to accept socio-economic marginalisation and martyrdom. His communicative strategies draw on both insider knowledge and metaphorical language. The prophet outlines a new self-understanding of the community, defined as an alternative society and countercultural group. Members are distinguished by clear identity markers that indicate exclusive belonging, such as the seal of God. Their loyalty to Christ should be undivided. Kowalski also considers how Revelation might be classified according to a typology of reactions to social realities proposed by L. Gregory Bloomquist. While Revelation is often defined as introversionist, requiring full withdrawal from a world perceived as irredeemably evil, Kowalski thinks that the author comes closer to a thaumaturgic model in which the community expects salvation and relief through divine intervention. This perspective on the relationship between Christian communities and the political system is just one, radical model among others in the New Testament. Julia Snyder (Regensburg) explores “political” aspects of the Vercelli Acts of Peter, the Acts of Thecla, a story about Paul in Ephesus, and the Martyrdom of Paul. She focuses on the literary function of references to Roman officials and legal actions, challenging the common view that these narratives express anti-imperial perspectives (Apostles and Politics in the Roman Empire). Snyder notes the need to offer a definition of “anti-imperial” before deciding whether or not the term applies to a text, and suggests possible criteria. An “anti-imperial” text would “actively portray the imperial system as lacking ongoing earthly legitimacy or call for a system change within the current age,” and this “would have been acknowledged by the text’s producer, had the issue been brought to his or her attention”. She concludes that this definition does not apply to the narratives investigated in the essay. Among other observations, she remarks that the Roman officials who take actions against the protagonists of the stories are portrayed as motivated by personal grudges and lust rather than concern for the political order, and that private individuals are also prominent antagonists. While Nero may be criticized and the justice system depicted as flawed, these are conventional motifs that do not necessarily constitute a call for a new form of government. Snyder illustrates the latter argument with appeal to the Acts of John at Rome and Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, where past emperors are similarly criticized. Michael Sommer (Halle/Munich) examines a possible political dimension of the Apocalypse of Peter from a reception perspective. Sommer considers

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how the ideas and images that inhabitants of Roman provinces encountered in daily life could have shaped the reception of this text in Alexandria at the time of Trajan. The Apocalypse of Peter includes a description of the Parousia that includes a number of images also encountered in depictions of the emperor, both literary (Pliny’s Panegyric) and numismatic. On both imperial and provincial coins, Trajan is portrayed as subordinate to a god or goddess (Jupiter, Victoria or Dea Roma, Fortuna or Nike) who crowns and thereby empowers and legitimises him. He may also hold divine attributes like Jupiter’s thunderbolt in his hand. Coins from Alexandria depict Trajan being crowned by Serapis, and with the symbols of Helios including a shining aureole. Relying on theories of cultural memory, Sommer argues that audiences of the Apocalypse of Peter who lived in this specific socio-cultural context could have heard such political overtones in the scene of the Parousia, even if the author had drawn the imagery primarily from Jewish and/or Christian sources. 2.3 Reading the “Political” in Contemporary Contexts The final section of the volume considers the influence of contemporary political contexts on scholarly interpretation. In his Contemporary Politics in Ancient Texts: Some Ways to Read Scholarship on Christian Origins as Ideological History, James G. Crossley (Twickenham) conducts a metacritical analysis of Anglo-American New Testament scholarship, exploring how scholarly paradigms reflect geopolitical developments and reveal ideological assumptions. Crossley addresses three major issues: constructions of “Jewishness” and “the Mediterranean”, and the current trend of anti-imperial interpretation. The two first reflect what he calls the “politics of racialized scholarship”. While the increasing interest in the Jewish background of the New Testament breaks with some earlier negative perceptions of Jewishness, it still often involves an essentialised construction of Judaism that preserves a focus on race, ethnicity, and otherness. The Jewish “Other” is accepted without its perceived problematic otherness. “Jesus the Jew” is radically different from his Jewish context; he is a construct devoid of elements that Christian scholars find problematic in Judaism. A focus on the Jewish Jesus or Jewish Paul may have distinctive, often geopolitical motivations. The same goes for scholarly constructions under the rubric of socialscientific study of early Christianity, especially the idea of “the Mediterranean” as depicted in the works of Bruce Malina and other prominent representatives of the Context Group, which have striking affinities to contemporary constructions of “the Arab world” and “the Middle East”.

INTRODUCTION

15

Finally, Crossley suggests that a perceived contrast between liberal West and despotic East may help explain the current trend of discovering supposed anti-imperial rhetoric in New Testament texts, an approach that also needs to be situated within the context of neoliberalism and American imperialism. Crossley points out that the anti-imperial or anti-capitalist approach to Christian origins replicates imperial rhetoric and the language of power it criticizes. His scepticism is shared by many contributors to this volume. Hans Klein’s second contribution to the volume bears much of the character of a personal testimony and provides insight into how biblical interpretation can be influenced by political circumstances. Klein surveys the main tendencies of biblical interpretation in Romania during the communist period from a Protestant perspective, with a focus on the multi-ethnic and multi-confessional province of Transylvania (Biblische Hermeneutik in der Zeit des Kommunismus). He highlights the difficulties of performing exegesis under a totalitarian regime that exerted tight control over churches and theological institutes. This witness comes from a New Testament professor whose academic career largely overlapped with this harsh period of Eastern European history. The topic is assessed through the lens of Klein’s hermeneutics. Biblical interpretation is seen as an interplay between three attitudes: the favouring of stability, spirituality or change. A theology centred on stability is a wisdom hermeneutic that aims at preserving and improving the created world. A spiritual approach or priestly hermeneutic emphasises prayer, interiorization, and spiritual experiences that help one cope with daily difficulties, but without calling for change. A perspective centred on change or a prophetic hermeneutic hopes that a better future will arrive through divine intervention and transform the distressing conditions of this world. Biblical interpretation is shaped by the interplay of these hermeneutical preferences with the socio-political circumstances of the interpreter. Under the pressure of communist dictatorship, biblical interpretation was practiced intra muros ecclesiae in Transylvania, and a spiritual, allegorical reading of the Bible was preferred. In the 1970s biblical scholars were forced to deal with new, social approaches, like liberation theology and black theology. Spiritual readings retreated, but due to their ideological use, the new approaches were not perceived as liberating or inspiring social change. Similarly ideological was the idea of a servant church, which was used by the authorities to promote the subordination of the church to the state. Ultimately, churches found refuge in spirituality, and biblical interpretation did not inspire hope for social change. It was not until the 1990s that hermeneutics started to explore the consequences of biblical interpretation for (a) changing society.

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3. CONCLUSIONS Biblical interpretation is not only a spiritual or an academic matter. Reading the Bible has always been influenced by socio-political contexts of interpreters, and the act of reading has likewise shaped communities of faith, as well as societies, public life, and political decisions. What ultimately emerges from this volume? Certain texts introduce leading religious figures actively engaged in society and public life, assuming responsibility for the community and acting as governors, benefactors, liberators, and political mediators. The role of these characters is diverse. They may represent the political system, engage with it or challenge it. The “empire(s)”, embodied by Hellenistic and Roman rule, were not simply oppressive. They exerted a significant cultural and social influence on Jewish and Christian communities, which took over and adapted models, crafting identity markers, structures and discourse by drawing on dominant socio-political models, imperial imagery, and political language. Against a dominant trend of contemporary scholarship, many contributors to the volume also argue that early Jews and Christians did not necessarily contest or question the Roman Empire, the political system in which they lived. Many were not critics of imperial authority, revolutionaries or subversives, but were integrated into society. The contributors have not looked for an authoritative biblical answer to the question of how religion and politics in contemporary society should relate, nor do the studies imply such an answer. There is no such thing as “the biblical doctrine” on religion and politics. Instead, the volume illustrates the diverse perspectives of Jewish and Christian texts on the issue. The answers given by different texts in different circumstances range from encouraging interaction and integration to critical loyalty to staunch rejection. The relevance of these responses for today is not immediate; we do not receive recipes or directly applicable models. These texts invite critical reflection and inspire readers to find their own answers to contemporary questions, learning from experiences reflected in (more or less) normative texts. Reflection and critical thinking is something readers and scholars cannot do without. Korinna ZAMFIR (Cluj)

SECTION A

RELIGION AND POLITICS IN JEWISH TEXTS AND CONTEXTS

“SEEK THE WELFARE OF THE CITY WHERE I HAVE SENT YOU INTO EXILE”: REFLECTIONS ON JEREMIAH’S INSTRUCTIONS TO THE EXILES IN JER 29,5-7*

One of the most remarkable politically oriented statements in the Old Testament is Jer 29,5-7, a short text dealing with the relationship between the exiled inhabitants of Judah and their new Babylonian environment. In this text, the prophet Jeremiah calls his deported compatriots to behave as follows: Build houses and inhabit [them], plant gardens and eat their fruit. Take wives and bear sons and daughters, take wives for your sons and give your daughters husbands, so that they bear sons and daughters. Increase yourselves there and do not decrease. Seek the šālôm of the city where I [= YHWH] have led you into exile, and pray for it, because in its šālôm will your šālôm lie.

While commentators have repeatedly connected these injunctions with other biblical statements, the instructions to settle into the new environment, to direct prayers to God for the city – which must have been inhabited predominantly by former enemies – and to contribute to the city’s šālôm are unique in the Bible – as well as lying at the limits of reason.1 This did not prevent the Antiochene biblical interpreter Theodoret of Cyrus from finding in Jer 29,5-7 a model for the peaceful life to which Christians are called according to 1 Tim 2,1-2, however (cf. PG 81, 649).2 Some *  I would like to express my gratitude to Dr. Ken Brown who translated the article into English and made some precious comments on its contents. 1. On this idea, cf. G. WANKE, Jeremia, Teilband 2: Jeremia 25,15-52,34 (ZBK.AT, 20.2), Zürich, Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 2003, pp. 261-262; B. KATHO, “Seek the Peace of the City… For in Her Peace There Shall Be Peace for You (Jeremiah 29:4-9)”, in Old Testament Essays 26/2 (2013) 348-364, p. 361. 2. Without mentioning patristic interpretation of Jer 29, W.E. MARCH, Guess Who is Coming to Dinner! Jeremiah 29.1-9 as an Invitation to Radical Social Change, in J.H. ELLENS (ed.), God’s Word for Our World, Vol. 1 (JSOT.S, 388), London, T & T Clark, 2004, 200210, p. 209, also recognizes similarities with this New Testament statement.

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modern commentators see in Jeremiah’s instructions a call to love of enemies, as Jesus commands in Matt 5,43-45.3 Others go further and see in Jer 29,5-7 a demand for civil religion that combines domesticity and work ethic with piety and prayer, and represents a model with ongoing validity for how believers should live in society.4 Anyone who examines recent interpretations of the text will realize that they differ substantially from one another. This is not a matter of elementary understanding of the text, because neither the vocabulary nor the grammar of these three verses poses any serious problem. Rather, it is a question of interpretation. Some of these questions raised by Jer 29,5-7 will be investigated once again in this essay, albeit briefly. In the first part, three models for interpreting Jer 29,5-7 will be introduced. Drawing on these models, the second part of the essay will develop several arguments that contribute to a better understanding of these three verses. At the same time, we will identify open questions that remain. The following reflections presume a hypothesis that is shared by the majority of researchers: whether or not Jer 29,5-7 is part of a letter in the narrow sense, at least the core of the prophet’s instructions probably belong to a pronouncement made by Jeremiah to the first group of exiles,5 who were forced to leave their Jewish homeland after the capitulation in 597 BCE.6 It should also be noted that the Septuagint text of Jer 29,5-7 (= Jer 36,5-7LXX) does not diverge significantly from the Masoretic Text, except where the Septuagint speaks of the “peace of the land” that exiles are called to seek (ζητήσατε εἰς εἰρήνην τῆς γῆς).

3. So e.g., A. WEISER, Das Buch des Propheten Jeremia (ATD, 21), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 31959, p. 261. 4. So R.P. CARROLL, Jeremiah, Vol. 2, London, T & T Clark, 1986, p. 556, who speaks of a “civil religion at its very best” and of a “blueprint for millennia to come”. 5. Cf. e.g., A. GRAUPNER, Auftrag und Geschick des Propheten Jeremia: Literarische Eigenart, Herkunft und Intention vordeuteronomistischer Prosa im Jeremiabuch (BTST, 15), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 1991, p. 76. Differently, K.-F. POHLMANN, Das “Heil” des Landes: Erwägungen zu Jer 29,5-7, in A. LANGE (ed.), Mythos im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt (BZAW, 278), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1999, 144-164, p. 154. According to Pohlmann, the letter is directed to scattered Jewish officers, who had remained in their homeland and opposed the occupying Babylonian force. Jer 29,7 presents a challenge for this interpretation, however, above all the statement “the city, in which you have been exiled”. Cf. also G. FISCHER, Jeremia 26-52 (HTKAT), Freiburg im Breisgau, Herder, 2005, p. 95. For a thorough analysis of the whole passage, cf. Th. SEIDL, Texte und Einheiten in Jer 27-29 (ATS, 2), St. Ottilien, Eos, 1977, esp. pp. 103-105, 138. 6. Cf. e.g., D.L. SMITH, Jeremiah as Prophet of Nonviolent Resistance, in JSOT 43 (1989) 95-107, p. 97; WANKE, Jeremia (n. 1), p. 259.

  “SEEK THE WELFARE OF THE CITY WHERE I HAVE SENT YOU INTO EXILE” 1. THREE MODELS

FOR INTERPRETING JER

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29,5-7

Recent interpretation of Jer 29,5-7 can be categorized into three interpretive models, based on the degree of distancing, assimilation, or integration that commentators think the text encourages between the Judean exiles and the indigenous population of Babylon. 1. We begin with the interpretation of Jer 29,5-7 in malam partem. This model sees no appeal for integration into Babylonian society in Jeremiah’s words, but rather an emphasis on preserving distance. a) Smith7 justifies such an interpretation with reference to Deut 20,1-9,8 which discusses grounds upon which a young man might be exempted from military service. These include constructing a house, planting a vineyard, and intending to marry soon (cf. 20,5-7). Smith concludes that the instructions in Jer 29,5-7 should be understood as encouraging the exiles to renounce the use of weapons and to refrain from any attempt at violent resistance. Jeremiah would not be calling his compatriots to integration, but rather to a kind of non-violent resistance, which would include only a minimum of cooperation with the local population. Two points speak against this interpretation, however. First, it essentially retrojects back into antiquity models of non-violent resistance against repressive regimes that first developed in the twentieth century CE. Second, Jer 29,5-7 calls for building houses and planting gardens, activities that would seem to presuppose a certain amount of cooperation with the Babylonians, demanding from the exiles a great deal of willingness and initiative rather than merely a stance of passive resistance. b) Smelik bases his reading on a reference to Ps 137, which he says does not allow Jer 29,5-7 to be interpreted as being positive in tone.9 He also observes that the exiles are told to pray for the šālôm of “the city” rather than of “Babylon”, which he thinks indicates a certain distance between the exiles and the Babylonians. Smelik claims further that this real or imaginary “city” should be thought of as a colony inhabited only by Judeans, which is questionable: the distinction between 7. On the following, cf. SMITH, Jeremiah (n. 6), pp. 102-104. 8. A. BERLIN, Jeremiah 29:5-7: A Deuteronomistic Allusion, in HAR 8 (1984) 3-11, p. 7, suggests that Jeremiah knew the statement in Deut 20, either in written form or via oral tradition. 9. On this, cf. K. SMELIK, Letters to the Exiles: Jeremiah 29 in Context, in Scandanavian Journal of the Old Testament 10 (1996) 282-295, p. 291.

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“the šālôm of the city” and “your šālôm” hints instead that the “city” does not have a homogenous population. Furthermore, one cannot assume that the situation reflected in Ps 137 is identical to that of the exiles to whom Jeremiah directs his words. 2. According to a second model, interpretation of Jer 29,5-7 in bonam partem,10 the prophet not only attempts to restrain the exiles from revolt, but also calls them to perform precisely those actions for which a young man would be excused from military action according to Deut 20,1-9.11 These activities – especially constructing houses and planting gardens – hardly suggest that a return from exile is imminent, a possibility that is not even raised at first.12 To be sure, even if Jeremiah does not allow such expectations to arise (cf. the contrasting statements of Hananiah in Jer 28,3-4), the exiles’ future is not hopeless. Without mentioning any impurity that could be associated with a stay in exile (cf. Hos 9,3-6; Amos 7,17),13 the prophet indicates that šālôm is in no way unattainable for his addressees. While God revokes the šālôm of his people in Jer 16,5, šālôm is possible according to Jer 29,7, even in a foreign land14 to which one is taken involuntarily, and even at a great distance from Jerusalem – the name of which may be associated with the term šālôm (cf. Ps 122,67).15 Finally, YHWH is not seen as absent or unreachable, even if the exiles no longer have access to the Temple. On the contrary, the instruction to direct prayers to YHWH implies that their relationship with him has not been severed. 10. On this section cf. the following newer publications: W.L. HOLLADAY, Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, chapters 26-52 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, Fortress, 1989; W.H. SCHMIDT, Einsicht und Zuspruch: Jeremias Vision und Brief: Jer 24 und 29, in K. KIESOW – TH. MEURER (eds.), Textarbeit: Studien zu Texten und ihrer Rezeption aus dem Alten Testament und der Umwelt Israels (AOAT, 294), Münster, Ugarit, 2003, 387-405, pp. 400-405; WANKE, Jeremia (n. 1), pp. 262-263; R. WILLI, Les pensées de bonheur de Dieu pour son peuple selon Jr 29, Lugano, Facoltà di Teologia di Lugano, 2005, pp. 185-216. 11. Cf. BERLIN, Jeremiah (n. 8), p. 4; H. WEIPPERT, Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde: Ein Beitrag zur Theologie des Jeremiabuches (SBS, 102), Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1981, p. 131. 12. Cf. HOLLADAY, Jeremiah 2 (n. 10), p. 141: “Their home for the indefinite future must be Babylon.” Likewise CARROLL, Jeremiah (n. 4), p. 555, who speaks of a “permanent exile”. See also J. HILL, “Your Exile Will Be Long”: The Book of Jeremiah and the Unended Exile, in M. KESSLER (ed.), Reading the Book of Jeremiah: A Search for Coherence, Winona Lake, IN, Eisenbrauns, 2004, 149-161, p. 157. 13. For this idea, cf. W. RUDOLPH, Jeremia (KAT, 12), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 31968, pp. 182-183. 14. Cf. GRAUPNER, Auftrag (n. 5), pp. 81-82. 15. Cf. SCHMIDT, Einsicht (n. 10), p. 400; WILLI, Pensées (n. 10), p. 206.

  “SEEK THE WELFARE OF THE CITY WHERE I HAVE SENT YOU INTO EXILE”

23

One basic question remains open, however. What does it mean to “seek the šālôm of the city”? Interpreters do not tend to speak precisely about the exiles’ life under the Babylonians, nor do they clearly specify the degree to which the exiles are called to integrate into their new environment. Commentators note that the exiles are encouraged to recognize that God has put them in this situation (cf. Jer 25,9), has not removed his salvation from them (cf. Jer 24,5),16 and is the one, universal, creator God17 who brings about salvation and peace for both exiles and Babylonians.18 They also observe that šālôm is associated with everyday activities,19 exists in creating and maintaining good relationships within society,20 and manifests itself in political peace and prosperity in Babylon, from which the exiles will profit.21 But can the sense of “seeking the šālôm of the city” be defined even more precisely? 3. While most newer publications have not made significant advances here, some build on the second model of interpretation and see a call to much deeper integration. a) Weippert22 invokes a motif from Jeremiah’s theology that she sees as decisive: if YHWH is the universal God, the only creator of everything and the ruler of history, he would not side with one group of people and support their welfare while denying those benefits to others. She understands this as the basis for seeking the šālôm of the city, which is indivisible. At the same time, she raises the question of whether 16. Cf. N. KILPP, Niederreißen und Aufbauen: Das Verhältnis von Heilsverheißung und Unheilsverkündigung bei Jeremia und im Jeremiabuch (BTST, 13), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 1990, p. 58; WANKE, Jeremia (n. 1), p. 263. 17. H. WEIPPERT, Schöpfer (n. 11), has attempted to show that the book of Jeremiah knows such a concept of God. 18. So WILLI, Pensées (n. 10), pp. 204-205, 209; H. WEIPPERT, Fern von Jerusalem: Die Exilsethik von Jer 29,5-7, in F. HAHN et al. (eds.), Zion: Ort der Begegnung (BBB, 90), Bodenheim, Athenäum Hain Hanstein, 1993, 127-139, p. 133; see also G. FISCHER, Gottes universale Horizonte: Die Völker der Welt und ihre Geschichte in der Sicht des Jeremiabuches, in M. MILANI – M. ZAPPELLA (eds.), “Ricercare la sapienza di tutti gli antichi” (Sir 39,1): Miscellanea in onore di Gian Luigi Prato (Supplementi alla Rivista Biblica, 56), Bologna, Dehoniane, 2013, 313-328, pp. 316-317. 19. Cf. SCHMIDT, Einsicht (n. 10), p. 401: “Im ‘normalen’ Alltag, im gewohnten Lebensablauf, vollzieht sich – verborgen – ein Stück Heil und Segen.” 20. Cf. KILPP, Niederreißen (n. 16), p. 59. 21. So WILLI, Pensées (n. 10), p. 213. Although the author devotes several pages to the problem of “signification de šālôm dans la situation de l’Exil” (pp. 207-214, “the significance of šālôm in the situation of the exile”), nowhere is the question of what it means to “seek the šālôm of the city” addressed. 22. On this section, cf. WEIPPERT, Jerusalem (n. 18), pp. 133-136.

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Jeremiah’s expressed desire for šālôm implies sanction for a type of peaceful co-existence that is unparalleled in other texts: marriage to Babylonian partners. Weippert’s answer is unequivocal: the prophet’s instruction to marry and give one’s sons and daughters in marriage is a call to exogamy. It goes without saying that in Weippert’s reading Jeremiah does not obligate his addressees to uphold the prohibition found in other texts against marrying members of other peoples (cf. e.g., Exod 34,16; Deut 7,3). While so-called “intermarriage” may have been the subject of strong critique in the post-exilic period (cf. Ezra 9-10), Jeremiah calls his addressees to cross the borders between peoples. b) March23 likewise emphasizes the idea of God as creator, but reads Jer 29,5-7 differently. He begins with God’s pledge to the exiles in Jer 24,5-7. According to March, the appeal for proliferation in Jer 29,6 can only succeed if God’s blessing continues to rest on the exilic community despite lack of access to the Temple and sacrifices. It is the idea of creation that gives the exiles hope for the future: the Babylonians and their land have been created by God, just like Israel and the Israelites. If the Israelites who go to Babylon do not have enough unmarried women among them, and therefore consider themselves compelled to marry Babylonians, they will actually be implementing creation theology in the process. The difference between exiles and locals, Judeans and Babylonians, will thus begin to blur.24 Rather than being an unintended byproduct of war and deportation, this corresponds to the will of God, who intends to create a new community in Babylon. To seek the šālôm of the city therefore means to act as responsible citizens, who are attentive to the well-being of the whole population. Regarding these various readings, it is worth emphasizing that Jer 29,5-7 does not include either an explicit call to exogamy25 or a clear prohibition against intermarriage. Nor does the rest of the book of Jeremiah provide clear instructions on this issue. The possibility is thus not ruled out that the exiles – as a minority – might feel permitted to enter into marriage with Babylonian partners, irrespective of the reasons given in individual cases. 23. In the following, the remarks of MARCH, Guess (n. 2), pp. 205-209, are summarized. 24. A similar interpretation is represented by HILL, Exile (n. 12), p. 150, who points out that the activities mentioned in Jer 29,5-7 stand under the blessing of God, just as they would if the exiles had been in their homeland. This should lead to another perspective on Babylon, no longer seen as a foreign land in which they are merely scraping out a living. 25. Thus also WILLI, Pensées (n. 10), p. 197; FISCHER, Jeremia 26-52 (n. 5), pp. 93-94.

  “SEEK THE WELFARE OF THE CITY WHERE I HAVE SENT YOU INTO EXILE” 2. WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO “SEEK THE

ŠĀLÔM OF THE

25

CITY”?

Taking these readings of the passage into account, some new perspectives on Jer 29,5-7 will now be developed, in seven steps. 1. One of the greatest difficulties in interpreting Jer 29,7 is determining the precise meaning of the demand diršû ᾿æt šelôm hā῾îr, an issue that has not been discussed very much in recent exegesis.26 There are some Hebrew Bible and Qumran manuscripts of other texts where the substantive šālôm appears as a direct object of the verb dāraš, but on closer inspection these passages attest significant differences from Jer 29,7. Two particular instances are formulated negatively. In Deut 23,7 [English 23,6] God forbids the Israelites to seek the šālôm and the “good” of the Ammonites and Moabites (lo᾿ tidroš šelomām weṭobātām). A nearly identical formulation is found in Ezra 9,12, albeit in the plural. Ezra warns the Israelites against marriage with foreigners,27 with the exhortation lo᾿ tidrešû šelomām weṭôbātām. Needless to say, although both Ezra 9,12 and Jer 29,6 discuss marriage, the former warns against marriage with foreigners, while the latter explicitly encourages the exiles to get married and give their children in marriage. 2. What can be said about the prohibitions in Deut 23,7[6] and Ezra 9,12 against seeking the šālôm or “good” of other peoples? The texts themselves do not provide further details, but recent exegetes have recognized an expression of Akkadian origin in the parallel use of šālôm and ṭôb. When used with regard to the relationship between two nations, this expression describes a situation marked by peace and friendship, to which the two nations commit themselves in a treaty.28 If this interpretation is correct, a prohibition against establishing a treaty of peace and friendship would mean that one should not strive for good neighborly relations with the other group. In Ezra 9,12, Ezra would be rejecting the close relationships that his compatriots were already maintaining with foreigners living in the land. Reading Jer 29,5-7 in 26. An exception is KILPP, Niederreißen (n. 16), p. 59, who connects Jer 29,7 with Jer 38,4. 27. The question of the identity of the foreigner cannot be enlarged upon here. It should merely be noted that doubts concerning their non-Israelite origins have recently been expressed; cf. L.L. GRABBE, A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, London, T & T Clark, 2004, pp. 286-287; B. BECKING, On the Identity of the “Foreign” Women in Ezra 9-10, in G.N. KNOPPERS (ed.), Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd, London, T & T Clark, 2009, 31-49, pp. 42-43. 28. So e.g., I. HÖVER-JOHAG, Art. ṭôb, in TWAT, vol. III, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1982, 315-339, p. 321. It is self-evident that such a relationship with neighboring lands also leads to supporting the well-being of the neighbor, cf. H.H. SCHMID, šalôm: “Frieden” im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament (SBS, 51), Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1971, p. 48 n. 11.

26

E. BONS

light of Ezra 9,12, the following preliminary hypothesis can thus be put forward: Jer 29,5-7 calls for the establishment of a climate in which the exiles and the Babylonians live together in good neighborly relationships. 3. The warning against marriage with foreigners in Ezra 9,12 is not unmotivated, but is “so that you become strong, eat the produce [ṭûb] of the land, and hand it down to your children forever”. This explanation for the prohibition casts new light on exogamy. In the Persian period it was evidently possible for women to inherit property from their deceased husbands. Within this legal framework, foreign widows could potentially have inherited property of Israelite origins and sold it on to foreigners.29 Be that as it may, Ezra 9,12 indirectly shows that Ezra is criticizing a form of exogamy in which spouses of different origins share ownership of goods and exchange them, which they will no doubt have done in order to improve their economic situation. It is thus likely that socio-economic arguments against intermarriage were at play in addition to the issues directly mentioned by Ezra, such as the purity of the land and compliance with the law.30 For Ezra, marriage with foreigners might promote economic recovery, but also threatens the unity of the people gathered around the Temple. 4. As these brief remarks on Ezra 9,12 demonstrate, marriage and the exchange of goods are closely connected realities. This is hardly surprising, because in the Near East (and elsewhere) marriage served to expand a family’s economic and financial capacity.31 Against this background, it makes sense that the demand in Jer 29,5-7 to construct houses and plant gardens accompanies a call to marry and give children in marriage. Because getting married and starting a family requires financial resources, the exiles also needed to cultivate a pioneer spirit and to engage in various forms of craft and trade. The exiles can hardly have traded among themselves without participating in Babylonian economic life. On the contrary, the activities mentioned in Jer 29,5-7 would permit and indeed require close cooperation with the Babylonians. After all, who else could allocate land to the Israelites for building and planting, if not the indigenous population and local authorities? As Babylonian documents attest, particularly from the archive of the Murashu trade house, Israelite exiles did in fact integrate 29. Cf. R. KESSLER, Sozialgeschichte des alten Israel: Eine Einführung, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006, pp. 142-143. 30. Cf. T. HIEKE, Die Bücher Esra und Nehemia (NSKAT, 9/2), Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2005, p. 145. 31. Cf. A. TOSATO, Il matrimonio israelitico: Una teoria generale (AnBib, 100), Rome, Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2001, p. 118.

  “SEEK THE WELFARE OF THE CITY WHERE I HAVE SENT YOU INTO EXILE”

27

themselves into their new context and must quickly have begun to play an active role in trade.32 This is confirmed by a note from Flavius Josephus, who says that many Israelites preferred to remain in Babylon at the end of the exile because of property that they did not wish to relinquish (AJ XI, 8). 5. Against this background, what might it look like to seek the šālôm of the city? A pair of citations from a much later period are informative. The Damascus Document includes the same verb dāraš with direct object šālôm (CD-A VI, 21). In contrast to Deut 23,7[6] and Ezra 9,12, there is no negation. In this text, members of the community are called to care for the poor, the needy and the foreigner, and each is to seek the šālôm of his brother (wldrwš ᾿yš ᾿t šlwm ᾿ḥyhw). In contrast to Deut 23,7[6], Ezra 9,12, and Jer 29,7, the beneficiary of “seeking the šālôm” is an individual here rather than a collective. The expression is also found in 4Q266 fragment 11, line 15,33 where the subject is a person who maintains close contact with an expelled member of the community. This person is described as “he who eats from his [i.e., the expelled person’s] goods and seeks his šālôm… and shares with him” (᾿sr ywkl mhwnm w᾿sr ydrs slwmw … w᾿sr y᾿wt ῾mw).34 Like CD-A VI, 21, this suggests that the expression “to seek someone’s šālôm” means something like “to behave such that another person can share a sufficient measure of one’s goods to profit materially from it”. This person might be poor or a foreigner and need material support for that reason (CD-A VI, 21), or might be an exile from the community who still has sympathizers willing to share property with him or to manage it collectively (4Q266 fragment 11, line 15; cf. a similar thought in CD-B XX, 7). 6. We return to Jer 29,5-7. The preceding reflections lead to the following tentative conclusion: the demand to “seek the šālôm of the city…, because your šālôm lies in its šālôm” means – in its political and social context – that the exiles should actively participate in the economic life of their new environment, and indeed with the intention of helping it to flourish. This will have consequences for their own well-being in turn, as is emphasized by the phrase “because your šālôm lies in its šālôm”. 32. For details, see R. ALBERTZ, Die Exilszeit: 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2001, p. 89; GRABBE, History (n. 27), p. 317. 33. Cited according to F. GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ – E.J.C. TIGCHELAAR, The Dead Sea Scrolls: Study Edition. Vol. 1: 1Q1-4Q273, Leiden, Brill, 1997, p. 596. 34. Regarding the translation, cf. J. JOOSTEN, Sectarian Terminology and Biblical Exegesis: The Meaning of the Verb ‫ אות‬in Qumran Writings, in M. BAR-ASHER – D. DIMANT (eds.), Meghillot: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Vol. I, Jerusalem – Haifa, The Bialik Institute – The University of Haifa, 2003, 219-227 (in Hebrew).

28

E. BONS

Regarding open questions, it is difficult to determine whether Jer 29,5-7 anticipates marriage with Babylonian partners. While the text does not explicitly prohibit that, neither does it unambiguously call for it. Whether intermarriage was considered a priori forbidden is likewise an open question. The prohibition in Deut 23,4-7 [3-6] only pertains to relationships with Ammonites and Moabites, not with Babylonians,35 and Ezra 9 and Neh 13,23-27 only mention intermarriage with foreigners living in the land. The prohibition in Deut 23,4-7 [3-6], like those in Exod 34,16 and Deut 7,3, thus does not directly address the situation of the exiles, and the measures taken in Ezra and Nehemiah are from a later period. Be that as it may, it is entirely possible that the exiles actually married Babylonian partners.36 The fact that the book of Tobit emphasizes the necessity of endogamy (cf. Tob 4,12) may indirectly indicate a dissenting practice within the exilic community. Moreover, one might ask whether the exiles would really have been less likely to marry foreigners than those Israelites mentioned in Ezra. Jer 29,5-7 does not settle the question, however. 7. Finally, Jeremiah does not raise the question of whether close economic contact with Babylonians might have negative consequences for the religious identity of the exiles. Nor does one hear concerns that the exiles might fall into worship of other gods (contrast Ezek 14,1-8). For Jeremiah, the key point is that the exiles should call on YHWH and that their petitions for the city – which included both Babylonians and exiles – should be addressed to him. Jeremiah’s compatriots should also support the šālôm of the city. Babylonians and Judeans could certainly agree on the latter point, despite national, religious and cultural differences. Likewise, by actively participating in Bablyonian economic life, the exiles could contribute to peaceful cooperation between foreigners and locals. Eberhard BONS (Strasbourg [F])

35. There is therefore no contradiction between Jer 29,7 and Deut 23,7, as maintained by G. FISCHER, Jeremia: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007, p. 136. 36. This idea is rejected by J.J. AHN, Exile as Forced Migrations: A Sociological, Literary, and Theological Approach on the Displacement and Resettlement of the Southern Kingdom of Judah (BZAW, 417), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2011, p. 138, who speaks of a “1.5 generation”, i.e., an in-between generation following the first wave of exiled Jews. According to him, “they [i.e., the Judeo-Babylonians] most likely remained within their own hybrid ethnicity.”

FÜR MEHR ZUVERLÄSSIGKEIT GOTTES: DIE WÄCHTER AN DEN MAUERN JERUSALEMS (JES 62,6-9)

Wir werden uns jetzt einem Text zuwenden, der zum Zentrum der Botschaft Tritojesajas gehört. Was rechtfertigt es oder macht es sogar sinnvoll, einen Text aus Tritojesaja bei einer Tagung zum Thema Religion und Politik in Klausenburg, im Zentrum Siebenbürgens und Rumäniens, gute 25 Jahre nach Erledigung des real existierenden Sozialismus zu besprechen?

1. HISTORISCHER KONTEXT Ein weiter Konsens besteht darin, dass unser Textabschnitt als Teil von Jes 60-62 zum Kernbestand von Tritojesaja gehört.1 Bis vor einigen Jahrzehnten hat man im Gefolge von Bernhard Duhm2 hinter Tritojesaja eine 1. S. SEKINE, Die Tritojesajanische Sammlung (Jes 56-66) redaktionsgeschichtlich untersucht, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1989, S. 101.182; U. BERGES, Das Buch Jesaja: Komposition und Endgestalt (HBS, 16), Freiburg i. Br., Herder, 1998, S. 427f.; B.M. ZAPF, Jesaja 56-66 (NEB. AT, 37), Würzburg, Echter, 2006, S. 344; S. LABOUVIE, Gottesknecht und neuer David: Der Heilsmittler für Zion und seine Frohbotschaft nach Jesaja 60-62 (FZB, 129), Würzburg, Echter, 2013, S. 7; B. OBERMAYER, Göttliche Gewalt im Buch Jesaja: Untersuchungen zur Semantik und literarischen Funktion eines theologisch herausfordernden Aspekts im Gottesbild (BBB, 170), Göttingen, V&R unipress – Bonn University Press, 2014, S. 276; A. SPANS, Die Stadtfrau Zion im Zentrum der Welt (BBB, 175), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015, S. 17f.58; P. HÖFFKEN, Jesaja: Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004, S. 94; W. ZIMMERLI, Zur Sprache Tritojesajas, in DERS., Gottes Offenbarung. Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (TB, 19), München, Kaiser, 1963, 217-233; R.G. KRATZ, Tritojesaja, in TRE 34, 2002, 124-130, S. 125; DERS., Tritojesaja: Prophetenstudien. Kleine Studien II (FAT, 74), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2011, 233242, S. 236; O.H. STECK, Tritojesaja im Jesajabuch, in J. VERMEYLEN (Hg.), The Book of Isaiah (BETL, 81), Leuven, Peeters, 1989, 361-406, S. 376. 2. B. DUHM, Das Buch Jesaja: Übersetzt und erklärt (GHAT, 3,1), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 51968, S. 15, schreibt von einer dritten „Schrift c. 56-66, die sich nach Form und Inhalt als Erzeugnis eines einzigen Schriftstellers ausweist, den wir der Kürze halber Tritojesaja nennen“ und die „kurz vor der Wirksamkeit des Nehemia und zwar in Jerusalem“ geschrieben worden ist.

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J. KLEIN

historische Prophetengestalt als Verfasser der Texte, im Zusammenhang mit den Wiederaufbauarbeiten am Zionsberg, gesehen und somit den Kernbestand zwischen 520 und 515 v. Chr. datiert.3 Nach den Forschungen von Odil Hannes Steck4 hat sich zunehmend die Meinung durchgesetzt, dass die mit dem Namen Tritojesaja bezeichneten Kapitel des Jesajabuches (Jes 56-66) eher als Fortschreibung von Deuterojesaja anzusehen sind,5 was zu einer Datierung zwischen der Tempeleinweihung 5156 und dem Mauerbau 445 v. Chr.7 oder sogar danach8 führt. Was eine Entscheidung zwischen diesen Varianten erschwert, ist, dass einerseits kein expliziter Hinweis auf den Tempel gebracht wird, andererseits ein Hinweis auf die Mauern in 62,6f. erfolgt. Das erste führt gelegentlich zur Frühdatierung (vor 515), das zweite zur Spätdatierung (nach 445). Die Spätdatierung ist m.E. nicht plausibel, da die Bestellung der Wächter auf die Mauern keineswegs deren Restauration voraussetzen muss, sondern eher dafür spricht, dass diese noch nicht wieder aufgebaut sind, da ein Wachen mehr Sinn macht, wenn die Mauern nicht stehen, zumal es in Kap 62 um die Sicherheit des Volkes geht. Entscheidet man sich mit dem Trend der Forschung für die zweite Variante, aber sieht zumal für den Kern Jes 60-62 eher eine frühe Abfassungszeit vor, ergibt sich als wahrscheinlichste Abfassungszeit eine Zeit bald nach der Tempeleinweihung, d.h. am Ende des 6. Jh., ca. 25-30 Jahre nach der Wende durch das Kyrosedikt. Der Vorgänger Deuterojesaja oder die Gruppe, die hinter den Texten Jes 40-55 steht, hatte angesichts der Rückkehrmöglichkeiten aus dem Exil und der Zustimmung des Kyros zum 3. Nach K. KOENEN, Ethik und Eschatologie im Tritojesajabuch: Eine literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie (WMANT, 62), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 1990, S. 215 zwischen 520 und 515, nach C. WESTERMANN, Das Buch Jesaja: Kapitel 40-66. Übersetzt und erklärt (ATD, 19), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966, S. 237, zwischen 537 und 515; nach W. KESSLER, Gott geht es um das Ganze: Jesaja 56-66 und 24-27. Übersetzt und ausgelegt (BAT, 19), Stuttgart, Calwer, 21967, S. 13, handelt es sich um die Zeit beginnend mit 521. K. PAURITSCH, Die neue Gemeinde: Gott sammelt Ausgestoßene und Arme (Jes 56-66). Die Botschaft des Tritojesaja-Buches literar-, form-, gattungskritisch und redaktionsgeschichtlich untersucht (AnBib, 47), Rom, Biblical Institute, 1971, S. 137, rechnet mit einer Abfassungszeit um das Jahr 520. SEKINE, Tritojesajanische Sammlung (Anm. 1), S. 101, hat für Kap 60 die Periode zwischen 519 und 515 im Visier, für Kap 62 einige Jahre danach, da er die Mauern, auf die die Wächter bestellt werden, als Tempelmauern identifiziert. 4. Vgl. STECK, Tritojesaja (Anm. 1), S. 404: „,Tritojesaja‘ ist nichts anderes als Exponent schriftgelehrter Prophetie, die sich primär an vorgegebenen literarischen Corpora orientiert und diese als ganze aktualisierend weiterschreibt.“ 5. Vgl. auch ZIMMERLI, Sprache (Anm. 1), der die Anlehnung an dtrjes Sprache analysiert. 6. H. DONNER, Geschichte des Volkes Israel und seiner Nachbarn in Grundzügen. Teil 2. Von der Königszeit bis zu Alexander dem Großen (ATD Ergänzungsreihe, Band 4/2), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 32001, S. 449, vgl. Esr 6,15-18. 7. LABOUVIE, Gottesknecht (Anm. 1), S. 11f.; BERGES, Jesaja (Anm. 1), S. 430. 8. KRATZ, Tritojesaja (Anm. 1), S. 127; ders., Prophetenstudien (Anm. 1), S. 238.

FÜR MEHR ZUVERLÄSSIGKEIT GOTTES

31

Tempelbau9 bereits im ersten Jahr seiner Herrschaft über Babylon (538)10 euphorisch Zukunftshoffnungen gepredigt.11 Für die Anhänger dieser Bewegung schien der Weg in die Zukunft wie eine ebene Bahn, so gut wie ohne Hindernisse, die nur noch bereitet werden musste (vgl. Jes 40,1-11). Die Rückkehr in die alte Heimat erfolgte dann tatsächlich, wenn auch etwas verspätet,12 in ein Land, in dem alle Möglichkeiten eines Neubeginns offen standen. Dann war es sogar gelungen, zunächst gegen den Willen des Am-ha-arez zwischen 520 und 515 v. Chr. unter der anfänglichen Leitung von Serubbabel, den Tempel wiederherzustellen und einzuweihen.13 Das Projekt brachte auch Schwierigkeiten mit sich, da die Zurückgekehrten trotz einer gerade akuten Missernte (Hag 1,6-12) mit Nahrung versorgt werden mussten.14 Der Wohnraum und die damit in Verbindung stehenden Grund- und Bodenrechte waren wahrscheinlich noch das größere Problem, weil die Rückkehrer Ansprüche auf die Restaurierung der alten vorexilischen Besitzverhältnisse erhoben, während sich in der Zwischenzeit andere Gegebenheiten entwickelt hatten, da das Land auch während der Exilszeit nicht brach lag.15 Den Rückkehrern Gerechtigkeit zu schaffen und gleichzeitig die neuen Eigentümer nicht vor den Kopf zu stoßen, war sicherlich in vielen Einzelfällen unmöglich. Wahrscheinlich trugen diese Schwierigkeiten, die man bei der Durchführung des Projekts zu überwinden hatte, zunächst umso mehr zur Erhöhung der Erwartungen bei, die alsbald in eine „Tempeleuphorie“ und „nationalreligiöse Heilserwartungen“16 mündeten, dann aber sehr bald von dem Perserkönig Dareios durch eine direkte Intervention sowie umfangreiche Verwaltungs- und Steuerreformen erstickt wurden, selbst wenn oder vielleicht auch gerade weil er das Tempelbauprojekt großzügig unterstützte.17 Die Euphorie hatte also 9. Esr 6,3-5, vgl. auch 1,1-4. Zur Authentizität von 6,3-5 gegenüber 1,1-4, vgl. DONNER, Geschichte (Anm. 6), S. 440-442; I. WILLI-PLEIN, Warum mußte der Zweite Tempel gebaut werden? in B. EGO – A. LANGE – P. PILHOFER (Hgg.), Gemeinde ohne Tempel: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (WUNT, 118), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1999, 57-73, S. 60f. 10. DONNER, Geschichte (Anm. 6), S. 440. 11. Vgl. Jes 44,23-28, wo von Israels Erlösung die Rede ist und von Kyros als dem, der alles vollenden wird, was JHWH gefällt, Jerusalem aufzubauen und den Tempel zu gründen. 12. Die Heimkehr erfolgte nicht gleich nach dem Kyrosedikt, sondern erst in den 20er Jahren des 6. Jh., vgl. DONNER, Geschichte (Anm. 6), S. 444. 13. M. SASSE, Geschichte Israels in der Zeit des zweiten Tempels: Historische Ereignisse Archäologie - Sozialgeschichte - Religions- und Geistesgeschichte, Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 2004, S. 53. 14. SASSE, Geschichte (Anm. 13), S. 53f. 15. DONNER, Geschichte (Anm. 6), S. 444. 16. SASSE, Geschichte (Anm. 13), S. 54f. 17. Vgl. ibid., S. 55f.

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ihre Kehrseite. Und damit ließen auch die Enttäuschungen nicht auf sich warten. Nach 20-30 Jahren des Lebens in Freiheit, in dem sich vieles geändert hatte, sah doch so manches ganz anders aus als ursprünglich angedacht. Die Arbeiten gingen langsam voran, der neue Tempel schien während des Baus nicht an den früheren heranzureichen.18 Solche Kritiken waren vermutlich der Ausdruck der Enttäuschung, dass viele der Hoffnungen trotz großer Anstrengungen und intensiver Gebete samt Fasten (vgl. Jes 58) nicht realisiert werden konnten. Die Euphorie hatte geholfen, Kompromisse einzugehen und in Erwartung besserer Zeiten Ziele zurückzustecken. Mit dem Ende der Euphorie war aber auch das Ende der Geduld absehbar. Einige der Rahmenbedingungen stimmten zwar: man war wieder zu Hause. Man hatte sogar den Tempel wieder erbaut. Es gab auch eine wunderbare Einweihungsfeier.19 Konnte das aber über die grundsätzlichen Missstände hinwegtäuschen? Der alte Adam war der gleiche geblieben. Es gab nach wie vor Streit, Rechtsgezänk, aggressives Unrecht und Misshandlung (Jes 58,4f.). Vielleicht gab es die Hoffnung, durch Anleitung zum Guten und sozialer Arbeit (Jes 58,7.9f.) das eine oder andere Detail zu verbessern? Man versuchte es. Aber im Wesen veränderte sich nicht viel. So blieb weiterhin für jene, die die Hoffnung nicht aufgeben wollten, als einzige Möglichkeit die Hoffnung auf Gott. Aber hatte nicht auch er enttäuscht? Wenn die Predigt Deuterojesajas glaubhaft gewesen war, dann hatte Gott selbst Versprechen gemacht, die unerfüllt geblieben waren. Er hatte sich vorgenommen, selbst einzugreifen, um die Rahmenbedingungen zu garantieren. Warum hatte er diese Versprechen nicht eingelöst? War die Zeit noch nicht gekommen, oder waren die menschlichen Voraussetzungen noch nicht da? Oder waren vielleicht doch die Menschen allein schuld? Gab es noch zu viel Korruption im Land? Konnte man vielleicht durch deren Aufdeckung und Abschaffung die menschlichen Voraussetzungen schaffen, damit Gott eingreift und endlich das Heil bringt? Im Kommenden soll versucht werden, durch Auslegung des Textes einige dieser Fragen zu beantworten.

2. AUSLEGUNG Die Ich-Person aus Jes 62,6-9 scheint die Meinung zu vertreten, dass gehandelt werden muss. Alleiniges Warten auf Gottes Eingriff bringt nichts 18. DONNER, Geschichte (Anm. 6), S. 446. 19. Nach LABOUVIE, Gottesknecht (Anm. 1), S. 329 vertieft Jes 60-62 die bisherigen Traditionen des Jesajabuches anlässlich der Einweihung des Zweiten Tempels und schreibt sie fort.

FÜR MEHR ZUVERLÄSSIGKEIT GOTTES

33

mehr. Sie schlägt deshalb vor, Gott in den Ohren zu liegen, bis er eine Wende herbeiführt: ‫על חומתיך ירושלם הפקדתי שמרים כל היום וכל הלילה תמיד לא יחשו המזכרים‬ ‫את יהוה אל דמי לכם‬ ‫ואל תתנו דמי לו עד יכונן ועד ישים את ירושלם תהלה בארץ‬ ‫נשבע יהוה בימינו ובזרוע עזו אם אתן את דגנך עוד מאכל לאיביך ואם ישתו בני נכר‬ ‫תירושך אשר יגעת בו‬ ‫כי מאספיו יאכלהו והללו את יהוה ומקבציו ישתהו בחצרות קדשי‬

Zum besseren Verständnis des Textes sei zunächst seine Gliederung präsentiert: Bestellung der Wächter auf die Mauern Jerusalems Auftrag, Gott keine Ruhe zu lassen Versprechen JHWHS: 1. Wenn ich noch dein Essen und Trinken anderen gebe, dann …! 2. Die sammeln, sollen essen und trinken zum Lobpreis Gottes.20

Die klassische Interpretation dieser Verse besteht darin, dass die Wächter bestellt werden, JHWH zu erinnern21 und keine Ruhe zu geben, bis er Jerusalem ruhmreich werden lasse. Danach wird ein Schwur erwähnt, den er früher geleistet habe,22 mit welchem er sich zur Aufrichtung von sozialer Gerechtigkeit verpflichtet. In diesem Sinne kann man beispielsweise neben vielen anderen, im Grunde genommen gleichwertigen Übersetzungen, die neue Zürcher Bibel anführen: Auf deinen Mauern, Jerusalem, habe ich Wächter eingesetzt, den ganzen Tag und die ganze Nacht, niemals schweigen sie! Die ihr den HERRN erinnert, gönnt euch keine Ruhe, und lasst ihm keine Ruhe, bis er es fest gründet und bis er Jerusalem ruhmreich macht auf der Erde. Der HERR hat geschworen mit seiner Rechten und mit seinem starken Arm: Ich werde dein Korn nicht mehr deinen Feinden als Speise geben, und Fremde werden deinen Wein nicht trinken, um den du dich abgemüht hast! Sondern die es ernten, sollen es essen und den HERRN loben, und die ihn einbringen, sollen ihn trinken in den Vorhöfen meines Heiligtums.

20. Der Lobpreis stellt eine Anspielung auf den Brauch der Darbringung der Erstlinge dar, vgl. R.N. WHYBRAY, Isaiah 40-66, London, Oliphants, 1975, S. 250. 21. W. LAU, Schriftgelehrte Prophetie in Jes 56-66: Eine Untersuchung zu den literarischen Bezügen in den letzten elf Kapiteln des Jesajabuches (BZAW, 225), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1994, S. 104. 22. Vgl. PAURITSCH, Gemeinde (Anm. 3), S. 132: „Jahweschwur als Bestätigung und Bekräftigung der bisher geäußerten Zuversicht.“

34

J. KLEIN

Was an dieser Interpretation sympathisch erscheint, ist die Tatsache, wie menschennah JHWH gesehen wird: Er hat geschworen, sich aber anscheinend daran (noch) nicht gehalten. Da aber das Einhalten des Schwurs für die Ich-Person so wichtig ist, werden Wächter bestellt, die ihn daran erinnern sollen. Daraus könnte man unmittelbar beispielhaftes Verhalten für heutige Politik vorschlagen: Wenn bei Gott selbst im Sinne seiner Zuverlässigkeit Mechanismen eingeführt werden – in seinem Fall die Wächter –, die ihn an seine Versprechen erinnern sollen, so dass er sie einhalten kann, dann könnte heutige Politik daraus lernen, indem sie für ihre Vertreter Mechanismen einführt, die mehr Zuverlässigkeit in der Erfüllung der Versprechen garantieren. 3. DIE BEDEUTUNG VON ‫נשבע‬ Folgt man dieser Interpretation, entstehen Fragen, auf die es schwer ist, eine Antwort zu geben. Wie wenig doch ein Schwur Gewicht hat, zumal bei JHWH! Der Gedanke, dass ein Schwur eine konditionierte Selbstverfluchung des Schwörenden automatisch mit sich bringt, d.h. dass der Schwurbrüchige durch einen Fluch so sehr bestraft wird, dass er von seiner Angst getrieben, alle Kräfte antreibt, den Schwur so schnell wie möglich zu erfüllen, scheint dem Text fern zu sein. Das mag bei einem menschlichen Schwur möglich sein, aber ist es denkbar, dass so von einem göttlichen Schwur gesprochen wird? Ist die Ethik Gottes derart desolat, dass er an einen Schwur erinnert werden muss, um ihn einzuhalten, dazu noch ständig? Dass es Wächter benötigt, die darauf dringen, dass er doch endlich seinen Schwur erfülle? War es denkbar, dass in der Zeit nach der Wiederkehr und dem Wiederaufbau des Tempels das Vertrauen in JHWH derart gesunken war, dass man so von ihm redete, als einem, der seinen Schwur nicht einhielt oder zumindest zögerte, den darin bekundeten Willen umzusetzen? Im Gegenteil, eher zeugen die tritojesajanischen Texte davon, dass man alle Hoffnungen in die Hände Gottes legte. Vielleicht tat man zu wenig auf sozialer Ebene, aber für die Gottesbeziehung, zumindest im kultischen Sinn des Fastens, sorgte man sehr. Selbst unser Abschnitt zeugt doch von einem sehr großen Vertrauen JHWH gegenüber. Denn wenn man JHWH zu drängen versuchte, dass er sein Vorhaben erfüllte, und glaubte, dass er tatsächlich Macht habe, die schönen Worte in die Tat umzusetzen und grundsätzlich auch gewillt ist, dieses zu tun, dann ist ein Grundvertrauen JHWH gegenüber vorauszusetzen.

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Es genügt nicht, auf diese Fragen mit literarkritischen Hinweisen zu antworten, die Anlass geben, entstehungsgeschichtlich den Text auseinander zu nehmen. Bereits C. Westermann sieht V. 8-9 als nachträglichen Eintrag inspiriert aus Jes 65,21f.,23 K. Koenen sieht V. 8-9 als eine in sich geschlossene Einheit,24 U. Berges vertritt, dass es einen relativ weiten Konsens darüber gibt, dass V. 8-9 redaktionell sind.25 Wie sehr diese Ansichten auch gerechtfertigt erscheinen, einerseits ist der Hinweis wichtig, dass der Endtext es verdient, trotz komplizierter Entstehungsgeschichte als solcher ausgelegt zu werden, andererseits wird die Analyse noch zeigen, dass V. 8-9 nicht zwingend im Widerspruch zum Vorhergehenden stehen. Um Antworten auf diese Fragen zu erhalten, müssen wir den Text genauer ansehen. Zunächst befassen wir uns mit dem Wort ‫ נשבע‬bzw. ‫שבע‬ ni. Es gibt im Hebräischen kein Wort, das genauer das wiedergeben kann, was man im Deutschen mit schwören bezeichnen würde. Das bedeutet, dass ‫ שבע‬die geeigneteste hebräische Wurzel ist, um den Sprechakt des Schwörens zu beschreiben. Umgekehrt gilt das jedoch nicht. Die Grundbedeutung von ‫ שבע‬besteht nämlich nicht im Schwören, sondern im etwas Unumstößliches sagen, und so kann das Wort versprechen, urteilen, befehlen, bekennen, festlegen, insistieren und ähnliches bedeuten, wobei solcherlei insistente mit ‫ שבע‬umschriebene Rede oftmals, aber keineswegs immer unter einen konditionierten Fluch gestellt wird.26 In unserem Text ist letzteres eher nicht der Fall, man wird schon allein wegen des Gedankens, dass sich Gott nicht selbst verfluchen kann, bzw. dass so etwas undenkbar ist, nicht an einen konditionierten Fluch denken. Dazu macht das Herbeirufen der Wächter, die JHWH gegenüber insistieren sollen, wenig Sinn, wenn sich Gott selbst schon so einen großen Druck auferlegt hat, wie er durch einen konditionierten Fluch gegeben sein würde. Man wird demnach eher mit einem Versprechen oder einem klaren Wort JHWHS zu rechnen haben. Die Nennung seines starken Armes und eben nicht eines höheren Gottes gibt dem Ausspruch am ehesten den Wert eines Ehrenworts. Wenn man die Reflexivität des Nif‘al wiedergeben möchte, erscheint am besten die Wendung „JHWH legt sich fest“ angemessen zu sein. 23. WESTERMANN, Jesaja (Anm. 3), S. 300f. 24. KOENEN, Ethik (Anm. 3), S. 128. 25. BERGES, Jesaja (Anm. 1), S. 455). Für die Ursprünglichkeit von V. 8-9 tritt mit guten Gründen SEKINE, Tritojesajanische Sammlung (Anm. 1), S. 97, ein. 26. Zur Bedeutung von ‫שבע‬, vgl. J. KLEIN, Beschworene Selbstverpflichtung: Eine Studie zum Schwur im Alten Testament und dessen Umwelt, mit einem Ausblick auf Mt 5,33-37, Zürich, Theologischer Verlag, 2015, S. 128-167.

36

J. KLEIN

4. TEMPUS

UND

ZEIT

VON

‫נשבע‬

‫ נשבע‬kann grundsätzlich sowohl als Partizip27 als auch als Perfekt28 gedeutet werden. Für das Partizip spricht die Stellung am Anfang des Satzes,29 denn im Falle eines Perfekts müsste das Verb zwar nicht unbedingt nach dem Subjekt, dürfte aber nicht an erster Stelle im Satz stehen.30 Handelt es sich um ein Partizip, so wird damit Gleichzeitigkeit ausgedrückt. Aber mit welchem Ereignis gleichzeitig? Vielleicht mit dem Insistieren der Wächter? Wäre der Text dann so zu verstehen, dass die Wächter insistieren, und währenddessen oder als Folge dessen gibt JHWH ein neues Versprechen ab? Das würde Sinn ergeben. Das Partizip würde so wie an vielen Stellen des Alten Testaments andeuten, dass das dadurch Ausgesagte wie in einem Film herangezoomt wird und von den Hörenden und Lesenden so wahrgenommen wird, als ob sie es gerade erleben.31 Das Versprechen JHWHS wäre also zeitgleich mit dem Vortragen des Textes zu denken. Fasst man ‫ נשבע יהוה‬als Perfekt auf, erscheint zuallererst die Möglichkeit in Betracht zu kommen, das Versprechen JHWHS als plusquamperfektisch bzw. als zu dem Zeitpunkt der Rede bereits abgeschlossen aufzufassen. Damit sind wir bei dem anfangs beschriebenen Problem, dass nämlich die Wächter insistieren, dass JHWH sein Versprechen, das er vorher gegeben hat, einhält. Streng genommen müsste es dann auch ‫ ויהוה נשבע‬heißen. Möglicherweise ist die Abweichung von der üblichen Wortstellung genau aus dem Grund vorgenommen worden, um dieses Missverständnis auszuschließen. Daher scheint die Annahme möglich zu sein, dass es sich zwar um ein Perfekt, dabei aber um einen Koinzidenzfall32 handelt. Ähnlich der Botenformel ‫ – כה אמר יהוה‬so spricht hiermit JHWH könnte auch das ‫ נשבע יהוה‬als hiermit verspricht JHWH oder hiermit legt sich JHWH f est verstanden werden. Man kann also in beiden Fällen, sowohl wenn man ‫ נשבע‬als Perfekt als auch wenn man es als Partizip auffasst, das Versprechen als sich gerade 27. Vgl. ‫ נשבע‬als Partizip in Ps 15,4, Jes 65,16. 28. ‫ נשבע‬als Perfekt begegnet sehr häufig, vgl. stellvertretend für viele Stellen Dtn 6,18.23; 9,5; 11,21. 29. Partizip am Satzanfang in Ps 145,14a: ‫ ;סומך יהוה לכל הנופלים‬Ps 116,16a: ‫שומר‬ ‫פתאים יהוה‬. 30. Vgl. R. BARTELMUS, Einführung in das Biblische Hebräisch, Zürich, Theologischer Verlag, 1994, S. 205: „Ausnahmen von der letztgenannten Regel finden sich praktisch nur in direkter Rede.“ 31. Vgl. beispielsweise die Verwendung des Partizips nach der Partikel ‫והנה‬, beschrieben bei J. KLEIN, David versus Saul: Ein Beitrag zum Erzählsystem der Samuelbücher (BWANT, 158), Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2002, 17f. 32. Zum Koinzidenzfall des Perfekts vgl. BARTELMUS, Hebräisch (Anm. 30), S. 73-75.

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ereignend und als Folge der Insistenzen der Wächter sehen, nicht als Grund und Voraussetzung für diese. Mit anderen Worten: die Wächter insistieren nicht deshalb, weil JHWH sein Versprechen nicht eingehalten hat, um ihn nun endlich dazu zu bringen, dass er es einlöst, sondern die Wächter bringen JHWH dazu, dass er ein Versprechen abgibt.

5. DIE WÄCHTER Einen Koinzidenzfall wird man auf alle Fälle bei der Bestellung der Wächter annehmen. Wenn da die Ich-Person davon spricht, dass sie Wächter bestellt hat, dann scheint das am ehesten ein prophetischer Akt zu sein, der sich gerade ereignet: Hiermit bestelle ich Wächter, die nicht ruhen sollen und JHWH nicht ruhen lassen sollen, Wächter die bewirken, dass JHWH sich festlegt, seine Regeln zu ändern. Wahrscheinlich haben die Wächter nicht zuletzt die Aufgabe, das Versprechen, das JHWH in V. 8f. gibt, zu unterstützen. Durch das Wachen auf den (noch nicht errichteten) Mauern können sie sicherstellen, dass keine Feinde in die Stadt eindringen und das Recht umkehren. Für diese Auslegung spricht eine weitere Beobachtung: Man hat die ‫ מזכרים‬als Erinnernde gedeutet und sie in Parallele zu den Wächtern gesehen oder sie mit ihnen gleichgesetzt. Man hat das Partizip ‫ מזכירים‬zumal es als ‫ המזכירים‬mit einem ‫ ה‬versehen ist, personifiziert und in Anlehnung an die gleichnamige Bezeichnung königlicher Beamter33 geschlossen, dass es sich um himmlische Beamte34 des Gottkönigs handelt, deren Funktion darin bestehe, Gott zu erinnern, dass er sein Programm durchführt.35 Der Sinn dieses Erinnerns wäre in Analogie des Händeritzens in Jes 49,16 als Wiedergutmachung des Vergessens, das in Jes 49,14 angesprochen war, zu verstehen, JHWH habe selbst Maßnahmen ergriffen, um an sein Vorhaben zu erinnern.36 B. Duhm hat auf die Ähnlichkeit des Wirkens mit dem ‫עון‬ ‫ מזכיר‬in Ez 29,16 und dem in Sach 1,12 im Jahr 519 v. Chr.37 wirkenden 33. U. BERGES, Jesaja. Der Prophet und sein Buch (BG, 22), Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2010, S. 146, betont die Funktion der „Erinnerer“, weist auf 2Sam 8,16; 20,24; 1Kön 4,3; 2Kön 18,18.37; Jes 36,3.22 hin und vertritt, dass der ‫„ מזכיר‬in vorstaatlicher Zeit einer der höchsten Staatsdiener“ (sic!) war. 34. Vgl. WESTERMANN, Jesaja (Anm. 3), S. 300, der freilich die „Erinnernden“ mit den Wächtern identifiziert. 35. WHYBRAY, Isaiah (Anm. 20), S. 249. 36. So WHYBRAY, Isaiah (Anm. 20), S. 249. 37. Vgl. I. WILLI-PLEIN, Haggai, Sacharja, Maleachi (ZBK.AT, 24/4), Zürich, Theologischer Verlag, 2011, S. 61.

38

J. KLEIN

Engel JHWHS hingewiesen,38 selbst wenn letzterer nicht ‫ מזכיר‬heißt. Problematisch ist ein Mehrfaches: Zunächst ist der Verbalcharakter des Partizips ‫ מזכירים‬nicht zu verkennen. Das ‫ ה‬vor den ‫ מזכירים‬stellt nicht einen Artikel dar, der das Partizip substantiviert, sondern knüpft es als Näherbestimmung der ‫ שמרים‬an diese an, indem es einen Attributsatz39 einleitet. Es gibt also nicht Wächter, die eingesetzt werden und Beamte, die JHWH erinnern sollen – in diesem Fall müsste es heißen ‫ המזכירים ליהוה‬und nicht ‫המזכירים‬ ‫את יהוה‬, sondern es gibt Wächter, deren Aktion durch das Partizip ‫מזכירים‬ beschrieben wird. Ferner weist die Akkusativpartikel bei ‫ זכר‬hi. nicht auf den hin, der erinnert wird, sondern auf denjenigen bzw. dasjenige, was in Erinnerung gerufen werden soll.40 Das würde bedeuten, dass, wenn man die ‫ מזכירים‬wie weitgehend als Konsens angenommen wird, als „Erinnerer“ deutet, diese also nicht JHWH erinnern, sondern an JHWH erinnern, oder ihn verkündigen würden.41 Das ergibt m.E. wenig Sinn, da es nicht um das Gotteslob geht, sondern allenfalls um das Lob Jerusalems, und dass JHWH keine Ruhe gegeben werden soll, bis die Ziele verwirklicht sind. Vielmehr sollte man sich deshalb darauf besinnen, dass ‫ זכר‬hi. etwas weiter gefasst ist und nicht primär „erinnern“ bedeutet, sondern sich von der Grundbedeutung „feierlich nennen“ ableiten lässt, „wobei sich das Subjekt an der Person oder der Sache, die es nennt, aktiv beteiligt, so dass geradezu eine besondere Seite an dem genannten beschworen wird“.42 Dazu passt dann auch die Akkusativpartikel ‫ את‬sehr gut. Folglich haben die Wächter die Aufgabe, JHWH anzurufen, anzubeten,43 ja zu beschwören, bis er Jerusalem zum Lobpreis führt. Die Antwort JHWHS auf diese Beschwörung der Wächter ist dann das Versprechen, das er gibt. Die Aufgabe der Wächter kann unter diesen Umständen nur darin liegen, nicht Ruhe zu geben und JHWH keine Ruhe zu gönnen, bis er diese Art von Gerechtigkeit verwirklicht haben wird. Sie beschwören ihn, so dass er 38. DUHM, Jesaja (Anm. 2), S. 460. 39. Vgl. W. GESENIUS, Hebräisches und Aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament, Heidelberg, Springer, 182013, S. 264f. 40. LABOUVIE, Gottesknecht (Anm. 1), S. 67. 41. KOENEN, Ethik (Anm. 3), S. 125; ZAPF, Jesaja 56-66 (Anm. 1), S. 398; SPANS, Zion (Anm. 1), S. 306.312. 42. P.A.H. DE BOER, Gedenken und Gedächtnis in der Welt des Alten Testaments, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1962, S. 63. Vgl. auch das akkadische zakāru(m). Vgl. beispielsweise Jes 48,1, wo ‫ זכר‬hi. in Parallele zu ‫ שבע‬ni. steht, Jos 23,7f, wo ‫ זכר‬hi. in Parallele zu ‫ שבע‬hi steht, vgl. auch ‫ זכר‬hi. in Ps 20,8 im Sinne von beschwören. Vgl. auch 2Sam 14,11, wo David angehalten wird, zur Bekräftigung seines Urteils JHWH zu beschwören: ‫ זכר‬mit Akkusativpartikel ‫את‬. 43. J.L. MCKENZIE, Second Isaiah (AncB, 20), New York, NY, Doubleday, 1968, S. 185; J. BLENKINSOPP, Isaiah 56-66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AncB, 19B), New York, NY, Doubleday, 2003, S. 239.

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39

zunächst ein Versprechen abgibt und danach verwirklicht. Damit dieses Vorhaben gelingen kann, braucht es Wächter, die ständig wachen. Die Forderung wird dadurch betont, dass nach der Formulierung „Tag und Nacht“ noch ein „immer“ eingefügt wird. Wer sind aber diese Wächter? Zu welchen Kreisen gehören sie? Die IchPerson sagt in V. 1 ähnlich wie von den Wächtern in V. 6 (‫ )לא יחשו‬auch von sich selbst aus, dass sie nicht schweigen kann (‫)לא אחשה‬. Man hat daher auf einen Wächter-Kreis geschlossen, dem der Prophet angehörig ist.44 C. Westermann vermutet den Kreis der durch die „Verkündigung Angeredeten“,45 W. Herrmann denkt an die Volksangehörigen des Propheten.46 G. Fohrer denkt an „Mauerwächter, die jede Stadt besaß“, und von denen immer einige Dienst hatten, so dass die Mahnung ständig erklingen konnte.47 K. Koenen vermutet Schüler des Propheten, die von ihm eingesetzt wurden,48 W. Lau spricht von Prophetenjüngern Tritojesajas.49 S. Labouvie vermutet eine Gruppe, die das Vertrauen JHWHS genießt, sich zu ihm bekennt und seinen Namen verkündigt.50 Möglicherweise sind es aber nicht nur solche irdischen Wächter, vielleicht gesellen sich himmlische dazu. Das kann anhand der nächsten Frage erörtert werden Worin besteht die Aufgabe der Wächter? Zunächst kann festgehalten werden, dass die Wächter ‫ שמרים‬in Jes 62,6 sich von den Wächtern ‫צפים‬ in Jes 52,8 unterscheiden. Der Akzent der ersten liegt auf dem Bewachen, Bewahren, jener der zweiten auf dem Spähen. Die ersten sind nicht still, d.h. insistieren, bis JHWH sein Versprechen abgibt, die zweiten erheben ihre Stimme und jubeln, weil JHWH zurückkehrt. Unseren Wächtern geht es also mehr als den Wächtern in Jes 52,8 um das Durchsetzen der Ziele des Propheten als um das Erkennen von Ereignissen und Weiterleitung von Informationen. Damit stimmt Jes 60,11 überein, wo davon gesprochen wird, dass die Tore des neuen Jerusalem für alle Fremden offen stehen.51

44. WESTERMANN, Jesaja (Anm. 3), S. 300. Nach BERGES, Prophet (Anm. 33), S. 146 stehen die „Wächter“ und „Erinnerer“ hinter „dem ‚Ich‘, das nicht ruht bis Zions Gerechtigkeit und Heil wie eine Fackel vor den Völkern brennt“ (V. 1). 45. WESTERMANN, Jesaja (Anm. 3), S. 300. 46. W. HERRMANN, Theologie des Alten Testaments: Geschichte und Bedeutung des israelitisch-jüdischen Glaubens, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2004, S. 243. 47. G. FOHRER, Jesaja 40-66 (ZBK.AT, 19/3), Zürich, Theologischer Verlag, 21986, S. 242. 48. KOENEN, Ethik (Anm. 3), S. 126. 49. LAU, Prophetie (Anm. 21), S. 105. 50. LABOUVIE, Gottesknecht (Anm. 1), S. 196. 51. MCKENZIE, Second Isaiah (Anm. 43), S. 185.

40

J. KLEIN

Die Aufgabe dieser Wächter ist zunächst negativ formuliert, besteht darin, nicht still zu halten und nicht zu ruhen,52 was jedoch etwas Positives beinhaltet, nämlich aktiv zu sein, und zwar bis JHWH Jerusalem zum Lobpreis im Land gemacht haben wird. Dass sie auf die Mauern gestellt werden, auch wenn dies als symbolischer Akt zu verstehen ist, ist wahrscheinlich ein Zeichen, dass diese Mauern noch nicht errichtet sind.53 Die Wächter sollen als Nebeneffekt auch das Fehlen der Mauern ausgleichen. Damit bewirken sie genau das, was im Versprechen JHWHS ausgedrückt wird, dass nämlich nicht Fremde in die Stadt kommen und durch Raub von dem profitieren, was in der Stadt erarbeitet wurde. Damit erweisen sie sich als Boten JHWHS, die das Einhalten seines Versprechens garantieren. Die Wächter haben also eine doppelte Funktion: (a) JHWH zu beschwören, bis er sein Versprechen abgibt; (b) JHWH bei der Erfüllung seines Versprechens zu unterstützen. Für diese Funktion benötigt JHWH sowohl himmlische als auch irdische Kräfte.

6. DAS VERSPRECHEN JHWHS Beschworen werden soll JHWH, dass er Jerusalem ruhmreich macht. Das Versprechen ist dann sozusagen die Antwort auf das Gebet oder die Gebetsbeschwörung der Wächter.54 Das Versprechen wird zweigliedrig dargestellt. In einem ersten Glied wird durch zwei elliptische Konditionalsätze formuliert, was unbedingt verhindert werden soll, und zwar, dass JHWH weder den Feinden das Korn Israels geben wird noch dass Fremde den Wein trinken, um den sich Israel bemüht hat.55 In einem zweiten wird das positive Ziel formuliert, dass diejenigen, die sammeln, essen sollen um so JHWH zu loben, und diejenigen, die ernten, (den Wein) in den Tempelhöfen trinken sollen. JHWH wird also für mehr Gerechtigkeit eintreten in Israel, nach dem Motto: wer arbeitet, der soll auch essen! Er erhält dazu den Anstoß und die Hilfe von den Wächtern. 52. SPANS, Zion (Anm. 1), S. 306. 53. PAURITSCH, Gemeinde (Anm. 3), S. 131f. SPANS, Zion (Anm. 1), S. 311, sieht in V. 7 zu Recht die Wiederaufbauthematik durchscheinend in dem Sinn, dass es Ziel des Textes ist, den Wiederaufbau zu erreichen, und sieht zu Unrecht einen Widerspruch mit V. 6, „der bereits mit wiedererrichteten Mauern rechnet“. Letzteres ist nicht der Fall. Die Wächter auf den Mauern geben mehr Sinn, wenn die Mauern noch nicht restauriert sind. 54. Ähnlich MCKENZIE, Second Isaiah (Anm. 43), S. 185. Anders PAURITSCH, Gemeinde (Anm. 3), S. 132, der V. 8f. als Zitat eines „Jahweschwur(s) als Bestätigung und Bekräftigung der bisher geäußerten Zuversicht“ ansieht. 55. Das Motiv, dass Israel arbeitet und andere ernten, findet sich noch in Dtn 28,30-33; Am 5,11.

41

FÜR MEHR ZUVERLÄSSIGKEIT GOTTES

7. ZUR THEMATIK

VON

RELIGION UND POLITIK

Religion und Politik sind bei diesem Text stark verquickt. Man benutzt ein öffentliches religiöses Ereignis oder spielt zumindest darauf an – wohl das der Tempeleinweihung –, um politische Ziele anzusprechen. Was besonders drückt, ist die mangelnde soziale Gerechtigkeit. Formuliert wird die Rede aber nicht in der Art einer Kritik an die Adresse der Volksführer, sondern die Ich-Person spricht von Gerechtigkeit als Ziel, das JHWH noch nicht verwirklicht hat. Dadurch, dass nicht Menschen, sondern JHWH angeredet wird und dieser durch sein Versprechen den formulierten Zielen zustimmt, sind die Politiker im Land – obwohl als Verantwortliche für die Gerechtigkeit zumindest mitgemeint – zunächst aus der Schusslinie. Es gibt keine Konfrontation mit ihnen. Die Anliegen werden trotzdem sehr deutlich genannt, so dass die Politiker sie sich aneignen können. Sie sind sogar eingeladen, selbst Wächterfunktionen zu übernehmen. Das ist eine sehr dezente Art, Ziele vorzugeben, gleichzeitig eine, die sehr deutlich gehört werden muss, die eine Richtung angibt und positive Kräfte zum Weitermachen mobilisiert – also eine ganz andere Art der Prophetie, die sich sowohl von der vorexilischen, meist kritischen und oppositionellen Art als auch von der exilischen, meist als Heilsprophetie aufgefassten Rede unterscheidet. Der Mittelweg der kritisch-konstruktiven Begleitung scheint gelungen zu sein. Zum Abschluss sei dieser zukunftsweisende Text in eigener Übersetzung gebracht: Über deine Mauern, Jerusalem, bestelle ich hiermit Wächter – den ganzen Tag und die ganze Nacht, immer; sie sollen nicht still stehen – die JHWH beschwören, keine Ruhe euch! Und gebt ihm keine Ruhe, bis er Jerusalem gegründet und gesetzt haben wird zum Lobpreis auf Erden! JHWH hat sich bei seiner Rechten und bei seinem starken Arm festgelegt: Wenn ich noch dein Getreide deinen Feinden zu essen gebe und die Fremden deinen Wein trinken, für den du dich abgemüht hast …! Die es sammeln, sollen es essen, und JHWH preisen, und die (den Wein) ernten, sollen ihn trinken in den Vorhöfen meines Heiligtums.

Johannes KLEIN (Bern/Făgăraș)

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1): A LEADER, NOT JUST IN THE TEMPLE?

Religion and politics, these two realities of human social life, were more closely linked in the ancient millennia than modern people would suppose. In our postmodern Western thinking, one can hardly understand the very complicated connections between religion and politics in ancient societies. For example, in Egypt the pharaohs were the incarnation of the gods, and in the ancient Middle East the kings were their vice-regents. The kings of Israel also ascended the throne by the will of God, although their power was not as unlimited as in neighboring kingdoms. Today, even though all Western monarchies are constitutional, with political power having passed to the people by referendum or elections, the traditional phrase “by the grace of God” is still included in the full titles and symbols of some European monarchs.1 In the United Kingdom, monarchs are supreme governors of the Church of England even today.2

1. HISTORICAL SETTING OF SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST The figure of Simon the high priest is a very expressive example of how religion and politics were connected in ancient Judaism. After the Babylonian exile, the Judeans did not regain their independence completely; they did not have a king or kingdom. The Judean kingdom, and the holy city of Jerusalem, became the Persian province whose Aramaic name was Medinat Yehud. In this period, a transition took place “from a monarchic system, with the king as the chief religious and cultic figure, to one in which the high priest 1. Thus in Denmark, Liechtenstein, the Netherlands, Spain and the United Kingdom. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/By_the_Grace_of_God. 2. King Henry VIII assumed these titles in the Act of Supremacy: “Protector and supreme head of the English Church and clergy”, “the only supreme head in wrath of the Church of England”. The supremacy of the king extended beyond keeping religious teaching pure. See H. JEDIN, Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, Bd. IV., Reformation, Katholische Reform und Gegenreformation, Freiburg, Herder, 1967, pp. 345-346.

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was the main religious leader. This change from a monarchy, as well as other changes in the status of Judah, unavoidably led to changes in the religion.”3 All the evidence indicates that the office of high priest expanded in importance over time to fill the gap of local leadership, even though there was also a provincial governor appointed by the Persians.4 Some coins from the Persian period have also been found with the inscription “Hezekiah the governor”, who can be identified with the high priest Hezekiah mentioned by Josephus in Contra Apionem 1, 187-189. This evidence makes it possible to suppose that the high priest may sometimes have been appointed governor by the Persian authorities.5 In such a case he united the two offices in his person. Although the high priest had important authority in the Temple and in matters concerning the cult during the First Temple period, as indicated by a number of biblical passages, the king was still the chief cultic official. This situation changed considerably in the Second Temple period because of the loss of the monarchy. The priesthood, especially in the person of the high priest, was in a position to fill that vacuum, at least to a certain extent. We must accept that the power of the high priest is likely to have varied over time, and a lot may have depended on the personality and strength of character of the individual holding the office. Nevertheless, the high priest was the leading political and religious figure throughout much of the Second Temple period.6 How did the high priest exercise his religious-political office? Some texts mention the existence of a council, which is called gerousia (council of elders), boulē (assembly forming a part of government) or Sanhedrin (Josephus, Ant. 12,3,3; 2 Macc. 4,43; Acts 5,21-41).7 How much power was held by this council and how much by the high priest, and how competences were divided between them, remains uncertain. We can agree with Grabbe that power division probably depended much on the person of the high priest. If he was a strong personality, the role of the Sanhedrin will have decreased; if he was easily influenced and a weak person, the gerousia will have played a more important role.8 3. L.L. GRABBE, History of Judaism, Part II: Second Temple Times (586 B.C.E.–70 C.E.), in J. NEUSNER et al. (eds.), Encyclopedia of Judaism, Vol. II., Leiden, Brill, 2005, 1296-1312, p. 1300. 4. L.L. GRABBE, A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period I., Yehud, A History of the Persian Province Yehud, London, T & T Clark International, 2004, p. 231. 5. GRABBE, History of Judaism (n. 3), p. 1300. 6. Ibid. 7. H. MANTEL presents the Sanhedrin in these terms: “Usually means the supreme political, religious, and judicial body in Palestine during the Roman period, both before and after the destruction of the Temple, until the abolishment of the patriarchate (c. 425 C.E.).” H. MANTEL, Sanhedrin, in F. SKOLNIK (ed.), Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 20, Detroit, Macmillan Reference, 22007, 21-23, p. 21. 8. GRABBE, History of Judaism (n. 3), p. 1301.

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1)

2. THE DATE

AND

45

CONTEXT OF SIRACH 50,1-24

Before discussing the context of Sir 50,1-24, it will be useful to give some general information about the book of Sirach. This book has been known by a number of different names, depending on the textual tradition. The title of the book in the Greek manuscript tradition is The Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach (σοφία Ἰησοῦ υἱοῦ Σιραχ).9 The Latin text tradition has the book inscription “Ecclesiasticus”, which comes from the Latin expression liber ecclesiasticus or “church book”. This title is commonly attributed to the third-century church father Cyprian (d. 258). “The usual explanation is that it was the outstanding example of a ‘church book’, that is to say, of those books which were much used in church worship but not included within the more narrowly defined canon.”10 Jewish usage normally refers to the book as “The Book of Ben Sira”.11 This deuterocanonical book is unique in the biblical tradition, and scholars generally agree on the date when the Hebrew original was translated into Greek. The translator, who was the grandson of the author, mentions that he came to Egypt in the thirty-eighth year of the reign of King Euergetos. This king is commonly supposed to be Ptolemy VII Physcon Euergetes II, who began to rule in 170 BCE, making his “thirtyeighth year” 132 BCE. The prologue speaks about a stay of translator, but the translation was probably made shortly after his arrival in Egypt.12 The author of the Hebrew text, Jesus ben Sira, was the grandfather of the translator. If we allow for a lapse of 50 to 60 years, or two generations, the date of the Hebrew book can be placed somewhere in the first quarter of the second century. The terminus a quo would be 196 BCE, the year that the high priest Simon who is eulogized in chapter 50 died. The terminus ad quem is provided by the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175-164 BCE). “No trace of the bitter conflicts alluded to in Daniel and vividly described in the books of Maccabees appears in Sirach.”13 With Sirach 44 a new section starts in the book of Ben Sira, also known as the “Praise of Israel’s Great Ancestors”. This title occurs in most Greek 9. Cf. J. ZIEGLER, Septuaginta, Sapientia Iesu Filii Sirach, Vetus Testamentum Graecum auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum, vol. XII, 2, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1980, p. 128. The uncial codices vary in title. The edition of Ziegler bears the title σοφία Ἰησοῦ υἱοῦ Σιραχ. Codex Vaticanus has the inscription σοφία Σ(ε)ιραχ. See p. 127. 10. Cf. R.J. COGGINS, Sirach (Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 15), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1998, p. 15. 11. Cf. P.W. SKEHAN – A.A. DI LELLA, The Wisdom of Ben Sira (AncB, 39), New York, Doubleday, 1987, p. 3. 12. Cf. COGGINS, Sirach (n. 10), 18. 13. Cf. ibid., 19.

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manuscripts, as well as Latin and Syriac ones. Ben Sira himself may have inserted it.14 The praise of the fathers is new in the biblical tradition and was probably stimulated by the glorification of heroes in Hellenistic texts of the de viris illustribus genre.15 Di Lella says that this part of the book is “a historical panorama of Israel’s heroes who are worthy of praise… Enoch is the first individual named (44,16), and the list of ancestors comes to an end with another mention of Enoch, in 49,14a, thus forming an inclusio, which signals the conclusion of this division”.16 At the beginning of chapter 44 we encounter a list of categories of heroes about whom the author will write in detail. He lists only the stalwarts of Israel. These anshe chesed, “godly people”, “people of piety” are classified into twelve categories. The Septuagint uses the term “who” (ὅς) twelve times. This holy number also bears a symbolic meaning of completeness, like the twelve tribes of Israel, months of the year,17 or twelve gods of Mount Olympus. The list of the praised ancestors begins (44,16) and ends (49,14) with Enoch. Sir 50,1-24 includes some enthusiastic praise of Simon. The high priest does not feature in this list in a proper sense, however, but is rather an appendix18 or better, the climax of the praise of the fathers.19 In at least three respects, the praise of Simon is different from that of the other ancestors: 1. Simon is the only one who is not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible. 2. Simon is contemporary with the scribe, or sage-writer of the book, and probably died shortly before this praise of him was composed.20 3. The praise dedicated to him is the longest and the most enthusiastic of all. In this essay, we will focus selectively on only certain aspects of Sir 50,17, beginning with Sir 50,1-4.

14. Cf. SKEHAN – DI LELLA, Wisdom of Ben Sira (n. 11), p. 497.499. J. MARBÖCK entitles this part Väterlob in his Jesus Sirach 1-23 (HThAT), Freiburg, Herder, 2010, p. 31. 15. Cf. M. HENGEL, Judentum und Hellensimus, Tübingen, J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 3 1988, p. 249. 16. SKEHAN – DI LELLA, Wisdom of Ben Sira (n. 11), p. 499. 17. Cf. ibid., 500. 18. Cf. ibid., 499. 19. Cf. O. MULDER, Simon the High Priest in Sirach 50: An Exegetical Study of the Significance of Simon the High Priest as Climax to the Praise of the Fathers in Ben Sira’s Concept of the History of Israel, Leiden, Brill, 2003, p. 25. 20. These issues are disputed among scholars. In the opinion of Mulder, the majority of interpreters assume the recent death of Simon at the time of the composition of the Hebrew text because exegesis of Sirach was based exclusively on the Septuagint for a long time, which translates the Hebrew participles in Sir 50,1-4 with aorist verbs. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), pp. xi.103.

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1)

47

3. VERSIONS OF SIR 50,1-4 3.1 Greek Text and Translations Ziegler’s text 1

2 3 4

Σιμων Ονιου υἱὸς ἱερεὺς ὁ μέγας, ὃς ἐν ζωῇ αὐτοῦ ὑπέρραψεν οἶκον καὶ ἐν ἡμέραις αὐτοῦ ἐστερέωσεν ναόν καὶ ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ ἐθεμελιώθη ὕψος αὐλῆς [Ralhfs: διπλῆς] ἀνάλημμα ὑψηλὸν περιβόλου ἱεροῦ. ἐν ἡμέραις αὐτοῦ ἐλατομήθη ἀποδοχεῖον ὑδάτων, λάκκος ὡσεὶ θαλάσσης τὸ περίμετρον ὁ φροντίζων τοῦ λαοῦ αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ πτώσεως καὶ ἐνισχύσας πόλιν ἐν πολιορκήσει

A New English Translation of the Septuagint (NETS)21 Simon the son of Onias was the great priest, he who in his life repaired a house and in his days fortified a shrine. By him the height of the courtyard was founded, a high retaining structure of the temple enclosure. In his days, a cistern of water was quarried, a reservoir like the circumference of the sea. He, who gave heed to his people out of calamity, and strengthened the city in a siege.

Translation by Brenton22 Simon the high priest, the son of Onias, who in his life repaired the house again, and in his days fortified the temple. And by him was built from the foundation the double height, the high fortress of the wall about the temple. In his days the cistern to receive water, being in compass as the sea, was covered with plates of brass. He took care of the temple that it should not fall, and fortified the city against besieging.23

21. A. PIETERSMA – B.G. WRIGHT (eds.), A New English Translation of the Septuagint, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2009. 22. L.Ch.L. BRENTON, The Septuagint Version of the Old Testament, with an English Translation and with Various Readings and Critical Notes, London, Samuel Bagster and Sons, 1870. 23. The translation is from the Brenton Septuagint Translation, 1851, p. 793. Available at http://ebible.org/pdf/eng-Brenton/eng-Brenton_all.pdf.

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3.2 Hebrew Text (Synopsis) and Translation Beentjes’ text24 ‫גדול אחיו ותפארת עמו שמעון בן יוחנן הכהן׃‬ ‫אשר בדורו נפקד הבית ובימיו חזק היכל׃‬ ‫אשר בדורו נכרה מקוה אשיח בם בהמונו׃‬ ‫אשר בימיו נבנה קיר פנות מעון בהיכל מלך׃‬ ‫הדואג לעמו מחתף ומחזק עירו מצר׃‬

1 a 2 3 4

Translation by Parker and Abegg25 Greatest of his brethren and the glory of his people, Simeon the priest, the son of Johanan, in whose generation the temple was renovated26 and in whose days the sanctuary was repaired. In whose generation the reservoir was dug, the pool in them in its vastness. In whose days the wall was built, the cornerstones of the dwelling-places of the king’s palace. He was concerned about protecting his people from bandits and fortified his city against the adversary.

3.3 Differences between the Hebrew and Septuagint Versions of Sir 50,1-4 The Hebrew version of Sir 50,1-4 forms a unit delimitated by the terms ‫ עמו‬and ‫ חזק‬in V. 1 and ‫ לעמו‬and ‫ ומחזק‬in V. 4. These terms form an inclusio around the unit,27 whose integrity is respected in the Greek translation. In this section, we shall point out some differences between the Hebrew and Greek versions. a. Verses 2 and 3 have been interchanged in the Greek version.28 b. The first verse in Hebrew does not use the term “high priest”, as the Greek version does. In the Greek text, the superlative adjective “the greatest” is associated with Simon’s occupation, unlike the Hebrew version. The Greek phrase used here for the high priest is ἱερεὺς ὁ μέγας, 24. P. BEENTJES, The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew: A Text Edition of All Extant Hebrew Manuscripts and a Synopsis of All Parallels of Hebrew Ben Sira Texts (VT.S, 68), Leiden, Brill, 1997, pp. 88-89. 25. Available at www.bensira.org. 26. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), p. 103, reads the ‫ חזק‬as pi`el, and not as pu`al with the majority of translators. Cf. Abegg and Segal. The unvocalized text can be read both ways, but since the other verb of 50,1b is passive, I agree with the passive reading of ‫חזק‬. 27. Cf. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), pp. 118. 280-281. 28. Cf. ibid., p. 102.

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1)

49

which is not the usual designation for a high priest in the New Testament or Josephus. The latter use ἀρχιερεύς to designate the high priest and also those priests or kohanim who are from high priestly families. The Greek translator is more explicit about Simon’s office. c. By using the term ‫ תפאר‬or “glory” in the Hebrew text, Sirach underlines the uniqueness of Adam (49,16) and Simon (50,1). The word ‫תפאר‬ serves to indicate the presence of the glory of God in the lives of women and men.29 “In Sirach 44-50, the glory of God manifests itself gradually in history and reaches its climax in the activities of Simon as High Priest.”30 The word combination ‫ תפארת עמו‬gives expression to the recognition of the glory of God in the activities of Simon, the high priest.31 The Septuagint drops the term.32 d. Furthermore, the Greek text changes the passive verbs of the Hebrew into active verbs. The role of Simon thus becomes more active in the eyes of the translator and his readers. The Greek text suggests not only that certain things happened during his tenure as high priest, but that Simon had a very active role in repairing and fortifying the Temple in Jerusalem. Quite surprisingly, the Greek translation drops the article used in Hebrew when referring to the Temple. Many modern translations therefore render the text in a grammatically correct fashion as “a house” and “a shrine”,33 although there are also modern translations that use the article.34 Both the Hebrew and the Greek text surely speak about the Temple in Jerusalem. No modern translators really call the identity of the renovated and fortified building into question.35 In this case, the Greek text cannot be explained by appeal to Semitic influence,36 because the article is present in the Hebrew version (‫)הבית‬.37 These terms are also used elsewhere in the Greek Sirach without article in reference to the Temple of Jerusalem. Sir 47,13 reads, Σαλωμων ἐβασίλευσεν ἐν ἡμέραις εἰρήνης ᾧ ὁ θεὸς 29. Cf. ibid., p. 106. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid., p. 107. 32. Cf. SKEHAN – DI LELLA, Wisdom of Ben Sira (n. 11), p. 546. 33. Cf. Septuaginta Deutsch and NETS. 34. Cf. E. MUNTEANU, trans., Înțelepciunea lui Iisus Sirah, in Septuaginta 4/II, Bucharest, Polirom București Iași, 2007, 233-435. Cf. B.V. ANANIA, trans., Biblia, Bucharest, Editura Institutului Biblic și de Misiune a Bisericii Ortodoxe Române, 2001. 35. Cf. E.M. BECKER – H.J. FABRY – M. REITEMEYER, Sophia Ben Sira, Ecclesiasticus / Das Buch Jesus Sirach, in M. KARRER – W. KRAUS (eds.), Septuaginta Deutsch, Stuttgart, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2011, p. 2263. 36. Cf. F. BLASS – A. DEBRUNNER – F. REHKOPF, Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Griechisch, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 171990, §259. 37. Cf. BEENTJES, The Book of Ben Sira (n. 24), p. 88.

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κατέπαυσεν κυκλόθεν ἵνα στήσῃ οἶκον ἐπ᾽ ὀνόματι αὐτοῦ καὶ ἑτοιμάσῃ ἁγίασμα εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα. In this statement, the absence of the article with οἶκον and ἁγίασμα is understandable, because there had been no previous temple building before Solomon built a house and a shrine. On the other hand, the absence of the article in Sir 49,12 is quite surprising: οὕτως Ἰησοῦς υἱὸς Ιωσεδεκ οἳ ἐν ἡμέραις αὐτῶν ᾠκοδόμησαν οἶκον καὶ ἀνύψωσαν ναὸν ἅγιον κυρίῳ ἡτοιμασμένον εἰς δόξαν αἰῶνος (“So Jesus, son of Iosedek, who in his days, built a house, raised a holy shrine to the Lord, prepared for everlasting glory”).38 Since the reference is to the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem, it would be convenient to have articles here. There are at least two possible explanations for the absence of articles in Sir 49,12 and 50,1. In my opinion the translator makes a stronger connection with previous Temple builders in the history of his people, such as Solomon and Jesus son of Iosedek, by dropping the articles of the Hebrew original. Another explanation could be that the translator used the term for “temple” as a proper name. “House” and “shrine” without articles can be taken to mean ‫בית־האלהים‬, the open-air sanctuary precincts.39 According to the Septuagint, Solomon built a house and a sanctuary (Sir 47,13), Jesus son of Iosedek built a house and a holy temple (ναὸν ἅγιον; Sir 49,12), and Simon renovated and fortified a house and a temple (ναόν; Sir 50,1). The Hebrew version merely relates the construction activity to the time of the high priest Simon, while the Greek version presents him as the active initiator of construction in the lineage of Solomon, Nehemiah and Jesus son of Iosedek.40 e. The verb θεμελιόω, meaning “to establish, found”, occurs in the Septuagint mostly in the context of the construction of a sanctuary (Hag 2,18; Zech 4,9; 8,9; Isa 48,13), or the founding of the earth and Zion (Ps 103,5; Isa 14,32; Ps 8,4).41 It can mean the founding of something new, or the rebuilding of an already existing city or sanctuary. f. The third verse in the Hebrew is quite different in wording from the Greek. The Hebrew reads, “In whose days the wall was built, the cornerstones of the dwelling-places of the king’s palace.”42 The Septuagint 38. Cf. NETS. There are no Hebrew manuscripts of Sir 49,12, so we do not know if the Hebrew original had the article or not. Cf. BEENTJES, The Book of Ben Sira (n. 24), p. 88. 39. SKEHAN – DI LELLA, Wisdom of Ben Sira (n. 11), p. 542. 40. Cf. M. REITEMEYER, Jesus Sirach (n. 41), p. 2263. 41. Cf. T. MURAOKA, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Leuven, Peeters, 2009, p. 326. 42. Kohn and Schechter offer quite a different Hebrew text based on the Cairo Geniza manuscripts discovered by Schechter in 1896 in Egypt: ‫אשׁר בדורו נפכד הבית ובימיו הזק היכל‬. An English translation is, “In whose generation the house was repaired, and in whose days

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1)

g.

h.

i.

j.

51

translation reads, “And by him the height of the courtyard was founded, a high retaining structure of the temple enclosure.” The Hebrew ‫“( בדרו‬in his generation”) is rendered by the Septuagint as “in his days”. The translator reads the Hebrew ‫“( בם‬in them”) as ‫כים‬, meaning “like a sea”. Reitemeyer underlines the tendency of Ben Sira’s grandson to put Simon the high priest into a cosmic perspective, comparing him to a star in the clouds, the moon, the sun and a rainbow (Sir 50,6-7). He associates the word “cistern” with the vastness of the sea.43 Sir 50,4 differs in the Greek translation. One Hebrew manuscript (B) reads “against the robbery” (‫)מחתף‬. The Greek version might be explained by influence of the Syriac verb ‫ חתף‬that means “destroy, eradicate”.44 The Septuagint implies more serious danger by using the term πτῶσις, which in the case of cities means falling into the enemy’s hands (see also the Septuagint of Isa 21,9). Once again, the Greek text has the tendency to stress the importance of the deeds of Simon the high priest. Peters claims that Ben Sira’s grandson refers to the capture and plunder of Jerusalem by the army of Antiochus IV, which Simon’s leadership could have prevented.45 The deeds of Simon the high priest have to be understood as being not only religious, but political as well. Mulder sees a strong connection in the Hebrew text between Hezekiah (48,17-25) and Simon the high priest. The wording ‫ חזק היכל‬creates a strong parallel between the two leaders. The verb ‫ חזק‬echoes the name of Hezekiah in Hebrew (‫)יחזקיהו‬, which means “JHWH shall strengthen”, or “shall be strong”.46 The verb employed to describe Hezekiah’s first activity is also ‫חזק‬, as with Simon in 50,1b. The Hebrew wording of Sir 48,17 is a wordplay on the name of Hezekiah: ‫“( יחזכיהו חזק עירו‬Hezekiah fortified his city”). Interestingly, Ben Sira uses the same term to describe the activity of Simon, the high priest, thus envisaging him “as the personification of Hezekiah, as king and builder of the city and its water works”.47

the temple was fortified.” Cf. S. SCHECHTER – C. TAYLOR, The Wisdom of Ben Sira: Portions of the Book Ecclesiasticus, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1899, p. 19; D. KOHN, Ecclesiasticus: Die Sprüche Simon’ des Sohnes Sirachs. Der gefundene hebräische Text, Warsaw, Tuschlija, 1912, p. 93. 43. M. REITEMEYER, Jesus Sirach (n. 41), p. 2263. 44. Cf. ibid., p. 2264, citing N. PETERS, Das Buch Jesus Sirach oder Ecclesiasticus (EHAT, 25), Münster, Aschendorff, 1913. 45. Ibid. 46. Cf. J. ROSENBAUM, Hezekiah King of Judah, in ABD 3:189-193, p. 189. 47. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), p. 110.

52

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4. WHO

WAS THE HIGH PRIEST

SIMON PRAISED

BY

BEN SIRA?

Josephus mentions a high priest by the name of Simon in the Antiquities, whom he describes as “the righteous one”: τελευτήσαντος Ὀνίου τοῦ ἀρχιερέως ὁ παῖς αὐτοῦ Σίμων γίγνεται διάδοχος ὁ καὶ δίκαιος ἐπικληθεὶς διά τε τὸ πρὸς τὸν θεὸν εὐσεβὲς καὶ τὸ πρὸς τοὺς ὁμοφύλους εὔνουν (Ant. 12,43). Hengel identifies this Simon with the high priest praised in Ben Sira 50.48 This identification is problematic, however, because Josephus reports that this Simon lived at the time just before his brother Eleazar became high priest. King Ptolemy and his librarian Demetrios of Phaleron then initiated a correspondence with this high priest Eleazar and asked him to send wise scribes for the Torah translation project in Alexandria. Both Josephus and the Letter of Aristeas refer to this Jewish leader. Grabbe finds it possible that the Letter of Aristeas and Josephus might record reliable information about the name of the high priest at the time when the Torah was translated into Greek. He supposes that Josephus had a list of at least the “post-Hasmonean priests, which he says number 28”.49 For the earlier periods Josephus might have had similar lists with the names of high priests from the Persian period to the Maccabean revolt. It seems typical of Josephus that he sometimes uses these lists with the high priests’ names. Grabbe refers to two exemplary passages in the Antiquities (12,2,5; 12,4,1) where the Jewish historian names four high priests, but provides no other information. It is hard to believe that he would have provided less information than was available in his sources; he would more likely have added general information to the names. In the case of Simon the high priest, he might have found just the name in a source, accompanied by the epithet “the Just” or “the Righteous”. Josephus claims that he was called “Simon the Just” because he had been pious and had acted kindly towards the Jews.50 The question remains, however: who was “Simon the Just”? Is he Simon I or Simon II? The high priest praised by Ben Sira would be a more fitting candidate than the person identified by Josephus, but for several reasons it is difficult to contradict the latter. Firstly, we do not know if Ben Sira is completely objective in his praise, as there are no independent sources to confirm his assessment. Secondly, the primary source for Simon the Just is Josephus, who clearly asserts that Simon the Just was 48. HENGEL, Judentum (n. 15), p. 247. 49. GRABBE, History of Jews (n. 4), p. 225. 50. Ibid, 225.

“THE PRIDE OF HIS PEOPLE WAS SIMON THE HIGH PRIEST” (SIR 50,1)

53

Simon I, who probably lived in the middle of the third century BCE.51 It is difficult to find a reason why Josephus might have been wrong, or his list mistaken. “As suggested … he took this information from a brief list that did not explain the title.”52 Let us think further about the historical events around the time of the great priest Simon II (ca. 21753-196 BCE).54 Simon II became high priest following his father, Onias II. This remarkable personality was the leader of the Jewish people at the time when Jerusalem suffered the consequences of the Syrian wars between the Seleucid and Ptolemaic Empires. According to 3 Macc 2,1, the name of the high priest at the time of the battle of Rafia was Simon. While this Hellenistic text is unreliable in many respects, this information about the high priest seems to point to Simon II. He had anticipated the fight between the two empires that would also affect Jerusalem. He prepared for this by strengthening certain of city`s fortifications. The exact aim of the reservoir is not clear, but one explanation is that it would be useful in a siege. Ben Sira 50,1 has been explained as a statement about repairing damage to the city after fighting ceased, but the wording of both Hebrew and Greek are not clear: it could refer to repairing of damage, and also to strengthening or maintaining of a building. It does show Simon’s concern about the city and not just the temple.55

Simon II seems to have supported the pro-Seleucid party of the Tobiad family. Joseph, the mighty tax collector and youngest son of Tobias, was the head of the pro-Ptolemaic party. He was nominated governor of Judah by Ptolemy IV Philopator, but could not consolidate his power because he was opposed by Simon and his brothers.56 From this historical evidence, albeit scant, we can conclude that Simon II was not just a leader in the Temple, but also possibly the most important player in the social life of the templestate of Judah.

51. Simon I, the high priest (d. ca. 270 BCE), son of Onias and grandson of Jaddua (high priest in the days of Nehemiah; Neh 12,11.22). Cf. S.T. CARROLL, Simon, in ABD 6:28-29. 52. Ibid., p. 227. 53. Ibid., p. 228. 54. Cf. C. FREVEL, Grundriss der Geschichte Israels, in E. ZENGER (ed.), Einleitung in das Alte Testament, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 82012, p. 834. 55. GRABBE, History of Jews (n. 4), p. 228. 56. FREVEL, Grundriss (n. 60), p. 834

54

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5. COMMON ELEMENTS IN BEN SIRA’S PORTRAYAL OF SIMON AND DEPICTIONS OF SIMON BAR KOSIBA After describing the achievements of Simon II as a builder, Ben Sira starts praising him as a cultic leader. I quote here only a few verses from the beginning of the text. 5.1 Text of Sir 50,5-7 Rahlfs’ text 5 6 7

ὡς ἐδοξάσθη ἐν περιστροφῇ λαοῦ ἐν ἐξόδῳ οἴκου καταπετάσματος ὡς ἀστὴρ ἑωθινὸς ἐν μέσῳ νεφελῶν ὡς σελήνη πλήρης ἐν ἡμέραις ὡς ἥλιος ἐκλάμπων ἐπὶ ναὸν ὑψίστου καὶ ὡς τόξον φωτίζον ἐν νεφέλαις δόξης

NETS translation How he was glorified as he spun around the shrine, as he exited from the house of the veil, like a morning star in the midst of the cloud, like the full moon in the days of a feast, like the sun shining on the shrine of the Most High, like the rainbow gleaming in clouds of glory.

Beentjes’ text57 ‫מה נהדר בהשׁגיחו מאחל ובצאתו מיבת הפרכת‬ ‫ככוכב אור מיבן עבים וכירח מלא מיבן במי מועד‬ ‫כשׁמשׁ משׁרקת אל היכל המלכ כקשׁת נראתה בענן‬

5 6 7

Translation by Mulder58 How glorious is he when he looks out of the tenth, and comes out from the house of the veil, as a luminous star in the midst of the clouds, as the full moon determining the festival days, as the sun brightly rising over the royal palace, as the rainbow, which manifests itself in the clouds.

5.2 Comment A comparison will help us to understand more deeply how Ben Sira presents the admired high priest of his days. With good reason Reitemeyer 57. Beentjes, The Book of Ben Sira (n. 24), p. 89. 58. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), p. 120.

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55

refers to striking parallels between Sir 50,5-10 and 43,1-12.59 Some key terms appear in both texts: sun (43,2; 50,7); full moon (43,6-7; 50,6); stars of the sky (43,9-11; 50,6); and rainbow (43,11; 50,7). We should examine these parallels closely in order to figure out their relationship to one another and their relevance for understanding the praise of Simon II in Sirach 50. In addition to the parallels, there are also differences between the two passages. First we should pay attention to the different order of the terms. The list of terms just given follows the order of Sir 43. In Sir 50, the morning star comes first, followed by the moon, the sun and the rainbow. The singular star and its placement first in the list indicate the importance of this image for the praise of the high priest. The celestial bodies and the rainbow are also admired for their beauty and order. They remind Ben Sira of the greatness and power of the Creator (cf. Sir 43). But what could be the reason for comparing the high priest to the celestial bodies? As remarked, a singular star is mentioned in 50,6, while plural “stars” frequently appear in other texts. In the Hebrew Bible, a singular star is mentioned only twice. Amos 5,26 urges listeners in an ironic tone to take up Kaiwan, their Assyrian star-god, the idol made by Israel. The people will be taken into exile. The singular star here is an idol. The other occurrence is in Num 24,17: “a star shall come out of Jacob”. Balaam had been commissioned by the Moabite king Balak to prophesy against Israel, but instead of issuing a curse he speaks about the coming ruler of Israel. The star who “crushes Moab and Edom undoubtedly represents the historical David and the period of his rule of Israel”.60 Since stars are good symbols for rulers and leaders, they also appear in the apocalyptic imagery of Dan 8,10. In the Hebrew Bible, sun and moon seldom function together to describe persons. Only two kings are symbolized by the sun and moon. The first is David. In Ps 89,37-38 we read God’s promise to David: “His line shall continue forever, and his throne endure before me like the sun. It shall be established forever like the moon, an enduring witness in the skies.” The second king is the Pharaoh in Ez 32,7. When the Pharaoh dies, the sun, moon and stars will be covered and made dark. They will stop being visible.61 Simon II and Simon bar Kosiba, the leader of the second Jewish revolt, belong to different periods – with more than three centuries between them – and had different social, political, religious and intellectual backgrounds. 59. REITEMEYER, Jesus Sirach (n. 41), p. 2264. ָ in G.J. BOTTERWECK – H. RINGGREN (eds.), TDOT, Grand 60. R.E. CLEMENTS, ‫כּוֹכב‬, Rapids, Eerdmans, 1995, 7:75-85, p. 82. 61. Cf. MULDER, Simon (n. 19), p. 128.

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I do not wish to put these two important figures of Jewish history on the same level. Nevertheless, I would like to point out some common elements in how they are portrayed, which ascribe messianic traits to both of them. One of the images used by Ben Sira to describe Simon the high priest is the star. He is “like the morning star in the midst of a cloud, like the full moon on the days of a feast, like the sun shining on the shrine of the Most High” (Sir 50,6-7). Surprisingly, this is the very first among the images used by Ben Sira. In non-biblical texts from Qumran, the term kôkäb occurs four times. In 1QH 1,12 the term is in the plural in a hymn praising God`s almighty power as creator. It was he who created the celestial bodies, and among them the kôkäbîm, the stars. This sense of kôkäbîm is on a line with the biblical creation tradition,62 and is not overly important for present purposes. The other three occurrences are all quotations of Num 24,17. In the Damascus Document (CD VII, 18-19) we read, “The star is the teacher of the Torah, who came to Damascus, just as it is written: ‘A star shall dawn out of Jacob, and a person shall rise up out of Israel.’” He is the head of the whole congregation, who defeats the sons of Set. Why does the text quote this messianic verse in connection with the teacher of the Torah? His coming to Damascus is compared to the rising star from Jacob foretold by Balaam. Another occurrence is in the War Scroll (1QM XI,6). This text is formulated as a prayer to God, who gives victory in battle. David had defeated Goliath by his trust in God and had been victorious over the Philistine in his holy name. This prayer acknowledges that the Sons of Light are not strong, and that the battle and victory are in God’s hands rather than depending on human power. The quotation from Num 24,17 is a kind of scriptural attestation of this. Verse 7 speaks about “your anointed one”, who informs the Sons of Light about battle in order that they may become able to defeat their enemies, the armies of Belial.63 I think it is quite clear that the non-biblical texts of Qumran understand the rising star of Num 24,17 as a messianic text. The fact that in the Hebrew and Greek Bible the singular star appears only in Balaam’s oracle and Sirach 50 supports the interpretation that Ben Sira uses something quite close to messianic imaginary for the high priest. Sauer describes the praise of Simon thus: “Er (Simon) ist der Garant für die 62. The lexeme occurs 19 times in Hebrew and 14 times in Aramaic in Qumran texts. M. Becker divides the possible senses of the lexeme into three categories: 1. creation and praise of God; 2. astrology / astronomy; 3. the “Star of Jacob”. Cf. M. BECKER, ‫כּוֹכב‬ ָ Kôkäbîm, in J. FABRY – U. DAHMEN (eds.), TWQ II, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2013, pp. 355-358. 63. Cf. FRÖHLICH, A qumráni szövegek magyarul (The Qumran texts in Hungarian Language), Budapest, Szent István Társulat, 22000, 176.

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57

äußere Sicherheit der Stadt und ihrer Bewohner, soweit er dazu in der Lage ist (V.2). Er ist im besonderen der Garant für die Gegenwart Gottes inmitten des Volkes, indem er die feierlichen Zeremonien im Kult vollzieht und den Kultteilnehmern den Segen Gottes spendet.”64 Being the guarantor of the presence of God is quite a unique role, which is reserved for great figures in the biblical tradition. Now we turn our attention to Bar Kosiba, who was the leader of the second Jewish revolt in Palestine (132-135 CE).65 He was considered by Rabbi Akiba to be the Messiah, the latter therefore changing his name from Bar Kosiba to Bar Kochba, which in Aramaic means “Son of the Star”. This title also occurs in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Church History in Greek: Βαρχωχεβας.66 It seems certain that this name was inspired by Balaam’s prophecy: “I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near; a star shall come forth from Jacob, and a scepter shall rise from Israel, and shall crush through the forehead of Moab, and tear down all the sons of Seth” (Num 24,17). Becker concludes from the example of Bar Kochba that a messianic understanding of the star of Jacob had persisted beyond the Qumran period into later Palestinian Judaism.67 We have some historical evidence that Bar Kochba took this name seriously. On the obverse of a coin minted at the time of the revolt one sees the following elements (see Image 1): the facade of the Holy of Holies as constructed by Herod the Great; a star68 located above the Temple representing the Prince (nasi) of Judah;69 and a paleo-Hebrew inscription reading “Simon”. On the reverse of the coin are a lulav and etrog with the inscription “to the freedom of Jerusalem”.70 At the time of the second revolt, the Jerusalem Temple was still in ruins in the aftermath of the first revolt of 66-70 CE.71 As Emperor Hadrian 64. G. SAUER, Jesus Sirach / Ben Sira (ATD Apokryphen, 1), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000, p. 338. 65. Cf. FREVEL, Grundriss (n. 60), p. 853. 66. Cf. G. DEL TON (ed.), Eusebio di Cesarea: Storia Ecclesiastica e I Martiri della Palestina, Rome, Desclée, 1964, p. 255. 67. Cf. M. BECKER, Kôkäbîm (n. 72), p. 458 n. 37. 68. Cf. W. FOERSTER, ἀστὴρ ἄστρον, in G. KITTEL (ed.), TWNT, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1933, 1:501-502 n.19. 69. Some scholars, among them Frevel, are reluctant to interpret the star of Bar Kochba’s coin as a reference to messianic self-understanding, on the grounds that there are similar stars – or rosettes – on many Roman coins of the time. Cf. FREVEL, Grundriss (n. 60), p. 853. As Frevel does not refer specifically to any such other coins, it is difficult to verify his claim. Cf. J.W. BETLYON, Coinage, in ABD 1:1079-1089, esp. 1080-1081. 70. Cf. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_bar_Kokhba. 71. Cf. FREVEL, Grundriss (n. 60), p. 851.

58

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IMAGE 1. Tetradrachm from Judaea, 132-135 CE (Mildenberg 85.12; Meshorer 233; Hendin 711). Image courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group.

visited the city shortly before the second revolt, he promised to reconstruct the temple. Bar Kochba was considered by some to represent the Messiah referred to in Num 24,17. However, Shimon bar Kosiba did not refer to himself by this name in the letters he wrote. It seems that only his followers portrayed him this way.72 He called himself Bar Kosiba, the nasi of Israel.

6. SOME CONCLUSIONS In conclusion, the high priest Simon II was not only a cultic leader, but also a key figure in political decisions of the temple-state of Jerusalem. With his charisma he made correct decisions in favor of his people in a period of warfare between two mighty Hellenistic empires. By renovating and fortifying the Temple, digging a large reservoir, and taking care of his people when struck by calamity, Simon earned praise from his contemporary, the scribe Ben Sira. Simon is a good example of a high priest of the Second Temple period. Already in the pre-Maccabean period the high priest was 72. Cf. S. GIBSON, Bar Kokhba, in F. SKOLNIK (ed.), Encyclopedia Judaica, New York, McMillan, 22007, 3:156-162, p. 157. “From Simeon ben Kosevah to Jeshua ben Galgolah and the men of his fortress!”; “From Simeon to Jeshua ben Galgolah, peace!”; “Simeon bar Kosevah the nasi [“prince”] of Israel to Jonathan and Masbela, peace!”; “From Simeon bar Koseva to the men of En-Gedi to Masbela (and) to Jonathan B(ar) Ba’ayan peace!” “Simeon to Judah bar Manasseh to Kiryat Araviyah.”

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59

the highest human authority in both religious and political matters, as demonstrated by Sirach 50.73 Detailed analysis of the motif of the star also allows us to suggest that Ben Sira might have regarded his great priest as a kind of messianic figure. Simon was remembered in his generation as a high priest who spoke for the people to the king, rather than merely being the king’s spokesman to the people.74 Finally, let me quote a sentence from the Mishnah considered to have been uttered by Simon the Just. We cannot know for sure whether the latter is the same person as Simon II, but the statement could have been that Simon’s life maxim: “By three things is the world sustained: by the Law, by Temple-service and by deeds of loving-kindness” (m. Avot 1,2).75 Simon II practiced all these and his deeds may well have sustained not only his Jewish people, but the whole world. Zoltán OLÁH (Alba Iulia)

73. Cf. B. EGO, Priester / Priestertum in Judentum, in G. MÜLLER (ed.), TRE, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1997, 27:391-396, p. 391. 74. Cf. M. STERN, Aspects of Jewish Society: The Priesthood and Other Classes, in S. SAFRAI – M. STERN, The Jewish People of the First Century, vol. 2, Assen, Van Gorcum, 1976, p. 565. 75. J. MURPHY-O’CONNOR, The Holy Land, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1992; or HENGEL, Judentum (n. 15), p. 290.

JUDAS MACCABEE IN 2 MACCABEES: “POLITICAL” PERSPECTIVES IN 2 MACCABEES

Conflicts that took place in the first half of the second century BCE under the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175-164 BCE) play a central role in the theological and political history of Hellenistic Judaism. These conflicts led to a resistance movement (167-164 BCE) spearheaded by the Maccabee family around Mattathias and his sons, which later became the Hasmonean dynasty that would rule until Mattathias Antigonus (40-37 BCE). The first two books of Maccabees tell the story of the events that took place in these decades in very different ways. 1 Maccabees covers a relatively long period of time, from the activities of the father Mattathias (who died 166/165 BCE) and his sons Judas, Jonathan and Simon, until the time of his grandson John Hyrcanus (135-104 BCE). The aim of 1 Maccabees is above all to legitimate Maccabean-Hasmonean rule, inasmuch as it tells the story of how the ruling Hasmonean dynasty arose out of the resistance movement and led, via Simon, to the rule of his son John Hyrcanus. 1 Maccabees is therefore often described as “court history”.1 2 Maccabees covers a much shorter period of time, essentially only recounting events that took place under Judas (165-161 BCE). 2 Maccabees thus covers the events recounted in 1 Macc 1,1–7,50. The two books differ significantly, however, not only in terms of the period of time covered, but above all in their perspective on and orientation to the events related. The focus of 2 Maccabees is on the Temple in Jerusalem as the locus of God’s faithfulness and care (cf., e.g., 2 Macc 5,19-20). It is therefore no surprise that themes such as hope for bodily resurrection (2 Macc 7; 1. D.R. SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (CEJL), Berlin – New York, NY, Walter de Gruyter, 2008, p. 54. Similarly, H. ENGEL, Die Bücher der Makkabäer, in E. ZENGER et al. (eds.), Einleitung in das Alte Testament, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 82012, 387-404, p. 395; M. TILLY, 1 Makkabäer (Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament), Freiburg – Basel – Wien, Herder, 2015, p. 51; M. TILLY, Makkabaion I / Das erste Buch der Makkabäer, in M. KARRER – W. KRAUS – S. KREUZER (eds.), Handbuch der Septuaginta (LXX.H, 1), Gütersloh, Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2016, 299-305, p. 302.

62

B. SCHMITZ

14,37-46), prayer for sinners who have died (2 Macc 12,43-45), and stories of martyrs (2 Macc 6; 7; 14,37-46) play a role in the book,2 together with religious festivals (Hanukkah and Yom Nicanor) and prayers of supplication and thanksgiving. There is a long tradition in Western scholarship of understanding 2 Maccabees as a “theological” book.3 Daniel Schwartz describes the main difference between the first two books of Maccabees as follows: “One is dynastic and one is diasporan.”4 In his view, 1 Maccabees portrays political events primarily from a pro-Hasmonean perspective, while 2 Maccabees seems to be mainly interested in theological questions, festivals and the Jerusalem Temple. This perspective on 1 and 2 Maccabees draws a distinction between politics and religion and takes for granted that one can distinguish clearly between politics and theology. This may be true for modern Western societies where politics and religion are treated as distinct, with the latter primarily considered part of the private sphere, and the former of the public. Nowadays, religion is a choice, an option that one can adopt or decline. But this was not true for ancient societies. Sylvie Honigman has correctly pointed out that in ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern societies religion was not a matter of belief or private choice: The alternative construction of the semantic fields of religion and politics … pivots on the idea that in ancient Judea the notions of piety and impiety had political connotations. Therefore in 1 and 2 Maccabees, the systematic characterization of Judas and Simon Maccabee as pious men, and accordingly of Jason and Menelaus as impious, are contentious constructs on the part of the authors and not objective descriptions of reality. To claim that one leader is pious and another is impious was to acknowledge the former as a legitimate ruler and denounce the latter as illegitimate. In light of this, there is no reason to believe that Jason and Menelaus were not likewise dutiful in their roles as high priests, at least in the mind of their partisans.5

2. On this issue, see J.W. VAN HENTEN, The Maccabean Martyrs as Saviours of the Jewish People: A Study of 2 and 4 Maccabees, Leiden, Brill, 1997. 3. M. HENGEL, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during Early Hellenistic Period, London, SCM Press, 1974, pp. 96-97; R. DORAN, Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Macc (CBQ, 12), Washington, D.C., Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981; cf. R. DORAN, 2 Maccabees (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, Fortress, 2012. Cf. SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), pp. 37-58; T. NICKLAS, Makkabaion II / Das zweite Buch der Makkabäer, in M. KARRER – W. KRAUS – S. KREUZER (eds.), Handbuch der Septuaginta (n. 1), 306-313, pp. 309-310. 4. SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), p. 55. 5. S. HONIGMAN, Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochus IV., Oakland, University of California Press, 2014, p. 28; cf. pp. 4.27.311.398 etc. Cf. J.C. BERNHARDT, Die jüdische Revolution: Untersuchungen zu Ursachen, Verlauf und Folgen der Hasmonäischen Erhebung (Klio, 22), Berlin – New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2017, pp. 29-30.

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When asking about political perspectives in 2 Maccabees, one has to emphasize two aspects. First, religion and politics were not opposites in ancient societies, but essentially mutual and reciprocal. Second, against this background, political and religious speech has an ideological bias and its own aims (e.g., to legitimize or delegitimize), in addition to being about personal belief and orientation. Therefore, I put “political” in quotation marks in order to highlight the differences from modern (Western) usage.

1. JUDAS IN 2 MACCABEES In the following, my key question is about the portrayal of Judas, the “political” leader and military general: what kind of portrait does 2 Maccabees draw of the central Maccabean protagonist? My interest is not in historical reconstruction but in the literary presentation6 of Judas in 2 Maccabees: how does 2 Maccabees characterize Judas?7 In the early chapters of the book (2 Macc 1-7), Judas is referred to only twice: once in the proem in 2 Macc 2,19 and once in 2 Macc 5,27.8 As an acting character, he appears on stage in 2 Macc 8 and remains on stage until the end of the book in 2 Macc 15. It is worth noting that within the narrative world of 2 Maccabees, there is no explicit introduction to or dismissal of this character. In general, 2 Maccabees seems to have little interest in the Maccabee family. The father Mattathias does not appear at all,9 while Judas’ brothers appear only on the periphery (2 Macc 8,22; 10,19-20; 14,17) and are not presented in a particularly positive light. In the report about Simon, for example, who is the father of John Hyrcanus and the figure who represents the transition between the first generation of revolutionaries and the establishment of the dynasty, Simon’s men allow themselves to be bribed. He is 6. For methodological foundations, see I.J.F. DE JONG, Narratology and Classics: A Practical Guide, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2014. For character analysis, cf. L. LANGE, Die Juditfigur in der Vulgata: Eine Studie zur lateinischen Bibel (DCLS, 36), Berlin – Boston, Walter de Gruyter, 2016. 7. From time to time 1 Maccabees will also be referenced, because comparing the two books and highlighting how they differ brings the characterization of Judas in 2 Maccabees into sharper relief. Otherwise, attention to 1 Maccabees will be only superficial, focusing on the essentials. 8. Judas is identified in 2 Macc 2,14, in the second of two letters that begin the section, as having collected the scriptures that had been dispersed because of the war. 9. The deeds that 1 Macc 2,42-48 ascribes to his father Mattathias are ascribed to Judas in 2 Macc 8,1.5-7.

64

B. SCHMITZ

thus betrayed by his own people in a militarily precarious situation (2 Macc 10,19-23; cf. Simon in 2 Macc 14,17). Similarly, a heroic deed attributed to the Maccabee Eleazer in 1 Maccabees is ascribed here to Judas (2 Macc 13,15; cf. 1 Macc 6,43-46), even though Eleazar’s name is known to 2 Maccabees (2 Macc 8,22-23).10 Modein, the ancestral home of the Maccabees, also plays no role in the book.11 The way the Maccabee family is presented in the work is especially striking in light of the very different portrayal in 1 Maccabees.

2. JUDAS THE MACCABEAN IN

THE

PROEM (2 MACC 2,19)

At the beginning of the work, the proem includes a brief summary account (2 Macc 2,19-22) of events recounted in the five volumes composed by Jason of Cyrene (see 2 Macc 2,23). The summary begins by mentioning Judas, who is introduced with the designation “the Maccabee” (Ἰούδας ὁ Μακκαβαῖος) and given a prominent place, being named first among his brothers. Other accolades that might give credit to Judas or distinguish him are lacking. The description of his deeds is remarkably general: “the matters concerning Judas the Maccabee and his brothers” (τὰ δὲ κατὰ τὸν Ιουδαν τὸν Μακκαβαῖον καὶ τοὺς τούτου ἀδελφούς).12 These deeds seem to be important, however, and are perhaps mentioned first for that reason. A series of other important events are also mentioned: purification of the “greatest temple” and rededication of the altar, wars against Antiochus Epiphanes and his son Eupator, and “heavenly apparitions” (cf. 2 Macc 2,19-21). The epiphanies are mentioned last and more is said about them than the other events, suggesting that they have special importance. The reader is left with the impression that these will turn out to be more important and more decisive than the deeds of Judas Maccabeus and his brothers in the account that follows. This impression is also supported by the fact that the successes already mentioned – the cleansing of the temple and the consecration of the altar – are described as achievements of

10. Cf. the traitors in the ranks of the Maccabean troops (2 Macc 10,20-22; 13,21). 11. It is mentioned only in 2 Macc 13,14. 12. NETS reads “the story about Ioudas Makkabaios and his brothers” (506); similarly, F.-M. ABEL, Les livres des Maccabées, Paris, Gabalda, 1949, p. 311: “l’histoire”. Habicht translates as “die Taten des Judas” (HABICHT, 2. Makkabäerbuch, Gütersloh, Mohn, 1979, p. 207), SCHWARTZ as “the matters concerning” (SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees [n. 1], p. 170). The translation of 2 Macc used here is that of the commentary by SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1). All other translations are from NETS.

JUDAS MACCABEE IN 2 MACCABEES

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“those who fought with manly valor for Judaism” (2 Macc 2,21), who – and this is stressed again – restored the temple, freed the city, and reestablished the laws (2 Macc 2,22). It is hard to overlook the fact that these deeds are not explicitly ascribed to Judas and his brothers, but rather to all those who fought. Judas and his brothers are not excluded, but neither are they emphasized, just included in the group.

3. JUDAS FLEES (2 MACC 5,27) After the proem, Judas is not mentioned again until 2 Macc 5,27: “But Judas, also known as Maccabaeus, around whom a group of ten or so had gathered, fled to the mountains13 and, along with his men, lived there in animal-like fashion, for food limiting themselves to grass so as to avoid defilement.” Judas is introduced with his traditional epithet (Ιουδας δὲ ὁ καὶ Μακκαβαῖος).14 During an episode concerning a massacre of the Jews, he withdraws with a group of approximately ten men.15 Again Judas is portrayed as part of a group. While he is the only one mentioned by name, he is not identified as the leader of the group, but simply as part of it. The impetus for the group’s withdrawal is the murder of the Jewish population, from which the group separates itself by fleeing. The behavior of the group stands in contrast to the (later) epithet “Maccabee”. Here Judas is not yet “the hammer”. According to the order of events in 2 Maccabees, the group’s withdrawal comes after Apollonius instigates the murder of the Jewish population on the Sabbath. The explanation offered in 2 Macc 5,27, that the group of ten did not want to become impure, is not really congruent with the events recounted up to that point. The withdrawal would make more sense as a reaction to the religio-political measures taken by Apollonius that are described immediately afterwards, which would in fact cause “impurity”. The events are indeed described in that order in 1 Macc 1-2. The strikingly different order in 2 Maccabees could represent chronological foreshadowing,16 or could be a way of presenting the group as people who flee Jerusalem in 13. Another reading is “desert”. See HABICHT, 2. Makkabäerbuch (n. 12), p. 228, and SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), pp. 267-268. 14. On the etymology and meaning of “Maccabaios”, see S. ZEITLIN – S. TEDESCHE, The Second Book of Maccabees (JAL), New York, NY, Harper & Brothers, 1954, pp. 25-26. 15. D. Flusser sees the earliest attestation of a minyan in the formula “ten or so”. See SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), p. 267. 16. This is how HABICHT, 2. Makkabäerbuch (n. 12), p. 228 (citing Bénevot), should be understood.

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a time of crisis in order to survive elsewhere. Apart from a reference to sustenance,17 the reader learns nothing about how this group lives. Even more striking are some other differences from 1 Maccabees. The heroic deeds narrated in the following chapters of 2 Maccabees are not those of Judas, but of the scribe Eleazar (2 Macc 6) and of the mother with her seven sons (2 Macc 7). According to 2 Maccabees it is these figures – not Judas or the Maccabees – who resist the Seleucid king Antiochus, for which they suffer martyrdom. Only after their stories does Judas reappear in 2 Maccabees.

4. JUDAS ORGANIZES MILITARY RESISTANCE (2 MACC 8,1-7) According to the storyline, the crucial turning point comes in the eighth chapter, when Judas gathers men around himself and organizes a resistance (2 Macc 8,1-7). In the story as told by 2 Maccabees, this is entirely at Judas’ initiative, whereas in 1 Maccabees the organization of the military resistance had already begun under Judas’ father Mattathias (1 Macc 2,42-48). In 2 Macc 8,1, Judas is introduced with the sobriquet Ιουδας ὁ καὶ Μακκαβαῖος, “Judas Maccabaeus”, as in 2 Macc 5,27. The first section of the chapter is dedicated entirely to him (2 Macc 8,1-7). 2 Macc 8,1-7 can be divided into two parts (8,1-4.5-7), as is made clear by fact that Judas is designated as “the Maccabean” again in 2 Macc 8,5. The first part of the passage describes how the resistance group is recruited (2 Macc 8,1-4). Judas and his people secretly visit villages in order to win supporters, addressing family members in the first instance. This recruitment effort is not ascribed to Judas alone: he is again a member of a group and surrounded by “those with him” (2 Macc 8,1 οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ). The latter could be (partly) identical with the “group of ten or so” named in 2 Macc 5,27 or with his brothers (2 Macc 2,19). Judas and his people also recruit from “those who remained in Judaism” (2 Macc 8,1 τοὺς μεμενηκότας ἐν τῷ Ιουδαϊσμῷ). The latter phrase alludes to a formulation in the proem (2 Macc 2,21), “those who nobly fought with much valor for Judaism” (τοῖς ὑπὲρ τοῦ Ιουδαϊσμοῦ φιλοτίμως ἀνδραγαθήσασιν),18 who are described in the proem as the people responsible for the liberation. That six thousand persons are assembled is surely intended to impress readers. 17. On this point, see SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), p. 268. 18. Similar formulations are found only in 2 Macc 2,21; 8,1. The term Ἰουδαϊσμός occurs only two other times, in 2 Macc 14,38.

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What do these six thousand resistance fighters do? They neither train nor prepare themselves for combat operations or guerilla actions. Rather, as 2 Maccabees tells us, “they called upon the Lord” (2 Macc 8,2 καὶ ἐπεκαλοῦντο [imperfect!] τὸν κύριον). 2 Maccabees portrays them in the first instance not as soldiers, but as people who pray, pious men whose prayer is quoted at length in indirect speech: And they called upon the Lord: to look down upon the people oppressed19 by all, and to have pity upon the Sanctuary, which had been profaned by impious men, and to be merciful also to the city which was being destroyed and about to be levelled to the ground, and to listen to the blood which was calling out to Him, and also to remember the lawless destruction of innocent infants and the blasphemies which had been committed against His name – and (so) to act out of hatred for evil. (2 Macc 8,2-4)

The second part begins anew, naming the “Maccabee” and portraying him as a “hammer” who “could not be withstood” (ἀνυπόστατος): “Coming upon cities and villages unexpectedly he set them aflame, and capturing strategic places he caused not a few of the enemies to flee. He especially chose the nighttime as his collaborator for such attacks. And the fame of his manly valor spread everywhere” (2 Macc 8,6-7). Judas is portrayed here for the first time in 2 Maccabees as a brave hero and resistance fighter. Importantly, however, before this stage of the narrative, 2 Maccabees has already prevented the sort of glorification of Judas one sees in 1 Maccabees by including a key piece of information: the nations could not withstand (ἀνυπόστατος) him, “the Lord’s anger having turned into mercy” (2 Macc 8,5 ἐγίνετο [imperfect!] τῆς ὀργῆς τοῦ κυρίου εἰς ἔλεον τραπείσης; on wrath, cf. 2 Macc 5,20). The narrator thus offers readers an interpretation of the figure of Judas that allows them to account for Judas’ visible success but also to qualify it. It is not Judas who is responsible for the success, but God who has made it possible for him to achieve the results for which the soldiers had prayed (2 Macc 8,2). Because God’s anger has been changed to mercy, military success is now possible. In 2 Macc 8,5 the reader is thus given background information of a sort usually provided by an omniscient narrator who can see into the mind of God, and is thus even more omniscient than the Omniscient himself. It is especially interesting that such information is provided here, because in comparison with other biblical literature, the narrator of 2 Maccabees rarely 19. RAHLFS suggests “unterdrückten” (repressed). See T. NICKLAS, Makkabaion II / Das Zweite Makkabäerbuch, in M. KARRER – W. KRAUS (eds.), Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament, Band 1, Stuttgart, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2011, pp. 1376-1416.

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reveals himself or allows himself to be palpable. This reticence does not mean that he is not omniscient, however. Rather, he has an Olympian or, here, super-Olympian vantage point. At first glance, Judas seems to have a prominent position in 2 Maccabees, but on closer inspection one sees that his position is restricted: Judas’ soldiers are not so much fighters as people who pray. Judas’ military success is made possible by God, whose anger turns into mercy. According to 2 Maccabees, Judas’ resounding success would not have been possible otherwise. Judas thus seems to be a leader legitimized by God, but he is not portrayed as a great soldier. This becomes even clearer when compared to 1 Maccabees. The introduction of Judas in 1 Macc 3,1-9 begins with a hymn of praise in which his deeds are glorified beyond all bounds: And Ioudas his son who was called Makkabaios, rose up in his place, and all his brothers helped him, as did all who had joined his father. And they fought the war for Israel with gladness. And he spread glory to his people and put on a breastplate like a giant and strapped on his war instruments. And he conducted battles, protecting the camp by the sword. And he resembled a lion in his works and was like a whelp roaring in the hunt. And seeking out the lawless, he persecuted them and burned up those who disturbed his people. And the lawless drew back for fear of him, and all the workers of lawlessness were disturbed, and salvation was successful by his hand. And he caused bitterness to many kings, and gladness to Iakob by his works, and his memory will be a blessing forever. And he went through the cities of Iouda and annihilated the impious from it and turned away wrath from Israel (καὶ ἀπέστρεψεν ὀργὴν ἀπὸ Ισραηλ). And his name was known to the ends of the earth, and he gathered together those who were lost. (1 Macc 3,1-9)

The differences from the introduction of Judas in 2 Maccabees are readily apparent. In 1 Macc 3 success is ascribed Judas himself, who is a brave warrior and hero and is compared to a lion and described as a source of joy and blessing. Moreover, it is Judas who turns away wrath from Israel (1 Macc 3,8 καὶ ἀπέστρεψεν ὀργὴν ἀπὸ Ισραηλ). This notion reappears in 2 Maccabees, but is significantly inverted. Rather than Judas turning away wrath, it is now the fact that God’s wrath has been transformed into mercy (2 Macc 8,5 ἐγίνετο τῆς ὀργῆς τοῦ κυρίου εἰς ἔλεον τραπείσης) that allows Judas to be successful.

5. JUDAS’ FIRST MILITARY CONFLICT (2 MACC 8,8-36) Following the introduction of Judas (2 Macc 8,1-7), a first military conflict is described, which ends with a victory over Nicanor’s royal army. In this battle, General Nicanor’s twenty thousand soldiers are confronted by

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Judas’ six thousand men.20 Judas is prominent once again as the one who hears about the approach of Nicanor’s army before the others. The first thing that Judas’ soldiers do is call on God again and pray for God’s help (2 Macc 8,14-15). In 2 Macc 8,16, Judas is again designated “Maccabeus”,21 and he assembles his men in order to give them a motivational speech. The oratory is reported in indirect speech (2 Macc 8,16-20), in which he reminds his people of the “omnipotent God” (ἐπὶ τῷ παντοκράτορι θεῷ) and recalls God’s help in a conflict with Sanherib22 and the Galatians.23 Emboldened by this address, everyone is ready to die for their laws and their country. It is only now that Judas takes his first military measures and divides his army into four divisions (2 Macc 8,21). Each of his brothers is given command of one division. The brothers are mentioned here by name and with a role for the first time (2 Macc 8,22-23; cf. 2,19), and nothing more is said about them. Judas gives the watchword, “God’s help”, and the battle begins (2 Macc 8,23). Despite the imbalance in forces at the beginning of the battle, this first military engagement is a resounding success and the enemy army is almost cut in half (2 Macc 8,24-25). At the same time, it is noteworthy that such a successful victory is described so briefly and sparingly – it could have been narrated at much greater length. The same narrative device observed previously in 2 Macc 8,5 is used here. Before Judas’ military success is recounted, there is an interpretation by the narrator that puts the victory into a particular context: “Since the Ruler of all was their ally they cut down more than 9000 of the enemy” (2 Macc 8,24). Once again, the narrator emphasizes God’s activity. Even before the battle, God – who is given a designation specific to the LXX, “Ruler of all” (παντοκράτωρ) – has already become Israel’s ally (συμμάχος). The events are described in such a way that God is portrayed as being on Judas’ side and making success possible, although from the outside it might appear to be a military triumph by Judas. Once again the narrator offers the reader an interpretation of the event before the reader has even experienced it. Whereas the actual battles are described only very briefly, the Sabbath celebration on the next day is described in considerable detail (2 Macc 8,26-29).

20. 2 Macc 8,13 mentions those who were fearful and ran away, but the number 6000 in 2 Macc 8,16 is the same as the number of soldiers who are recruited at the beginning (2 Macc 8,1). 21. In 2 Macc 8,1 and 8,5 one finds the same structure as in 8,12 and 8,15. Judas is first identified using his given name “Judas” and then referred to as “the Maccabee”. 22. Cf. Isa 37,36; 2 Ki 19,35; 2 Chr 32,21; see Sir 48,18-22 and 3 Macc 6,5. 23. It is unclear what events Judas is referring to, cf. DORAN, 2 Maccabees (n. 3), p. 176; SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), pp. 337-339.

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It is striking that Judas’ men are emphasized here rather than Judas himself. The Sabbath ends with the usual intercessory prayer, in which the Lord is again called upon to take pity and show mercy (2 Macc 8,29 τὸν ἐλεήμονα κύριον). More victories are described thereafter (2 Macc 8,30-33). It is striking that Judas is nowhere named: the victories are always ascribed – through use of “they” – to the whole group of resistance fighters. In the presentation of 2 Maccabees, Judas plays no special role. Against the background of 1 Maccabees, the distinctiveness of this depiction of Judas in 2 Maccabees becomes especially clear. The events paralleled in 2 Macc 8,8-36 are described in 1 Macc 3,38–4,25 in considerably greater detail, and Judas and his brothers are portrayed as the key actors. They learn of the arrangements and preparations for war. They have discussions with one another (1 Macc 3,43). After a service of intercession (1 Macc 3,46-54), Judas emerges as a military commander, one who gives clear orders. He also assumes this role in subsequent stages of the conflict: Judas moves out with his warriors (1 Macc 4,5), speaks to his men and encourages them (1 Macc 4,8-11), encourages his men after battle (1 Macc 4,16-18), etc. In this portrayal, Judas steps forward as a leader of his men, the one who holds the reins in his hands, without whom the (challenging) military success of the badly armed troops would have been unthinkable.

6. THE RECONQUEST AND PURIFICATION (2 MACC 10,1-9)

OF THE

TEMPLE

After a description of the death of Antiochus Epiphanes in 2 Macc 9, there is an account of the reconquest and the purification of the temple (2 Macc 10,1-9). These are ascribed in 2 Macc 10,1 to “Maccabeus and those who were with him”. Again, the narrator presents the events in such a way that this success is made possible by God’s involvement: “Maccabaeus and those who were with him, led forward by the Lord, took the Temple and the city” (2 Macc 10,1). The cleansing of the Temple and a festival of celebration are described at much greater length, and use of the plural “they” connects these events to the whole group (2 Macc 10,2-8). A comparison with 1 Macc 4,36-61 leads to the same conclusions as in the preceding sections. In 1 Maccabees the presentation is longer and more detailed, and Judas and his brothers play a prominent role. Judas is the commander who motivates the army and gives them orders, and the one who makes the decisions (cf. 1 Macc 4,36.41.59-61).

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7. EPIPHANIES HELP JUDAS (2 MACC 10,24-38

AND

11,1-12)

The period corresponding to the reign of the Seleucid king Antiochus Eupater, son of Antiochus Epiphanes, begins in 2 Macc 10,10. In the sections that follow, a variety of military engagements are narrated. In the account of a conflict with the Idumeans, it is interesting that only “those who were with Maccabeus” (2 Macc 10,16) are mentioned, not Judas himself. Again, this group had called on God to be their fellow combatant (συμμάχος, 2 Macc 10,16, cf. 8,24). After the incident involving the bribing of Simon’s men (2 Macc 10,19-23), there are two military clashes, one with Timothy (2 Macc 10,24-38) and one with Lysias (2 Macc 11,1-12). In both cases, epiphanies of heavenly beings bring about military victories for Judas and his men. These are the first two epiphanies of heavenly beings in the work that are in support of Judas, although there had been reports of epiphanies in connection with the Heliodorus story (2 Macc 3) and in 2 Macc 5.24 The current epiphanies are announced in some detail in the proem (2 Macc 2,21-22; see above). Now heavenly beings help Judas for the first time. When the battles are about to begin, Judas’ men first pray to God (2 Macc 10,25-26; 11,6) and then the battle begins (2 Macc 10,27-28; 11,7). In the battle with Timothy, readers learn only that the men in the Maccabean army took their weapons after they had prayed, advanced, approached the enemy and engaged in battle (1 Macc 10,27-28). Instead of describing the battle, the narrator then recounts that the combatants had, along with their own virtue, “their dependence upon the Lord as their guarantor of success and victory, while the others made their rage the guide of their struggles” (2 Macc 10,28). The battle ends with Timothy’s flight and the loss of 20,500 soldiers and six hundred cavalrymen – in other words, a great victory for Judas and his army (2 Macc 10,31-32) – which is explained in 2 Macc 10,29-30 as follows: A mighty battle having developed, out of heaven there appeared to the enemy’s soldiers five distinguished men on horses with gold-studded bridles, leading the Jews. Two of them also took Maccabaeus between them and protected him unblemished, sheltering him with their own armor and throwing arrows and thunderbolts at the enemy. Accordingly, they were confounded by blindness and, filled with tumult, they scattered about in all directions.

24. For a detailed discussion of epiphanies in 2 Maccabees, see B. SCHMITZ, Antiochus Epiphanes und der epiphane Gott: Gefühle, Emotionen und Affekte im Zweiten Makkabäerbuch, in R. EGGER-WENZEL – J. CORLEY (eds.), Emotions from Ben Sira to Paul (DCLY, 2011), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2012, pp. 253-279.

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This heavenly epiphany comprises five radiant men who are only visible to the enemy soldiers. Moreover, two of the men ride on either side of Judas25 and make him invincible through their protection. The enemy is defeated and put to flight through the overwhelming power of the heavenly arrows and thunderbolts. What is striking about the way that the story is told is that Judas and his men never realize that they have been supported by heavenly cavalry and that their victory is due entirely to these divine mounted men. The soldiers believe that they have won the victory, but the narrator makes sure that readers have more information – he describes the actual course of victory, allowing the reader to see what only the enemy soldiers could see within the narrative world. Compared with Judas and his men, the readers are thus better informed and can recognize God as the one who is “truly” responsible for Judas’ victories. Furthermore, it is noteworthy that Judas experiences special protection from two of the five horsemen during the battle, and that the task of the five horsemen is described as “leading the Jews” (2 Macc 10,29 καὶ ἀφηγούμενοι τῶν Ιουδαίων). The military commanders in this battle are thus the horsemen, not Judas. This changes Judas’ stature considerably. The siege that follows is also brought to a successful end not by Judas but by twenty young men from Judas’ army, who storm the wall “with animal-like rage” (2 Macc 10,33-38). In the next battle with Lysias it is “Maccabeus” who is the first to take up his weapons and enter the fray (2 Macc 11,7), after his men have prayed for a “good angel” (2 Macc 11,6 ἀγαθὸν ἄγγελον ἀποστεῖλαι). Immediately thereafter another epiphany is described, the fourth in the book as a whole and the second on Judas’ behalf (2 Macc 11,8). This is the “good angel” who redeems the situation: But right there, when they were still near Jerusalem, there appeared someone leading them on horseback, dressed in a white garment and brandishing golden weaponry.

This epiphany consists of a single rider, whose appearance is similar to that of the riders revealed in the previous epiphany. His task is likewise to go before Judas and his men (2 Macc 11,8 προηγούμενος αὐτῶν). The victory ascribed to the figure revealed in this epiphany is resounding (2 Macc 11,9-11): Together all blessed the merciful God and – buoyed up in their spirits – they were ready to pierce not only men, but even the wildest animals and iron walls. They moved forward in formation, having a heavenly ally – the Lord having 25. For more on these textual problems, cf. SCHWARTZ, 2 Maccabees (n. 1), p. 388.

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become merciful26 toward them. Like lions they threw themselves against the enemies and laid low 11,000 of them, as well as 1600 cavalrymen; they forced all (the others) to flee. Most of them managed to escape, wounded and naked, and Lysias himself escaped by fleeing shamefully.

In 2 Macc 11,10.13, success is attributed explicitly to the divine fellow combatant (συμμάχος) revealed in the epiphany (cf. God as fellow combatant in 2 Macc 8,24 and the prayer for God to be a fellow combatant in 2 Macc 10,16; 12,36). The revealed figure turns Judas’ men into people who fight like lions (2 Macc 11,11). The metaphor is quite interesting. Whereas all of the men here become like lions (λεοντηδόν) because of the presence of the revealed figure, in 1 Maccabees only Judas is described in such terms: “And he resembled a lion in his works and was like a whelp roaring in the hunt” (1 Macc 3,4 καὶ ὡμοιώθη λέοντι ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις αὐτοῦ καὶ ὡς σκύμνος ἐρευγόμενος εἰς θήραν).27 After the battle, Judas agrees to a truce and peace agreement with Lysias (2 Macc 11,15). At first glance, Judas seems like a peace negotiator, but the narrator subtly points out the hierarchy of power: Lysias makes Judas agree (“nod”, συνεχώρησεν) to everything (ἐπὶ πᾶσιν) that he orders (παρεκάλει). This peace agreement seems to be quite unilateral. Furthermore, a series of four letters follow in 2 Maccabees (2 Macc 11,11,16-21.22-26.27.33.3438). These letters are a correspondence between the Seleucid administration and τῷ πλήθει τῶν Ιουδαίων. Their historical value is discussed. For our purposes, it is quite interesting that Judas is not mentioned in these letters, and that the incumbent high priest Menelaus seems to be the negotiator. This suggests that it was Menelaus rather than Judas who was responsible for the rededication of the Temple.28

8. THE NOBLE JUDAS (2 MACC 12,42) In 2 Macc 12, a whole series of campaigns and battles is reported,29 not against the Seleucids but against immediate neighbors. Judas takes quite an 26. Cf. ἔλεος in 2 Macc 8,5.27 and 8,3 and ἐλεέω in 2 Macc 8,29. 27. Apart from 1 Macc 2,60, which refers to Daniel, the image of a lion appears only in these two texts in 1 and 2 Maccabees, and σκύμνος is found only in 1 Macc 3,4. 28. See J. MA, Re-examining Hanukkah, in Marginalia (9 July 2013). Cf. HONIGMAN, Tales (n. 5), pp. 287-288. 29. 2 Macc 12,1-9: the people of Jamnia; 12,10-12: Arabs; 12,13-16: the town of Caspin; 12,18-26: Dositheus and Sosipater; 12,27-28: the city of Ephron; 12,29-31: Scythopolis, 12,32-37: Gorgias.

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active role in all of these, and his role as actor is regularly highlighted (2 Macc 12,5.8.9.11.12.13.20.23.36.38.42 etc.). Moreover, in every one of these military actions either the preparations begin with prayer,30 or God’s active participation is stressed.31 The conclusion of 2 Macc 12 offers a revealing narrative reflection on fallen soldiers. Judas is laying siege to the city of Adollam, and on the seventh day the army prepares itself for the Sabbath, including by burying fallen soldiers in their family graves (2 Macc 12,38-39). While they are doing this, Judas’ soldiers find “under the tunic of each of the deceased, objects dedicated to the idols of Jamnia, which the Law prohibits to Jews. Thus it became clear to all that it was for this reason that those (soldiers) had fallen” (2 Macc 12,40). The amulets are cited as explaining the fact that the soldiers had fallen in battle, since amulets are found with all of the dead. Taking the characteristic style of 2 Maccabees into account, in which everything depends on God, one cannot imagine a worse offense. Judas’ men react by interceding with God to wipe away this transgression (2 Macc 12,41-42). Judas then goes into action (2 Macc 12,42-45): And the noble Judas called upon the multitude to preserve itself sinless, having seen with their own eyes that which had occurred due to the sin of those who had fallen. After making a collection for each man, totaling around 2000 silver drachmas, he sent it to Jerusalem for the bringing of a sin-offering – doing very properly and honorably in taking account of resurrection, for had he not expected that the fallen would be resurrected, it would have been pointless and silly to pray for the dead – and having in view the most beautiful reward that awaits those who lie down in piety – a holy and pious notion. Therefore, he did atonement for the dead, in order that they be released from the sin.

Judas admonishes his men and takes up a collection in order to bring a sin offering for the dead to Jerusalem (2 Macc 12,42-43a.45b). The description of these actions includes a long reflection evaluating Judas’ behavior, which is inserted by the narrator (in italics above, 2 Macc 12,43b-45a). Up to this point in 2 Maccabees, the narrator has not praised Judas or singled him out in this manner. The narrator even refers to him here as “noble Judas” (2 Macc 12,42 ὁ γενναῖος Ιουδας), a term otherwise reserved for martyrs (Eleazar in 2 Macc 6,28 and the mother of the seven brothers in 2 Macc 7,21). Why this praise? The praise for Judas may be connected in the first instance to the sin offering that he has organized for the dead to free them

30. 2 Macc 12,6.15.36. 31. 2 Macc 12,11.16.22.28.

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from their sin (2 Macc 12,45b). It is interesting that it is possible to distinguish clearly between the narrative and the reflections of the narrator in the text. Although little can be said about the motivations of Judas himself, the narrator clearly interjects himself, interpreting Judas’ actions. This explains the great praise for Judas. The narrator intervenes in order to interpret Judas’ actions as being entirely in keeping with the narrator’s theology. It is precisely these two issues – the resurrection of the dead32 and intercessory prayer on behalf of the dead (cf. 2 Macc 7,9.11.14.23.29.36; 14,37-46) – that are distinguishing features of 2 Maccabees. Both of them are further developed here, where they are connected with the issue of intercessory prayer and sin offerings for the dead. In other words, the narrator praises Judas for the first time precisely where the narrator’s ideology can be developed by means of the Judas figure, and perhaps also by evoking the popularity and positive image of the Judas figure as known from 1 Maccabees.

9. JUDAS AND THE ATTACK

ON THE

KING’S CAMP (2 MACC 13,9-17)

In 2 Macc 1333 there are four reports34 of events in which Judas plays a role (2 Macc 13,20.24-25). Of these, an attack on the king’s camp is especially important for assessing the character of Judas. There are observations similar to those made about Judas in the previous chapter (cf. 2 Macc 13,9-17). Hearing that the king intends to harm the Jews, Judas takes the initiative and urges his men to pray (2 Macc 13,10-11): Judas, having received notice of this, exhorted the multitude to call upon the Lord day and night that – if ever (He did so) at some time or other – so too now He should come to the aid of those who were on the verge of being deprived of the Law, fatherland, and holy Temple, and not allow the people, which had only shortly before revived its spirit, to be given up into the hands of maligning Gentiles. 32. B. SCHMITZ, Auferstehung und Epiphanie: Jenseits- und Körperkonzepte im Zweiten Makkabäerbuch, in T. NICKLAS – F. REITERER – J. VERHEYDEN (eds.), The Human Body in Death and Resurrection (DCLY, 2009), Berlin – New York, NY, Walter de Gruyter, 2009, pp. 105-142; cf., drawing the same conclusion, B. SCHMITZ, Geschaffen aus dem Nichts? Die Funktion der Rede von der Schöpfung im Zweiten Makkabäerbuch, in T. NICKLAS – K. ZAMFIR (eds.), Theology of Creation in Early Judaism and Ancient Christianity: In Honour of Hans Klein (DCLS, 6), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2010, pp. 61-79. 33. The contents of this chapter are largely parallel to 1 Macc 6,28-63. 34. Following the introduction, 2 Macc 13 describes the plan of King Antiochus Eupator for the conquest of Jerusalem (2 Macc 13,1-2), the execution of Menelaus (2 Macc 13,3-8), the assault of the Jews on the king’s camp (2 Macc 13,9-17), the siege of Beth-Zur (2 Macc 13,18-22), and the reaction of the inhabitants of Ptolemais (2 Macc 13,23-26).

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After three days of communal prayer to the merciful Lord, with lamentations, fasting, and prostration, Judas goes into action and orders the army to assemble (2 Macc 13,12). One novelty is that Judas makes a decision together with the “elders” (2 Macc 13,13 σὺν τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις). This group appears here for the first time in 2 Maccabees.35 They decide “to sally out, before the king’s army invaded Judaea and took control of the city – and to settle the matter with God’s help” (2 Macc 13,13). This decision makes the key factors in the military conflict clear: Judas and the elders know that victory can only be achieved with God’s help. For this reason, Judas chooses the watchword “God’s victory” (2 Macc 13,15 θεοῦ νίκη, cf. the password “God’s help” in 8,23). Their success is then ascribed explicitly to God’s protection (2 Macc 13,17).

10. JUDAS AND NICANOR (2 MACC 14-15) The final two chapters take up the story after a hiatus of three years (2 Macc 14,1) and have a somewhat different character from the accounts of military conflicts in the preceding chapters. 2 Macc 14-15 do not talk about military engagements, armies and soldiers, but about a struggle between individual leaders: King Demetrius and Alcimus, the former high priest, Demetrius’ general Nicanor, and Judas.36 Chapter 14 begins with an account of the former high priest Alcimus, who is seeking to regain the office of high priest. To accomplish this he comes to the new king, Demetrius I, with an accusation against the “Hasidim”37 and Judas. The accusation is in direct speech (2 Macc 14,610). In the speech Alcimus describes Judas and the “Hasidim” as dangerous rebels (who are “carrying on war and being seditious and do not permit the kingdom to attain stability”, 2 Macc 14,6). Alcimus requests to be restored 35. The word πρεσβύτερος refers to a particular Jewish body only in 2 Macc 13,13 (and subsequently in 2 Macc 14,37). It refers to a Roman body in 2 Macc 11,34 and is a designation for older people in 2 Macc 5,12 and 8,30. The group of the γερουσία is named in 2 Macc 4,44 and 11,27 (and 1,10). 36. This section of the narrative is divided into seven parts: the intrigues of the former high priest Alcimus against Judas (2 Macc 14,1-14); Judas and Nicanor make peace and become friends (2 Macc 14,15-26); the plan to capture Judas (2 Macc 14,26-36); the insertion of the martyrdom of Razis in which there is no mention of Judas (2 Macc 14,37-46); Nicanor’s decision to attack the Jews on the Sabbath and his arrogance (2 Macc 15,1-5); Judas’ preparations for battle and the sixth epiphany (2 Macc 15,6-24); the defeat and death of Nicanor (2 Macc 15,25-36). 37. The Hasidim or “the pious” (Ασιδαῖοι) are only mentioned here in the book (2 Macc 14,6). In 1 Maccabees, they appear in 1 Macc 2,42; 7,13.

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to the office of high priest and urges the king to remove Judas (“for as long as Judas is around it will be impossible for the state to attain peace”, 2 Macc 14,10). At the end of the story, everything hangs in the balance once again. The Temple had been captured by Judas and his men, who had purified it and restored the proper cult, but it is now under threat once again from a potential new high priest installed by the Seleucids. By including a characterization of Judas from the perspective of another character, the narrative offers another view on Judas. The narrator has Alcimus appear as a new character, introduced with the formula “a certain Alcimus”. The reader is prepared for this formula, which has already been used for evildoers in 2 Macc 3,4 and 4,40. Alcimus is not yet known to readers,38 but he is introduced as “the former high priest” and describes himself as the opponent of Judas. This gives readers a perspective from which to evaluate what is said about Judas. Against this background, it is especially unexpected that Judas is called a leader in this section, for the first time in 2 Maccabees (ὧν ἀφηγεῖται Ιουδας ὁ Μακκαβαῖος, cf. 2 Macc 14,16.20).39 Alcimus’ slanderous speech puts Judas’ life in danger, since he describes the latter as an insurrectionist who threatens to cause disruption. The king reacts as Alcimus hopes – Alcimus is to be restored to the high priesthood and Judas is to be murdered (2 Macc 14,13). The situation becomes even more dangerous when other enemies of Judas from earlier episodes join the enemy side (2 Macc 14,14). But when the time comes for the battle between Judas and Nicanor, who is the general appointed to kill him (2 Macc 14,12), Nicanor shrinks back in the face of “the manly valor of Judas’ men and of their high morale in struggles for the fatherland” (2 Macc 14,18). An agreement is reached, but not before Judas has taken steps to secure his safety (2 Macc 14,22). The narrative segment, which began with a plot to murder Judas, ends unexpectedly with the report that Nicanor “kept Judas before him continually, for his soul was drawn to the man. He called upon him to marry and to father children; he married, settled down, partook of life” (2 Macc 24-25). According to 2 Macc 14,26-36, this pact of friendship becomes shaky when Alcimus intervenes with King Demetrius, who demands that Nicanor take Judas prisoner (2 Macc 14,27). It is interesting that the narrator now defends Nicanor: When these (orders) reached Nicanor he was disconcerted and could only with difficulty tolerate the notion of annulling the instructions, given the fact that 38. Cf. 1 Macc 7,1-26. 39. The verb ἀφηγέομαι otherwise appears only in the epiphany at 2 Macc 10,29.

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the man had done nothing unjust. But since it was impossible to oppose the king, he sought an appropriate opportunity to fulfill (the king’s order) by stratagem. (2 Macc 14,28-29)

As in Alcimus’ speech, the narrator has another character here describe Judas: Nicanor affirms that Judas has done nothing unjust. This functions as very high praise, especially coming from Nicanor. Nevertheless, Nicanor feels compelled to comply with the king’s command. The situation between the two men worsens (2 Macc 14,30-31) to the point that Nicanor demands that the Temple priests hand Judas over. He stretches out his right hand against the Temple and says, “If you do not give up Judas to me, in chains, I will level this sacred enclosure of God to the ground, and I will destroy the altar, and I will erect here a magnificent temple to Dionysus” (2 Macc 14,33). From the perspective of 2 Maccabees, everything is now up for grabs. Everything that Judas and his men have achieved is at risk of being overturned, leading to a situation like that under Antiochus Epiphanes (cf. 2 Macc 6,1-11). This is made clear in 2 Macc 15,18: “Fear for their wives and children, also brothers and other kin, weighed upon them in smaller measure; greatest and first was their fear for the Sanctuary which had been made holy.” As in 2 Macc 6-7, and in a similarly dangerous situation, a martyrdom is described (2 Macc 14,37-46). Also as in 2 Macc 6-7, resurrection is a theme. After this story, Judas prepares his men for battle in the manner customary for 2 Maccabees: he exhorts his men and reminds them of God’s acts in history (2 Macc 15,6-11). A final epiphany follows, which is somewhat atypical (2 Macc 15,12-16; cf. ἐπιφάνεια in 15,27) – Judas tells his men about a “dream (he had) which was more trustworthy” (2 Macc 15,11), in which the high priest Onias and Jeremiah had appeared to him.40 Jeremiah had handed him a golden sword and said to him, “Take this holy broadsword as a gift from God, with which you shall shatter the enemies” (2 Macc 15,16). Before the battle begins Judas prays once more while facing the opposing forces, who are heavily armed (2 Macc 15,22-24). Thus speeches with (historical-)theological content, epiphanies, and prayer comprise the preparations for battle for the Jewish side under the leadership of Judas. As usual, the battle itself is described only very briefly. The description specifies that it came to a successful end with God’s involvement (2 Macc 15,25-27). Nicanor is among the dead (2 Macc 15,27), a source of great jubilation (2 Macc 15,28-29). Judas is the one who orders the head of the dead Nicanor to be cut off and brought to Jerusalem (2 Macc 15,30). Rather than being 40. On this point, see SCHMITZ, Auferstehung und Epiphanie (n. 32), pp. 125-128.

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designated by his name or his nickname, “the Maccabee”, as is usual in 2 Maccabees, he receives a long adulatory description: “he who with his whole body and soul had taken the lead in the struggle on behalf of his fellow citizens, and who still maintained his youthful goodwill toward the members of his people” (2 Macc 15,30). Apart from the mention of “noble Judas” in 2 Macc 12,42, this is a rare occasion where Judas is singled out for praise. He has the corpse of Nicanor defiled in Jerusalem and his head hung from the wall of the city (2 Macc 15,32-33.35). Just as in 2 Macc 12,42-45, Judas thus receives notable esteem in 2 Macc 14-15. This is not because of his capabilities or military competence, but because he does the right thing when everything is at stake and the Temple and cult in Jerusalem are at risk. With the triumph over Nicanor, 2 Maccabees comes to an end. Judas is not mentioned in the afterword by the so-called Epitomist (2 Macc 15,37-39).

11. CONCLUSION In 1 Maccabees, Judas is described as one of the bravest and most valuable warriors. He is praised as a soldier competent in battle and a lion-like hero who risks life and limb for the sake of the law (cf. 1 Macc 3,3-6). The depiction of Judas in 1 Maccabees serves to legitimate Maccabean-Hasmonean rule. The Maccabees are portrayed as defenders of tradition and fighters for the (putative) “old order” in a religious-political struggle. In other words, the Maccabee family and later Hasmonean dynasty are portrayed as the latest in a line of people loyal to tradition.41 2 Maccabees draws a different portrait of the Maccabean family and of Judas. Of all of the members of the Maccabee family, only Judas is singled out in 2 Maccabees as a protagonist. Furthermore, he only seldom appears to be a bold and brave military commander on his own account. Military

41. In fact, a multifaceted breach with tradition was part of the progressive seizure of power by the Maccabees. First Jonathan, son of Mattathias, took over the high priesthood, which was a breach with tradition inasmuch as the Maccabees were from the lower priestly order. They were not Zadokites and therefore not permitted to exercise the office of high priest. This move soon became a source of dissatisfaction and prompted resistance, not only because Jonathan, one of Judas’ brothers, had taken the high priesthood, but also because Simon, a brother of Judas and Jonathan, had added political and military offices to the office of high priest (cf. 1 Macc 14,47), although he still avoided the title “king”. Aristobulos was the first to adopt the latter title (104-103 BCE, Josephus, Ant. 13,301; Bell. 1,70). Maccabean-Hasmonean rule is thus connected with a number of breaches with tradition. See E.S. GRUEN, Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1998, pp. 29-39.

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victories are described only briefly, and Judas often does not play a prominent role (cf., e.g., 2 Macc 8,30-33; 10,2-8).42 This is especially striking in the Hellenistic context of the time, because the Hellenistic kings, especially after Alexander, legitimated their royal rule primarily on the basis of military strength and victories in war.43 In 2 Maccabees, in contrast, there is no military encounter that Judas with his troops could have won by their own strength. There is always a prayer for God’s help and saving intervention before battle, and the battle is decided in favor of Judas and his troops only with God’s intervention (2 Macc 8,5-7; 10,1; 12).44 Divine warriors revealed from heaven also join in battles and make victory by the Jewish troops possible (2 Macc 10,24-38; 11,1-12; 15,6-25). Judas receives praise from the narrator of 2 Maccabees on just a few occasions (as, e.g., in 2 Macc 12,42-45 and 14-15). The criteria used to evaluate Judas are clear: in 2 Maccabees Judas is only exemplary when he adopts the stances that the narrator considers to be true (cf. 2 Macc 12,42-44). He is militarily successful when he acts as seer, pray-er, or interpreter of scripture, as in 2 Macc 12,6.15; 13,10-11; or 15,6-11.12-16. Judas is thus not portrayed in 2 Maccabees as a “great hero”,45 but achieves military success when God enables it. Throughout the book, Judas is an important figure, but God is even more important. God is the decisive actor in 2 Maccabees. This not only makes 2 Maccabees a theological text, as has often been observed, but also comprises a certain “political” perspective on Judas. Within the ancient semantic fields of “politics” and “religion”, to portray God as being at Judas’ side is effectively to portray Judas as a good, legitimate (“political”) leader. Considering the overall depiction of Judas in 2 Maccabees, however, especially in comparison with 1 Maccabees, one wonders if there is an implicit critique of the Hasmoneans.46 This could be supported by the ambivalent and reluctant manner in which Judas is presented in 2 Maccabees. The fact that the focus is on Judas alone from the Maccabean family

42. The victories are usually ascribed to the whole army. 43. Cf. B. SCHMITZ, Tradition und (Er)Neuerung: Die Rede von Gott in jüdisch-hellenistischer Literatur, in Theologische Literaturzeitung 141 (2016) 721-736. 44. So also NICKLAS, Makkabaion II (n. 3), pp. 309-310. 45. So ZEITLIN – TEDESCHE, The Second Book of Maccabees (n. 14), p. 150. 46. So e.g. HABICHT, 2. Makkabäerbuch (n. 12), pp. 188.191; citing M. HENGEL, Judentum und Hellenismus: Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jh v. Chr., Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, ²1973, p. 180; J.A. GOLDSTEIN, II Maccabees (AncB, 41A), New York, NY, Doubleday, 1984, pp. 19.390-391; ENGEL, Die Bücher der Makkabäer (n. 1), p. 402; differently E. REGEV, The Hasmoneans: Ideology, Archeology, Identity (JAJ.S, 10), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013, p. 27 n. 74 and HONIGMAN, Tales (n. 5), p. 4 and passim. Honigman identifies 2 Macc as dynastic history.

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may also be related to the fact that Judas was the only Maccabee who did not take up any offices, not even the high priesthood.47 With its portrayal of Judas, 2 Maccabees seems to tell a different story of Maccabean and Hasmonean beginnings than 1 Maccabees, and thereby offers a different (“political”) view on the Maccabean movement. Barbara SCHMITZ (Würzburg)

47. Perhaps this is also why the high priest Onias appears to Judas (2 Macc 15,12-14). He was the last legitimate Zadokite high priest, after all.

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The Jewish priest Flavius Josephus (37-ca. 100 CE) switched careers several times.1 After his capture as a Jewish military commander during the war against Rome (66-70 CE), his prediction that the Roman general Vespasian would become emperor enabled him to spend the rest of his life in Rome as a historian.2 Currently most scholars would agree that Josephus is an author with a complex agenda of his own.3 Local litterati in Flavian Rome who were interested in Jewish culture must have been prominent among his readers, including the wealthy freedman Epaphroditus, who was Josephus’ literary patron.4 Some of his readers may have been Jews, including members of the Herodian family who lived in Rome and their entourage.5 Josephus’ views must have changed considerably over the years because of his immersion in this diaspora context. This may explain why Josephus’ views and assessments of Jewish rulers in the Antiquities are quite different from those in the War. This contribution aims to provide a concise survey of Josephus’ presentation of rulers in two periods: (1) that of the kings of 1. I warmly thank Prof. Daniel Schwartz (Jerusalem), Prof. Julia Wilker (Philadelphia), Prof. Steve Mason (Groningen) and Dr. Julia Snyder (Regensburg) for their help and feedback on this contribution. 2. T. RAJAK, Josephus: The Historian and his Society, London, Duckworth, 1983, pp. 1-45; pp. 144-222; P. BILDE, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, His Works and Their Importance, Sheffield, Sheffield Adacemic, 1988, pp. 13-60; W. DEN HOLLANDER, Josephus, the Emperors, and the City of Rome: From Hostage to Historian, Leiden, Brill, 2014. About Josephus’ writings: BILDE, Flavius Josephus, pp. 61-122. 3. See especially S. MASON, What Is History? Using Josephus for the Judaean-Roman War, in M. POPOVIĆ (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, Leiden, Brill, 2011, 155-240. 4. S. MASON, Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading on and Between the Lines, in A.J. BOYLE – W.J. DOMINIK (eds.), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text, Leiden, Brill, 2003, 559-590; DEN HOLLANDER, Josephus (n. 2). 5. M. GOODMAN, Josephus as Roman Citizen, in F. PARENTE – J. SIEVERS (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period, Leiden, Brill, 1994, 329-338; S. MASON, Of Audience and Meaning: Reading Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum in the Context of a Flavian Audience, in J. SIEVERS – G. LEMBI (eds.), Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond, Leiden, Brill, 2005, 71-100, pp. 84-90; DEN HOLLANDER, Josephus (n. 2), pp. 263-279; cf. J. PRICE, The Provincial Historian in Rome, in J. SIEVERS – G. LEMBI (eds.), Josephus and Jewish History, 101-118; J. CURRAN, Flavius Josephus in Rome, in J. PASTOR – P. STERN – M. MOR (eds.), Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History, Leiden, Brill, 2005, 65-86.

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Israel and Judah, and (2) that of the Hasmoneans, who restored the kingship. I will discuss Josephus’ description of the rule of these kings and his assessment of them as found in introductions, obituaries and other passages that feature his own comments. For the Hasmoneans, differences in perspective between the War and the Antiquities will also be highlighted. I will end with a brief consideration of the Herodians as the last dynasty of kings and Josephus’ views on monarchy.

1. THE KINGS OF ISRAEL AND JUDAH IN ANTIQUITIES Josephus devotes two books to the first two kings of Israel, which is almost as much narrative space as all their successors receive together (cf. Ant. 6-7 with 8,1-10,154). The beginning of the report about Saul (6,35-378) is telling, because Josephus the narrator seems to side with Samuel, who hates kings and prefers an aristocratic type of government for the Israelites (e.g., 6,36). The point of departure of this story is the Israelites’ demand for a king (6,35-67; cf. 1 Sam 8), which they want because of the outrageous acts of Samuel’s sons against their previous “form of government and constitution” (κατάστασις καὶ πολιτεία; 6,35; also 6,32-34) and because they want to have a ruler like other nations, who can lead them and punish their Philistine enemies (6,36; cf. 6,44.54; 1 Sam 8,5). An extensive response to this request by Samuel and God himself (6,36-39) highlights aristocracy as the ideal form of government and anticipates the risk that the monarchy will fail through a divine warning for the people that is absent in the Hebrew Bible. Samuel is shocked by the people’s request not only because of his justice and hatred of kings, but also because “he delighted intensely in aristocracy (ἀριστοκρατία) as something divine, that renders blessed those who use it as their constitution (πολιτεία; 6,36).” The divine foundation of aristocracy seems to be the crucial point for Josephus, as God’s response to the people’s request indicates (cf. 1 Sam 8,7-9): “… that they had not rejected him [Samuel], but rather himself [God] so that he might not rule as sole king” (ἵνα μὴ βασιλεύσῃ μόνος, my emphasis; 6,38; 1 Sam 8,7).6 This reads like a flat rejection of the monarchy on the grounds that it would compete with God’s rule.7 After Saul is anointed and acclaimed 6. The translations of Josephus derive from the Brill Josephus Project (S. MASON [ed.], Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary) including Joseph Sievers and Tony Forte’s translation of War 1 (not yet published), and for Antiquities 12-14 from the translation by Ralph Marcus in the Loeb edition. 7. Cf. Ant. 6,60.

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king by the people, Samuel states that the Israelites have deposed God from his kingship (6,60-67).8 This is despite the fact that God had ordered Samuel to go along with the request, albeit with a warning: “I direct you, however, to appoint for them whomever I shall nominate as king, once you have forewarned them of what calamities they will experience when ruled by kings9 and solemnly testified concerning the sort of change into which they are rushing” (6,39; cf. 1 Sam 8,7-9 and Ant. 6,66).10 Samuel duly anoints Saul (6,54.83), who is subsequently chosen and acclaimed king by the Israelites (6,62.66-67). Josephus highlights the young Saul’s noble stature and tallness, and adds that his spirit (φρόνημα) and mind (διάνοια) were even better than his outward appearance (6,45). The episode where Saul is appointed king thus already implies that the institution of the monarchy was a risky move. The subsequent narrative confirms this impression, although Josephus describes many of Saul’s deeds quite positively and offers an elaborate encomium (6,343-350; cf. the more critical brief obituary in 6,378) before the king and his sons die bravely in battle (6,368-377; cf. 6,344.345.347.349). He highlights the king’s military victories, emphasizing that even his first war against the Ammonite king Naas/Nahash had been victorious (6,68-82).11 The Israelites prosper during Saul’s rule (6,129-130; cf. 6,343.346). The king’s disobedience to Samuel’s orders and God’s commands is a Leitmotiv in the narrative, however (e.g., 6,100-105 about a premature sacrifice). This disobedience leads to the king’s downfall, as indicated in the episode about Saul’s war against the Amalekites, Israel’s arch-enemy (6,131-151). Although God is Saul’s superior, the king disobeys God by sparing the Amalekite king Agag and violating God’s command to kill all enemies and dedicate all of their livestock to God (6,131.133-134.137.142.147-151).12 God’s support of Saul’s rule ends as a result, and David is anointed soon afterwards (6,164-166; see below). As Saul decides to spare the Amalekite king despite God’s demand for his execution, Josephus states that he has disobeyed God, 8. C. BEGG, Judean Antiquities Books 5-7, Leiden, Brill, 2005, p. 114. 9. See also Ant. 6,92: signs of God (thunder, lightning and hail) show the truth about the monarchy to the people. 10. Samuel repeats and elaborates the warning in Ant. 6,40-42 (the king’s subjects have to serve in his army and to work on his land and are like slaves purchased with money, etc.; also 6,61). God’s anticipation of the negative consequences of the monarchy is absent in 1 Sam 8,7-9, but links up with Samuel’s own words in 1 Sam 8,18; see BEGG, Judean Antiquities 5-7 (n. 8), p. 106. 11. For Josephus’ multi-faceted portrait of Saul, see L.H. FELDMAN, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1998, pp. 509-536. 12. See also Ant. 6,336.378.

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“being overcome by his own emotion and giving in to an untimely pity” (6,137). This weakness exacerbates a process of deterioration in Saul’s character (see below), which had already set in.13 Josephus comments extensively on one episode in the second, unhappy period of Saul’s rule: the king’s murder of the (high-)priest Abimelech/ Ahimelech. Saul has Abimelech and his entire family killed because he had provided David provisions and Goliath’s sword (1 Sam 21-22; Josephus, Ant. 6,242-262). In the passage, Josephus critically contrasts the office of king with that of priest and prophet (6,262),14 highlighting the corruption that results when humans become king. He also points to criteria for decent rule: (262) This [Saul’s murder of Abimelech and his family] gives everyone [the opportunity] of learning and discerning the ways (τρόπος) of humans: (263) as long as they are private, humble citizens, incapable of exercising their [true] nature of daring to do as they wish, such persons are gentle and moderate, pursuing only what is just (τὸ δίκαιον), they devote all their loyalty and solicitude to this. As for the Deity, they are convinced that he is present to everything that happens in life, and not only sees the deeds that are done, but already knows the thoughts themselves from which those deeds will [flow]. (264) When, however, they attain to authority and dynastic power (ἐξουσία καὶ δυναστεία), they set all these things aside. Taking off, like masks on a stage, these habits and manners, they put on audacity, insanity, contempt of things human and divine (ἀνθρωπίνων τε καὶ θείων). (265) And now, when piety and justice (εὐσέβεια καὶ δικαιοσύνη) are especially needed by them who are most exposed to envy with their thoughts and actions manifest to all, then it is that they – as though God no longer saw them or as if he were anxious about their authority – act without restraint. (266) What they hear, they fear; or they either willingly hate or cherish irrationally. To them these things seem certain and confirmed, and likewise true and pleasing to both humans and to God, while to the future they give no thought. (267) [Initially], they honour those who have put themselves out in many ways for them, but having honoured them, they then envy them. Having incited them to [gain] renown, they deprive those who had attained it, not only of this, but even, because of it, of life itself, doing so for vile reasons that are unbelievable in their exaggerations. They do not punish deeds worthy of judgment, but rather on the basis of slanders and unexamined accusations. They kill, not those who ought to suffer thus, but whomever they can. (Ant. 6,262-267)

13. Cf. Ant. 6,102.104.146-151. Discussion of Saul’s character in J.W. VAN HENTEN – L. HUITINK, Josephus, in K. DE TEMMERMAN – E. VAN EMDE BOAS (eds.), Characterization in Ancient Greek Literature (Mnemosyne Suppl., 411), Leiden, Brill, 2018, 251-270. 14. Ant. 6,262: “King Saoul perpetrated this so cruel deed, butchering an entire family of high priestly rank and not even taking pity on infants, nor showing respect for age. He likewise overthrew a city [i.e., the city of Naba/Nob, 1 Sam 22,6-23] that was the ancestral [home] and nurse of priests and prophets, the very spot the Deity had chosen and exclusively appointed to produce such men.”

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Josephus’ comments read like a universal statement about kingship. The reference to “ways of humans” (τὸν ἀνθρώπινον τρόπον, 262)15 at the beginning of the passage suggests that Saul’s story shows that no human king can fully enact God’s divine will. This resonates with comments to the same effect in the Saul narrative.16 But the logic of the argument is difficult to follow. At some points, Josephus seems to ascribe to the theory of gradual character revelation, suggesting that Saul’s grip on power had given him the opportunity to “exhibit his [true] nature” (χρῆσθαι τῇ φύσει, 263) and do as he pleased.17 This implies that Saul had never actually been gentle, moderate or just (cf. 6,346-347): his true character was gradually revealed. At other points, however, Josephus suggests that Saul’s character had been adversely affected by having power, because emotions (fear, hate, love and envy) and susceptibility to slander, flattery and jealousy had clouded his rational judgement. These passages suggest that Saul was no longer himself at later stages, and that his earlier virtues were so completely suppressed that one could speak of a change in character.18 Josephus also highlights piety or proper attitude toward God (εὐσέβεια) and justice (δικαιοσύνη) as being the most important virtues for a king (6,265; see below), implying that Saul had failed to exhibit these virtues. As king, Saul had lost sight of what Josephus sees as the leading guideline for human life: that God observes all human deeds and rewards or punishes accordingly (6,263; see already 1,14-15.20). The overall implication of the passage seems to be that human rulers are incapable of being ideal monarchs.19 Saul’s successor David is the positive counterpart to the first king, mainly because David remains essentially faithful to God.20 When Samuel sets out to anoint Saul’s successor, he first assumes that Jesse is the chosen one. God corrects him and highlights David’s virtues: “I, however, do not make kingship the prize of bodily good looks, but rather of virtue of soul (ψυχῶν ἀρετῆς). I seek one who is altogether outstanding in this respect, endowed with piety 15. The word τρόπος implies a change of circumstances or character (cf. the verb τρέπω “turn”); only in this instance does it refer to “human nature” in Josephus. 16. Cf. Ant. 6,40-42.60-61. 17. For the theory of gradual character revelation, see K. DE TEMMERMAN – E. VAN EMDE BOAS, Introduction, in DE TEMMERMAN – VAN EMDE BOAS (eds.), Characterization in Ancient Greek Literature (n. 13), 1-23. 18. Cf. FELDMAN, Josephus’s Interpretation (n. 11), p. 531. 19. The main exception is Moses, whose legislation is believed to faithfully reflect the divine will and so to be “greater than [Moses’] own [human] nature” (Ant. 3,320). 20. L.H. FELDMAN, Josephus’ Portrait of David, in HUCA 60 (1989) 129-174; T. ILAN, King David, King Herod and Nicolaus of Damascus, in JQR 5 (1998) 195-240.

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(εὐσέβεια), justice (δικαιοσύνη), courage (ἀνδρεία), and obedience (πειθώ), in which beauty of soul consists” (6,160).21 Here εὐσέβεια and δικαιοσύνη, the two key virtues of kingship mentioned in connection with Saul (6,265; see above), are referenced together with ἀνδρεία and πειθώ. While both David and Saul exemplify the virtue of courage, πειθώ – here not “persuasion” but “obedience”, i.e. obedience to God22 – is a point of contrast between them. A cluster of motifs reoccurs repeatedly in the David narrative: loyalty to God combined with trust in God (e.g., 6,181-183.187.189.192; 7,199.294-297) and support of God (e.g., 6,196.203.205.271.359-360; 7,7.203.221.245). A report about David’s capture of Jerusalem (7,61-65) highlights God’s providential support (7,65).23 When the Philistines attack Jerusalem (7,71-77), David consults God, using the high priest24 as intermediary (7,72.76-77). This passage is an adaptation of the biblical reports: “But the king of the Judeans – who did not permit himself to do anything except by prophecy and at God’s direction (τοῦ κελεῦσαι τὸν θεόν) and after taking him as his guarantor for the future – directed the high priest to predict to him what God had in mind and what would be the result of the battle” (7,72). God’s response is affirmative and David is victorious with God’s help (7,73-77; similarly 7,122). David’s only evil deed is adultery with Beethsabe/Bathsheba (7,130-158; cf. 2 Sam 11), a sin and impiety (ἀσεβῆσαι) in Josephus’ story (7,153) that is nevertheless forgiven because David remains a God-fearing person (7,130.153).25 Josephus’ introduction to this episode is telling: “Now, however, a terrible disaster befell David, even though he was a just and Godfearing man by nature (ὄντι φύσει δικαίῳ καὶ θεοσεβεί), and one who strictly kept the ancestral laws (τοὺς πατρίους νόμους ἰσχυρῶς φυλάσσοντι)” (7,130). The three traits of being just, faithful to God and law-abiding reoccur later in the David narrative and represent an overall positive assessment of the king. In a speech to his successor Solomon, David directs him to build a 21. Cf. Ant. 6,45 concerning Saul. 22. K.H. RENGSTORF, A Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus, 4 vols, Leiden, Brill, 1973-1983, 3.370. 23. See also Ant. 7,70.105.109.199.202-203.209.221. 24. Josephus does not provide a name, which means that the high priest could be Zadok (mentioned in Ant. 7,56) or Abiathar (mentioned in 6,359); cf. BEGG, Judean Antiquities 5-7 (n. 8), p. 224. In Ant. 7,200 both high priests act together. 25. In fact, Josephus narrates a second transgression of the laws by David during the census conducted by Joab, namely the omission of the payment of a half-shekel to God as head tax for those counted (as implied in Ex 30,11-13; 38,25-26). David regrets this offense and is reconciled with God after a plague as punishment and David’s willingness that he and his family would be punished instead of the people (Ant. 7,318-333).

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sanctuary for God, who had appointed him king,26 and briefly indicates what is necessary to be a good king and have God’s support: “Try to be worthy of his providential care by being pious (εὐσεβής), just (δίκαιος), and courageous (ἀνδρεῖος). Keep his commandments and the laws that he gave us through Moyses, and do not allow others to transgress them” (7,338; similarly 7,374.384-385).27 Moreover, although David could not restrain his desire for Bathsheba (7,130.147), Josephus’ characterization of him as a just and God-fearing person by nature presupposes a stable and positive character, with faithfulness to God as the determining factor. This is confirmed by the repetition of a key phrase later in the story, when David confesses his impious deed in an emotional scene and Josephus comments that he had been a God-fearing man (θεοσεβής) and had never sinned before (7,153).28 Although God has pity on David and is reconciled to him after the affair with Bathsheba, God does punish him: the son born to Bathsheba dies (7,152.154-158), there is public outcry against his offense, and his sons conspire against him and violate his wives (7,152). This shows that God’s initial promise that David would rule for a long time and be succeeded by a long and splendid dynasty of successors had been conditional on David’s being just (δίκαιος) and receptive to God’s orders (κατήκοος; 6,165). The punishment announced by Nathan in 7,152 materializes in the narrative of David’s subsequent rule (7,153-394), which is marred by Amnon’s rape of his half-sister Tamar and revolt by Absalom and Adoniah. Obedience to God and his laws is also salient in David’s last words to Solomon, which indicate that the Davidic family will rule the Hebrews forever if it remains faithful to God: For you will forfeit the Deity’s loyalty towards you if you transgress any of his laws and will totally turn away his good providential care. If, on the other hand, you prove yourself to be the kind of person you should (and which I appeal to you to be), you will secure the kingship of our family, and no other house will rule the Hebrews except ourselves, through all ages. (7,385)

When David dies, Josephus’ brief obituary praises the king because he had possessed every virtue and committed only one offense against God (7,390-391). 26. David’s praise of God in Ant. 7,380 highlights that the kingship was given to him by God. Cf. 7,384 concerning Absalom. 27. Also Ant. 7,341, where εὐσεβής and δίκαιος occur together. Negatively concerning Absalom, whose impiety (ἀσέβεια; cf. 7,209), daring (τόλμα) and lawlessness are emphasized in Ant. 7,198, which explains why God had not given him the kingship. Detailed discussion of the nexus of king and laws in J.D. FEELEY, Josephus as a Political Philosopher: His Concept of Kingship, Diss., Philadelphia, 2017, pp. 84-125. 28. BEGG, Judean Antiquities 5-7 (n. 8), p. 249.

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Solomon does not live up to his father’s last words, in spite of exceptional prudence (e.g., 8,42-44.190) and completion of a sanctuary for God (8,61129). Similar to Saul’s rule, Solomon’s first period is very successful because he is just (cf. 8.126) and observes the laws in line with his father’s advice (8,21). The second period of his rule is far less fortuitous, because he falls for non-native women in “weakness for sexual pleasure” (8,191), and, even worse, worships the deities of these women (8,192; cf. 8,127.211). Solomon thus transgresses his ancestral laws (8,192-193.195.211) and violates the ban on mixed marriages (8,191; cf. Deut 7,3-4 and 1 Kgs 11,2). This implies that he had not implemented the key virtue of εὐσέβεια towards God – as Josephus observes in 8,196. As a result, Solomon is punished: his kingdom is divided in two after his death (8,197-198).29 Josephus synchronizes the subsequent history of the Israelite and Judean kings, presenting the simultaneous reigns of two kings together by first focusing on the rule of the Israelite king and then switching to the rule of the contemporaneous Judean king, or vice versa (8,224-9,278).30 He starts by relating the history of Hieroboam/Jeroboam, king of the Israelites (from 8,225), and continues with the history of Roboam/Rehoboam, king of the Judahites (from 8,246). After Roboam/Rehoboam’s death he continues his report about the wicked Hieroboam/Jeroboam (8,265), culminating in his defeat of King Abias/Abijah, Roboam/Rehoboam’s successor (8,274-285). After briefly reporting that Asan/Asa succeeded Abias/Abijah on the Judahite throne (8,286-287), Josephus narrates the end of the dynasty of Hieroboam/ Jeroboam (8,288-289), then continues with the report about Asan/Asa (8,290-297). There is no need to discuss this period of the double monarchy in detail, because the section takes the form of a polarized sugkrisis, which assesses the kings’ deeds in the absolute categories of “good” and “bad”, focusing mainly on the virtues of εὐσέβεια and δικαιοσύνη, which result in either approval or disapproval by God.31 Josephus employs schematization and black-and-white stereotypes to drive home a lesson about God’s involvement in history (e.g., 8,293-297.314). For example, this strategy is apparent in Josephus’ report about Asanos/Asa, a king of Judah who ruled for 29. Solomon himself was not punished because his father “loved God” (8,198), so the severe punishment announced in Solomon’s dream (8,127-129; cf. 8,296-297) that anticipates the Babylonian capture of Jerusalem was postponed. C. BEGG – P. SPILSBURY, Judean Antiquities Books 8-10, Leiden, Brill, 2005, p. 36. 30. Josephus motivates this approach by claiming that in this way “the orderly arrangement” (τὸ εὔτακτον) of his history would be maintained (Ant. 8,224). 31. With FEELEY, Josephus (n. 27), p. 59. Josephus follows a basic trend of Jewish Scripture (cf. e.g., Ant. 8,298-302.361-362.417-420; 9,1.99-101), but the principle also determines his reports about non-biblical characters.

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forty-one years (8,286-314; cf. 1 Kgs 15,9-24; 2 Chr 14,1-16,14). His introductory and concluding comments indicate that Asa had brought peace for ten years and led a long and happy life because of God’s support, as a reward for living up to the virtues of δικαιοσύνη and εὐσέβεια (8,286.314; also 8,290.295).32 Asa had been “of excellent character. He was oriented to the Deity (πρὸς τὸν θεῖον ἀφορῶν; cf. 8,293), and neither did nor thought anything that was not directed towards piety (εὐσέβεια) and the observance of the ordinances” (8,290). Josephus contrasts Asa with contemporaneous wicked kings of the North (Hieroboam/Jeroboam, Nabad/Nadab, Basanes/ Baasha, Elan/Ela, Zambri/Zimri, Amarin/Omri), who had acted unjustly and impiously and had violated laws (8,287.289.299-302.313-314), with the result that God had punished them. Josephus also notes that Asa “died felicitously” (8,314), which differs from biblical passages about this king’s end (1 Kgs 15,23-24; 2 Chr 16,7-14), but maintains the sharp contrast Josephus is making with the rulers of the Northern Kingdom.33 A survey of the portrayal of Israelite and Judahite kings in Josephus’ Antiquities thus yields a mixed picture. Josephus is critical of the institution of the monarchy, like Samuel in the Saul narrative. Saul’s murder of the high priest Abimelech triggers elaborate commentary suggesting that humans are easily corrupted when appointed king and that God is the only ideal monarch. Nevertheless, some kings are assessed positively on the basis of their deeds, especially insofar as they exemplify the two virtues of εὐσέβεια (“proper attitude to God”) and δικαιοσύνη (“justice”, e.g., 7,338). This is particularly clear in the David narrative. David consistently consults God, using the high priest or Nathan the prophet as mediator (e.g., 7,72), and his obedience to God (πειθώ) leads God to support him.

2. THE HASMONEAN RULERS

IN

WAR

In both the War and the Antiquities Josephus recounts the rule of the Hasmoneans in chronological order, starting with the Maccabean revolt and ending with the power struggle between Herod and Antigonus.34 In the 32. The combination of righteousness (δικαιοσύνη) and proper worship (εὐσέβεια) is also found in Ant. 6,265; 8,121; 8,299-300; 9,16; 9,236 (concerning King Jotham of Judah); 10,49-51; 12,56; 14,283 (concerning Herod’s father Antipater); 18,117 (concerning John the Baptist). See also 7,338.341.356.374.384; 8,208.251.280.314.394; 9,260; 10,50. 33. See BEGG – SPILSBURY, Judean Antiquities 8-10 (n. 29), p. 87. 34. I.M. GAFNI, Josephus and 1 Maccabees, in L.H. FELDMAN – G. HATA (eds.), Josephus, the Bible, and History, Detroit, Wayne State University Press, 1989, 116-131; G. FUKS,

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Antiquities the defeat of Antigonus is clearly portrayed as the end of Hasmonean rule (14,490; see below). Since 1 Maccabees was an important source for both reports, we can make comparisons and examine Josephus’ take on events. The report in the Antiquities is also much more elaborate than in the War because Josephus used additional sources in composing the former. In the War Josephus’ account of the first Hasmonean leaders (Judas, Jonathan, and Simon) is fairly brief; he gives more narrative space to John Hyrcanus and to the Hasmoneans who come after him. In the War Josephus depicts Judas Maccabaeus as a military hero who recaptures the Temple and restores the altar (1,36-47). He does not mention the institution of Hanukkah by Judas and his men, as 1 Macc 4 does. A significant difference from 1 Macc is that Josephus has Judas make a peace treaty with the Romans almost immediately (1,38; cf. 1 Macc 8,132). This may hint at Josephus’ own view of the best political arrangement for the Jews (see below).35 The self-sacrifice of Judas’ brother Eleazar, who attempts to kill the Seleucid king during a battle at BethZacharia (cf. 1 Macc 6,43-46), takes up a lot of space in the report about Judas (Bell. 1,42-45; cf. Ant. 12,373-374). The account does not enhance the glory of Mattathias’ oldest son, because it ends with a sarcastic comment emphasizing the negative result of Eleazar’s bold attempt: “In fact, the elephant driver was a commoner; yet even if he had happened to be Antiochus, the daring fighter would have accomplished nothing more than to appear to have chosen death for the single prospect of a brilliant heroic action.” A very brief report about Jonathan (1,48-49) notes that his alliance with the Romans and truce with Antiochus did not offer much protection to him: Trypho was still able to kill him treacherously. Jonathan’s appointment as high priest by Alexander Balas (1 Macc 10,20) is not even mentioned in the War. The portrait of Simon is more positive than that of Jonathan: Simon handles “his affairs in exemplary fashion” (1,50). He is appointed high priest after a brilliant victory – Josephus does not say by whom – and he “frees the Judeans from Macedonian rule after 170 years” (1,53; cf. Ant. 12,433-434 on Judas and 13,213 on Josephus and the Hasmoneans, in JJS 41 (1990) 166-176; L.H. FELDMAN, Josephus’ Portrayal of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Maccabees, in F. PARENTE – J. SIEVERS (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith, Leiden, Brill, 1994, 41-68; E. GRUEN, The Hasmoneans in Josephus, in H.H. CHAPMAN – Z. RODGERS (eds.), A Companion to Josephus (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, 110), Oxford, WileyBlackwell, 2016, 336-356. 35. S. MASON, Of Despots, Diadems and Diadochoi: Josephus and Flavian Politics, in W.J. DOMINIK – J. GARTHWAITE – P.A. ROCHE (eds.), Writing Politics in Imperial Rome, Leiden, Brill, 2009, 323-350, pp. 331-337.

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Simon). Nevertheless, the extensive praise for Simon in 1 Macc 14, which takes the form of a laudatory poem and a long honorary decree, is absent in the War.36 The report about John Hyrcanus in the War (1,54-69) is more elaborate and includes a very positive obituary (Bell. 1,68-69; cf. Ant. 13,299-300) highlighting the fact that John had uniquely combined three types of leadership: political leadership, the high priesthood and the role of a prophet. John had had such close contact with the divine that he could foresee the future. This is highlighted in a dramatic way: John had known beforehand that the rule of his two sons (Aristobulus and Alexander Jannaeus) would be a disaster: For the divine spirit communicated with him, so that he was not unaware of anything that was about to happen. Thus he foresaw and prophesied concerning his two eldest sons that they would not remain in power. It is worth relating their tragic demise and how far they fell from the happiness they inherited from their father. (Bell. 1,68)

The obituary provides important new information and offers a much more positive picture of John than the preceding report about his deeds.37 The report describes John’s emotional response when his brother-in-law Ptolemy holds John’s mother in custody (1,54-60; cf. Ant. 13,228-235). Josephus creates a strong contrast between the courageous mother, who is willing to undergo torture and sacrifice herself (as long as Ptolemy is punished), and her emotional son (1,58-59): “He became as soft as a woman and was filled with emotion” (1,59).38 John manages to survive Antiochus VII’s siege of Jerusalem by opening David’s tomb and extracting 3000 talents from it, which allows him to pay 300 talents to the Seleucid king to end the siege (1,61; cf. Ant. 7,393-394; 13,249).39 Robbing temples or tombs was a typical thing for tyrants to do, but Josephus refrains from making a negative comment.40 He notes finally that the local population rebelled (στάσις; similarly 1,88.90) against John’s rule (1,67), and adds that their

36. As noted by GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 348. 37. GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), pp. 348-349. 38. Details: J. WILKER, Noble Death and Dynasty: A Popular Tradition from the Hasmonean Period in Josephus, in JSJ 48 (2017) 1-23. 39. The connection between the siege and the plundering of the tomb is absent in Ant. 13,249; cf. GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 349. 40. Cf. the more critical report about a similar deed by Herod the Great in Ant. 16,179182, A.K. MARSHAK, The Many Faces of Herod the Great, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2015, pp. 279-280.

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motive was jealousy of the ruler and his sons. In the larger Josephan context rebellion is not typically a sign of a successful government.41 Josephus’ report about Aristobulus I is long in comparison to the shortness of his reign (Bell. 1,70-84). The obvious explanation for this extra attention is that Josephus wanted to highlight the fact that Aristobulus had made himself king: he “changed the form of government into kingship. He was the first to put on a diadem, after 471 years and three months since the people returned to the land, after being released from slavery in Babylonia” (1,70; cf. Ant. 13,301: 481 years). Several evil deeds committed by Aristobulus show that the switch to monarchy had not been a good move. The king starves his mother to death and murders other members of the royal family (1,71-77). He is not in control of the court and courtiers manipulate and slander him (1,72-77). Josephus’ point is driven home by a dramatic account of Aristobulus’ death (1,81-84), which is predicted by Judas the Essene (1,78-80) and is clearly in line with the divine will. The king’s remorse for murdering his brother Antigonus quickly leads to his own illness and death: With my godless deeds I was not going to remain hidden from God’s watchful eye, but swift retribution for the killing of my kin is pursuing me. How long will you, most shameless body, detain my soul that is condemned for a brother and a mother? How long will I pour out my own blood little by little as a libation to them? May they take it all at once, and may the deity no longer mock at the libations drawn from my entrails. (Bell. 1,84; cf. 1,81-84 with Ant. 13,314-318).

After Aristobulus I, Hasmonean rule goes from bad to worse. Alexander Jannaeus’ reign is characterized by cruel, evil deeds, despite the fact that he achieves territorial expansion (1,85-106). Alexander starts his reign by murdering one of his brothers (1,85; cf. Ant. 13,323). He massacres more than six thousand fellow Jews who rebel against him (1,88-89; cf. 1,97-98). Josephus describes Alexander’s subjugation of Gaza, Raphia, and Anthedon as “enslavement” (1,87-88). He depicts Alexander as a brutal tyrant, using the key words ἀσέβεια (“impiety”) and ὠμότης (“cruelty”; 1,97).42 Queen Salome Alexandra seems to be a positive exception in the War (1,107-119), but after her death the Hasmonean dynasty will be ruined by 41. J.W. VAN HENTEN, Rebellion under Herod the Great and Archelaus: Prominent Motivs and Narrative Function, in M. POPOVIC (ed.), The Jewish Revolt: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (JSJ.S, 154), Leiden, Brill, 2011, 241-270. 42. Ant. 13,372-373.376.380-383. FUKS, Josephus and the Hasmoneans (n. 34), pp. 169171. On the danger of monarchy developing into tyranny, see MASON, Despots (n. 35), pp. 323-330.

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internal conflict, beginning with trouble between her sons Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II. Josephus begins his report about the queen’s reign by commenting positively on her piety and faithfulness to ancestral customs: “That woman gained control of the government through her reputation for piety (εὐσέβεια). For indeed, she had a very accurate understanding of her people’s ancestral traditions (τὰ πάτρια) and removed from authority those who transgressed the sacred laws” (1,108).43 Josephus also praises her for expanding the army and gathering a sizeable mercenary force, which inspired awe among foreign rulers (1,112). The only criticism Josephus seems to make in the War is that the queen relied on the Pharisees too much, who took advantage of her (1,110-113). A long section in Bell. 1,120-357 narrates the complex power struggle among the final Hasmoneans (Hyrcanus II, Aristobulus II, Alexander and Antigonus) and between them and the Romans. The story of the downfall of the Hasmonean dynasty goes hand-in-hand with the rise to power of the Idumean Antipater and his sons, who side with Hyrcanus II and support the Romans. After Julius Caesar reinstates Hyrcanus II as high priest (1,199), Antipater takes care of the government, because Hyrcanus is apathetic and too weak to be king (1,203; cf. 1,209). The story ends with Antigonus’ defeat by Herod, who has already been appointed king of the Judeans by the Roman Senate (1,282-284). Josephus focuses mainly on military events and portrays Antigonus, the last Hasmonean ruler, as a brute who mutilates the bodies of his opponents both before and after death. He bites the ears off of Hyrcanus II (1,270; cf. Ant. 14,366) and cuts off the head of Herod’s brother Josephus after his death, although Pheroras, another brother, had offered fifty talents as a ransom for the body (1,325; cf. Ant. 14,449). In a meeting before Julius Caesar Antipater calls Antigonus an enemy and runaway of the Romans, “who had inherited from his father a propensity for revolution and sedition (νεωτεροποιός καὶ στασιώδης)” (1,198). Josephus’ final remark about Antigonus concerns his execution, which shows not only how little sympathy the historian had for him, but also that his efforts had been in vain: “Befitting his meanness, it 43. Discussions of Salome Alexandra’s rule: E. BALTRUSCH, Königin Salome Alexandra (76-67 v. Chr) und die Verfassung des Hasmonäischen Staates, in Historia 50 (2001) 163-179; D. LAMBERS-PETRY, Shelomzion ha-malka: The Hasmonean Queen and her Enigmatic Portrayal by Josephus, in J.U. KALMS – F. SIEGERT (eds.), Internationales Josephus-Kolloquium Dortmund 2002, Münster, LIT, 2003, 65-77; T. ILAN, Silencing the Queen: The Literary Histories of Shelamzion and Other Jewish Women, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2006; K. ATKINSON, Queen Salome: Jerusalem’s Warrior Monarch of the First Century B.C.E., Jefferson, NC, McFarland, 2012.

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was an axe that felled this man [Antigonus], who clung to life up to the end with a vain hope” (1,357).

3. THE HASMONEAN RULERS

IN

ANTIQUITIES

Josephus’ report about Judas the Maccabee in the Antiquities is much more elaborate than its counterpart in the War and more positive about the achievements of Mattathias’ oldest son (12,285-434). It includes an obituary of Judas that assesses his deeds (12,433-434; cf. 1 Macc 9,19-21) and characterizes him as a man of valour and a great warrior (ἄνδρα γενναῖον καὶ μεγαλοπόλεμον). His greatest achievement is freeing his fellow citizens from slavery under the Macedonians (12,434; cf. 13,213 about Simon). Surprisingly, Josephus also attributes Judas the honour of holding the high priesthood for three years, a detail absent in the War and not supported by 1 Macc, but which clearly enhances Judas’ status (12,434).44 This detail fits the narrative, which relates that the people gave Judas the high priesthood after Alcimus’ death (12,414.419). As in the War there is no mention of God’s support for Judas, although Judas includes proper religion (εὐσέβεια) as something for which his soldiers have to fight, alongside freedom, fatherland and the laws (12,304). A very positive obituary, which concludes book 12 of the Antiquities, suggests a very good start for the Hasmonean leadership, focussing on how freedom and the office of high priest were restored to the Jewish nation. An elaborate report about Jonathan in the Antiquities (13,1-212) presents him mainly as a leader who benefits from a power struggle among the Seleucids and sides with the Seleucid leader from whom he expects the greatest gain.45 Frequent references to his being high priest (appointed by Alexander Balas) suggest that the high priesthood was the main office of the Hasmonean rulers (cf. “Jonathan the high priest” or “the high priest Jonathan” in 12,83.88.121.133.164.166).46 Two motifs in the report about Jonathan also appear in connection with other early Hasmoneans: (1) when Jonathan takes over from Judas he states that he is ready to die for Judas’ companions, like Judas, who had died for the liberty of their fellow Jews 44. Cf. Ant. 12,414.419, J. SIEVERS, The Hasmoneans and Their Supporters: From Mattathias to the Death of John Hyrcanus I, Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press, 1990, pp. 75-77; J.C. VANDERKAM, From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2004, pp. 241-242; GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), pp. 341-342. 45. With GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 346. 46. See also Ant. 13,45-46.124.145.

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(13,5)47; (2) Jonathan prays to God for support during battle (13,14)48 and realizes that his rule depends on God’s providence (πρόνοια; 13,163). Simon takes over leadership from his brother Jonathan after Tryphon treacherously captures the latter. He gives a speech encouraging the people and proposes himself as leader of the Jews (13,197-200). The people choose him as high priest (13,213), as they had previously done with Judas. This highlights the high priestly office and simplifies the account of 1 Macc 14, where an assembly including priests and the people confirms Simon’s offices as high priest, military and political leader. In his speech, Simon emphasizes that he and his brothers (“the men of my house”; 13,198) have risked their lives for the liberty of the Jews, the laws and the worship of their God (θρησκεία, referred to twice in 13,198-199), and that he is certain they will be victorious with God’s help (13,200). Josephus praises Simon further for taking command “like a young man” despite his old age in a conflict with Antiochus VII Sidetes, who is determined to plunder Judea and take Simon prisoner (Ant. 13,225-227). After the treacherous murder of Simon, John Hyrcanus takes over the high priesthood and propitiates God with sacrifices, then marches against his brother-in-law Ptolemy, the murderer of his father (13,230). His siege of the fortress Dagon, where Ptolemy had held John’s mother and brother prisoner (13,230-235), and a conflict with Antiochus VII (13,236-248) are narrated more elaborately here than in the War. In the Antiquities Josephus talks more explicitly about John’s prophetic activities in a short story that also highlights his role as high priest (13,282-283). Josephus describes how John had heard a voice while burning incense in the Temple, which said that his two sons had defeated the Seleucid King Antiochus IX Cyzicenus. He had communicated this to the multitude outside the sanctuary and it had turned out to be true. John’s ability to tell the future is also mentioned in his obituary in connection with his sons’ failure (13,299-300; cf. Bell. 1,68-69 above).49 The subjection of the Idumeans (13,257-258) and the destruction of Mount Gerizim (13,254-256) and Samaria (13,275-281) are additions in comparison to the War. Another addition is a well-known story about John’s conflict with the Pharisees (13,288-298; cf. the unspecific reference to a rebellion in Bell. 1,67, above).50 The conflict takes off when 47. Cf. Ant. 12,281; 13,198-199. GAFNI, Josephus and 1 Maccabees (n. 34), observes that in Antiquities Josephus emphasizes that the Hasmoneans were ready to die for the laws, while 1 Maccabees emphasizes their willingness to fight. 48. See also Ant. 12,285.314 about Judas and cf. 13,163.168.200. 49. See also Ant. 13,322. 50. S. MASON, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees, Leiden, Brill, 1991, pp. 213-245.

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John states that he wishes to be righteous (δίκαιος) and tries to please God as much as the Pharisees do. A very positive obituary in 13,299-300 is quite similar to Bell. 1,68-69, with one important difference: in the War Josephus merely states that John held the three highest offices of the Jews, but here he remarks that John was deemed worthy of these offices (13,299). Josephus’ assessment of Aristobulus I here (13,301-319) is more complex than in the War: he ends this version with a rather positive obituary, emphasizing not only that he had conquered the territory of the Itureans but also that he had been reasonable by nature and a remarkably modest man (13,318-319), an assessment that does not line up with the evil deeds ascribed to him.51 He had loved his brother Antigonus but still had him murdered and had thrown his other brothers into chains. He had imprisoned his mother and let her die of starvation in prison (13,301-313). As in the War this Aristobulus acknowledges his divine punishment in a brief dramatic speech (13,316-317; cf. Bell. 1,84 above) and Josephus’ own comments match this view (13,314). Josephus distances himself from Aristobulus’ choice to institute monarchy, commenting, “which he [i.e., Aristobulus] judged the best form” (13,301, my emphasis). As in the War things get worse for the Jews under Alexander Jannaeus (13,320-404). Both his military enterprises and his oppression of his Jewish subjects (13,372-376) are highlighted. Josephus notes once that the Jews were happy because of his successes (13,394). Josephus also recounts that Alexander was nicknamed Thrakidas (“the Thracian”) because of his cruelty, building on a well-known stereotype about cruel Thracians.52 Josephus radically reinterprets the rule of Salome Alexandra in the Antiquities (13,405-432), and concludes the report about the queen (and book 13) with a very negative obituary (13,430-432).53 Josephus notes that the people had loved Alexandra because she had seemed to disapprove of her deceased husband’s crimes (13,407). As in the War, he implies that the Pharisees had been the ones in power, adding that they had acted like despots (Ant. 13,408). He also reports that Alexandra’s opponents, including 51. GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 350; T. ILAN, Josephus on Women, in H.H. CHAPMAN – Z. RODGERS (eds.), A Companion to Josephus (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, 110), Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2016, 318-335, p. 326. 52. M. STERN, Thrakidas – The Surname of Alexander Jannaeus in Josephus and Syncellus, in M. AMIT – I. GAFNI – M.D. HERR (eds.), Studies in Jewish History: The Second Temple Period, Jerusalem, 1991, 125-127. 53. MASON, Pharisees (n. 50), p. 259 argues that this significant change is connected with Josephus’ view in Antiquities that the queen betrayed her dynasty to the Pharisees, who play a destructive role. ILAN, Josephus on Women (n. 51), pp. 325-326 explains it by assuming that the negative assessment derives from Josephus’ source Nicolaus of Damascus.

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her own son Aristobulus II, who had tried to take over from his mother (13,422-429), had heavily criticized her (13,416-418), and he comments that this had been their own fault because they had let her rule in spite of her excessive and greedy love for power (φιλαρχία, 417).54 This comment is elaborated in the obituary, which briefly notes that Alexandra had been efficient, a woman who had not shown any of the weaknesses of her gender and had kept peace during the nine years of her reign, but also that she had had a terrible lust for power (τὸ φίλαρχον), and, most importantly, that she had “exposed the folly of men who fail to maintain sovereign power” and that “held the present as more important than the future” (13,430). Within the broader context of the narrative of books 13-14 these two points basically imply that Josephus blames Alexandra for the downfall of the Hasmonean dynasty and the loss of autonomous rule, as book 14’s account of Pompey’s intervention narrates.55 This is made explicit as the obituary continues (431-432), where Josephus adds that the queen had made “everything else secondary to absolute rule (τοῦ ἐγκρατῶς ἄρχειν)” and “had, on account of this, no regard for either decency [καλοῦ] or justice [δικαίου, 431; cf. 405].” She had had desires that were unfit for a woman and had left the kingdom in the hands of the wrong persons (13,432). Antiquities 14 describes the downfall of the Hasmoneans and the rise to power of the Herodians, offering lots of information that is absent in the War. A brief story about a righteous man named Onias characterizes the conflict between Salome Alexandra’s sons Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II with the word στάσις, “dissension, rebellion” (14,22-24). Onias had previously prayed for rain and is now asked to curse Aristobulus and his fellow rebels (συστασιασταί, 14,22), which he refuses to do at the expense of his life. In the immediate context, the term στάσις (14,22) points to a severe internal conflict and implies that the Jewish ruler had not really been in control and was therefore not qualified to be ruler. Onias’ actual prayer expressing his refusal indicates that he does not want to choose between the people who had requested a curse from him and the priests who were besieged with Aristobulus in the Temple complex. God’s punishment of Onias’ death satisfies the priests and also indicates that God had agreed with Onias, implying also that the stasis had been against God’s will (14,25-28). Another additional piece of information in the Antiquities concerns the standpoint of the Jewish nation (τὸ ἔθνος) during Pompey’s hearing of the Jewish factions: the nation explains to Pompey that it was opposed to both Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II and 54. This is a hapax legomenon in Josephus; see RENGSTORF, Concordance (n. 22), 4:299. 55. GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 352.

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requests “not to be ruled by a king, saying that it was the custom of their country to obey the priests of the God who was venerated by them”. Hyrcanus and Aristobulus may have belonged to a priestly family, but they had changed the government, with the result that the nation would become enslaved (14,41). Josephus holds these two Hasmoneans responsible for Pompey’s intervention because of their conflict with one another (στασιάσαντες; 14,77). In contrast to the War, the Antiquities includes a summary statement in 14,490 after the death of Antigonus, the last Hasmonean ruler, who was defeated by Herod, which once again highlights the stasis motif. Josephus points to the splendour of the family lineage, to its high priestly office and to the beneficial deeds performed by Antigonus’ predecessors. Josephus thus clearly distinguishes between the first generations of the dynasty, who are assessed positively, and the later ones. The Hasmoneans had “lost their royal power through internal strife [τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους στάσιν], and it passed to Herod, the son of Antipater, who came from a house of common people and from a family that was subject to the kings (cf. 14.78).”56

4. CONCLUSION AND OUTLOOK In the Antiquities Josephus immediately puts his cards on the table regarding the Israelite and Judahite kings. The narrative about Saul indicates that it had been risky to introduce monarchy, as Samuel’s response points out (e.g., Ant. 6,36). The one and only ruler of Israel is God (6,6067; cf. 6,38). The elaborate narrative that follows highlights David as an exemplary king who relies on prophets and priests, but still supports the idea that monarchy is not the best type of government. A long comment about Saul highlights the fact that humans easily become corrupt when appointed king (6,262-267). Individual kings are assessed on the basis of deeds and virtues, especially δικαιοσύνη and εὐσέβεια, which are connected with trust in God and faithfulness to him. God’s promise to David that his descendants will rule is portrayed as conditional, with obedience to God being the decisive criterion (6,165; 7,385). Josephus’ schematized reports about good and bad kings and their respective fates instructs the reader that it is God who determines how the history of rulers plays itself out. Josephus’ assessment of the Hasmonean rulers in the War is mixed at best and mainly focuses on their deeds. Brief reports about the first three rulers are friendly, but praise for them is less positive than in 1 Macc. It is 56. GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 336.

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significant that Josephus does not include an important statement from 1 Macc 5,61-62 about divine sanction for the Hasmonean family.57 Josephus’ narrative seems to imply that only some of the Hasmoneans deserved God’s support, such as John Hyrcanus, who could foresee the future as a prophet (1,68-69). Yet John is also characterized negatively: he gives in to emotion and plunders David’s tomb. Josephus is very critical about the Hasmoneans after John Hyrcanus, with Queen Salome Alexandra as the positive exception. A few times Josephus uses the virtue of εὐσέβεια or its negative counterpart ἀσέβεια as a tool to assess a ruler (positively about Salome Alexandra in 1,108.110; negatively about Alexander Jannaeus in 1,97). A pivotal passage seems to be the report about Aristobulus, which makes it very clear that Aristobulus’ deeds had shown that introducing the double office of high priesthood combined with monarchy had been a bad move. In the Antiquities Hasmonean rule gradually disintegrates and Josephus highlights dissension (stasis) as an important contributing factor to their eventual downfall. He assesses the last Hasmonean rulers negatively in terms of virtues,58 citing their excessive cruelty (especially for Alexander Jannaeus) and excessive use of power (especially for Salome Alexandra). The first two generations of Hasmoneans (Judas to John Hyrcanus) had sought God’s support for their actions, but this motif drops out beginning with the reign of Salome Alexandra. In contrast to the War, the Antiquities also highlights the continuity of the high priestly line for the first Hasmoneans, and Judas is attributed the high priesthood in order to secure this continuity. The nation and priests sometimes act as opponents of the monarchy (14,41). The portrayal of Aristobulus I is less negative than in the War, but Josephus’ comments on the transition to monarchy (“which he [i.e., Aristobulus] judged the best form”; 13,301) clearly imply that he does not think monarchy is the best type of government. The black sheep of the dynasty in the Antiquities is Queen Salome Alexandra, with her hunger for power and wrong decisions that foreshadow the ruin of the dynasty. How does the story about kings continue? The assessment of Herod the Great in the War is mixed: the king is a military genius (e.g., Bell. 1,279.429-430), 57. We can only speculate about the reason for Josephus’ departure from his source. Various explanations: J.A. GOLDSTEIN, 1 Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1976, pp. 56; 74; 304; S.J.D. COHEN, Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian, Leiden, Brill, 1979, pp. 46-47; GAFNI, Josephus and 1 Maccabees (n. 34), p. 119; FELDMAN, Josephus’ Portrayal (n. 34), p. 54; GRUEN, Hasmoneans (n. 34), p. 338-339. 58. Impiety: Aristobulus I (Ant. 13,316); injustice: Salome Alexandra (13,431). Contrast the positive assessment of Antipater in 14,283, whose εὐσέβεια and δικαιοσύνη are highlighted.

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an energetic builder (1,409-428) and a friend of the Romans, but incapable of controlling the competing factions within his own household (1,431-673), which is a significant problem for a ruler in a Roman context.59 The dissension within Herod’s family includes the rebellion of three of Herod’s sons against their father.60 Little is reported about the concrete actions of Mariamne’s sons Alexander and Aristobulus (e.g., 1,443.446.488-491; 1,540; cf. 1,530.539), but Antipater is accused more substantially (e.g., 1,450-451.455.473.628).61 In the end Herod executes all three sons. The motif of rebellion is more prominent in the Antiquities, in which Herod is assessed much more negatively. Episodes about a festival in honour of Augustus in Jerusalem (Ant. 15,267291) and the destruction of a golden eagle in the Temple (17,148-164) highlight the king’s continuous transgression of the Jewish laws, and the latter passage also characterizes Herod as a tyrant.62 Finally, there is a key passage in the Antiquities absent from the War where Herod’s rule is predicted by Manaemus/Menahem (15,373-379). This indicates that Herod initially enjoyed God’s support, like Saul (also 14,174.455.462-463), but ended up disqualifying himself by his own deeds.63 The primary virtues that distinguish good kings from bad ones in the earlier books of the Antiquities reoccur here: Herod does not fulfil these criteria. Manaemus explains that Herod’s kingship should entail righteousness (δικαιοσύνη), proper worship of God (εὐσέβεια) and reasonableness (ἐπιείκεια) towards his citizens, but he knows because of his foreknowledge that Herod will fail to do so and will be punished by God at the end of his life (15,375-376). Manaemus’ prophecy corroborates important points of the report about Herod in the Antiquities. Indeed, Josephus tells us that God punished the king by inflicting painful and fatal illnesses on him (17,168-173).

59. H.K. BOND, Josephus on Herod’s Domestic Intrigue in the Jewish War, in JSJ 43 (2012) 295-314; J.W. VAN HENTEN, Herod the Great in Josephus, in H.H. CHAPMAN – Z. RODGERS (eds.), A Companion to Josephus (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, 110), Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2016, 357-373; MASON, Despots (n. 35), pp. 326-330. 60. Josephus also uses the keyword stasis in connection with the power struggle of Antipater with Alexander and Aristobulus (BJ 1,467). 61. VAN HENTEN, Rebellion (n. 41). 62. J.W. VAN HENTEN, The Panegyris in Jerusalem: Responses to Herod’s Initiative (Josephus, Antiquities 15.268-291), in A. HOUTMAN – A. DE JONG – M. MISSET-VAN DE WEG (eds.), Empsychoi Logoi – Religious Innovations in Antiquity: Studies in Honour of Pieter Willem van der Horst, Leiden, Brill, 2008, 151-173; J.W. VAN HENTEN, Constructing Herod as a Tyrant: Assessing Josephus’ Parallel Passages, in J. PASTOR – P. STERN – M. MOR, Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History, Leiden, Brill, 2011, 193-216. 63. J.W. VAN HENTEN, “Knowing Everything” in the Gospel of John and in Josephus: the Case of Manaemus, in NTT 65 (2011) 195-211.

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In Antiquities 18,127-142, Josephus surveys Herod’s descendants64 before describing Agrippa I’s adventures and rule (18,126; 18,143-19,366).65 He explicitly connects the decline of the dynasty with the virtue of εὐσέβεια and divine intervention (18,127; cf. 18,297).66 Josephus characterizes Agrippa positively (18,144), despite his extravagance (18,145.289.290), and points out that he had honoured God: he had offered sacrifices of thanksgiving in the proper way (19,293), and had hung a golden copy of the chain he wore when captured by Gaius in the Temple as a token of his gratitude to God (19,294-296). He had also arranged for an image of the emperor to be removed from a synagogue at Dora (19,301-311). Josephus contrasts Agrippa with Herod the Great (19,328-31): in contrast to Herod Agrippa had been a benefactor of Jews and non-Jews alike; he had also observed the ancestral customs and performed the proper sacrifices. Nevertheless, things had gone wrong at the end of his rule during a festival in honour of Claudius in Caesarea (19,343-352). Flatterers had addressed him as a god and he had tragically failed to contradict them (345-346). He had therefore died a very painful death, like Herod, and had been forced to acknowledge that God was punishing him (347).67 Thus Agrippa’s rule turned out to be a failure because he did not respect God as the monarch who determines human history. The bottom line of Josephus’ reports about Israelite, Judahite and Jewish rulers in the War and Antiquities seems to be that there had been good and bad rulers, and that the defining criteria distinguishing between the two had included faithfulness to God, observance of the ancestral laws and implementation of δικαιοσύνη and εὐσέβεια. This is illustrated especially in the David narrative in the Antiquities (see above). This suggests that the monarchy is not a bad institution per se for Josephus.68 Nevertheless, neither in the War nor in the Antiquities is the monarchy the preferable form of government for the Jews. The Antiquities implies that the institution of the monarchy had interfered with God’s sovereign power (6,38.60-61) and can easily lead to the corruption of the human person in power (6,40-42.262-267) and therefore to tyrannical rule (cf. 5,234). The survey also shows that succession was an additional recurring problem for the monarchy (as stated explicitly in War 4,596): not only was it 64. Details in N. KOKKINOS, The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse, Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1998. 65. D.R. SCHWARTZ, Agrippa I: The Last King of Judea, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1990, pp. 2-37. 66. Cf. Ant. 18,255 concerning Herodias. Also 18,285.288.306.309; 19,16. 67. God’s intervention is also highlighted by the double appearance of a bouboon (“owl”; Latin bubo) in Ant. 18,195 (the meaning of which is explained by a German prisoner, 18,195-202) and 19,346. 68. Similarly concerning Antiquities: FEELEY, Josephus (n. 27).

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sometimes difficult to find a suitable successor, as the Herod narrative demonstrates, but successors also turned out to be wicked rulers time and again (e.g., John Hyrcanus’ sons and Antigonus, War 1,68.198).69 A priestly aristocracy, with priests as God’s representatives on earth, is the preferable type of government for the Jews (6,36; cf. 6,83-85; 11,111).70 In Ant. 6,60, Samuel reproaches the Israelites for deposing God from his kingship and for not realizing that it was better for them to be ruled by God “who is best of all”. Josephus’ preference for a priestly aristocracy, this time under Roman control, is also apparent from a comment in the War about how Gabinius had divided the Jews’ territory into five districts after Pompey reinstalled Hyrcanus II as high priest: He [Gabinius] divided the entire nation into five sectors. One of them he attached to Jerusalem, another one to Gadara, and still another one he made to belong to Amathus. A fourth one was assigned to Jericho, and for the fifth one, Sepphoris, a city of Galilee, was chosen. Glad at having been set free from the rule of one person, they were administered by an aristocracy (ἀριστοκρατία) from then on. (Bell. 1,170)71

69. MASON, Despots (n. 35), pp. 323-325; 337-343; S. MASON, The Importance of the Latter Half of Josephus’s Judean Antiquities for His Roman Audience, in A. MORIYAH – G. HATA (eds.), Pentateuchal Traditions in the Late Second Temple Period: Proceedings of the International Workshop in Tokyo, August 28-31, 2007, Leiden, Brill, 2012, 129-153, pp. 147-153, who persuasively argues that this structural problem of succession in the Herod narrative of Ant. 17 is mirrored in books 18 and 19 focusing on Roman “monarchs”. 70. Also Ant. 4,223; Apion 2,165. See D.R. SCHWARTZ, Josephus on the Jewish Constitutions and Community, in Scripta Classica Israelica 7 (1983-1984) 30-52; L. TROIANI, The Politeia of Israel in the Greco-Roman Age, in F. PARENTE – J. SIEVERS (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: essays in memory of Morton Smith, Leiden, Brill, 1994, 11-22; C. GERBER, Ein Bild des Judentums für Nichtjuden von Flavius Josephus: Untersuchungen zu seiner Schrift Contra Apionem, Leiden, Brill, 1997, pp. 338-359; S. MASON, Introduction to the Judean Antiquities, in L.H. FELDMAN, Judean Antiquities 1-4: Translation and Commentary, Leiden, Brill, 2000, xiii-xxxvi, pp. xxivxxix; MASON, Importance (n. 69); T. Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction, Leiden, Brill, 2002, pp. 195-218; S. MASON, Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading on and Between the Lines, in A.J. BOYLE – W.J. Dominik (eds.), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text, Leiden, Brill, 2003, 559-590, pp. 573-588; P. SPILSBURY, Reading the Bible in Rome: Josephus and the Constraints of Empire, in J. SIEVERS – G. LEMBI (eds.), Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond, Leiden, Brill, 2005, 209-227, pp. 221-224; O. GUSSMANN, Das Priesterverständnis des Flavius Josephus, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, pp. 306-332; J. ABOLAFIA, A Reappraisal of Contra Apionem 2.145 as an Original Contribution to Political Thought, in Scripta Classica Israelica 32 (2013) 153-172; P. SCHÄFER, Theokratie: die Herrschaft Gottes als Staatsverfassung in der jüdischen Antike, in F.W. GRAF – H. MEIER (eds.), Politik und Religion: Zur Diagnose der Gegenwart, München, C.H. Beck, 199-240. 71. See also War 2,22.80.90-91 and MASON, Despots (n. 35), pp. 331-337. When Josephus moves over from one historical period to another, he repeatedly notes that the turn coincides with a change of type of government, e.g., from “monarchy” to “aristocracy” or “democracy”; Ant. 4,223; 6,36.83-85; 11,111-112; 14,91; cf. 20,229.234.251, SCHWARTZ, Josephus on the Jewish Constitutions (n. 70); FELDMAN, Josephus’s Interpretation (n. 11), pp. 144-145.

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Josephus is thus critical of monarchy in both the War and the Antiquities, although he articulates his criticism in different ways. Antiquities also shows specific tendencies concerning the priesthood: kings are contrasted with (high) priests and a priestly aristocracy is depicted as being obviously better than monarchy. These trends point to a renewed interest in the priesthood in the Antiquities, which may reflect Josephus’ Roman context. In the nineties both the Jewish king Agrippa II and the emperor Domitian died. In this period Josephus wrote his Antiquities and Against Apion, his final work. Surprisingly, more than twenty years after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, Josephus writes about the Temple and its priesthood as if the Temple is still relevant and the sacrificial cult is still taking place (e.g., Ant. 15,248).72 This could mean several things in connection with Josephus’ Roman context.73 Josephus may have become increasingly confident that priests were the obvious leaders of the Jews in the homeland as well as abroad. He may even have thought of himself as a leading figure among the priests (cf. Life 1-12) and the ideal trait d’union between Romans and Jews. He may have hoped that the Romans would allow the Temple to be rebuilt and that as a prominent priest living in Rome, he could act as broker and promote the project. Some alteration in Josephus’ Roman context probably triggered this change of perspective, perhaps the death of Agrippa II or a change in Roman administration. The transition from the Flavian to the Nerva-Antonine dynasty may have led to a different Roman attitude towards the Jews, or at least to the expectation that such a change could take place. Further research needs to be done in order to explain the changes in Josephus’ assessment of Jewish rulers and the relevance of the priesthood after 70 CE, but the basic idea is already clear: if kings are out, priests may be in again. Jan Willem VAN HENTEN (Amsterdam / Stellenbosch)

72. Cf. M. GOODMAN, Messianism and Politics in the Land of Israel, 66-135 C.E., in M. BOCKMUEHL – J. CARLETON PAGET (eds.), Redemption and Resistance: The Messianic Hopes of Jews and Christians in Antiquity, Edinburgh, T & T Clark, 2007, 149-157, p. 154; M. GOODMAN, Trajan and the Origins of Roman Hostility to the Jews, in Past & Present 182 (2004) 3-29, p. 25. H. CHAPMAN, Spectacle in Josephus’ Jewish War, in J. EDMONDSON – S. MASON – J. RIVES (eds.), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005, 289-313, pp. 298; 303; VAN HENTEN, Josephus on the Temple from a Post-70 Perspective, in Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum 15 (2018) 357-377. 73. Cf. M. TUVAL, From Jerusalem Priest to Roman Jew: On Josephus and the Paradigms of Ancient Judaism, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, pp. 272-274.

SECTION B

ANTI-EMPIRE CHRISTIANS?

HERRSCHERKULT UND NEUES TESTAMENT: EIN BEITRAG AUS ALTHISTORISCHER PERSPEKTIVE

Wie politisch sind die Schriften des Neuen Testaments und welche Bedeutung muss man dem Kult der Kaiser als Kristallisationspunkt der Auseinandersetzung zwischen Christen und römischen Autoritäten beimessen? Diese Fragen, die sowohl neutestamentliche als auch althistorische Forschungsfelder berühren, bilden den Ausgangspunkt dieses Beitrags.1 Was sich auf den ersten Blick nach einem einfachen Unterfangen anhört, erweist sich bei näherer Betrachtung als äußerst diffiziles wissenschaftliches Wagnis: Impliziert doch die Frage, ob und wie die frühen Christen auf den Kult der Kaiser reagierten, das fundamentale Problem, welche Konzeption man dem römischen Reich vor Diokletian zusprechen, welche Ziele, Bedeutungen und Reichweiten römischer Politik man grundsätzlich annehmen muss. Es wird also nichts weniger verlangt als eine Reflexion des eigenen Verständnisses von der Funktionsweise des römischen Reiches. Denn jene Strömung der neutestamentlichen Forschung, die die Texte des Neuen Testaments als durchdrungen von

1. Die Problematik des Herrscherkultes in der unterschiedlichen Wahrnehmung von Bibelwissenschaft und Alter Geschichte wurde bereits vielfach thematisiert. Am Beginn der Debatte stand vor mehr als einem Jahrhundert DEISSMANN (A. DEISSMANN, Licht vom Osten: Das Neue Testament und die neuentdeckten Texte der hellenistisch-römischen Welt, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1908). Vgl. dazu auch in jüngerer Zeit: W. AMELING, Der kleinasiatische Kaiserkult und die Öffentlichkeit: Überlegungen zur Umwelt der Apokalypse, in M. EBNER – E. ESCH-WERMELING (Hgg.), Kaiserkult, Wirtschaft und spectacula: Zum politischen und gesellschaftlichen Umfeld der Offenbarung (NTOA/StUNT, 72), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011, 15-54; K. GALINSKY, The Cult of the Roman Emperor: Uniter or Divider? in J. BRODD – J.L. REED (Hgg.), Rome and Religion: A Cross-Disciplinary Dialogue on the Imperial Cult, Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2011, 1-21; J. FREY, Jesus und Pilatus: Der wahre König und der Repräsentant des Kaisers im Johannesevangelium, in G. VAN BELLE – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Christ and the Emperor: The Gospel Evidence, Leuven, Peeters, 2014, 337-393; S. MCKNIGHT – J.B. MODICA (Hgg.), Jesus is Lord. Caesar is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies, Downers Grove, IL, InterVarsity, 2013.

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anti-imperialer Kritik sieht,2 die sich vor allem am Phänomen des Herrscherkultes entzündete, wirft eine sehr grundlegende Fragestellung auf: Übte das römische Reich eine top-down-Herrschaft aus, die ausgehend vom Zentrum Rom den Prozess der Romanisierung in die Provinzen trug? Oder müssen wir die römische Herrschaft als einen auf Konsens und Loyalität der Untertanen fußenden Prozess begreifen, der mit Hilfe einer alle Ebenen des Reiches umfassenden Administration die Integration von unterschiedlichen Völkern und Kulturen in eine communis patria zum Ziel hatte und den Kult des Kaisers als Teil der organisierten Beziehung und kommunikativen Struktur zwischen Kaiser und Untertanen gestaltete?3 Das hier zur Diskussion gestellte Thema tangiert also Fragen von grundlegender Bedeutung. 2. Als wichtigste Werke dieser Schule dürfen im angelsächsischen Bereich sicherlich genannt werden: R. HORSLEY, Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the World Disorder, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2003; ders., Jesus and the Powers: Conflict, Covenant and the Hope of the Poor, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2011; ders. (Hg.), Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society, New York, NY, Trinity, 1998; ders. (Hg.), Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, New York, NY, Trinity, 2000; ders. (Hg.), Paul and the Roman Imperial Order, New York, NY, Trinity, 2004; ders., In the Shadow of Empire: Reading the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2008; W. CARTER, The Roman Empire and the New Testament: An Essential Guide, Nashville, TN, Abingdon, 2006; ders., Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations, Harrisburg, PA, Trinity, 2001; ders., John and Empire: Initial Explorations, London, T & T Clark, 2008; ders., The Question of the State and the State of the Question: God, the Roman Empire, and New Testament Theologies, in M. PARSONS – J. WHITLARK (Hgg.), New Testament Theologies: Festschrift for Charles Talbert, Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2013; S. KIM, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2008; N. ELLIOTT, Liberating God: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle, Maryknoll, Orbis, 1994; ders., The Arrogance of the Nations: Reading Romans in the Shadows of Empire, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; S.J. FRIESEN, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001. In der deutschsprachigen Forschung sind hier zu nennen: T. WITULSKI, Kaiserkult in Kleinasien: Die Entwicklung der kultisch-religiösen Kaiserverehrung in der römischen Provinz Asia von Augustus bis Antoninus Pius (NTOA, 63), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007; ders., Die Johannesapokalypse und Kaiser Hadrian (FRLANT, 221), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007; ders., Apokalypse 11 und der Bar-Kokhba-Aufstand (WUNT 2, 337), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012; ders., Der römische Kaiser Hadrian und die neutestamentliche Johannesapokalypse, in J. FREY – J.A. KELHOFFER – F. TÓTH (Hgg.), Die Johannesapokalypse: Kontexte – Konzepte – Rezeption (WUNT, 287), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 79-116; M. EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier, in Biblische Notizen 116 (2003) 28-42; ders., Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier: Eine politische Lektüre des ältesten „Evangeliums“, in Bibel und Kirche 2 (2011) 64-69; etwas abgeschwächt C. HEILIG, Hidden Criticism? The Methodology and Plausibility of the Search for a CounterImperial Subtext in Paul (WUNT 2, 392), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015. 3. Vgl. C. ANDO, Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 2000: „Imperial ideology emerges here as the product of a complex conversation between center and periphery“ (ibid., S. xiii).

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Als wäre dies nicht genug, stellt das Thema die Autorin vor das Problem, als Wissenschaftler einer historisch-kritischen Disziplin einer theologischen Fachrichtung zu antworten. Dabei erweist es sich als problematisch, dass Althistoriker und Neutestamentler sowohl gänzlich unterschiedliche Wissenschafts- und Forschungstraditionen aufzuweisen haben, als auch methodisch so verschieden arbeiten, dass hin und wieder der Eindruck entsteht, sie würden über gänzlich unterschiedliche Gegenstände arbeiten, obwohl sie sich doch mit der gleichen Epoche beschäftigen. Leider zu selten wird die Parallelexistenz der Altertumswissenschaften und der frühchristlichen Studien durchbrochen, um nach Schnittstellen und Kooperationen zu suchen. Umso mehr darf dieser Beitrag auch als Versuch verstanden werden, das Gemeinsame zu betonen und weniger auf das Trennende hinzuweisen.4 Aus diesem Grund erscheint es mir sinnvoll, mich zunächst auf die eigene, altertumswissenschaftliche Sichtweise auf den Herrscherkult zu konzentrieren und die gerade in den letzten Jahren wieder zunehmenden Diskussionen um neue Perspektiven zu thematisieren. Vor diesem Hintergrund lassen sich vielleicht auch einige Impulse für die Betrachtungen der neutestamentlichen Texte kreieren.

1. „HERRSCHERKULT“ – TERMINOLOGIE, FACETTEN, QUELLEN Über das Phänomen, das es hier zu besprechen gilt, gibt es bereits bei seiner terminologischen Benennung Diskussionen innerhalb der althistorischen Spezialisten. Das, was im Deutschen am ehesten als Herrscherkult oder Kaiserkult5 bezeichnet wird, findet im Englischen seine Entsprechung in dem Begriff imperial cult6 – nach M. BEARD und S. FRIESEN neuerdings

4. Es soll an dieser Stelle ausdrücklich betont werden, dass der vorliegende Artikel sich als produktiven Beitrag zu einem interdisziplinären Dialog versteht, ganz im Sinne des 2008 von GALINSKY, Cult (Anm. 1), S. 17 geprägten Satzes: „I see the opportunity, and the need, for constructive further work.“ 5. Gegen die Verwendung des Begriffes „Kaiserkult“ für die früheste Form der Verehrung, auch für Octavian / Augustus, hat sich Werner Eck mehrfach mit guten Argumenten ausgesprochen. Vgl. A. KOLB – M. VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2016, S. 174 Anm. 5. 6. Vgl. u. a. D. FISHWICK, The Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Studies in the Ruler Cult of the Western Provinces of the Roman Empire, Leiden, Brill, 1987–2005.

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auch imperial cults7 – oder emperor worship.8 Darunter subsummiert werden in erster Linie die kultische Verehrung des römischen Kaisers mit Opfern, Altären und/oder Heiligtümern sowie Spielen, die Einrichtungen von Priesterschaften bzw. die Ernennungen einzelner Priester oder auch Priesterinnen9, um nur die wichtigsten funktional-rituellen Aspekte hier zu nennen. Der Terminus Herrscherkult deckt dabei allerdings nur einen Teil der kultischen Aktivitäten ab, denn es wurden neben den lebenden und verstorbenen Herrschern auch ihre Familienmitglieder, bisweilen die gesamte Familie (ara gentis Iuliae), ihnen zugeschriebene Fähigkeiten und Eigenschaften (providentia Augusta oder pax Augusta) oder von ihnen erschaffene positive Zustände, die allen Reichsbewohnern zugutekamen (pax Augusta, libertas Augusta, constantia Augusta) als mit dem Herrscher verbundene Personifikationen (ara pacis Augustae) verehrt. Daneben fanden auch kaiserliche Schutzgottheiten (genius Augusti / Lares Augusti) und seine göttliche Wirkkraft (numen Augusti) Eingang in diese Kulte. Schon dieser kurze, sehr oberflächliche Versuch, das Phänomen des Herrscherkultes im Hinblick auf die Inhalte dieser Kulte einzugrenzen, zeigt, wie vielfältig und facettenreich sie sein konnten. Noch gar nicht berücksichtigt wurden dabei die Differenzierung zwischen privater und öffentlicher Kaiserverehrung,10 die regional extrem unterschiedliche Ausprägung des Herrscherkultes,11 seine Verankerung auf Ebene der Provinzen und der Städte,12 und seine je nach sozialem 7. Vgl. M. BEARD – J. NORTH – S. PRICE, Religions of Rome, Vol. I: A History, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998, S. 348f.; S. J. FRIESEN, Normal Religion, or, Words Fail Us: A Response to Karl Galinsky’s „The Cult of the Roman Emperor: Uniter or Divider?“, in BRODD – REED (Hgg.), Rome and Religion (Anm. 1), 23-26, S. 24. 8. Vgl. zur terminologischen Unterscheidung I. GRADEL, Emperor Worship and Roman Religion, Oxford, Clarendon, 2002, S. 7. GRADEL lehnt den Begriff des „imperial cult“ ab, da er seiner Ansicht nach zu stark systematische Assoziationen einer unabhängigen Kategorie wecke. 9. Vgl. Anm. 72. 10. Der Herrscherkult innerhalb der öffentlichen, städtischen und staatlichen Kulte steht bis heute im Mittelpunkt der Forschung. Zwar wird die Verehrung der Kaiser in privaten Kontexten heute nicht mehr bezweifelt, allerdings schätzt man ihn noch immer als weniger wichtig ein. Insbesondere die Kulte der divi werden eher dem Staatskult zugeordnet (vgl. u. a. AMELING, Kaiserkult [Anm. 1], S. 24-27). 11. Vgl. die grundlegenden Arbeiten von GRADEL, Emperor Worship (Anm. 8) und M. CLAUSS, Kaiser und Gott: Herrscherkult im römischen Reich, Stuttgart – Leipzig, Teubner, 1999. Für Rom, Italien und den Westen des Reiches und mit gänzlich anderer Intention und Grundannahme als Clauss für den Osten des Reiches: S. PRICE, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1984. 12. Zur Vielfältigkeit und Anpassungsfähigkeit des Herrscherkultes auf lokaler Ebene vgl. F. DAUBNER, Macedonian Small Towns and Their Use of Augustus, in RRE 2 (2016) 391-414. Zur Problematik von lokalem und provinzialem Kult vgl. u. a. B. HOLLER, Poliskult und

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Adressatenkreis heterogenen Variationen.13 So wird klassischerweise zwischen dem eher hellenistisch geprägten Herrscherkult im griechischsprachigen Osten des Reiches und dem Westen – also Italien mit Rom und den westlichen Provinzen – unterschieden, wobei die strukturellen Gemeinsamkeiten vor allem auf der Ebene der Provinzen wohl am deutlichsten waren. Zudem geht man gemeinhin von einem spezifisch stadtrömischen Staatskult aus. Auch die bereits von Augustus wohl bewusst angelegte Struktur eines sozial diversifizierten Kultes fächert das Bild weiter auf. So firmiert unter dem Begriff des Herrscherkultes ebenso ein eher auf die Eliten ausgerichteter Kult, fassbar zum Beispiel in der Restauration der traditionsreichen Priesterschaft der Arvales fratres14 in Rom und ihrer Übernahme wichtiger Funktionen im stadtrömischen Herrscherkult, wie die den Freigelassenen übertragene Verehrung des genius Augusti in den stadtrömischen vici oder die Etablierung von Kultvereinen in den italischen Städten, deren Träger der sozialen Schicht unterhalb der decuriones angehörten.15 Vor allem im Provinzkult – Der Einfluss des Provinzkultes und die Homogenisierung durch den Herrscherkult für Octavian/Augustus in der Provinz Asia, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 173-187; G. FRIJA, Les cultes impériaux dans les cités d’Asie Mineure: Des spécificités provinciales? in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 159-172; M. KANTIRÉA, Le culte impérial à Chypre: Relecture des documents épigraphiques, in ZPE 167 (2008) 91-112; T. FUJII, Imperial Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus, Stuttgart, Steiner, 2013; G. FRIJA, Les prêtres des empereurs: Le culte impérial civique dans la province romaine d’Asie, Rennes, Presses Universitaires, 2012; B. BURRELL, Neokoroi: Greek Cities and Roman Emperors, Leiden, Brill, 2004; D. FISHWICK, The Imperial Cult in Roman Britain, in Phoenix 15 (1961) 159-229; K. HARTER-UIBOPUU, Kaiserkult und Kaiserverehrung in den Koina des griechischen Mutterlandes, in H. CANCIK – K. HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003, 209-231; M. KANTIRÉA, Les dieux et les dieux Augustes: Le culte impérial en Grèce sous les Julio-claudiens et les Flaviens, Athen, Centre de recherches d’Antiquité grecque et romaine, 2007; X. LORIOT, Le culte impérial dans le Pont sous le Haut Empire, in A. VIGOURT et al. (Hgg.), Pouvoir et religion dans le monde romain, Paris, Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2006, 521-540; S. PFEIFFER, Der römische Kaiser und das Land am Nil: Kaiserverehrung und Kaiserkult in Alexandria und Ägypten von Augustus bis Caracalla (30 v. Chr.-217 n. Chr.), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2010. 13. Vielfach hat die Forschung herausgearbeitet, dass der römische Herrscherkult in seinen unterschiedlichen Formen verschiedene soziale Gruppen ansprechen konnte. Vgl. u. a. GRADEL, Emperor Worship (Anm. 8); AMELING, Kaiserkult (Anm. 1), S. 24-36; CLAUSS, Kaiser und Gott (Anm. 11), S. 387-419; BEARD – NORTH – PRICE, Religions (Anm. 7), S. 348363. 14. Vgl. J. SCHEID, Romulus et ses frères: Le collège des frères arvales. Modèle du culte public dans la Rome des empereurs, Paris, Boccard, 1990; B. EDELMANN, Arvalbrüder und Kaiserkult: Zur Topographie des römischen Kaiserkultes, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 189-205. 15. Vgl. GRADEL, Emperor Worship (Anm. 8), S. 162-197; S. 216-224; C. DELPLACE, „Culte impériale“ et élites municipals du Picenum et de l’ager Gallicus, in M. CEBAILLAC-GERVASONI (Hg.), Élites municipales de l’Italie péninsulaire de la mort de César à la mort de Domitien: Classes sociales dirigeantes et pouvoir central, Rom, École française, 2000, 417-430.

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Osten des römischen Reiches – und aus naheliegenden Gründen konzentriere ich mich in erster Linie auf diesen Raum, der für die Ausbildung des frühen Christentums und die Entstehung der frühchristlichen Schriften von so großer Bedeutung war – wo der Herrscherkult zum Teil nahtlos in Ritualen,16 Sprache17 und bei den Funktionsträgern18 an die Kulte der hellenistischen Vorgängerdynastien anknüpfte,19 bedarf es der Reflexion einer riesigen Fülle von Quellenmaterial, um ein möglichst vollständiges Bild der religiösen Verehrung des Kaisers und seines Umfeldes zu zeichnen. Der wohl problematischste Punkt dabei ist die relativ dünne Basis an schriftlicher Überlieferung zum Herrscherkult außerhalb Roms in Annalistik, Biographie und Literatur. Lässt sich der Herrscherkult in Rom zum Teil wenigstens aus literarischen Quellen rekonstruieren20 – auch wenn diese eine stark romzentrierte Sichtweise haben, in der Regel aus späterer Zeit und oft von Herrscherkult-kritischen Autoren stammen – sind die provinzialen oder lokalen Kulte der Herrscher nur punktuell fassbar.21 Diesem Befund gegenüber steht eine gewaltige Fülle an epigraphischem Material.22 16. Vgl. A. CHANIOTIS, Der Kaiserkult im Osten des Römischen Reiches im Kontext der zeitgenössischen Ritualpraxis, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 3-28; PRICE, Rituals and Power (Anm. 11). 17. Vgl. dazu schon DEISSMANN, Licht vom Osten (Anm. 1); v. a. S. PRICE, Gods and Emperors: The Greek Language of the Roman Imperial Cult, in JHS 104 (1984) 79-95. 18. Vgl. H. MÜLLER, Der hellenistische Archiereus, in Chiron 30 (2000) 519-542; C. KUNST, Frauen im hellenistischen Herrscherkult, in Klio 89 (2007) 24-38. 19. Der Blick in der Alten Geschichte richtet sich verstärkt auf die longue-durée-Perspektive religiöser Legitimation und Herrscherverehrung. Vgl. B. EDELMANN, Religiöse Herrschaftslegitimation in der Antike: Die religiöse Legitimation orientalisch-ägyptischer und griechischhellenistischer Herrscher im Vergleich (Pharos, 20), St. Katharinen, Scripta Mercaturae, 2007; P.P. IOSSIF – A.S. CHANKOWSKI – C.C. LORBER (Hgg.), More than Men, Less than Gods: Studies on Royal Cult and Imperial Worship, Leuven, Peeters, 2011. 20. So liegen beispielsweise für die Apotheose Caesars und Augustus’ Berichte von Cassius Dio oder Sueton vor. 21. Vgl. u. a. den Briefwechsel Plinius’ des Jüngeren mit Kaiser Trajan, die Darstellung Cassius Dios zur Einrichtung provinzialer Kulte in Asia und Bithynia oder Philostrats biographische Werke. 22. Die Literatur ist hier kaum zu überschauen. So kann beispielsweise das gesamte Personal des lokalen und provinzialen Herrscherkultes, also Priester, Priesterinnen, aber auch nicht-sakrale Funktionsträger nur aus epigraphischen Quellen rekonstruiert werden. Für einen Überblick vgl. B. EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia: Genese, Organisation und sozioökonomische Funktion der Provinziallandtage im römischen Reich (HABES, 57), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2015; KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5). Hervorzuheben sind sicherlich die Arbeiten von CAMPANILE und FRIJA zu den Oberpriestern und städtischen Priestern der Provinz Asia, die Darstellung von ALFÖLDY zu Spanien, die Studie von REITZENSTEIN zu Lykien oder die Beiträge von HEMELRIJK zu den Kaiserpriesterinnen im Westen des römischen Reiches. M.D. CAMPANILE, I sacerdoti del koinon d’Asia (I sec. a. C. – III sec. d. C.): Contributo allo studio della romanizzazione delle élites provinciali nell’Oriente greco (Studi ellenistici, 7), Pisa, Giardini Editori e Stampatori, 1994; dies., Sommi sacerdoti,

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Im Vergleich zu christlichen Texten haben alle diese Quellen aber niemals die Intention, eine religiöse Bewegung theologisch zu untermauern oder zu definieren – auch wenn die neutestamentlichen Studien ihnen diese Qualitäten hin und wieder zuschreiben.23 Die Quellen des Herrscherkultes spiegeln Entwicklungen in und Meinungen über diese Kulte wider, sie formen sie aber nicht bewusst.24 Dies scheint mir ein wichtiger Punkt im interdisziplinären Dialog zwischen Alter Geschichte und neutestamentlicher Forschung zu sein, der bislang in den Auseinandersetzungen zu wenig beachtet wurde. Die Quellen des Herrscherkultes und die Texte des Neuen Testaments können einander nicht ohne weiteres gegenübergestellt werden. Hier muss zumindest eine klare methodische Unterscheidung am Beginn einer Auseinandersetzung stehen. Eines aber zeichnet sich klar bei der Betrachtung des Herrscherkultes ab: Er war und blieb immer Teil der religiös-kultischen, soziopolitischen und kulturellen Welt einer polytheistischen antiken Kultur25 und stellte kein davon abgehobenes oder sich selbst abhebendes Phänomen dar. Die Betonung der Eingebundenheit des antiken Herrscherkultes in seine religiöse, aber auch politisch-soziale Welt, die in der Regel eine städtische Welt war, scheint mir in diesem Kontext ein zutreffendes Konzept zu sein.26 asiarchi e culto imperiale: un aggiornamento, in Studi ellenistici 19 (2006) 523-584; FRIJA, Les prêtres des empereurs (Anm. 12); G. ALFÖLDY, Flamines Provinciae Hispaniae Citerioris (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueologia, 6), Madrid, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas Instituto Español de Arqueologia, 1973; D. REITZENSTEIN, Die lykischen Bundespriester: Repräsentation der kaiserzeitlichen Elite Lykiens (KLIO – Beihefte, NF 17), Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2011; E.A. HEMELRIJK, Priestesses of the Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Titles and Function, in AC 74 (2005) 137-170; dies., Priestesses of the Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Benefactions and Public Honour, in AC 75 (2006) 86-117; dies., Imperial Priestesses: A Preliminary Survey, in L. DE BLOIS (Hg.), The Impact of Imperial Rome on Religions, Ritual and Religious Life in the Roman Empire, Leiden, Brill, 2006, 179-193. Zur Relevanz des epigraphischen Materials für die Rekonstruktion frühchristlicher Bedeutungskontexte vgl. T. CORSTEN – M. ÖHLER – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Epigraphik und Neues Testament (WUNT, 365), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2016. 23. Vgl. u. a. FRIESEN, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse (Anm. 2); M. PEPPARD, The Son of God in the Roman World: Divine Sonship in its Social and Political Context, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011. 24. Anders FRIESEN, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse (Anm. 2), der aus den Quellen eine kosmologische Eschatologie des Herrscherkultes herauslesen will, die, verbunden mit einem vermeintlichen römischen Imperialismus, Gegenreaktionen der frühen Christen provozierten. 25. Vgl. BEARD – NORTH – PRICE, Religions (Anm. 7); J. RÜPKE, Pantheon: Geschichte der antiken Religionen, München, Beck, 2016. 26. Vgl. B.S. SPAETH, Imperial Cult in Roman Corinth: A Response to Karl Galinsky’s „The Cult of the Roman Emperor: Uniter or Divider?“, in BRODD – REED (Hgg.), Rome and Religion (Anm. 1), 61-81.

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2. RÖMISCHER HERRSCHERKULT IN DER ALTEN GESCHICHTE – STAND FORSCHUNG

DER

Die Idee, es habe sich bei der Installation des Herrscherkultes um eine politische Maßnahme mit dem Ziel der Kontrolle gehandelt, spielte in der althistorischen Forschung lange Zeit eine große Rolle: The overall impression one has in retrospect, then, is of central orchestration and control through the entire period from Augustus down to the middle of the third century … By and large provincial cult in the west appears as an instrument of imperial policy, a device that could be manipulated in whatever direction purposes of the central authority might require.27

Allerdings wurde diesem Modell der politisch motivierten und gesteuerten Zwangsmaßnahme nur für den Westen des Reiches eine Gültigkeit zugesprochen. Begründet liegt diese Annahme im historischen Denken des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, das eine klare kulturelle Trennlinie zwischen dem Osten des römischen Reiches und dem Westen zog. Während der Herrscherkult dem Wesen der Bewohner der östlichen Provinzen entgegen gekommen sei und sie ihn von Beginn an aufgrund ihrer kulturellen Prägung und der daraus resultierenden Dekadenz bereitwillig aufgenommen hätten, habe er für die westlichen Provinzen, die moralisch auf einer anderen Ebene angesiedelt wurden, eine Zumutung dargestellt, die nur durch Befehl akzeptiert wurde28 – so die Forschungsmeinung des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, die nicht zuletzt auch in der von Cassius Dio behaupteten Trennung des von Augustus in Asia und Bithynien eingeführten Kultes im Jahr 29 v. Chr. ihren Ursprung hatte. Laut Dio, einem Autor des dritten nachchristlichen Jahrhunderts, erlaubte Augustus den Provinzialen (peregrini) die Verehrung seiner Person, befahl aber den römischen Bürgern (cives Romani) die Verehrung Caesars und der Göttin Roma. Der Unterwerfungsgestus wurde laut Cassius Dio also gegenüber den Römern expliziter gemacht als gegenüber den Hellenen und auch durch eine räumliche Trennung zementiert. Die Kulte für die cives Romani sollten ihren Sitz in Ephesos und Nikaia haben, die Kulte für die peregrini sollten in Pergamon und 27. FISHWICK, Imperial Cult (Anm. 6), 3.1, S. 219. 28. Diese Ideen lassen sich zurückverfolgen bis zu E. GIBBON, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, London, Strahan and Cadell, 1776-1788, in dem er die Griechen den Römern entgegenstellte: „The Asiatic Greeks were the first inventors … of this servile and impious mode of adulation“ (1,69). Anders die Römer: „The minds of the Romans were very differently prepared for slavery. … The history of their own country had taught them to revere a free, a virtuous, and a victorious commonwealth … and inwardly to despise those tyrants whom they adored with the most abject flattery“ (1,80).

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Nikomedeia angesiedelt sein.29 Allgemein geht man davon aus, dass die Aussagen bei Cassius Dio dahingehend präzisiert werden müssen, dass auch für Octavian ein Kult nur gemeinsam mit der Göttin Roma beschlossen wurde – dies lesen wir bei Tacitus30 und Sueton31 und dies ergibt sich auch aus dem Münzbefund.32 Heute gibt es erhebliche Zweifel an dieser von Cassius Dio postulierten Trennung. Falls sie jemals existierte, war sie sicherlich keine dauerhafte Einrichtung. Epigraphische Belege sprechen ebenso dagegen33 wie nachfolgenden Kulteinrichtungen im Osten und im Westen – beispielsweise bereits 25 v. Chr. in Galatien oder 12 v. Chr. in den Tres Galliae –, bei denen diese Trennung keine Berücksichtigung fand. Der frühe Kaiserkult entwickelte sich sowohl in Asia als auch in Bithynien und in anderen östlichen Provinzen aus verschiedenen Facetten des Hellenismus34: dem hellenistischen Herrscherkult, der θεὰ ʻΡώμη-Verehrung, 29. Καῖσαρ δὲ ἐν τούτῳ τά τε ἄλλα ἐχρημάτιζε, καὶ τεμένη τῇ τε Ῥώμῃ καὶ τῷ πατρὶ τῷ Καίσαρι, ἥρωα αὐτὸν Ἰούλιον ὀνομάσας, ἔν τε Ἐφέσῳ καὶ ἐν Νικαίᾳ γενέσθαι ἐφῆκεν· αὗται γὰρ τότε αἱ πόλεις ἔν τε τῇ Ἀσίᾳ καὶ ἐν τῇ Βιθυνίᾳ προετετίμηντο. καὶ τούτους μὲν τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις τοῖς παρ’ αὐτοῖς ἐποικοῦσι τιμᾶν προσέταξε· τοῖς δὲ δὴ ξένοις, Ἕλληνάς σφας ἐπικαλέσας, ἑαυτῷ τινα, τοῖς μὲν Ἀσιανοῖς ἐν Περγάμῳ τοῖς δὲ Βιθυνοῖς ἐν Νικομηδείᾳ, τεμενίσαι ἐπέτρεψε. „Neben der Erledigung der sonstigen Aufgaben her gab Caesar damals [29 v. Chr.] die Erlaubnis zur Weihung heiliger Bezirke für die Roma und seinen Vater Caesar, den er selbst Divus Iulius nannte, und zwar in Ephesos und Nikaia; die genannten Städte hatten nämlich damals in Asia bzw. Bithynien die erste Stelle inne. Er befahl den dort wohnenden Römern, die beiden Gottheiten zu verehren, während er den Nichtrömern, von ihm Hellenen genannt, gestattete, ihm selbst heilige Bezirke zu widmen, den Bewohnern von Asia in Pergamon, den Bithyniern in Nikomedeia“ (Cassius Dio, Röm. Gesch. 51,20,6-7, Übers. O. VEH, Cassius Dio, Römische Geschichte, Bd. IV: Bücher 51-60, Düsseldorf, Artemis & Winkler, 2007, S. 34). VEH übersetzt ἥρωα αὐτὸν Ἰούλιον ὀνομάσας mit der Wendung „den er selbst Heros Iulius nannte“. Hier erscheint die Wiedergabe mit „Divus Iulius“ sinnvoller. Vgl. dazu GRADEL, Emperor Worship (Anm. 8), S. 63-68. 30. Tacitus, Ann. 4,37,3. 31. Sueton, Aug. 52. 32. RPC I 1, S. 377-379. Die Münzprägung kennt ebenfalls nur den Augustusund-Roma-Tempel in Pergamon. Numismatische Belege für eine eigene überregionale Kultstätte des Divus Iulius und der Göttin Roma existieren nicht. 33. Vgl. P. HERZ, Zur Geschichte des Kaiserkultes in Kleinasien: Die Kultorganisation für die cives Romani, in G. HEEDEMANN – E. WINTER (Hgg.), Neue Forschungen zur Religionsgeschichte Kleinasiens (Asia Minor Studien, 49), Bonn, Habelt, 2003, 132-148; P. HERRMANN, Milet unter Augustus: C. Iulius Epikrates und die Anfänge des Kaiserkultes, in MDAI(I) 44 (1994) 203-236; ders., Milet unter Augustus: Erkenntnisse aus einem Inschriften-Neufund, in J.H.M. STRUBBE – R.A. TYBOUT – H.S. VERSNEL (Hgg.), ΕΝΕΡΓΕΙΑ: Studies in Ancient History and Epigraphy Presented to H. W. Pleket, Amsterdam, Gieben, 1996, 1-18; EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22), S. 86-94. 34. Vgl. C. MILETA, Die prorömischen Kulte der Provinz Asia im Spannungsfeld von Religion und Politik, in H. CANCIK – J. RÜPKE (Hgg.), Die Religion des Imperium Romanum: Koine und Konfrontationen, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2009, 139-160, S. 155-157.

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panhellenischen Festen und Kulten für römische Amtsträger und Feldherren. Diese Kulte waren in der Mehrzahl in den Städten angesiedelt,35 allerdings hatten sie in einigen Fällen auch überregionale Bedeutung oder gingen auf überregionale Initiativen zurück. Neu an der von Augustus gewählten Form des Herrscherkultes war, sie auf der Ebene der Provinz zu institutionalisieren und der Aufsicht durch das von seiner Genese her eher politische Gremium des Provinziallandtags (griech. Koinon / lat. Concilium) zu unterstellen, das damit die Funktionen eines religiösen Kollegiums übernahm.36 Die Einrichtung eines Kultes für den neuen starken Mann stellte also kein Novum dar. Auch die überstädtische Ausrichtung auf die gesamte Provinz war kein Präzedenzfall. Der erste Prinzeps schuf keine gänzlich neue Struktur, sondern ordnete vielmehr bereits bestehende Strukturen neu. Dies tat er in enger Absprache mit den provinzialen Vertretern. Die Integration des Kaiserkultes in das Koinon war eine reziproke Strategie von Herrscher und Koinon. Die Gründung eines Kultes, der dem neuen Herrscher in Rom gewidmet war, stabilisierte die Existenz der Provinziallandtage für fast vier Jahrhunderte, ließ sie aufleben, und rechtfertigte im Grunde ihr Bestehen. Die Ausübung des Kultes – wichtigster, aber nicht einziger Grund ihrer Existenz – befähigte die Koina bis zu einem gewissen Grad, jene vitalen Funktionen zu erfüllen, welche die Bindung zwischen dem Zentrum der Macht und der Peripherie des Imperiums stärkten. Sie repräsentierten eine ideale Möglichkeit der Inanspruchnahme der lokalen Eliten für die Reichsadministration,37 boten gleichzeitig aber auch den Provinzialen 35. Vgl. zum Kult der hellenistischen Herrscher in den Städten C. HABICHT, Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte, München, Beck, 21970. 36. Der asianische Landtag, der mit der Anfrage an Octavian selbst die rechtliche Basis für eine Kulteinrichtung schuf, existierte bereits seit den frühen Jahren der Provinz und hatte schon in den frühen 90er Jahren des 1. Jh. v. Chr. einen Kult mit Spielen für den Statthalter M. Scaevola eingerichtet. Neben Scaevola hatte die Provinz mindestens zwei weiteren römischen Amtsträgern Spiele eingerichtet: L. Valerius Flaccus wurden in seiner Eigenschaft als Proprätor der Provinz Asia in den 90er Jahren des 1. Jh. v. Chr. dies festi atque ludi gestiftet (Cicero, Flacc. 55). Für L. Licinius Lucullus richteten die Städte der Provinz 71 v. Chr. Luculleia ein (Plutarch, Lucullus 23,1). Ob es einen vom Koinon initiierten Kult für Caesar gab, lässt sich nicht mit letzter Sicherheit belegen. EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22), S. 65f. 37. Beispiele aus verschiedenen Provinzen zeigen, dass Archiereis der Provinziallandtage immer wieder Beiträge für öffentliche Aufgaben wie die Truppenversorgung oder den Straßenbau leisteten. So unterstützte der galatische Oberpriester Gaius Iulius Severus im Jahr 113/114 n. Chr. die römischen Truppen Trajans, als sie auf ihrem Weg von der Donau nach Syrien in Ancyra überwinterten. Vgl. S. MITCHELL – D. FRENCH (Hgg.), The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Ankara (Ancyra). Vol. I: From Augustus to the End of the Third Century AD (Vestigia, 62), München, Beck, 2012, S. 227-237, Nr. 72-77). Auch der Rückmarsch des Heeres 117 kurz nach dem Tod Trajans unter dem neuen Kaiser Hadrian, der den parthischen Krieg rasch beendete, wurde offenbar durch Spenden des galatischen Archiereus

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Chancen für einen Aufstieg in die Reichsaristokratie38 oder für die Festigung einer führenden Position im regionalen Kontext der Provinz.39 Zwei Aspekte kristallisieren sich aus diesen Erkenntnissen für das Verständnis des Herrscherkultes heraus: Zum Ersten muss er viel stärker als bislang angenommen in seiner hellenistischen Tradition gesehen werden, und zwar sowohl im Hinblick auf seine institutionelle Struktur40 aber auch auf seine rituelle Ausgestaltung und Formensprache.41 Zum Zweiten spiegelt er eben gerade nicht einen top-down Prozess wider, sondern entwickelte sich in enger Abstimmung und mit Gestaltungsspielräumen für die provinziale und städtische Elite. So erklärt sich auch, dass die neuere althistorische Forschung sich zunehmend von der Idee abwendet, es habe ein einheitliches Konzept „Herrscherkult / imperial cult“ gegeben, ausgehend und gesteuert von Rom.42 Communis oppinio ist heute die von Beard – North – Price treffend zusammengefasste Perspektive: „There was no such thing as ‘the imperial cult’, rather there was a series of different cults sharing a common focus …, but … operating quite differently according to a variety of different local circumstances.“43 Einen ganz ähnlichen Ansatz vertrat Gradel in seiner 2002 erschienenen Studie zum Herrscherkult in Rom und Italien: „As I have argued, the question of absolute divinity, that is, of divine nature, was not very relevant in pagan antiquity. Latinius Alexander mitfinanziert (vgl. MITCHELL – FRENCH [Hgg.], The Greek and Latin inscriptions of Ankara [Anm. 37], S. 241-243, Nr. 81). Für weitere Beispiele vgl. EDELMANNSINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22), S. 302-306. 38. Insbesondere für die Provinz Asia ist die Bedeutung des Landtags als Motor des Aufstiegs herausgearbeitet worden. Vgl. CAMPANILE, I sacerdoti del koinon d’Asia (Anm. 22); dies., Sommi sacerdoti, asiarchi e culto imperiale (Anm. 22); F. KIRBIHLER, Les grands-prêtres d’Éphèse: Aspects institutionnels et sociaux de l’Asiarchie, in A.D. RIZAKIS – F. CAMIA (Hgg.), Pathways to Power: Civic Elites in the Eastern Part of the Roman Empire, Athen, Scuola archeologica italiana di Atene, 2008, 107-148. 39. Für die ökonomischen und identitätsstiftenden Aspekte des provinzialen Kultes vgl. EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22), S. 141-308. 40. EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22), S. 60-71. 41. Vgl. CHANIOTIS, Der Kaiserkult (Anm. 16); PRICE, Rituals and Power (Anm. 11); ders., Gods and Emperors (Anm. 17). 42. Zwar zeigt gerade die Transferierung des provinzialen Kultes in den Westen des Reichs ab 12 v. Chr. einen deutlichen Einfluss Roms. Wie heterogen die Entwicklungen allerdings verliefen, wird am Beispiel des weiblichen Priesteramtes im Kaiserkult deutlich. Hier muss inzwischen die lange sicher geglaubte Annahme, Priesterinnen und Kulte der weiblichen Mitglieder des Kaiserhauses seien zuerst in den Provinzen entstanden und hätten sich dann in den Städten ausgebreitet, hinterfragt werden (vgl. dazu B. EDELMANN-SINGER, Die Kaiserpriesterinnen in den östlichen Provinzen des Reiches: Reflexionen über Titel, Funktion und Rolle, in A. KOLB – M. VITALE [Hgg.], Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2016, 387-405). 43. BEARD – NORTH – PRICE, Religions (Anm. 7), S. 318.

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What was expressed in imperial cults was rather relative divinity, that is, divine status, and the absolute power it entailed in relation to the worshippers.“44 Befreit hat sich die jüngere Forschung dabei auch von für das Verständnis eher hinderlichen christianisierenden Dichotomien: War der Kaiser ein Mensch ODER ein Gott?45 War der Herrscherkult ein politisches ODER religiöses System? Die eher unhistorische und christlich aufgeladene Frage des „Glaubens“, die das Verständnis der antiken Kulte für Menschen stets überlagert hatte,46 wurde zugunsten eines soziokulturellen Zugangs aufgegeben. Dieser Zugang, der nach den Ritualen und Aushandlungsprozessen von Machtstrukturen fragt, wurde in erster Linie von Simon Price geprägt, dessen Werk 1984 ein neues Kapitel in der Forschung zum Herrscherkult aufschlug.47 Price postulierte, der Herrscherkult sei ein Mittel der Verhandlung und Konstruktion der (politischen) Realitäten des Römischen Reiches gewesen: „The civilized, complex cities, with their ideals of autonomy and freedom, had to accept subjection to an authority which, while not so alien as to make adjustment impossible, was external to the traditional structures of the city.“48 Entsprechend sah er die Etablierung der Kulte für die Herrscher und ihre Familien in den griechischen Städten als Versuche, mit der neuen römischen Macht umzugehen.49 Damit war der Herrscherkult angekommen im 44. GRADEL, Emperor Worship (Anm. 8), S. 148. 45. Die Frage nach der Trennung zwischen absoluter Göttlichkeit und dem Reich des Menschlichen mit seinen politischen Aspekten wurde als Maßstab zugunsten der Grenzziehung innerhalb der paganen Religionen zwischen sacrum und profanum aufgegeben. Göttlichkeit als antikes Konzept stellte sich als relatives, nicht absolutes Phänomen dar. Dazu M. PEPPEL, Gott oder Mensch? Kaiserverehrung und Herrschaftskontrolle, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 69-96, der die performative Diskursivität dieser Problematik treffend herausgearbeitet hat. Kritisch bewertet Peppel zu Recht die diese Diskursivität negierende These von Clauss: „Der römische Kaiser war Gottheit. Er war dies von Anfang an, seit Caesar und Augustus, er war es zu Lebzeiten, er war es auch im Westen des römischen Reiches, in Italien, in Rom“ (CLAUSS, Kaiser und Gott [Anm. 11], S. 17, ebenso S. 418). 46. K. Latte hatte den religionssoziologischen Begriff der „Loyalitätsreligion“ geprägt, der lange als geeignetes Konzept erschien, den Herrscherkult in Abgrenzung von paganer und christlicher Religion zu beschreiben. Dahinter verbarg sich die Idee, der Herrscherkult sei „keine eigentliche Religion“ gewesen, sondern vielmehr Anerkennung einer politischen Wirklichkeit, „nicht religiöses Bekenntnis“. Latte sprach den Teilnehmern am Kaiserkult „stärkeres religiöses Empfinden“ schlicht ab (K. LATTE, Römische Religionsgeschichte, München, Beck, 21967, S. 308325). Vgl. aktuell auch B. EDELMANN-SINGER, „Who will worship this man as a god, who will believe in him?“ Sececa’s Apocolocyntosis and the Hermeneutical Categories of Belief and Skepticism in Emperor Cult, in B. EDELMANN-SINGER et al. (Hgg.), Insider Doubt: Sceptic and Believer in Ancient Mediterranean Religions (WUNT), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2019. 47. PRICE entwickelte seine Thesen zum Herrscherkult in der Tradition der Neubewertung römischer Politik durch Millar (F. MILLAR, The Emperor in the Roman World: 31 B.C.A.D. 337, London, Duckworth, 1997). 48. PRICE, Rituals and Power (Anm. 11), S. 1. 49. Ibid., S. 29.

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religiösen Umfeld der griechisch-römischen paganen Kulte. Herrscherkult wurde nun in diesem Schema als System gegenseitiger Verpflichtungen betrachtet, in dem Individuen von niedrigerem sozialen Rang ihnen überlegene Personen kultisch verehrten. Das eher sozial-kulturell als politischreligiös definierte System der Verehrung im Gegenzug für Wohltaten (Euergetismus) erwies sich als eher geeignet, den Herrscherkult zu erklären.50 Die Altertumswissenschaften reihten den Herrscherkult damit sowohl hinsichtlich seiner ontologischen als auch hinsichtlich seiner rituellen Beschaffenheit ein in die Fülle der Götterkulte.51 Die Exzeptionalität, die ihm im christlichen Denken und im theologischen Diskurs oft zugeschrieben wurde, vor allem von jenen neutestamentlichen Strömungen, die ihn zum Gegenpol des aufsteigenden Christentums machen wollten, verblasste zugunsten einer Einbettung52 in die Polisreligion und in das alltägliche Leben, die sich nicht zuletzt aus der parallelen Konstruktion von Götter- und Herrscherkult erklärt.53 Vor dem Hintergrund dieser Neubewertung des Herrscherkultes erhielt die Forschung der letzten 30 Jahre ihre Impulse dann vor allem durch Einzelstudien,54 die ihren Fokus auf regionale,55 institutionelle,56 50. Vgl. F. LOZANO, The Creation of Imperial Gods: Not Only Imposition versus Spontaneity, in IOSSIF – CHANKOWSKI – LORBER (Hgg.), More than Men (Anm. 19), 475-519. 51. Zur Rekursivität von Ritualen und zum Ritualtransfer im Verhältnis von Götter- und Herrscherkult vgl. CHANIOTIS, Der Kaiserkult (Anm. 16). 52. Vgl. SPAETH, Imperial Cult in Roman Corinth (Anm. 26). 53. Vgl. CHANIOTIS, Der Kaiserkult (Anm. 16). 54. Eine Ausnahme bildet hier das monumentale Werk FISHWICKS, Imperial Cult (Anm. 6). Eine größere Zusammenschau der politischen, sozioökonomischen und identitätsprägenden Aspekte aller Koina und Concilia findet sich auch bei EDELMANN-SINGER, Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22). 55. Vgl. u. a. zu Griechenland HARTER-UIBOPUU, Kaiserkult (Anm. 12); F. CAMIA, Between Tradition and Innovation: Cults for Roman Emperors in the Province of Achaia, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 225-284; R. BOUCHON, Les Thessaliens et le culte des empereurs de Rome: Tradition, intégration, polycentrisme et jeu d’échelles, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 285-308; zu Sizilien H. KUNZ, Kaiserverehrung und Kaiserkult in der Provinz Sicilia: Traditionen – Formen – Organisationen, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 233-248; zu Syrien Z. SAWAYA, Le culte impérial en Phénicie: culte civique ou culte provincial? in IOSSIF – CHANKOWSKI – LORBER (Hgg.), More than Men (Anm. 19), 593-618; zu Ägypten F. HERKLOTZ, Prinzeps und Pharao: Der Kult des Augustus in Ägypten (Oikumene, 4), Frankfurt am Main, Verlag Antike, 2007; J. DE JONG, Celebrating Supermen: Divine Honors for Roman Emperors in Greek Papyri from Egypt, in IOSSIF – CHANKOWSKI – LORBER (Hgg.), More than Men (Anm. 19), 619-648; zu Lykien M.D. CAMPANILE, Specificità delle origini e dello sviluppo del culto imperiale in Licia, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 79-96; für Judäa (allerdings mit zu starkem Fokus auf den Konflikt zwischen Judentum und Kaiserkult) M. BERNETT, Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr. (WUNT, 203), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2007. 56. Vgl. u. a. grundlegend J. DEININGER, Die Provinziallandtage der römischen Kaiserzeit (Vestigia, 6), München, Beck, 1965; FISHWICK, Imperial Cult (Anm. 6); EDELMANN-SINGER,

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rituell-zeremonielle,57 sozioökonomische,58 prosopographische59 und Koina und Concilia (Anm. 22); S.L. SØRENSEN, The Bithynians Again! The koina and Their Supposed Involvement in Cases of repetundae, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 337-352; P. HERZ, Überlegungen zur Geschichte des makedonischen Koinon im dritten Jahrhundert, in J. RÜPKE (Hg.), Festrituale in der römischen Kaiserzeit (STAC, 48), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, 115-132; ders., Der Kaiserkult als Mittel der politischen Integration, in G. MOOSBAUER – R. WIEGELS (Hgg.), Fines imperii – imperium sine fine? Römische Okkupations- und Grenzpolitik im frühen Prinzipat, Rahden/Westf., Leidorf, 2011, 297-308; C. AMOROSO, Governatori ed ‚élites‘ provinciali nel Tardo Impero: il ruolo dei „concilia“, in Koinonia 28 (2004) 67-80; C. AMOROSO, Il ruolo dei Concilia provinciarum nei processi de repetundis: la testimonianza di Tacito e Plinio il Giovane, in MediterrAnt 10 (2007), 461-478; M. VITALE, Koinon Syrias: Priester, Gymnasiarchen und Metropoleis der Eparchien im kaiserzeitlichen Syrien (KLIO – Beihefte, NF 20), Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2013. 57. Vgl. insbesondere CHANIOTIS, Der Kaiserkult (Anm. 16); daneben u. a. P. HERZ, Die Agonistik und der Kaiserkult, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 123-132; D. REITZENSTEIN, Agonistik und Kaiserkult in Lykien, in KOLB – VITALE (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 5), 133-158; H. CANCIK, Der Kaiser-Eid: Zur Praxis der römischen Herrscherverehrung, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 29-46; K. HITZL, Kultstätten und Praxis des Kaiserkults anhand von Fallbeispielen, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), S. 97-130; P. HERZ, Herrscherverehrung und lokale Festkultur im Osten des römischen Reiches (Kaiser/Agone), in H. CANCIK – J. RÜPKE (Hgg.), Reichsreligion und Provinzreligion, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1997, 239-264; ders., Gedanken zu den Spielen der Provinz Asia in Kyzikos, in Nikephoros 11 (1998) 171-182; J. SÜSS, Kaiserkult und Urbanistik: Kultbezirke für römische Kaiser in kleinasiatischen Städten, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 249-282; FUJII, Imperial cult (Anm. 12); EDELMANN, Arvalbrüder und Kaiserkult (Anm. 14); dies., Pompa und Bild im Kaiserkult des römischen Ostens, in RÜPKE (Hg.), Festrituale (Anm. 56), 153-168; P. SCHERRER, Die Stadt als Festplatz: Das Beispiel der ephesischen Bauprogramme rund um die Kaiserneokorien Domitians und Hadrians, in RÜPKE (Hg.), Festrituale (Anm. 56), 35-65; R. STEPPER, Der Kaiser als Priester: Schwerpunkte und Reichweite seines oberpontifikalen Handelns, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 157-188. 58. Vgl. u. a. P. HERZ, Der Kaiserkult und die Wirtschaft: Ein gewinnbringendes Wechselspiel, in EBNER –ESCH-WERMELING (Hgg.), Kaiserkult (Anm. 1), 55-80; F. KRINZINGER, Spectacula und Kaiserkult, in ebd., 103-138; B. EDELMANN-SINGER, Die finanzielle und wirtschaftliche Dimension der Provinziallandtage in der römischen Kaiserzeit, in S. GÜNTHER (Hg.), Ordnungsrahmen antiker Ökonomien: Ordnungskonzepte und Steuerungsmechanismen antiker Wirtschaftssysteme im Vergleich (Philippika, 53), Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, 2012, 165-180; E.A. HEMELRIJK, Local Empresses: Priestesses of the Imperial Cult in the Cities of the Latin West, in Phoenix 61 (2007) 318-351; R. VAN BREMEN, The Limits of Participation: Women and Civic Life in the Greek East in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods, Amsterdam, Gieben, 1996. 59. Für den Osten des römischen Reiches vgl. CAMPANILE, I sacerdoti del koinon d’Asia (Anm. 22); dies., Sommi sacerdoti (Anm. 22); KIRBIHLER, Les grands-prêtres d’Éphèse (Anm. 38); REITZENSTEIN, Die lykischen Bundespriester (Anm. 22); FRIJA, Les prêtres des empereurs (Anm. 12); D. KANATSOULIS, ΤΟ ΚΟΙΝΟΝ ΤΩΝ ΜΑΚΕΔΟΝΩΝ, in Μακεδονικά 3 (1956) 27-102; C. MAREK, Pontus et Bithynia: Die römischen Provinzen im Norden Kleinasiens (Orbis Provinciarum), Mainz, Von Zabern, 2003, bes. S. 63-103; H.-L. FERNOUX, Notables et élites des cités de Bithynie aux époques hellénistique et romaine (IIIe siècle av. J.-C. – IIIe siècle ap. J.-C.): Essai d’histoire sociale, Lyon, Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée, 2004, bes. S. 349-360; S. MITCHELL, The Imperial Cult in Galatia from Claudius to Trajan, in E. WINTER (Hg.), Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus: Kleinasien in der Antike: Festschrift für Elmar Schwertheim zum 65. Geburtstag (Asia Minor Studien, 65), Bonn, Habelt, 2008, Bd.

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vergleichende Perspektiven60 richteten. Sicherlich darf dies auch als Ausweis dafür verstanden werden, dass die schiere Fülle des weiter anwachsenden Materials – insbesondere im Bereich der Epigraphik,61 aber auch Papyrologie62 und Numismatik63 – die Konzentration auf Einzelaspekte nötig macht. Im Zuge dieser Studien erhielt das politische Element des Herrscherkultes nun wieder größeres Gewicht, was nicht zuletzt auch für die Forschungen zur Entstehung und Ausbreitung des Christentums Relevanz besitzt. Allerdings richtet sich das Augenmerk der Altertumswissenschaft nun stärker auf administrativ-strukturelle und prosopographische Fragestellungen, insbesondere auch vor dem Hintergrund der weiter anwachsenden Forschungsliteratur zu städtischen und provinzialen Eliten. Unter anderem hat die Autorin eine breit angelegte Studie dem Herrscherkult auf provinzialer Ebene als reichsweitem Phänomen gewidmet und die Institutionen der Provinziallandtage in ihrer Entstehung – auch vor dem Hintergrund hellenistischer Traditionen – , ihrer Ausbreitung und ihrer sozioökonomischen Rolle untersucht. Die Ergebnisse dieser Studie lassen sich eng mit der Idee eines Aushandlungsprozesses, wie Price ihn beschrieben hat, verbinden, sind aber auch für das Verständnis der ökonomischen und soziokulturellen Aspekte 2, 471-483; LORIOT, Le culte impérial (Anm. 12). Für den Bereich der Donauprovinzen und des Balkanraumes haben Arbeiten u. a. vorgelegt: B. ROSSIGNOL, Municipal and Provincial Priests from the Danubian Provinces (Pannonia, Dacia, Moesia Superior), in J. RICHARDSON – F. SANTANGELO (Hgg.), Priests and State in the Roman World (PAWB, 33), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2011, 577-603. Für den Westen des Reiches existieren prosopografische Studien für einzelne spanische Provinzen: ALFÖLDY, Flamines Provinciae Hispaniae Citerioris (Anm. 22); J.A. DELGADO, Flamines Provinciae Lusitaniae, in Gerión 17 (1999) 433-461; S. PANZRAM, Los flamines provinciae de la Baetica: autorepresentación y culto imperial, in AEA 76 (2003) 121-130. 60. Vgl. u. a. IOSSIF – CHANKOWSKI – LORBER (Hgg.), More than Men (Anm. 19). 61. Als Beispiele neu publizierter epigrafischer Funde mit Bedeutung für das Verständnis des Herrscherkultes seien hier nur genannt: B. DREYER – H. ENGELMANN, Augustus und Germanicus im ionischen Metropolis, in ZPE 158 (2006) 173-182; P. THONEMANN, The Women of Akmoneia, in JRS 100 (2010) 163-178; C. SCHULER, Augustus, Gott und Herr über Land und Meer: Eine neue Inschrift aus Tyberissos im Kontext der späthellenistischen Herrscherverehrung, in Chiron 37 (2007) 383-404; J.-P. BRUN – J. GASCOU, Un grand-prêtre du culte impérial de la province Narbonnaise, in ZPE 125 (1999) 261-271; P.M. NIGDELIS, Oberpriester und Gymnasiarchen im Provinziallandtag Makedoniens: Eine neue Ehreninschrift aus Beroia, in Klio 77 (1995) 170-183; G. VELENIS, Inschriften von der alten Agora Thessalonikes, in Ancient Macedonia VI, Thessaloniki, Institute for Balkan Studies, 1999, 1317-1327. 62. Vgl. u. a. DE JONG, Divine Honors (Anm. 55); S. PFEIFFER, The Imperial Cult in Egypt, in C. RIGGS (Hg.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, 83-100. 63. Vgl. u. a. R. ZIEGLER, Zur Einrichtung des kilikischen Koinon: Ein Datierungsversuch, in Studien zum antiken Kleinasien III (AMS, 16), Bonn, Habelt, 1995, S. 183-186 m. Taf. 23,4; K. LIAMPI, Die Münzprägung des Makedonischen Koinon in der Kaiserzeit, in C. ALFARO ASINS (Hg.), XIII Congreso Internacional de Numismática, Madrid 2003: actasproceedings-actes, Madrid, Ministerio de Cultura, 2005, 891-904.

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des Herrscherkultes zentral. Denn die Landtage waren weit mehr als Kaiserkultvereine.64 Mit ihrer reichsweiten Verbreitung nach dem Vorbild von Asia und Bithynia veränderten sich die operativen Mittel der Politik im Vergleich zu den Zeiten der römischen Republik. Die offizielle und systematisch installierte Verbindung von Koinon und Kult war ein Reflex der monarchischen Neukonzeption der Herrschaft in Rom. Damit veränderte sich die Kommunikationsstruktur von Kaiser und Provinzialen, indem letztere von beherrschten Objekten zu handelnden Subjekten in einer religiös aufgeladenen Beziehung wurden. Die Herrschaftsausübung wurde auf die Ebene von Kult und Ritual verlagert und damit in einen neuen Handlungskontext gestellt. Mit der Etablierung neuer Koina bzw. ihrer kultischen Neuausrichtung ergänzte der erste Princeps Augustus ferner seine Politik der Einverleibung der von Rom beherrschten Gebiete ins Reich in Form von provinciae unter weitgehendem Verzicht auf lokale Herrscher. Koina und Concilia bildeten nun den Rahmen, in dem sich die traditionellen Eliten überregional engagieren und bewähren konnten. In diesem neuen Handlungskontext lösten sich nicht nur bisherige Kontrollmechanismen bis zu einem gewissen Grad auf, sondern es wurde eine Art der Selbstkontrolle durch das integrative Moment der Provinziallandtage geschaffen. Dabei ist es ein Missverständnis, das Integrationspotential der Koina und Concilia lediglich als Maßnahme zu deuten, die römischen Interessen zugutekam. Die Provinziallandtage wirkten deutlich stärker in die Provinz hinein, indem sie eine neue provinziale Elite schufen, die sich an lokalen Traditionen orientierte, aber durchaus neue Ämter- und Ehrensysteme installierten. In der Wiederaufnahme hellenistischer Rangbezeichnungen in den östlichen Koina lässt sich dieser Befund epigraphisch gut dokumentieren. Ab ca. 90 n. Chr. wurden die bis dato mit dem religiösen Titel des Archiereus bezeichneten führenden Männer der Koina zunehmend als „Koinarchen“65 tituliert. Diese terminologische Reminiszenz an die Zeit vor der Übernahme des provinzialen Herrscherkultes,66 die einherging mit einer Abschwächung 64. Diese Wahrnehmung, die auf Kornemann zurückgeht und von Deininger weitgehend übernommen wurde, bestimmte beinahe ein Jahrhundert lang die Forschung (E. KORNEMANN, RE IV, 1 (1900) 801-830, s. v. Concilium; DEININGER, Die Provinziallandtage [Anm. 56]). 65. Bei dem Begriff handelt es sich um einen modernen Neologismus, unter dem jene ursprünglich hellenistischen Amtsbezeichnungen subsummiert werden, die sich aus dem Namen eines Koinon und -άρχης zusammensetzen (Asiarch, Galatarch, Pontarch, Makedoniarch etc.). Sie tritt ab dem Ende des 1. Jh. in den Provinzen des Ostens im Zusammenhang mit den Landtagen auf und wurde lange als alternative Begrifflichkeit für das Amt des Oberpriesters (Archiereus) gedeutet. 66. Asiarchen in späthellenistischer Zeit bei Strabon 14,1,42; 14,2,24. Vgl. auch Apg 19,31.

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des religiös aufgeladenen Titels des Oberpriesters, deutet auf ein sich seit flavischer Zeit entwickelndes Selbstbewusstsein der Provinzialen hin. Sie ist gleichzeitig Ausdruck der Konstruktion einer provinzialen Identität, indem eine eigene Memorialkultur geschaffen und der Provinziallandtag somit zum Erinnerungsraum für die provinziale Elite als Kollektiv erweitert wurde. Die auf das Kollektiv der höchsten Repräsentanten im Provinziallandtag ausgerichtete memoria potenzierte das Gewicht des höchsten Amtes und trug zum besonderen, privilegierten Status der gegenwärtigen Amtsinhaber bei. Das Referenzsystem, innerhalb dessen man sich dabei bewegte, war ein rein griechisch-hellenistisches und hob sich damit von den Ämtern und Rollen ab, die die „Koinarchen“ gleichzeitig in der römischen Administration und im römischen Elite- und Ehrensystem als Senatoren und Ritter oder innerhalb des cursus honorum innehatten. Die Neuformierung der provinzialen Identitätsstruktur ist allerdings nicht als provinziale Gegenbewegung zu römischen Vorgaben zu verstehen, vielmehr liegt eine Gleichzeitigkeit und Parallelität beider Ehrensysteme in den Inschriften vor. Hier wird das Potenzial der Provinziallandtage im innerprovinzialen Diskurs verdeutlicht und damit auch das Potenzial der Institutionen des Herrscherkultes für die provinziale wie lokale Elite. Ganz wesentlich für eine wissenschaftliche Debatte in der Frage nach Interdependenzen von Herrscherkult und Christentum scheint mir auch die Chronologie des frühen römischen Herrscherkultes zu sein. Hier wird in einigen neutestamentlichen Studien teilweise der Eindruck erweckt, der Herrscherkult habe sich erst im ersten und zweiten Jahrhundert (also parallel zum Christentum) entwickelt,67 sei zuweilen bis weit in das zweite Jahrhundert hinein als etwas Fremdartiges angesehen worden und unter einer Art gleichgeschaltetem Zwang den Reichsbewohnern abverlangt worden.68 67. „There is a perception that the most striking feature of the first century A.D. was the speedy rise and expansion of Christianity. However, ancient historians have shown that in the same century an even stronger cultic movement spread far more rapidly both in the East and West of the vast Roman Empire.“ (B.W. WINTER, Divine Honours for the First Caesars: The First Christians’ Responses, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2015, S. 1). 68. Vgl. u. a. E.M. HEEN, Phil 2:6-11 and Resistance to Local Timocratic Rule: Isa theō and the Cult of the Emperor in the East, in R. HORSLEY (Hg.), Paul and the Roman Imperial Order, New York, NY, Trinity, 2004, 125-153, S. 126: „Recent investigations of the imperial cult have reassessed its importance in the construction and maintenance of political hegemony in the cities of the Greek East. Today the imperial cult is understood to be a medium through which the web of power and influence was constructed and maintained on the city, provincial, and imperial level.“ Deutlicher W. CARTER, The Roman Empire and the New Testament: An Essential Guide, Nashville, TN, Abingdon, 2006, S. 77: „Although involvement in emperor worship was not compulsory, significant pressures were exerted on nonelites to participate.“ Konkret zum Herrscherkult in der Provinz Asia unter Kaiser Hadrian schreibt

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Gerade der provinziale Herrscherkult in den Provinziallandtagen gilt für einen Teil der neutestamentlichen Forschung als Beleg69 für diese Sichtweise, was sich dadurch erklärt, dass diese Institutionen lange auch von althistorischer Seite ausschließlich für die Romanisierungspolitik der Kaiserzeit in Anspruch genommen wurden.70 Provinziallandtage erfüllten dieser früheren Deutung zufolge vor allem die Funktion, die Provinzialen an die römische Kultur und Zivilisation heranzuführen – hier schwang also die Idee des Zwangsstaates und der Loyalitätsreligion mit. So entstand die These, in den westlichen Provinzen habe sich die Einrichtung der Landtage am Grad der Romanisierung orientiert und erst unter den Flaviern seien romanisierte Gebiete wie Südfrankreich oder Spanien auch mit dem Herrscherkult auf Provinzebene ausgestattet worden. Diese These darf heute als überholt gelten. Die zahlreichen epigraphischen Neufunde zu den Landtagsgründungen aus den spanischen Provinzen, aus Gallia Narbonensis, aus Syrien, Kreta, Zypern, Pannonien, Dalmatien, dem Alpenraum und dem Donauraum lassen nur den Schluss zu, dass diese Einrichtungen unter den julisch-claudischen Herrschern, spätestens mit Kaiser Claudius (4154 n. Chr.) abgeschlossen waren. Zu jenem Zeitpunkt also, ab dem frühestens mit der Abfassung der neutestamentlichen Schriften zu rechnen ist, WITULSKI: „Die offensichtlich verordnete, in der Provinz Asia flächendeckend durchgeführte Aufstellung von dem Ἁδριανὸς Ὀλύμπιος geweihten Altären in Privathäusern implantierte die kultisch-religiöse Kaiserverehrung erstmalig unmittelbar in den privaten, häuslichen und familiären Bereich. … Die kultisch-religiöse Verehrung Hadrians reichte nicht nur an die des Augustus heran, sondern noch über diese hinaus. Hadrian wurde mit dem Jahr 132 n. Chr. in der gesamten römischen Provinz Asia und weit darüber hinaus als universaler Heilsbringer propagiert, die Zeit seiner Herrschaft wurde als universale Heilszeit definiert, die kultischreligiöse Verehrung seiner Person wurde in den privaten Bereich implantiert und zugleich überprovinzial organisiert. Damit stieß die Praxis der kultisch-religiösen Kaiserverehrung in der römischen Provinz Asia auf verschiedenen Gebieten in neue, in ihrer Geschichte bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt noch nicht erschlossene Dimensionen vor.“ (T. WITULSKI, Kaiserkult in Kleinasien [Anm. 2], S. 169f.). 69. Vgl. u. a. FRIESEN, Imperial Cults (Anm. 2); T. WITULSKI, Kaiserkult in Kleinasien (Anm. 2). 70. Als Begründer dieser These darf Krascheninnikoff gelten (M. KRASCHENINNIKOFF, Ueber die Einführung des provinzialen Kaisercultus im römischen Westen, in Philologus 53 (1894) 147-189). DEININGER (Anm. 56) und auch FISHWICK (Anm. 6) schrieben sie fort: „In life it was sufficient that the head of state should be sacralized by his priesthoods and festivals, superhumanized by his titles divi filius and Augustus, above all by the attribution of numen. Officially divinity was something Augustus would attain only after death, but unofficially there are signs he was not averse to the more open ascription of divinity to himself already in his lifetime. … Outside of Rome, on the other hand, whether in Italy or the provinces, the subjects of Augustus were free to worship as they chose, at least at the municipal and private level. … The collective worship of a province was another matter and prudence required that provincial cults should closely adhere to official guidelines.“ (FISHWICK, Imperial Cult [Anm. 6], S. 90-92).

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existierten diese Kulte bereits einige Jahrzehnte, in Asia sogar fast ein ganzes Jahrhundert.71 Wie stark die Etablierung bereits wirkte, zeigt sich auch bei der Übertragung von Priesterämtern des Kaiserkultes auf die Frauen der städtischen und provinzialen Elite. Neuere Studien konnten auch hier zeigen, dass bereits deutlich früher als bislang angenommen, Kaiserpriesterinnen auf lokaler Ebene im Amt waren.72 Die in der althistorischen Forschung lange postulierten religiösen oder funktionellen Aspekte73 für die Einsetzung weiblicher Amtsträgerinnen im Herrscherkult können als Erklärung dabei nicht überzeugen, wie epigraphische Belege deutlich machen.74 Viel eher muss eine Begründung im sozialen Bereich, genauer gesagt im Bedürfnis der provinzialen Elite nach interner Differenzierung gesehen werden. Die Frauen wurden dann für die Priesterämter herangezogen, wenn es darum 71. Die Alte Geschichte ist dank epigraphischer Forschung der letzten Jahrzehnte heute in der Lage, die zeitliche Abfolge bei der Herausbildung des provinzialen Herrscherkultes in den östlichen und westlichen Provinzen relativ präzise zu beschreiben. Im Osten lassen sich die Einrichtungen der bekannten Koina, die den provinzialen Kult beaufsichtigen, auf folgende Jahre festlegen bzw. eingrenzen: Asia und Bithynia – 29 v. Chr., Kreta – frühe augusteische Phase, Zypern – 30/29 v. Chr., Syrien – vor 12 v. Chr., Galatien – 5/4 v. Chr., Kappadokien – 18 n. Chr., Lykien – 43 n. Chr. Im Westen lassen sich die Einrichten der Concilia wie folgt eingrenzen: Tres Galliae – 12 v. Chr., Germania – 7 v. Chr., Hispania citerior – unter Augustus (?), Lusitania – spätestens 14 n. Chr., Baetica – zwischen 2 v. Chr. und 14 n. Chr., Gallia Narbonensis – julisch-claudische Zeit, Britannien – unter Claudius, Mauretanien – unter Claudius, Thrakien – unter Claudius (?). In allen genannten Provinzen wurde ein Provinzialkult also unter den Kaisern der julisch-claudischen Dynastie eingerichtet, wobei in beinahe allen Fällen die Regierungszeit des Claudius den terminus ante bildet. Nur für die Provinzen Africa Proconsularis (71 n. Chr.) und Armenia Minor (71/72 n. Chr.) sind flavische Landtage gesichert. 72. Vgl. zu Kaiserpriesterinnen im Westen HEMELRIJK, Priestesses of the Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Titles and Function (Anm. 22); dies., Priestesses of the Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Benefactions and Public Honour (Anm. 22); dies., Imperial Priestesses (Anm. 22); dies., Local Empresses (Anm. 58). Das Standardwerk für Kaiserpriesterinnen im Osten ist noch immer VAN BREMEN, The Limits of Participation (Anm. 58). Aktuelle Diskussionen finden sich bei C. HAYWARD, Les grand-prêtresses du culte impérial provincial en Asie Mineure: Etat de la question, in R. FREI-STOLBA – A. BIELMANN (Hgg.), Femmes et vie publique dans l’antiquité gréco-romaine, Lausanne, Faculté des lettres de l‘Université de Lausanne, 1998, 117-130; P. THONEMANN, The Women of Akmoneia (Anm. 61); B. EDELMANN-SINGER, The Women of Akmoneia – Revisited, in B. EDELMANN-SINGER – H. KONEN (Hgg.), Salutationes: Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte und Ihrer Diskussion. Festschrift für Peter Herz zum 65. Geburtstag, Berlin, Frank & Timme, 2013, 109-125; dies., Die Kaiserpriesterinnen (Anm. 42). 73. Als zentrales Argument für die Einsetzung von Kaiserpriesterinnen wurde stets die ab 38 n. Chr. erfolgte Divinisierung weiblicher Mitglieder des Kaiserhauses genannt. 74. So hat die 2010 von THONEMANN veröffentlichte Ehreninschrift für eine Kaiserpriesterin aus Akmoneia in Phrygien aus dem Jahr 5/6 n. Chr. die lange sicher geglaubte Datierung in Zweifel gezogen und damit auch die Idee, der Kult der Kaiserinnen sei stets von Priesterinnen vollzogen worden (P. THONEMANN, The Women of Akmoneia [Anm. 61]; vgl. dazu auch EDELMANN-SINGER, Die Kaiserpriesterinnen [Anm. 42]).

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ging, das innerprovinziale Prestige ihrer Natal- und Nuptialfamilien zu steigern. Die Priesterämter waren eben nicht nur ein Teil der römischen Machtstruktur, die den Beherrschten unbedingte Loyalität abverlangte und daher Institutionen kreierte, die diese Loyalität förderten. Die Priesterämter müssen als Teil des innerprovinzialen Elitediskurses betrachtet werden; sie dienten der Selbstbestätigung aber auch der Selbstdarstellung. Durch sie wurde auf mehreren Ebenen eine neue provinziale Identität konstruiert und eine neue Art Provinzadel mit eigenem Rang- und Ehrensystem installiert. In diesen Kontext muss auch das Amt der Kaiserpriesterin eingebettet werden. Es diente der Erhöhung von Prestige und symbolischem Kapital der Familie und/oder der Stadt. Der Herrscherkult war somit ein System der sozialen Stabilisierung einerseits, aber auch eine Plattform innerprovinzialer und innerstädtischer Konkurrenz.75 Anhand eines Beispiels lässt sich dieses Potential, aber auch die generelle Einbettung des Herrscherkultes in die soziokulturelle und religiöse Umwelt einer antiken Stadt, verdeutlichen: Aus der phrygischen Stadt Akmoneia ist eine Inschrift erhalten, die bereits des Öfteren im Kontext der jüdischen Minderheitenproblematik in Phrygien thematisiert und auch in den Werken neutestamentlicher Wissenschaftler diskutiert worden ist.76 τὸν κατασκευασθέντα οἶκον ὑπὸ Ἰουλίας Σεουήρας Π. Τυρρώνιος Κλάδος ὁ διὰ βίου ἀρχισυνάγωγος καὶ Λούκιος Λουκίου ἀρχισυνάγωγος καὶ Ποπίλιος Ζωτικὸς ἄρχων ἐπεσκεύασαν ἔκ τε τῶν ἰδίων καὶ τῶν συνκαταθεμένων καὶ ἔγραψαν τοὺς τοίχους καὶ τὴν ὀροφὴν καὶ ἐποίησαν τὴν τῶν θυρίδων ἀσφάλειαν καὶ τὸν λυπὸν πάντα κόσμον. οὕστινας κα[ὶ] ἡ συναγωγὴ ἐτείμησεν ὅπλῳ ἐπιχρύσῳ διά τε τὴν ἐνάρετον αὐτῶν δ[ι]άθ[ε]σιν καὶ τὴν πρὸς τὴν συναγωγὴν εὔνοιάν τε καὶ σπουδήν. P. Tyrronios Klados, Archisynagogos auf Lebenszeit, und Lucius, Sohn des Lucius, Archisynagogos, und Popilius Zotikos, Archon, restaurierten das von Iulia Severa erbaute Haus aus eigenen und den (von der Gemeinde) zusammengebrachten Mitteln und ließen die Wände und die Decke bemalen und die Sicherheit der Fenster herstellen und den ganzen übrigen Schmuck; sie ehrte die Synagoge mit einem vergoldeten Schild wegen ihrer hervorragenden 75. Diese Aspekte werden u. a. an den Beispielen transprovinzialer Verbindungen von Priesterfamilien deutlich (M. ADAK, Claudia Iasonis: Eine Asiarchin aus Lykien, in Hermes 141 [2013] 459-475; CAMPANILE, I sacerdoti del koinon d’Asia [Anm. 22], S. 74-76 Nr. 62a mit Stemma V; REITZENSTEIN, Die lykischen Bundespriester [Anm. 22], S. 189-190 Nr. 39; 208209 Nr. 61). 76. MAMA 6, 264 = CIJ 776 = IGR 4, 655 = W. AMELING (Hg.), Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Bd. II: Kleinasien (TSAJ, 99), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2004, S. 248-355, Nr. 168. Vgl. u. a. L.M. WHITE, Capitalizing on the Imperial Cult: Some Jewish Perspectives, in BRODD – REED (Hgg.), Rome and Religion (Anm. 1), 173-214.

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Haltung und wegen ihres Wohlwollens und ihres Eifers der Synagoge gegenüber. (Text und Übersetzung nach AMELING, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis [Anm. 76], S. 349)

Die Stiftung einer Synagoge durch eine Frau darf als einmaliger Akt in der epigraphischen Überlieferung gelten und hat daher zahlreiche Interpretationen erfahren.77 Im Fokus dieser Interpretationen standen dabei meist der religiöse Kontext bzw. die Frage des Euergetismus der lokalen Eliten. Der Text wurde anlässlich der Restaurierung der Synagoge in Akmoneia verfasst. Wann diese Renovierung stattfand, lässt sich heute nicht mehr rekonstruieren, wahrscheinlich ist eine Datierung ins zweite Jahrhundert n. Chr.78 Während die Inschrift also keinen Anhaltspunkt auf das Datum des eigentlichen Grundes ihrer Abfassung gibt, enthält sie durch die Nennung der Stifterin des Gebäudes, Iulia Severa, wertvolle Hinweise für die Prosopografie der kleinasiatischen Eliten. Iulia Severa ist epigraphisch und numismatisch gut belegt.79 Sie war in den frühen 60er Jahren des ersten Jahrhunderts n. Chr. Kaiserpriesterin und Agonothetin in Akmoneia und gehörte zur lokalen wie provinzialen Elite.80 Ihr Ehemann, L. Servenius Capito, war ebenfalls lokaler Kaiserpriester in Akmoneia.81 Ihre verwandtschaftliche Verbindung zu C. Iulius Severus aus Ancyra in Galatien, einem Oberpriester des provinzialen Kaiserkultes und 77. Vgl. J. ROBERT – L. ROBERT (Hgg.), Bulletin Épigraphique 10 (1981-1984), Paris, 1987, S. 82; P.R. TREBILCO, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor, Cambridge, 1991, S. 58-60; AMELING, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis (Anm. 76), S. 348-355; A.R.R. SHEPPARD, Jews, Christians and Heretics in Acmonia and Eumeneia, in AS 29 (1979) 169-180; E.M. SMALLWOOD, The Alleged Jewish Tendencies of Poppaea Sabina, in JTS 10 (1959) 329-335; M.H. WILLIAMS, Θεοσεβὴς γὰρ ἧν: The Jewish Tendencies of Poppaea Sabina, in JTS 39 (1988) 97-111; S. MITCHELL, Anatolia: Lands, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, Bd. II: The Rise of the Church, Oxford, Clarendon, 1993, S. 33; VAN BREMEN, The Limits of Participation (Anm. 58), S. 336; B. WANDER, Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten: Studien zum heidnischen Umfeld von Diasporasynagogen (WUNT, 104), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1998, S. 133; zuletzt G.F. CHIAI, Norm, Kommunikation und Identität: Die jüdische Lebenswelt in den Inschriften des kaiserzeitlichen Phrygien, in G.F. CHIAI – A. HARTMANN (Hgg.), Athen, Rom, Jerusalem: Normentransfers in der antiken Welt, Regensburg, Pustet, 2012, 117-146, S. 123-125; B. EDELMANN-SINGER, Herrscherfrauen als Leitfiguren: Iulia Severa, Poppaea und die „Matronage“ der jüdischen Religion, in C. KUNST (Hg.), Matronage: Handlungsstrategien und soziale Netzwerke von Herrscherfrauen im Altertum in diachroner Perspektive (OFAA, 20), Rahden/Westf., Leidorf, 2013, 89-99. 78. Vgl. AMELING, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis (Anm. 76), S. 350 mit Anm. 23f. 79. E. GROAG, RE X 1 (1918) 946-948, s. v. Iulia Severa; PIR2 I 701, H. HALFMANN, Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (Hypomnemata, 58), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979, 1979, S. 102f., Nr. 5a; P.A. HARLAND, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2003, S. 140-142. 80. MAMA VI 263; MAMA VI 153 = IGR IV 656. 81. Zur Frage der Ehe und der gemeinsamen Priesterwürde vgl. AMELING, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis (Anm. 76), S. 351f. und VAN BREMEN, The Limits of Participation (Anm. 58), S. 132f.

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prominentem Nachfahren des galatischen und pergamenischen Königshauses, belegt die Zugehörigkeit dieser Frau zu den führenden politischen Kreisen Kleinasiens.82 Ein Sohn der Iulia Severa gelangte unter Nero in den Senat und stieg auf bis zum Legaten des Prokonsuls von Asia.83 Iulia Severa gehörte also zu einem Netzwerk führender aristokratischer Familien in Kleinasien mit besten Kontakten nach Rom. Aller Wahrscheinlichkeit nach war Iulia Severa selbst nicht jüdisch.84 Eine zentrale Frage im Kontext dieser Inschrift lautet also: Warum stiftete sie eine Synagoge? In der Forschung wird Iulia Severa entweder als „heidnische Sympathisantin“ gesehen, eine Heidin also, die dem Judentum positiv gegenüberstand und den Bau der Synagoge als Form der Patronage finanzierte.85 Oder man hat in der Verbindung ihrer Tätigkeit als Kaiserpriesterin und der Finanzierung des Synagogenbaus eine Art Synkretismus vermutet.86 Dies sind mögliche Interpretationen, die das spezifisch Besondere dieser epigraphischen Überlieferung allerdings nicht voll erfassen, das in der Interdependenz von Kaiserkult, Judentum und Elitezugehörigkeit liegt. Die Stiftung der Synagoge durch eine Frau der lokalen Elite stellt vielmehr den Brückenschlag zwischen Zentrum und Peripherie, zwischen Rom und der phrygischen Kleinstadt Akmoneia dar, konkreter den Brückenschlag zwischen der Kaiserin und ihrer lokalen Priesterin. Es muss davon ausgegangen werden, dass Iulia Severa ihre Förderung der jüdischen Gemeinde an einem äußerst prominenten Modell ausrichtete, dem der Kaiserin Poppaea.87 Poppaea Sabina, die zweite Ehefrau des Kaisers Nero, wird in den Quellen mehrfach in Beziehung zur jüdischen Religion und dem Judentum gesetzt, wenn auch stets mit deutlich kritischem Ton, was an der generellen Ablehnung dieser Kaiserin als Ehefrau Neros durch die römischen Autoren lag. Die Quellen lassen allerdings den Schluss zu, dass Poppaea einerseits politische Gründe hatte, sich für die Belange jüdischer Interessen einzusetzen, andererseits auch familiäre.88 Daraus erklärt sich 82. IGR III 173; MITCHELL – FRENCH (Hgg.), The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Ankara (Anm. 37), S. 227-236, Nr. 72-76. 83. Zu Leben und Karriere des L. Servenius Cornutus vgl. HALFMANN, Die Senatoren (Anm. 79), S. 102, Nr. 5; ROBERT, Bulletin Épigraphique (Anm. 77), S. 82. 84. Vgl. AMELING, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis (Anm. 76); HARLAND, Associations (Anm. 79). Dagegen sprach sich bereits GROAG, Iulia Severa (Anm. 79) aus. 85. ROBERT, Bulletin Épigraphique (Anm. 77), S. 82 versteht die finanzielle Unterstützung des Synagogenbaus eher als Philanthropie. MITCHELL, Anatolia (Anm. 77), S. 8 sieht in der Stiftung der Synagoge keine Besonderheit: „The synagogue had been endowed by Iulia Severa, a gentile, just as any other temple might be.“ Auch HARLAND, Associations (Anm. 79), S. 227f. betont den euergetischen Aspekt der Stiftung. 86. WILLIAMS, Jewish Tendencies (Anm. 77), S. 104f. 87. Vgl. EDELMANN-SINGER, Herrscherfrauen (Anm. 77). 88. Ibid., S. 90-93.

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auch ihr in den Quellen verunglimpftes politisch-patronales Interesse an der Gruppe der Juden in Rom und in Judaea. Aus dieser Annahme ließe sich auch das Verhalten der Synagogenstifterin Iulia Severa erklären: Iulia Severa adaptierte das Verhalten der Kaiserin, weil sie durch ihre Archierosyne im Herrscherkult den Status einer „local empress“89 erlangte. Nach Ansicht der Autorin scheint hinter der Inschrift aus Akmoneia einer jener seltenen Fälle auf, in dem die Patronage des Kaiserhauses für bestimmte Gruppen von einer Familie der lokalen Elite, die zudem die Ämter von Kaiserpriestern ausübten, aufgegriffen und gleichsam kopiert wurde. Dieses Verhalten der Iulia Severa wurde in den lokalen und provinzialen Eliten als Prestige fördernd verstanden und muss nicht zwangsläufig eine tatsächliche Beziehung zum Kaiserhaus in Rom widerspiegeln. Ausschlaggebend für diese imitatio war in erster Linie das Prestige innerhalb der eigenen sozialen Gruppe. Mit der Förderung jener Klientel, der bekanntermaßen auch die Kaiserin zugetan war, erhöhte man das eigene Ansehen im lokalen Kontext. Neben der soziokulturellen Bedeutung des Herrscherkultes und seiner Institutionen für die Eliten, kamen in ihm immer auch politische Interessen zum Tragen. Insbesondere die politischen Interessen der Provinzen und Städte konnten über die Kanäle des Herrscherkultes transportiert werden. Dies lässt sich gerade am Beispiel Ägyptens verdeutlichen, also jener Provinz, die wohl als einzige keinen provinzialen Herrscherkult besaß. In Ägypten blieb der römische Herrscherkult auf die Gaumetropolen beschränkt.90 Obwohl die Alexandriner im Jahr 41 n. Chr. einen Provinzialkult mit Landtag, Oberpriester, Spielen und Opfern, wie ihn beinahe alle übrigen östlichen und zahlreiche westliche Provinzen zu diesem Zeitpunkt bereits besaßen, von Kaiser Claudius erbaten, verhinderte er dieses Ansinnen und lehnte in einem Brief an die Alexandriner vom 10. November 41 n. Chr., der als Papyrus überliefert ist, die Einrichtung einer Archierosyne für seine Person sowie den Bau eines Tempels ab: ἀρχιιερέα δʼ ἐμὸν καὶ ναῶν κατασκευὰς παρετοῦμε, οὔτε φορτικὸς τοῖς κατʼ ἐμαυτὸν ἀνθρόποις βουλόμενος εἶναι τὰ ἱερὰ δὲ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μόνοις τοῖς θεοῖς ἐξέρετα ὑπὸ τοῦ παντὸς αἰῶνος ἀποδεδόσθαι κρίν[ω]ν.91 … aber ich billige nicht die Ernennung eines Oberpriesters für mich und den Bau von Tempeln; denn ich wünsche nicht bei meinen Zeitgenossen Anstoß 89. HEMELRIJK hat dargelegt, dass die Kaiserinnen selbst hinsichtlich Ritual und Repräsentation das Modell für die Priesterinnen ihres eigenen Kultes waren. Vgl. HEMELRIJK, Local Empresses (Anm. 58). 90. Dies hat jüngst PFEIFFER in Abgrenzung von älterer Forschungsmeinung nachweisen können. Vgl. PFEIFFER, Der römische Kaiser (Anm. 12), S. 237-280. 91. CJP II 153 = P. Lond. VI 1912.

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zu erregen, und meine Ansicht ist, dass Heiligtümer und ähnliches allein ein Vorrecht der Götter sind, das ihnen zu allen Zeiten gebührt. (Übersetzung nach C.K. BARRETT: Die Umwelt des Neuen Testaments: Ausgewählte Quellen von C.K. Barrett, hrsg. u. übers. v. C. COLPE, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1959.)

Die Ablehnung des Kultes war in diesem Fall mehr als das Zeichen einer generellen kultischen Zurückhaltung des Kaisers, der sich damit von seinem unmittelbaren Vorgänger Caligula absetzen wollte. Viel eher trägt sie der besonderen ökonomischen und politischen Situation Ägyptens Rechnung. Bereits Augustus hatte seine Ägyptenpolitik nach Actium (31 n. Chr.) an der Maxime orientiert, jede Form von politischer Selbstbestimmung in Ägypten zu unterbinden und die wirtschaftlichen Ressourcen des Landes – in erster Linie Getreide und Papyrus, aber auch den Überseehandel nach Südarabien und Indien – für die persönliche Herrschaftsabsicherung zu nutzen. Die Provinz erhielt einen Sonderstatus, der sich nicht zuletzt darin niederschlug, dass der Senat und sogar Mitglieder der Kaiserfamilie eine Einreise nach Ägypten genehmigen lassen mussten und die Provinz von einem ritterlichen praefectus Alexandriae et Aegypti verwaltet wurde. Der von den Alexandrinern erbetene Kult wurde von Claudius daher auch deswegen abgelehnt, weil mit ihm eine die gesamte Provinz umfassende Kultorganisation etabliert worden wäre, die nicht nur einen Archiereus als Sprecher der gesamten Provinz, sondern auch das Recht auf Repetundenklagen, also Klagen gegen römische Amtsträger, erhalten hätte. Betrachtet man die mit dem provinzialen Herrscherkult einhergehende Schaffung einer provinzialen Identität und Memorialkultur in andern Provinzen wie beispielsweise Asia oder Macedonia, erweist sich Claudius‘ Ablehnung als konsequent. Gerade das Beispiel der Repetundenklagen, die von der Kultversammlung der Koina und Concilia angestoßen werden konnten und wurden, zeigt die Chancen dieser Versammlungen für die Provinzbewohner. Der römische Herrscherkult war ein facettenreiches Phänomen, das Herrscher und Beherrschte in einen Dialog stellen konnte.

3. HERRSCHERKULT IM INTERDISZIPLINÄREN DIALOG ZWISCHEN ALTER GESCHICHTE UND NEUEM TESTAMENT Die unter Punkt 2. dargelegten beispielhaften Aspekte neuer Betrachtungen zum Herrscherkult vermitteln trotz der im Rahmen eines Beitrags zu einem Sammelband gebotenen Kürze die Wichtigkeit eines interdisziplinären Dialogs. Dieser erscheint vor allem dort geboten, wo es bei einem Teil der Wissenschaftler*innen des Neuen Testamentes grundlegend differierende

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Wahrnehmungen des Herrscherkultes gibt. Zwar lassen sich auch unter den Althistorikern unterschiedliche Schwerpunktsetzungen ablesen, und der römische Herrscherkult wird je nach Lesart eher als kultisch-religiöses oder religiöspolitisches Konzept gedeutet; gemeinsam ist den atthistorischen Forschungsansätzen heute aber stets eine lokal unterschiedliche kulturelle Einbettung in seine religiöse Umwelt, die Betonung seiner Genese aus griechisch-hellenistischen Traditionen und die generelle Ablehnung der Idee, Herrscherkult sei als zentral verordnete Herrschaftsmaßnahme verstanden worden. Jene theologisch aufgeladene, zugleich extrem prominente und nicht selten einen politischen Zwang implizierende Rolle, die ihm von einem Teil der neutestamentlichen Forschung zugeschrieben wird,92 sehe ich in der historischen Wissenschaft nicht mehr, und sie lässt sich aus den Quellen heraus auch nicht darstellen.93 Die Vertreter dieser Schule deuten den Herrscherkult als Paradigma einer den Christen feindlich gegenüberstehenden Welt. Anders ausgedrückt: Die Texte des Neuen Testaments werden nach dieser Lesart zu Manifesten gegen ständige und alle Lebensbereiche umfassende Gefährdungen und Unterdrückungen durch Rom und seine Autoritäten. Herrscherkult bedeutet dieser Auffassung folgend den Versuch, politische und soziale Kontrolle auszuüben, Loyalität zu Kaiser und Reich in einem beinahe schon modern anmutenden Sinne abzuprüfen und Fehlverhalten gegebenenfalls zu sanktionieren. Vor allem dort, wo eine Dichotomie Jesuskult – Kaiserkult kreiert wird, wird der Herrscherkult als Mittel der machtpolitischen Durchdringungen eines imperialen Systems definiert, gegen den sich ein aufkommendes Christentum formierte. Allerdings lässt sich aus keinem der neutestamentlichen Texte diese anti-imperiale Haltung tatsächlich heraus„lesen“; sie muss also in weiten Teilen konstruiert werden, was nicht selten anhand neuzeitlicher postkolonialer Theoreme geschieht. Zentral, aber äußerst problematisch ist dabei die Annahme, der Kult der römischen Kaiser habe sich als zeitlich paralleles Phänomen zum Jesuskult entwickelt. Diese These lässt sich, wie ich versucht habe zu zeigen, einerseits aus der Chronologie der Quellen nur schwer begründen 92. So beispielsweise N.T. WRIGHT, Pauls’s Gospel and Caesar’s Empire, in R. HORSLEY (Hg.), Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, New York, NY, Trinity, 2000, S. 160: „Already in Paul’s time [the imperial cult] had become the dominant cult in a large part of the Empire.“ Zur Kritik an der anti-imperial-Theorie vgl. u. a. die Beiträge in MCKNIGHT – MODICA (Hgg.), Jesus is Lord (Anm. 1); FREY, Jesus und Pilatus (Anm. 1); D. BURK, Is Paul’s Gospel Counterimperial? Evaluating the Prospects of the „Fresh Perspective“ for Evangelical Theology, in JETS 51 (2008) 309-337 und die Beiträge dieses Bandes, so u. a. T. NICKLAS, Jesus und Vespasian?; J. SNYDER, Apostles and Politics in the Roman Empire. 93. Neuere Betrachtungen unterziehen das Verhältnis von Kaiser und frühen Christen grundsätzlichen neuen Fragen. Vgl. u. a. B.D. SHAW, The Myth of the Neronian Persecution, in JRS 105 (2015) 73-100.

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und vernachlässigt zudem die in der heutigen althistorischen Forschung sehr stark in den Fokus geratene Kontinuität zwischen hellenistischem und römischem Herrscherkult.94 Zwar ist die althistorische Forschung heute noch nicht bis in letzte Details in der Lage, die Kontinuitätslinien zwischen den Reichskulten der Seleukiden, Attaliden oder Ptolemäer über die Kulte für römische Funktionsträger der späten Republik, den Senat und die Göttin Roma95 bis hin zu den Kulten der Kaiser und ihrer Familienmitglieder zu zeichnen, klar ist aber, dass es diese Linien gab. Jenen Argumenten einer anti-imperialen Forschungsrichtung, die sich speziell auf den Herrscherkult beziehen, wird damit in gewisser Weise der Boden entzogen. Viel gewinnbringender im Sinne einer differenzierten Debatte zweier Wissenschaften erscheinen mir jene Ansätze, die die Parallelitäten von Christuskult und Herrscherkult, ihre Interdependenzen und Schnittmengen beleuchten und in ihren Entwicklungen beobachten.96 Treffend hat Auffahrt das Potential dieses interdisziplinären Dialogs folgendermaßen zusammengefasst: „Die Christologie wird aufgebaut weniger als Widerspruch und Gegensatz zum Kaiserkult, eher in der religiösen Sprache dieser revolutionären Kultform.“97 Galinsky formuliert allgemeiner: „The issue is the appropriation of concepts and phrases, especially by Paul from the system of Roman rule for constructing the community of the Jesusfollowers.“98 Er bettet das Prinzip der Aneignung in einen größeren kulturellen Kontext ein, indem er diese „Aneignung“ zu einem „standard feature in Greek and Roman texts“ (S. 9) erklärt. Genau diesen Aspekt haben hinsichtlich der Sprache des römischen Herrscherkultes und ihrer griechischen Tradition PRICE sowie hinsichtlich der Angleichung ritueller Aspekte Chaniotis beschrieben. Die Idee, die Ausformung des Jesus-Kultes vor dem Hintergrund seiner kulturellen Umgebung zu beschreiben, liegt also nahe.99 Dazu bedarf es allerdings eines zwar unterschiedlich fokussierten, aber doch gemein94. Vgl. Anm. 16-19 oben. 95. Vgl. MILETA, Die prorömischen Kulte (Anm. 34); R. MELLOR, ΘΕΑ ΡΩΜΗ: The Worship of the Goddess Roma in the Greek World, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975; ders., The Goddess Roma, in ANRW II 17,2 (1981) 950-1030. 96. Beginnend mit DEISSMANN, Licht vom Osten (Anm. 1); in jüngerer Zeit u. a. P. HERZ, Das Neue Testament und der Kaiserkult: Zwei Facetten einer gemeinsamen Welt, in G. VAN BELLE – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Christ and the Emperor: The Gospel Evidence, Leuven, Peeters, 2014, 31-50; H.M. ZILLING, Jesus als Held: Odysseus und Herakles als Vorbilder christlicher Heldentypologie, Paderborn, Schöningh, 2011; C. AUFFAHRTH, Herrscherkult und Christuskult, in CANCIK – HITZL (Hgg.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung (Anm. 12), 283-317. 97. AUFFAHRTH, Herrscherkult (Anm. 96), S. 310. 98. GALINSKY, Cult (Anm. 1), S. 8f. 99. Dazu GALINSKY: „What these examples make clear, then, is that in the negotiation of early Christian identity the Roman Empire and cult of the emperor are not simply The Other

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samen Blicks auf alle Quellen der Zeit. Wie ein solcher synergetischer Blick aussehen kann, haben exemplarisch Althistoriker, Epigraphiker und Neutestamentler in einem hochspannenden Sammelband zu Epigraphik und Neuem Testament gezeigt.100 Gerade neuere Forschungsfelder der althistorischreligionswissenschaftlichen Disziplin, wie Emotionenforschung und Individualisierung,101 lassen zukünftig viel Raum für den interdisziplinären Dialog. Babett EDELMANN-SINGER (München)

… but they resonate, are rejected, and are assimilated in various ways that defy absolutizing interpretation“ (GALINSKY, Cult [Anm. 1], S. 14). 100. CORSTEN – ÖHLER – VERHEYDEN, Epigraphik und Neues Testament (Anm. 22). Eine solche auf gemeinsamer Debatte und Austausch basierende Zusammenarbeit erscheint fruchtbarer als die reduzierte Wahrnehmung des jeweils anderen Faches in Form von Handbuchwissen. Ein eher problematisches Beispiel dafür bietet M. REASONER, Roman Imperial Texts: A Sourcebook, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2013, das sich als eine Art „crash course on empire“ versteht. 101. Vgl. A. CHANIOTIS (Hg.), Unveiling Emotions: Sources and Methods for the Study of Emotions in the Greek World (HABES, 52), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2012; A. CHANIOTIS – P. DUCREY (Hgg.), Unveiling Emotions II: Emotions in Greece and Rome: Texts, Images, Material Culture (HABES, 55), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2013; J. RÜPKE (Hg.), The Individual in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2013; J. SCHEID, The Gods, the State, and the Individual: Reflections on Civic Religion in Rome, übers. C. ANDO, Philadelphia, PA, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016.

ANTI-GOSPEL REVISITED

“The Gospel according to Mark can be read as an anti-gospel to the rise of the Flavian dynasty.” This statement about the second Gospel, also known as the “anti-gospel hypothesis”, leaves open whether it is a claim about the circumstances of the text’s production and thus its pragmatics (“it should be read that way”) or about possibilities for the text’s reception and thus its potential (“it could be read that way”). This essay argues for the second alternative and explores the anti-gospel hypothesis as a powerful reception category that is used to read Mark’s gospel narrative. In addition to exegetical considerations, a side-step to social and cultural (memory) studies will offer further insight on the question. As an illustration, I will describe how Germany’s victory in the 1954 soccer World Cup was interpreted as the “miracle of Bern” and will argue that from the point of view of cultural studies and social memory theory the idea that Mark’s narrative was an anti-gospel – that this was already a socially accepted reception category – is implausible given how long such categories take to develop, and might not do justice to the reception categories used in the Gospel. The essay will close by considering the potential of the anti-gospel hypothesis and the question of why interpretative frames can be so influential.

1. INTRODUCING THE ANTI-GOSPEL HYPOTHESIS In the last twenty years, Mark’s Gospel has increasingly been read in the context of the Roman Empire. This trend started with interpretation of individual passages like the healing of the blind man at Bethsaida (Mark 8,22-26),1 and now involves the Gospel as a whole. One approach currently popular in the German-speaking world is the anti-gospel hypothesis. Tobias Nicklas, who has carefully evaluated the anti-gospel hypothesis in his

1. E.g. E. EVE, Spit in Your Eye: The Blind Man of Bethsaida and the Blind Man of Alexandria, in NTS 54 (2008) 1-17.

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contribution to this volume, names Martin Ebner, Bernhard Heininger and Karl Matthias Schmidt as its main supporters.2 The term “anti-gospel” goes back to Gerd Theissen3 and describes readings that understand Mark’s Gospel as a critical assessment of Roman imperial propaganda. Some view it specifically as a direct reaction to the “gospel” of the emperor Vespasian. This approach latches on to the first words of the text, especially the term εὐαγγέλιον in Mark 1,1, which is interpreted as a signal that the following text offers an alternative to Roman imperial propaganda. The Gospel is understood to be full of allusions to that propaganda, critiquing it and proposing a counter-identity for the Markan community based on values that differ from those that characterize the Flavian dynasty.4 Although the details of individual scholars’ readings vary, the basic argument is fairly consistent: Mark’s Gospel should be read as a direct reaction to and discussion of the rise of the Flavian dynasty.5 The Gospel can only be understood adequately against the backdrop of the rise of that homo novus Vespasian as Roman emperor and imperial propaganda geared to

2. T. NICKLAS, Jesus und Vespasian (essay in this volume). In n. 7, Nicklas mentions the most important contributions in the field, which I will not repeat here. The anti-gospel hypothesis has been worked out to the greatest extent by Martin Ebner. It has also now found its way into several introductory works on the New Testament: M. EBNER, Das Markusevangelium, in M. EBNER – S. SCHREIBER (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 22013, 155-184; S. SCHREIBER, Begleiter durch das Neue Testament, Ostfildern, Patmos, 32014, pp. 102-103. One early proponent of the anti-gospel hypothesis, Andreas Bedenbender, is rarely mentioned in the exegetical discourse, but claims to be one of the first to contribute in this area, with good reason. Cf. A. BEDENBENDER, Unausgesprochen beim Namen genannt: Verdeckte Spuren des Jüdischen Krieges im Markusevangelium, in Texte & Kontexte 140 (2013) 1-60, p. 10 n. 17 with reference to A. BEDENBENDER, Römer, Christen und Dämonen: Beobachtungen zur Komposition des Markusevangeliums (1. Teil), in Texte & Kontexte 67 (1995) 3-50. 3. G. THEISSEN, Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien (NTOA 8), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989 and 21992; and G. THEISSEN, Evangelienschreibung und Gemeindeleitung: Pragmatische Motive bei der Abfassung des Markusevangeliums, in B. KOLLMANN – W. REINBOLD – A. STEUDEL (eds.), Antikes Judentum und Frühes Christentum (FS H. Stegemann) (BZNW, 97), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1999, 389-414. 4. Cf. EBNER, Einleitung (n. 2), p. 159, “Die Glaubenslehre vom Leidensweg Jesu hat verstanden, wer auf Rangstreben und Prestigesucht verzichtet und stattdessen Statusverzicht praktiziert”, or the final conclusion, p. 180, “Das MkEv ist also ein Versuch, am Lebensweg Jesu die Praxis einer Gegengesellschaft abzulesen und diesen Weg als dem Willen Gottes entsprechende und als Konkretion der Gottesherrschaft gekennzeichnete Alternative zum gesellschaftlichen Trend zu präsentieren, wie er unter den flavischen Aufsteigerkaisern virulent wird – und offensichtlich auch auf die christliche Gemeinde Anziehungskraft ausgeübt hat”. 5. Explicit in M. EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier, in Biblische Notizen 116 (2003) 28-42, pp. 29-30.

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legitimate his rule, such as stories of healing miracles he performed in Alexandria and the triumphal procession of Titus and Vespasian.6

2. A RECEPTION CATEGORY, NOT A STATEMENT ABOUT TEXT’S PRODUCTION: THE ANTI-GOSPEL HYPOTHESIS IN CURRENT EXEGETICAL DEBATE

THE

The reception of this anti-gospel approach to the Gospel in biblical scholarship indicates that its insights are far from obvious: its merits are hotly debated. This may be partly due to the fact that it is often not clear whether the anti-gospel hypothesis is a claim about the pragmatics or the potential of the text. The approach is the focus of recent doctoral dissertations by Heinz Blatz7 and Markus Lau,8 as well as Gabriela Gelardini’s Basel Habilitationsschrift.9 The contributions of Blatz and Lau illustrate the two different sorts of claims, pragmatics / production vs. potential / reception. Blatz conducts a historical-critical investigation of the semantics of power in Mark’s miracle stories, and compares the Gospel with other ancient sources as a way of highlighting what he sees as Mark’s critique of imperial power 6. R. VON BENDEMANN, Sehen und Verstehen (Die zweiphasige Heilung eines namenlosen Blinden) – Mk 8,22-26, in R. ZIMMERMANN (ed.), Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen: Bd. I: Die Wunder Jesu, Gütersloh, Güterloher Verlagshaus, 2013, 341-349, p. 345: “Die vespasianische herrscherideologische Propaganda war ab dem Jahre 69 bestrebt, den homo novus Vespasian als Kaiser zu legitimieren. Hierfür wurden nicht allein heidnische Omnia, nach denen aus dem Osten ein großer König aufstehen werde, propagandistisch auf Vespasian übertragen, sondern vielmehr jüdisch-messianische Hoffnungen aufgegriffen und instrumentalisiert. Der Absicherung der Legitimität der unverhofft erworbenen Kaiserwürde sind auch die Heilungsbemühungen des Vespasian zuzuordnen, die Tacitus, Sueton und Dio Cassius für dessen Alexandriaaufenthalt berichten.” 7. H. BLATZ, Die Semantik der Macht: Eine zeit- und religionsgeschichtliche Studie zu den markinischen Wundererzählungen (Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen, 59), Münster, Aschendorff, 2016. 8. M. LAU, Der gekreuzigte Triumphator: Eine motivkritische Studie zum Markusevangelium (NTOA, 114), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019. 9. G. GELARDINI, Christus Militans: Studien zur politisch-militärischen Semantik im Markusevangelium vor dem Hintergrund des ersten Jüdisch-Römischen Krieges (SupplNT, 165), Leiden, Brill, 2016. Gelardini locates Mark in the context of the first Jewish-Roman war, and reads the Gospel as reacting to that disastrous war (p. 1). She regards such a reading as imperial-critical or “anti-imperialist” (p. 1). In her study, Gelardini investigates military connections and war terminology that she claims had not yet been covered by other studies. In her reading, Mark’s Gospel illustrates the change from Herodian and Roman dominion to the Davidic-messianic dynasty of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, which is alluded to in the text (p. 25). Her main focus is on the possible course of events of this war and preceding battles. The crucial point is that the Gospel has to be read in the context of ancient political empire discourse (p. 25).

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structures.10 Lau takes a slightly more reception-oriented approach and asks whether Mark’s Gospel contains allusions to Roman triumphal processions that readers would have been able to identify, and whether the author was trying to narrate Jesus’ life using terms with which his intended audience would have been familiar. He argues that coded allusions to Roman triumphal processions can indeed be found in the text.11 While Blatz reads the Gospel as a direct reaction to the rise of Vespasian (i.e., as an anti-gospel), Lau thinks the story has been spiced up with hidden allusions in order to add an additional layer of meaning to the text. Blatz would claim that one can only properly understand the Gospel if one takes the imperial context into account, while Lau references that context as a reception scenario.12 While the differences between these approaches are clear to the trained eye of the biblical scholar, they might seem obscure to a lay reader who is not used to differentiating between production-oriented and reception-oriented approaches, and simply wants to understand the text. Contemporary readers, especially those whose personal faith and understanding of Jesus have been shaped by Mark’s Gospel, may find it disturbing and reductionistic to be told that the Gospel should be understood as a warning about social climbing and that its Jesus is primarily an anti-type of the Roman emperor.13 For these readers and others, it is helpful to clarify that the anti-gospel 10. Cf. BLATZ, Die Semantik der Macht (n. 7), p. 218: “Gerade ein römisches Setting um den Aufstieg Vespasians zum Kaiser bietet eine Erklärung für die im Mk präsente Machtfrage.” 11. Lau’s study is currently undergoing revision for publication. I am grateful to my colleague for sharing the current status of his work for this article. It will be published as M. LAU, Der gekreuzigte Triumphator: Eine motivkritische Studie zum Markusevangelium (NTOA, 114), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019. 12. In 4.1.2, Lau concludes, “Zu diesen dem MkEv vorauslaufenden Formen rechne ich auch den Triumphzug. Gleichwohl ist meine Lektüre des MkEv vor dem Hintergrund der Entstehungssituation des Textes nicht die einzig mögliche oder gar die einzig ‘richtige’ Art, einen biblischen Text zu lesen, aber es ist eine mögliche Lektüreperspektive, die es je nach Erkenntnisinteresse zu beachten gilt. Ich erhebe in keinem Fall den Anspruch, die einzig richtige Lesart für die von mir behandelten mk Texte zu präsentieren – wenngleich ich glaube, dass die hier vorgetragene Lesart einige mk Textdetails neu und im Vergleich zu anderen Deutungen überzeugender interpretieren kann – oder die Autorintention schlechthin zu erheben. Wohl aber möchte ich eine plausible, mögliche Lesart vortragen und meine Textfunktionszuschreibungen argumentativ begründen. Dabei gehe ich letztlich davon aus, dass der Autor des MkEv die Anspielungen auf das Ritual des Triumphzugs bewusst gesetzt hat, um eine inhaltliche Botschaft zu transportieren, der man sich interpretierend zumindest annähern kann. Das ist im Letzten nicht zwingend zu beweisen, weil der Text eben ein Eigenleben führt und Sinnlinien im Zusammenspiel mit den Lesenden produziert, wohl aber argumentativ zu plausibilisieren.” 13. My students at the University of Passau find it disturbing and have expressed the critique mentioned above. I am particularly grateful to Judith Bauer for keeping this issue on our agenda and doing most of the pre-search for this essay.

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hypothesis is not a feature of the text itself, but an interpretation that has been influenced by the context, questions, knowledge, and ideas of interpreters who argue this way, as well as by their religious, political and sociocultural environments. The anti-gospel hypothesis says more about how Mark might be received than about the intentions of its producer. Viewing the anti-gospel hypothesis as a reception scenario or interpretative frame does not render the approach less fascinating or less academic. It is still a masterpiece of historical-critical exegesis, but now with a different twist that does justice to the general state of the exegetical debate. Since the linguistic turn, interpreters of texts have sought to go beyond the question of what the author might have had in mind. The interpretative task has shifted from speculating about authorial intent to asking about texts’ interpretative potential. We owe to Umberto Eco both the observation that texts are lazy machines for the production of meaning14 and the statement that it is hard to decide who is right: the author who never intended to make an allusion or the reader who has good reasons for finding one.15 This state of research and this climate within the academic community have paved the way for a new type of reading, guided by the question of how a particular reader, a particular audience or a particular interpretative community might have received a text. Reader-oriented approaches that ask how texts might have been understood by historical readers have also emerged. Since few historical readers left reports,16 we can only guess how a text like Mark’s Gospel might have been read in the earliest period after its composition. While this recognition can lead to frustration, it has also opened up a new field of research investigating how particular readers, audiences and interpretative communities might have received the text. As New Testament scholars, we are naturally curious about ancient recipients, and with regard to Mark’s gospel we usually ask about possible reception in places like Rome or Syria around 70 CE, although one could also inquire about how the text might have been received at the end of the Jewish-Roman war and after the destruction of the Temple in places like Alexandria, Antioch, Corinth, Ephesus or Philippi. 14. Cf. U. ECO, Lector in fabula, Milano, Bompiani, 1979. For an English translation, see U. ECO, The Role of the Reader, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1981, including essays from: Opera aperta, Apocalittici e integrati, Forme del contenuto, Lector in Fabula, Il Superuomo di massa. 15. U. ECO, Ironia intertestuale e livelli di lettura, in U. ECO, Sulla letteratura. Milano 2002, 227-252. German translation: Intertextuelle Ironie und mehrdimensionale Lektüre, in U. ECO, Die Bücher und das Paradies, Munich, Hanser, 2003, 213-237. 16. Their readings are often cited in studies focusing on reception history.

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From my perspective, this is exactly what the anti-gospel hypothesis does: it sketches possible reception scenarios for the Gospel of Mark in a Roman context. Such readings involve two main steps. The first step is to (re-)construct the encyclopedia17 of the audience in question. The second step is to go through the text and see what meanings evolve by applying that encyclopedia. The (re)construction of an audience’s encyclopedia is an especially tricky task, because biblical scholars do not actually “have” an ancient encyclopedia, only a scholarly construction of what ancient people might have known and thought. This step also entails, of course, the anaesthetization of one’s own encyclopedia, which is usually the hardest part, because biblical scholars in the twenty-first century have broader knowledge and more distance from the events than first-century followers of Christ in Rome. Hypotheses about what the target audience may have known are thus necessarily speculative. This is where exegetical debate usually kicks in. A common way to critique other scholars’ readings of a text is to discuss the plausibility of the proposed encyclopedia.18 With regard to the anti-gospel hypothesis there are questions about the likelihood that a member of a Christian community in Rome in 71 CE would have been familiar with supposed miracles of Vespasian,19 the topography of the naval battle of Tarichaea20 or a prediction of Vespasian’s reign by Josephus, complete with messianic overtones and perhaps in the guise of the Phlegon or Hystaspes prophecy, whatever they might have looked like at that time.21 Since Josephus wrote considerably 17. Another concept we owe to Eco, cf. ECO, Lector in fabula (n. 14). 18. Nicklas’ essay in this volume is a good example. 19. Cf. BLATZ, Die Semantik der Macht (n. 7), p. 218-219; see also EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium (n. 5), pp. 39-40. 20. Cf. BEDENBENDER, Unausgesprochen beim Namen genannt (n. 2), p. 17. See also: A. BEDENBENDER, Ja und Nein: Das Matthäusevangelium als Gegenerzählung zur markinischen “Frohen Botschaft am Abgrund”, in Texte & Kontexte 144 (2013) 11-13. K.-M. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils: Erzählstrukturen und Rezeptionskontexte des Markusevangeliums (NTOA, 74), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010, pp. 306-307, excludes influence along these lines: “Fraglos ist die Erzählung vom Seesturm kaum vor dem Hintergrund der Ereignisse bei Joppe oder Tarichea entstanden oder auch nur im Blick auf die Niederlagen der Juden zu Wasser in das Evangelium integriert worden, so wenig wie die Geschichte vom Gang über den See. Schon die Platzierung der Abfolge der Ereignisse entspricht nicht der Darstellung des Josephus, der die Szene bei Joppe nach dem Winterlager und vor der Ruhepause in Cäsarea Philippis ansiedelt. Wer jedoch den Text vor dem Hintergrund der Kriegsereignisse las, wurde vermutlich von der Darstellung der Ereignisse besonders berührt.” 21. Cf. EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium (n. 5), pp. 35-37, see also B. HEININGER, “Politische Theologie” im Markusevangelium: Der Aufstieg Vespasians zum Kaiser und der Abstieg Jesu ans Kreuz, in C. MAYER (Hg.), Augustinus Ethik und Politik: Zwei Würzburger Augustinus-Studientage (Cassiciacum, 39.4 = Res et signa. Augustinus-Studien, 4), Würzburg, Echter, 2009, 171-201, p. 193. The texts used as a basis for the argument, Josephus, Bell. 3,401f.;

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after the events took place and had his own agenda when composing his text, one can hardly assume that the prophecy was originally phrased the way it appears in Bellum – not to mention the question of whether Mark and his audiences would have been familiar with Josephus. This is not to say that the reading is uninteresting, however. In fact, since I am intrigued by the anti-gospel hypothesis, I find it sad that this sort of approach to Mark’s Gospel tends to focus almost exclusively on Rome and Syria around 70 CE. I would very much like to see a conference or volume that collects different possible reception scenarios of Mark after the first Jewish-Roman war – not only in Rome and Syria, but also in the aforementioned Alexandria, Antioch, Corinth, Ephesus and Philippi. I am sure we would learn a lot from these readings, and that they would help counteract the current one-sided nature of the exegetical discussion,22 as well as preventing false impressions about the degree of certainty one can attach to the anti-gospel hypothesis. After all, while such readings reveal a lot about the interpretative potential of the text and about scholars’ knowledge and creativity, they can never provide conclusive answers to questions about a text’s production or the intentions behind it. To use Peter Lampe’s phrase, these readings are a reality construction of a second order23 that one places beside a historical source. From our current location in history we may find them plausible and persuasive, but that says more about us as readers than about real authors and original addressees. Suetonius, Vespasian 5,6 and Cassius Dio, Rom. Hist., 66,1,3f., as well as the underlying oracle (Phlegon: FGrH 257 F 36 III, Hystaspes: Lactantius, Inst. 7,15,11.18f.; 17,11; 18,5) are all later than the Gospel of Mark. 22. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (n. 20), p. 8, also points out this danger for the reception of his own study: “Es kann nicht nachdrücklich genug betont werden, dass die Untersuchung nur ausgewählte Perspektiven einnimmt und andere Blickwinkel weitestgehend ausblendet. Die oft hypothetisch in die Diskussion eingebrachten Details der Rezeptionskontexte unterliegen damit schon deswegen großen Vorbehalten, weil deren Wirkmächtigkeit im Rahmen dieser Untersuchung nicht im Vergleich mit anderen Rezeptionskontexten überprüft werden kann.” 23. Cf. P. LAMPE, Modellfall Auferstehung Jesu: Zu einer konstruktivistischen Theorie der Geschichtsschreibung, in EvTh 69 (2009) 186-193, p. 188: “Bewusst sein muss er [sc. the historian] sich dabei, dass der große ‘Text’, der sich ihm erschließt, wieder nur ein Konstrukt ist, das er selbst erstellt – in der Hoffnung, das zu treffen, was die Damaligen innerhalb einer Sprachgemeinschaft als Wirklichkeit verstanden. Vorhanden ist der große ‘Text’, so wie ihn die Historikerin schreibt, in den Quellen nicht: Er stellt ein modernes Präparat mit vielen Schwächen dar, zum Beispiel bleibt er selektiv-fragmentarisch, ohne dass die Historikerin wissen könnte, wie viel die noch greifbaren Quellen verschweigen, wie groß die Löcher sind, die sie nicht zu füllen vermag, wie viel bunter und widersprüchlicher das damalige Wirklichkeitskonstrukt sich ausnahm, als heute erkennbar. Gleichwohl, naive Historiker würden ihr Tun als Rekonstruktion des damaligen Wirklichkeitskonstrukts charakterisieren. Weniger naive als ein Konstrukt des damaligen Wirklichkeitskonstrukts, als ein Konstrukt zweiter Ordnung” (emphasis original).

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Readings of this type, however, can hardly ever be completely wrong. The focus of critique is thus usually not the reading itself, but its foundations or prerequisites. The focus of critique mostly concerns step 1, the (re-) construction of the encyclopedia, rather than step 2. The result is that the anti-gospel hypothesis cannot be falsified if taken as a reception frame. One can only discuss whether it provides a plausible reception scenario for a particular reconstructed historical situation. On closer examination, this is exactly what happens within the exegetical debate, and the criteria cited are old acquaintances from historical Jesus research: the criterion of historical plausibility and context plausibility. The question remains, however, of whether this is all one can do. The tools of classical historical-critical research may not be able to dig deeper, but I deem it possible to take the criteria a step further by drawing on insights from cultural studies and social memory theory. A first step is to change the object of investigation: instead of considering what the author and/or target audience might have known, one can examine the reception frame itself. In the next section, a glance at the development of a more recent interpretative frame through the lens of cultural studies and social memory theory will illustrate this idea, which I will then apply to the antigospel hypothesis. As an example and test case, I have chosen the so-called “miracle of Bern” (Wunder von Bern).

3. “MIRACLE OF BERN” A

AS ILLUSTRATION OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF RECEPTION CATEGORY

On 4 July 1954, West Germany won the soccer world championship in Bern, Switzerland. This was unexpected, since their opponent in the final was Hungary, the favorite to win, who had defeated the West Germans 8:3 in an earlier game. Eight minutes into the final match, in the pouring rain, the West Germans were behind 0:2, and there seemed no hope of recovery. Within ten minutes, however, they had scored two goals, and six minutes before the end, Helmut Rahn added a third, sealing their victory. Everyone was surprised: no one had considered the West Germans possible champions. The 1954 World Cup was one of the first appearances of a West German national team at an international tournament, but not the first one. In 1950, the remains of the former German Reich – West Germany, East Germany and the Saarland – had not been allowed to take part in the tournament, just as they had not been permitted to take part in the 1948 Summer Olympics in London. Athletes from West Germany and the Saarland participated in

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the 1952 Summer Olympics in Helsinki, however, where a West German amateur team took part in the Olympic soccer competition. They came in third. None of those players was on the 1954 World Cup team. I mention this because part of the frame or reception category that will be considered below is the idea that the 1954 World Cup was the first appearance of West Germans on the international stage after the Second World War – and that they left a positive impression on their first outing.24 The unexpected win is widely believed to have changed the nation, and Germans today are said to remember the events of 4 July 1954 as the Wunder von Bern (“miracle of Bern”). The English entry in Wikipedia claims that the unexpected win evoked a wave of euphoria throughout Germany, which was still suffering in the aftermath of World War II. This was also the first time since the Second World War that the German national anthem was played at a global sporting event. The 1954 victory is regarded as a turning point in post-war German history by German historians Arthur Heinrich and Joachim Fest.25

It might be somewhat unusual to quote Wikipedia in an academic article, but since I am dealing with current reception categories, it actually makes a lot of sense. One intriguing effect of Wikipedia as a phenomenon is that it contributes to the creation of reception categories – that is, it helps to further the development of particular frames of reference within which events, texts, etc., are interpreted. Some of these, such as the “miracle of Bern”, might justifiably be called “myths”, but the same reception categories are furthered by academic publications. In the article mentioned in the Wikipedia entry, Arthur Heinrich, for instance, a sociologist and political scientist who writes about the history of soccer, comments about the importance that the winning of the World Cup tournament in 1954 had for West Germany. Nine years after the defeat of the national socialist regime, this victory in soccer’s most important event heralded West Germany’s entrance into the international community of nations. The positive result in this forum contributed massively to the creation of a new West German collective identity. An essential ingredient of this identity was a positive orientation towards the newly established Federal Republic as a democratic structure, 24. When reviewing the historical data, it soon becomes clear that even in sports, there was no vacuum as is generally assumed. Publications on the “miracle of Bern” usually suggest that there was also a zero hour for sports (“Stunde Null”) – Bern. The myth feeds the assumption that the “miracle of Bern” came out of nowhere and contributed to the creation of a new nation. 25. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1954_FIFA_World_Cup_Final (accessed 9 November 2016).

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which – in the wake of this victory in soccer – attained growing acceptance and legitimacy among the West German public.26

The “miracle of Bern” is an interesting test case for the emergence of reception categories because one can trace its development. The interpretation of the 1954 World Cup as the “miracle of Bern,” and the idea that it led to a new German consciousness, are rarely questioned today, especially by younger generations. This is not how the event was perceived in 1954, however, but is largely a later creation. In a short study, Das “Wunder von Bern”: Rezeptionsgeschichte eines Mythos,27 Joachim Eder describes some of the principles behind this reception category, which he terms a “myth”. Eder’s study is especially interesting because he traces how the event was portrayed in several (West) German newspapers over a period of 50 years. The advantage of this type of source is that newspaper articles cannot be altered in hindsight and are thus snapshots that help unlock the communication patterns of a particular period.28 Eder reaches a quite sobering conclusion regarding the idea that the World Cup victory “contributed massively to creation of a new West German collective identity”,29 a notion that is often said to be captured in the motto Wir sind wieder wer. According to Eder, this stereotyped feeling that “We are back” is nothing more than a projection and wishful thinking on part of the people, which became one aspect of a myth whose various elements were only fully assembled after 1994: “Die Euphorie von 1954 wird gleichsam beschworen, reaktiviert und a posteriori in einen modernen Mythos übertragen.”30 Eder’s other results are quite stunning, too, especially when read from the perspective of cultural studies. For many decades, what later became the 26. A. HEINRICH, The 1954 Soccer World Cup and the Federal Republic of Germany’s SelfDiscovery, in American Behavioral Scientist 46 (2003) 1491-1505, p. 1491. 27. J.S. EDER, Das “Wunder von Bern”: Rezeptionsgeschichte eines deutschen Mythos, www. das-wunder-von-bern.de/Rezeptionsgeschichte.pdf (downloaded 23.07.2016). Eder is a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Jena, in the field of contemporary history. 28. EDER,“Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), p. 5. 29. HEINRICH, 1954 Soccer World Cup (n. 26), p. 1491. Later, Heinrich points out that “against the background of the economic recovery, winning the World Cup helped Germany play for more time in the matter of adapting to democracy” (p. 1501). Read against Eder, Blecking or Busche, Heinrich’s notion that “to be consolidated, the Federal Republic urgently needed some initial signs of success: The economic miracle (“Wirtschaftswunder”) was far and away the most important of these. Winning the World Cup crowned this economic breakthrough and supplied a unifying symbol – above and beyond any individual German’s budding postwar and consumer bliss – of the stretch of the road that had already been taken toward a new (and, to be sure, completely turned inside out) normality” (p. 1493), exhibits features of hindsight bias and coloring of the myth itself. 30. EDER, “Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), p. 22.

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“miracle of Bern” was only the subject of private conversations and almost completely absent from public discussion – it only circulated in social memory. The first publications to employ the concept appeared as recently as the 1990s, forty years after the event. The phrase “miracle of Bern” itself originated directly after the tournament and can be traced to an interview with Fritz Walter, one of the players. Eder explains that the phrase reflects common speech habits at the time, when use of the word “miracle” was frequent. Pride about the team’s achievement, however, soon forbade its use in reporting.31 While the unexpected nature of the victory made it seem like a “miracle”, people at the time needed even more urgently to understand it as the work of heroes: Vom Wunder von Bern zu sprechen, verbot schon bald das Selbstbewußtsein. Aber das, was die Männer von Bundestrainer Sepp Herberger bei der Fußballweltmeisterschaft 1954 in der Schweiz und zuletzt im Endspiel im Berner Wankdorf-Stadion zustande gebracht hatten, trug doch alle Züge einer Heldengeschichte, die nur durch das Zusammenwirken mythischer, das heißt durch den Mythos allen Erklärungsversuchen entzogener Kräfte geleistet werden konnte und so als Heldengeschichte für die kollektive Erinnerung zu vereinnahmen ist.32

So, unsurprisingly, when directly asked whether they remember the “miracle of Bern” or the “heroes of Bern”, older Germans who were contemporaries of the event usually opt for the latter. It is quite intriguing that although comments about a “miracle at Bern” had already been made in 1954, it took roughly forty years for the reception category to develop its full impact. For the reception category “miracle of Bern” to become a myth, several things had to come together. Important factors included time and a changed situation with different needs. The emergence of myths always requires special circumstances, like those that turned Rosa Parks into an icon of the US civil rights movement, but not Claudette Colvin. The same holds true for perceptions of the 1954 World Cup and the emergence of the “miracle of Bern”. One catalyst was surely German reunification in 1990, which coincided with Germany’s third win of the World Cup (following victories in 1954 and 1974). The coincidental soccer victory in 1990 may have helped Germans to come to terms with what had formerly been an “abstraktes, unsicheres Nationalgefühl”,33 as Peter Kasza suggests. Eder assigns a similarly important role to the deaths 31. Cf. EDER, “Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), p. 8. 32. J. BUSCHE, Der Mythos von 1954, in Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte 44 (1994) 24:1315, p. 13. 33. P. KASZA, 1954 – Fußball spielt Geschichte, Bonn, be.bra, 2004, p. 208.

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of the “heroes” in the following years, especially Fritz Walter (d. 2002) and Helmut Rahn (d. 2003), followed by their glorification in the German media.34 Other factors also led Germans to search for new constants in their sense of national identity – after reunification, they needed founding myths other than the “economic miracle” (Wirtschaftswunder) that applied only to West Germany, but not East Germany, which had just become an equal part of the reunited Federal Republic. The passage of time was also crucial: the interpretative frame “miracle of Bern” was kindled in 1990, but not yet fully established. Time would be fully ripe for it only about ten years later. Presentation in a different medium also played an important role. At a time when a new social policy was needed, the “miracle of Bern” was celebrated in a highly emotional, but historically highly questionable movie35, which was released about two months after Rahn died in 2003. This movie helped to create a new founding myth that seemed almost completely apolitical and was thus all the more persuasive. At times it has even been celebrated as one of the Republic’s hours of birth.36 The movie “stellte die ahistorische Verknüpfung zwischen dem Fußballsieg, der Wirtschaftswunder und eben der angeblichen mentalen Gründung der Republik her, die weder die Zeitgenossen 1954 verspürt hatten noch die sozialhistorische Forschung nachweisen konnte”.37 From the perspective of memory theory and cultural studies,38 it is not unusual for events such as the 1954 World Cup to be portrayed as foundational moments for a nation, nor is it surprising that this particular interpretation only really began to be widespread decades after the event. It is also normal that this happened forty years later and was accompanied by a new narrative presentation in a new medium, in this case film in place of newspaper articles and interviews. After such a lapse of time – also known as a generational gap – it is to be expected that memories of past events will be reshaped according to new needs, and that members of a memory group will try to privilege one strand of interpretation against another, attempting to make their way of perceiving events the only right way to do so. In sum, 34. EDER, “Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), p. 21. 35. “Das Wunder von Bern” by Sönke Wortmann (2003). 36. “Eine der Geburtsstunden der Republik”, quoted in KASZA, 1954, 8f. German historian Joachim Fest writes, “July 4, 1954 is in certain aspects the founding day of the German Republic” (http://edition.cnn.com/2011/SPORT/football/01/05/iraq.asia.six.games/). 37. D. BLECKING, Das “Wunder von Bern” 1954: Zur politischen Instrumentalisierung eines Mythos, in Historical Social Research 40 (2015) 197-208, p. 203. 38. For an introduction to this area of research and suggestions for its application to Biblical studies, cf. S. HUEBENTHAL, Das Markusevangelium als kollektives Gedächtnis (FRLANT, 253), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 22018, chapter 2.

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it is normal for memories of past events to be reshaped according to the particular needs of succeeding generations, and for one interpretation of an event to outcompete others.39 Eder concludes, “Die Rezeptionsgeschichte des ‘Wunders von Bern’ ist ein Lehrstück über die Funktionsweise populärer Erinnerungskultur”.40 No miracle took place in Bern on 4 July 1954, only a soccer match. The “miracle of Bern” is an interpretation of the event. It is a reception category that now frames the event in popular consciousness: socially negotiated, socially accepted and eventually established as the dominant frame of reference for this event, which is now “remembered” far beyond the world of sports. This is a normal process, and the results tell us more about the generation involved in developing the reception category than about those who took part in the actual event. The key to understanding the “miracle of Bern”, which would achieve its full impact only after the turn of the millennium, lies more in the 1990s than the 1950s.

4. DEVELOPMENT OF RECEPTION CATEGORIES REQUIRES TIME So how does the “miracle of Bern” shed light on the anti-gospel hypothesis? Like the “miracle of Bern”, the anti-gospel hypothesis is a reception category. A first insight that can be gleaned from the “miracle of Bern” is that the development of socially accepted interpretations or reception categories requires time. What else does the anti-gospel hypothesis share with the “miracle of Bern”? Research from a cultural studies perspective has revealed that multiple components contributed to the creation and establishment of the latter reception category. First was the event itself, which was observed and discussed by those living at the time. The “hero” motif seems to have arisen fairly quickly, nurturing the needs of that generation. In the 1950s, Germans were focused on survival and they had to be active to make miracles happen. The events of Bern were initially discussed privately. Only over time, as the situation changed, did they gain public currency beyond sports magazines. When a new political situation emerged – no longer post-war West Germany, but now a reunited Germany, and after the deaths of the 39. For a more detailed discussion and application to Biblical studies, cf. S. HUEBENTHAL, Social and Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis: The Quest for an Adequate Application, in P. CARSTENS – T. HASSELBALCH – N.P. LEMCHE (eds.), Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis (Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts, 17), Piscataway, Gorgias, 2012, 191-216. 40. EDER, “Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), p. 23.

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protagonists – the story was retold in a different way, nurturing the needs of a new generation. These crucial elements – time, a different situation with different needs, the absence of the protagonists and a change of medium – also apply to Mark’s Gospel. This text similarly looks back on a crucial event – in this case a rather traumatic one that was nevertheless identity-forming – which is remembered in a new type of text that would become the instigator of a genre: a gospel. The event is the life and death of Jesus, the Christ event. Textualization in this new medium happened roughly a generation after the event, and the text clearly tries to grapple with the impact of what had happened for its current context. Is it plausible that Mark’s Gospel already frames the Christ event as an anti-gospel to the rise of the Flavians? Could interpretation of the Christ event (which had occurred roughly a generation previously) and the rise of the Flavians (a recent development) already have led to socially accepted categories of interpretation that were stable enough to allow for a document like the Gospel to describe the former in the terms of the latter? Would it have made sense to tell the founding story of Christianity – an identity-forming story – against the background of those political developments? Was this really the most burning issue for Christians at the time? A closer look at the frames used in the Gospel itself suggests that Mark was dealing with other issues. The first that comes to mind is the need to make sense of Jesus’ life and death, for which Mark would use Jewish reception categories, namely Israel’s Holy Scriptures. This does not rule out the possibility that he might also have borrowed from recent events, but such events do not yet seem to have developed into established reception categories. It is more likely that these emerging frames still needed social negotiation and were not yet stable. If Mark’s Gospel was conceived as an anti-gospel – and recalling how Fritz Walter introduced the idea of a “miracle” in the 1950s, although the frame did not immediately catch on – that interpretation did not win the day, since later readings of the Christ event do not pick up on it. Matthew, Luke and John show no trace of an anti-gospel interpretation of the Christ event, and I am not aware of any other Christian text that does before the advent of modern exegetical stories. From the perspective of cultural studies and social memory, this is an argument against rather than in favor of the anti-gospel hypothesis. Seen from this perspective, the rise of Vespasian, which was just in the process of happening, was simply too close to serve as an accepted reception category at the time when Mark’s Gospel was put to page. This does not mean that the text could not have been received in this

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manner, but it was too early for it to be a socially accepted category. In 70 CE, it was not yet clear what the new dynasty would mean and what impact it would have on emerging Christianity, just as the full impact of German reunification could only be guessed at in 1990. Only with time would the real potential and issues become evident and solutions begin to be sought. Likewise, changes brought about by the Flavian dynasty, including a social climber mentality, would have unfolded over a period of time and reactions to them would have required at least the same amount of time to develop. Thus a date of 70 CE, or even 73 or 75 CE, seems much too early for Mark to have arrived at a fully developed anti-gospel interpretation and to be able to combine it with traditional material into a coherent whole that could be fruitfully read either way. In light of the time required for the development of the reception category “miracle of Bern” and the findings of cultural studies and social memory theory, the tight timeline necessary for the anti-gospel hypothesis thus warns against embracing that hypothesis too quickly.

5. RECEPTION CATEGORIES SAY A LOT ABOUT THE NEEDS OF THE INTERPRETERS As already mentioned, the phrase “miracle of Bern” was briefly used in the 1950s before being replaced by the “heroes of Bern”, another reception category better suited to the needs of the time.41 Memories are not simply recalled, but more or less consciously constructed. This is especially true for collective or group memories: stories are told and retold and continually altered, and they eventually take on a socially accepted form in which they circulate within a given interpretative community and are passed on to others.42 The way important events and circumstances are remembered and recounted has less to do with what actually happened and more with what nurtures the needs of a particular interpretative community. The key issue is often how to make sense of a past that deeply affects the present. Most stories – and this is probably particularly true for stories about historical events in a factual mode – are not really told to provide information about what actually happened, but to explain why things are the way they 41. Cf. EDER, “Wunder von Bern” (n. 27), pp. 8f. and BUSCHE, Mythos (n. 32), p. 13. 42. This is one of the key ideas of social/cultural memory theory. For an introduction to this area of research and initial suggestions for its application to biblical studies, cf. S. HUEBENTHAL, Das Markusevangelium (n. 38), chapter 2.

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are (now). Quite often, stories say less about the past than about the present. The act of explaining what happened or what might have happened is always driven and biased by a desire to make sense of existing material, which most often consists of unconnected data that is not chronologically or causally arranged. Making sense of something, giving it a structure and putting it into certain categories is a creative act on part of the reader or recipient. This insight is not new, of course. Thomas Aquinas already knew that whatever is received is received according to the condition of the receiver.43 The maxim quidquid recipitur ad modum recipientis recipitur can also be observed when it comes to reception of past events: the past is received according to the needs of the present and by means of available categories, genres and patterns. Applying this insight to Mark’s Gospel, one is led to ask what genres and interpretative frames are evident in the text that might guide the reader to think about current issues. Scholars agree that Mark’s gospel is the first narrative account of the Jesus story and the founding events of Christianity. There is also general agreement that Mark’s account makes use of certain images, types or topoi to convey its message to hearers and readers. This raises questions about probability: given other possible production scenarios, how likely is it that the author of Mark’s Gospel wrote it as an anti-gospel, or that the earliest recipients would have understood it that way? The events of the Passion are framed44 by Mark as exemplifying the fate of the innocent righteous person, for instance, using categories associated with the suffering servant of Isaiah.45 In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is further portrayed as a teacher and healer, reception categories that had not necessarily been 43. Cf. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae 1a, q. 75, a. 5; 3a, q. 5. 44. Framing and keying found their way into Biblical studies partly via the work of Barry Schwartz, e.g., B. SCHWARTZ, Collective Memory and the Social Change: The Democratization of George Washington, in American Sociological Review 56 (1991) 221-236; and B. SCHWARTZ, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2000. Schwartz’s work has been highlighted by Alan Kirk, Tom Thatcher, Werner Kelber and Chris Keith. Cf. W. KELBER, § 71 Commemoration of Jesus’ Death, in W. KELBER, Imprints, Voiceprints & Footprints of Memory: Collected Essays of Werner Kelber, Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2013, pp. 293-295; A. KIRK – T. THATCHER, Jesus Tradition as Social Memory, in A. KIRK – T. THATCHER (ed.), Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (Semeia Studies, 52), Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2005, 24-42. C. KEITH – T. THATCHER, The Scar of the Cross: The Violence Ratio and the Earliest Christian Memories of Jesus, in T. THATCHER (ed.), Jesus, the Voice, and the Text: Beyond the Oral and the Written Gospel, Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2008, 197-217. 45. A good discussion of framing and keying in Mark’s Passion account is W. KELBER, Memory and Violence or: Genealogies of Remembering, in W. KELBER, Imprints, Voiceprints & Footprints of Memory: Collected Essays of Werner Kelber, Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2013, 333-366.

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employed in all previous accounts. In Paul’s letters, the earthly Jesus is never depicted as a healer or miracle worker. Christine Jacobi has recently argued that references to Jesus as a teacher are also quite sparse in Paul.46 While one can debate about whether Paul received Jesus as a “teacher”, the prevalent scholarly assumption that this understanding of Jesus was widespread in the middle of the first century is based less on the data than on the felt needs of historical Jesus research. This is another illustration of how the needs of the present shape interpretation of the past. Another recent example from the same camp is Bärbel Bosenius’ observation that discipleship in Mark’s Gospel does not necessarily entail an itinerant lifestyle or breaking with family and social contacts, but rather the contrary.47 Here again, historical Jesus researchers have employed reception categories that have to do more with their own image of Jesus than with that of Mark. Leaving detailed analysis for another venue, let’s assume for the moment that Mark is the first text to portray Jesus in terms of the reception category “healer / miracle worker,” and that he draws on images and categories associated with Moses, Elijah / Elisha and the book of Isaiah in this regard.48 This type of portrayal of Jesus is found in every section of the Gospel and is immediately evident to any contemporary reader,49 in contrast to the sort of nonJewish frames of reference and references to particular first-century events suggested by proponents of the anti-gospel hypothesis, which only seem to be perceptible to a few scholars. In light of this, the fact that allusions to contemporary events involving non-Jews can be found in the text50 hardly proves 46. The question of which images of Jesus might already have been received and used by Paul has been discussed with a certain ideological bias, since the main interest of a certain strand of historical Jesus studies has been to use Paul’s letters to prove how ancient the Synoptic Jesus tradition is. Based on references to Jesus’ words in Paul’s letters, it has been suggested that the image of Jesus as a teacher was deep-seated in earliest Christianity. References to Jesus’ words in, e.g., 1 Cor 9,14 are not framed in terms of “Jesus the teacher”, however, but stand for themselves. Christine Jacobi concludes that the image of “Jesus the teacher” occurs for the first time in Mark’s Gospel, not in Paul, against the assumptions of researchers who want to argue for traditional historical presuppositions about the earliest Jesus tradition. Cf. C. JACOBI, Jesusüberlieferung bei Paulus? Analogien zwischen den echten Paulusbriefen und den synoptischen Evangelien (BZNW, 213), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2015, pp. 388-396. 47. B. BOSENIUS, Der literarische Raum des Markusevangeliums (WMANT 140). Neunkirchen-Vluyn, Neunkirchener, 2014, 342. 48. For a brief overview cf. H. OMERZU, Geschichte durch Geschichten: Zur Bedeutung jüdischer Traditionen für die Jesusdarstellung des Markusevangeliums, in Early Christianity 2 (2011) 77-99. See also HUEBENTHAL, Das Markusevangelium (n. 38), pp. 305-306 and 397402 and VON BENDEMANN, Sehen und Verstehen (n. 6), p. 344. 49. HUEBENTHAL, Das Markusevangelium (n. 38), pp. 457-459. For detailed analysis, see chapter 4 of that study. 50. B. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (n. 21), p. 187: “Wer so sein Evangelium beginnt, weckt – zumal vor der Folie des Flavieraufstiegs und generell vor dem Hintergrund der

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that it was expressly written as a response to them. Although it is fine to read Mark with a Gentile encyclopedia, we should not ignore a Jewish one.51 Reinhard von Bendemann is right when he warns about the danger of one-sided readings: “Die Erzählung weist eine doppelte Traditionstiefe auf. Sie erschließt sich in ihren Sinnpotentialen sowohl vor alttestamentlichen und frühjüdischen Hintergründen als auch in einem Zusammenhang zu nichtjüdischen hellenistischen Konzepten von Heilung.”52

6. POTENTIAL AND INFLUENCE OF RECEPTION CATEGORIES There are also other ways the Gospel can be read. The question is, which reading is most probable for the first century, either as a production or as a reception scenario? Many biblical scholars, including proponents of the antigospel hypothesis, frankly admit the speculative nature of their claims.53 It seems to be a general weakness of the discipline, however, that producers and consumers of scholarly literature often neglect to ask about the probability of a certain scenario, deciding that it is convincing simply because it is possible and “feels” right. This notion is similar to one of Kahneman’s maxims about the “conjunction fallacy”: “They constructed a very complicated scenario and insisted on calling it highly probable. It is not – it is only a plausible story.”54 Quite often, the challenge is to avoid getting carried away by an intriguing römischen Kaiserideologie – Erwartungen: Was hat dieser ‘Sohn Gottes’, von dem Markus erzählen wird, zu bieten? Soweit es die Wundergeschichten betrifft, eine ganze Menge. Jesus befindet sich nicht nur auf Augenhöhe mit dem neuen römischen Kaiser, er überbietet ihn sogar quantitativ und qualitativ. Ähnlich wie Vespasian beginnt auch Jesus nach seiner ‘Regierungserklärung‘ [Mark 1,14f,] und der Rekrutierung erster Truppen … mit wunderbaren Heilungen.” 51. For a nuanced perspective, see W. KELBER, The Oral and the Written Gospel: Fourteen Years Afterward, in W. KELBER, Imprints (n. 44), pp. 177-178: “In the end, I venture the suggestion that the Gospel composition is unthinkable without the notion of cultural memory which serves ultimately not the preservation of remembrances per se but the preservation of the group, its social identity and self-image (J. Assmann 1992). Mark avails himself of a rich cultural memory for the purpose of securing the Christian identity of a postwar generation.” 52. VON BENDEMANN, Sehen und Verstehen (n. 6), p. 343. He is referring to Mark 8,22-26. 53. Cf. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (n. 21), p. 200: “Solche Überlegungen sind zugegebenermaßen ein Stück weit spekulativ, weil sie, wenn schon nicht die Abfassung, so doch zumindest die Lektüre des Markusevangeliums (oder wenigstens eines vormarkinischen Passionsberichts) im Rom der 70er Jahre voraussetzen.” 54. D. KAHNEMAN, Thinking, Fast and Slow, London: Penguin 2012, p. 165. Briefly defined, the conjunction fallacy confuses probability with plausibility. See A. TVERSKY – D. KAHNEMAN, Extension versus Intuitive Reasoning: The Conjunction Fallacy in Probability Judgment, in Psychological Review 90 (1983) 293-315. A brief introduction to the problem can be found in KAHNEMAN, Thinking, pp. 156-165 (“Linda: Less is More”).

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insight about a text, especially when it instantly “feels” right. It may still be unconvincing on other grounds. When considering potential readings of a text, it is crucial to consider how probable it is that particular producers or recipients would have had access to certain ideas.55 The scholarly approaches discussed above make powerful and convincing cases for a particular reception scenario for certain texts, without always reflecting on its probability.56 To borrow a phrase from Wayne Meeks, the conclusions may be persuasive, but they are far from certain.57 This is not the place to discuss whether probability should be stressed as an important category in Biblical Studies. It is an important step simply to raise the issue of plausibility vs. probability. Actually determining probability is tricky, however, and it will thus never be possible to prove anything about the origins of Mark’s Gospel or the identity and motivations of the author. Irrespective of how plausible and persuasive readings like the anti-gospel hypothesis may be and how much we might benefit from them, they do not explain what really happened. They cannot prove how Mark’s gospel really came about or who wrote it with what rationale. It is telling that publications about the anti-gospel hypothesis tend to say very little about that point. One of the roots of the anti-gospel hypothesis is a connection to βίος or vita literature, which is said to have been en vogue in the Empire and to have given rise to many texts of this genre. As Ebner points out, however, this finding is not unambiguous, since it was dangerous to commission, produce or even possess vitae that were not deemed politically correct in Flavian times.58 The purpose of such a risky enterprise, Ebner adds, would 55. Cf. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (n. 20), p. 12: “Die Frage ist, wie plausibel es scheint, dass die Rezipienten des Evangeliums in ihrer Umwelt – sei es die unmittelbare Umwelt der konkreten Gemeinde, sei es die antike Gesellschaft – Kenntnis von dem jeweiligen Bezugstext hatten und ihn assoziierten.” Again, one could ask whether we are talking about plausibility or probability. 56. A good example of this approach from a different field of research is S. SWOBODA, Mitleid wecken im flavischen Rom? Zur Plausibilisierung einer Intention des Josephus im Bellum Judaicum, in Early Christianity 7 (2016) 155-185. In his article, Swoboda sets out to assess the plausibility of a particular intention sometimes attributed to Josephus’ work – pity or sympathy – and the question of whether it would likely have worked in this reception context given what we know about Flavian Rome. 57. W. MEEKS, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1983, p. 59, cit. S.J. FRIESEN, The Wrong Erastus, in S.J. FRIESEN – D.N. SCHOWALTER – J.C. WALTERS (eds.), Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society (NovTSup, 134), Leiden, Brill, 2010, 231-256, p. 234. 58. M. EBNER, Von gefährlichen Viten und biographisch orientierten Geschichtswerken. Vitenliteratur im Verhältnis zur Historiographie in hellenistisch-römischer und urchristlicher Literatur, in T. SCHMELLER (ed.), Historiographie und Biographie im Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (NTOA/StUNT, 69), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2009, 34-61, p. 51.

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have been to justify or even propagate one’s own option.59 This makes the question of who would have had interest in such a project and the means to be involved all the more intriguing. I have found virtually nothing written about this particular point, which concerns literacy, social status and political connections, and the question of whether Christian groups in Rome would really have been interested in creating another occasion for trouble so soon after the Neronian persecution.60 With good reason, I guess, because there is a general awareness of how speculative any explanation would be. We are back to the familiar question of historical plausibility. It is hardly surprising that no one ever assumes that Bishop Linus – who would have been in charge of the Roman church at the time according to the Patristic founding story or master narrative – had been involved in the process of the producing, receiving and handing down Mark’s Gospel. It is obvious that Linus is a figure of memory from later times, “discovered” in order to serve the Christian community’s need for continuity. Mentioning Linus in this context might seem a stretch, because with him we are encountering another reception category that was implemented much later and served the needs of its own generation, the late second century with its need for continuity: “The blessed apostles, then, having founded and built up the Church, committed into the hands of Linus the office of the episcopate. Of this Linus, Paul makes mention in the Epistles to Timothy.”61 In this case the idea is not only far from certain, but not even persuasive. It requires too much speculation in general to come up with a convincing story about who might have had both interest in a project like producing an anti-gospel to the Flavian dynasty and the means to be involved.

59. Ibid., p. 55. 60. The question is usually addressed in the typical form known from introductory literature: author, addressees, date and location of textualization are dealt with in the classical way and the profile of “Mark” as an author remains as pale as ever. BLATZ, Semantik der Macht (n. 7), p. 332, goes quite far: “Das Markusevangelium als literarische Schrift besetzt und ändert die römische Herrschaftssprache und stellt eine Gegenideologie zur Kaiserideologie vor. Es gibt zwar keine Alternative zum römischen Reich – die Unterlegenheit und Unterdrückung sind nicht direkt veränderbar – und die markinische Gemeinde muss sich in ihrem Umfeld bewegen, aber sie erhält sich auf diese Weise mit einer veränderten Einstellung den Raum für ihre eigene Identität.” The general reluctance to come up with scenarios is surprising only at first. On further reflection, the remarkable silence supports the idea that we are dealing with a reception category. 61. Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3,3,3.

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7. CONCLUSION In conclusion, while a particular reading may make sense in a particular context, that is an inadequate basis on which to argue for a particular construction of the text’s origins. There is a difference between claiming that “we will never be able to understand Mark if we do not enter imaginatively into its first century world”62 and insisting that the text can only be adequately understood as a counter-gospel to Vespasian. The former indicates that a certain encyclopedia is necessary to do the text justice, while the latter makes a hypothetical production scenario and authorial intention conditions for proper interpretation. In fact, many authors who contribute to this area state up front that they are not making statements about production,63 and there is no reason to reject the various manifestations of the anti-gospel hypothesis as attempts to (re)construct possible reception scenarios for Mark. There is nothing wrong with investigating how Mark’s Gospel could have been understood against the background of the rise of the Flavian dynasty, using (re)constructed encyclopedia, and with a view to different locations in the Roman Empire. Understood this way, the schemes of Ebner, Schmidt and Bedenbender do not actually contradict each other by positing different reception scenarios. A problem arises only if one particular reception scenario is taken to be the production scenario or the only way to understand the text adequately and is thus turned into an absolute – not by virtue of having been proven, but simply by fiat.64 It is crucial to remind readers – especially lay readers – that this is not what biblical scholarship is about. From a more remote perspective, the anti-gospel hypothesis is already a reception-oriented approach that investigates how readers in the aftermath of the first Jewish-Roman war might have read Mark’s Gospel in particular locations. Within the context of “imperial-critical readings” or Empire 62. J. MARCUS, Mark 1-8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AncB, 27/1), New Haven, Yale University Press, 2000, p. 37. 63. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (n. 20), p. 7: “Die Analyse nimmt zunächst nicht ausdrücklich die vom Evangelisten intendierten Leser, soweit sie aus dem Text zu konstruieren sind, in den Blick, sondern Rezipienten des Evangeliums, die in der zweiten Hälfte der 70er Jahre des ersten Jahrhunderts lebten. Es geht darum einen spezifischen Rezeptionskontext des Evangeliums vorzustellen, ohne die Analyse im Einzelfall an eine Überprüfung der vermuteten Autorintention rückzubinden.” 64. As was the case in, e.g., the quaestiones answered by the Pontifical Biblical Commission, cf. Quaestiones de evangelio secundum Matthaeum, On the Gospel according to Matthew (June 19, 1911); Quaestiones de evangeliis secundum Marcum et secundum Lucam, On the Gospels according to Mark and Luke (June 26, 1912) or De quaestione synoptica, Concerning the synoptic question (June 26, 1912).

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Studies, it is also a contextual reading that reveals how a certain text could be received in a particular academic, social and cultural context. As a reception perspective, one cannot deem it right or wrong, only more or less adequate to the text and the encyclopedia chosen for the reading. As a reception perspective, a reading like the anti-gospel hypothesis also cannot constitute a claim about how the gospel actually came into existence or how it was meant to be understood by its real author(s). In order to determine the latter, one would need methodological criteria for moving from text to reality or – in this case – from a reception perspective to the historical circumstances of production. In sum, I find the anti-gospel hypothesis a stimulating and entertaining intellectual exercise. Nevertheless, I am concerned that it is marketed as offering insights into factors occasioning the production of Mark, while it actually represents only one possible reception scenario. It has its place in answering the question of how Mark’s Gospel might have been received in an early 70s urban Roman group, but it does not tell us why the text was written or with what intent. Sandra HUEBENTHAL (Passau)

JESUS UND VESPASIAN? DAS MARKUSEVANGELIUM ALS POLITISCH INTERESSIERTES „ANTI-EVANGELIUM“ ZUM AUFSTIEG DER FLAVIER?

Die Frage, inwiefern wenigstens einigen der Schriften des Neuen Testaments eine politische und zwar eine gegen das römische Imperium gerichtete Dimension zukommt, ist in den vergangenen Jahren mit zunehmendem Interesse gestellt worden. Vor allem in den USA – eventuell in Reflexion der eigenen politischen Stellung in der Welt – scheint sie besondere Bedeutung zu gewinnen: Die Botschaft des historischen Jesus, Paulus, die Evangelien wie die Apostelgeschichte, dazu die Johannesapokalypse werden in ihrer Stellung als gegen das römische Imperium gerichtet verstanden.1 Weitestgehend ausgespart werden dagegen – überraschenderweise – 1. Natürlich ist in diesem Zusammenhang kein vollständiger Überblick der relevanten Sekundärliteratur möglich. Besonders stark in diese Richtung geht das Werk von W. CARTER, The Roman Empire and the New Testament: An Essential Guide, Nashville, TN, Abingdon, 2006; ders., Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations, Harrisburg, PA, Trinity, 2001; ders., John and Empire: Initial Explorations, London, T & T Clark, 2008; R. HORSLEY, Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the World Disorder, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2003; ders., Jesus and the Powers: Conflict, Covenant and the Hope of the Poor, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2011; ders. (Hg.), Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society, New York, NY, Trinity, 1998; ders. (Hg.), Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation, New York, NY, Trinity, 2000; ders. (Hg.), Paul and the Roman Imperial Order, New York, NY, Trinity, 2004; ders., In the Shadow of Empire: Reading the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2008 oder (in Bezug auf Paulus) N. ELLIOTT, Liberating God: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, 1994 und ders., The Arrogance of the Nations: Reading Romans in the Shadows of Empire, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; D.C. LOPEZ, Apostle to the Conquered: Re-Imagining Paul, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; J. RICHES – D. SIM (Hgg.), The Gospel of Matthew in its Roman Imperial Context (JSNT.S, 176) London – New York, Continuum, 2005 oder S. KIM, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2008. Zur Johannesapokalypse z.B. S. FRIESEN, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John: Reading Revelation in the Ruins, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001. Neueste Aspekte der Diskussion finden sich z.B. in S. ALKIER – R.B. HAYS (Hgg.), Revelation and the Politics of Apocalyptic Interpretation, Waco, TX, Baylor, 2012; S. MCKNIGHT – J.B. MODICA – A. CROUCH (Hg.), Jesus is Lord. Caesar is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies, Downers Grove, IL, InterVarsity, 2013;

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Texte der Katholischen Briefe und Evangelien des 2. Jahrhunderts.2 Hat dies mit den Texten oder einer noch immer unterschwellig vorherrschenden Vorstellung eines sich gegen Ende des 1. Jahrhunderts zunehmend entwickelnden Frühkatholizismus zu tun?3 Etwas zögerlicher, doch auch in zunehmendem Maße werden vergleichbare Fragen auch im deutschsprachigen Raum diskutiert: Während die Auseinandersetzung mit dem Kaiserkult inzwischen wohl allgemein als ein Schlüssel für das Verständnis der Johannesapokalypse anerkannt wird,4 geht etwa Thomas Witulski mit seiner höchst umstrittenen Deutung des Textes als gegen die Politik des römischen Reiches zur Zeit Hadrians gerichtet noch einmal einen deutlichen Schritt weiter.5 Auch für die Evangelien des Neuen Testaments werden zunehmend „politische“ Interpretationen vorgebracht.6 Zumindest im deutschsprachigen Raum besonders einflussreich wurde dabei eine Reihe von Beiträgen Martin Ebners, dem sich mit leichten Nuancen Bernhard Heininger (und mit Verzögerung Karl Matthias Schmidt) anschlossen, welche das Markusevangelium als ein dem Aufstieg des flavischen Kaiserhauses entgegen gerichtetes Anti-Evangelium verstehen.7 Dies ist ein so J.A. DUNNE – D. BATOVICI (Hgg.), Reactions to Empire: Sacred Texts in Their Socio-Political Contexts (WUNT 2, 372), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014; G. VAN BELLE – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Christ and the Emperor: The Gospel Evidence (BiTS, 20) Leuven, Peeters, 2014. 2. Eine Ausnahme bilden Märtyrertexte: Hierzu C.R. MOSS, Resisting Empire in Early Christian Martyrdom Literature, in J.A. DUNNE – D. BATOVICI (Hgg.), Reactions to Empire: Sacred Texts in their Socio-Political Contexts (WUNT II, 372) Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014, 147-162. Siehe aber auch die Beiträge von Julia Snyder und Michael Sommer im vorliegenden Band. 3. Ich habe selbst keine Antwort auf diese Frage, könnte mir jedoch vorstellen, dass die genannten Texte als für die (häufig als ideal angesehene) Frühzeit der christlichen Bewegung nicht in gleicher Weise relevant angesehen werden wie die genannten Schriften. 4. So (neben vielen anderen) z.B. S.J. FRIESEN, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001 und J. FREY, The Relevance of Roman Imperial Cult for the Book of Revelation: Exegetical and Hermeneutical Reflections on the Relation between the Seven Letters and the Visionary Main Parts of the Book, in J. Fotopoulos (Hg.), The New Testament and Early Christian Literature in Greco-Roman Context: Studies in Honor of David E. Aune (NovT Supp, 122), Leiden, Brill, 2006, 231-255. 5. Hierzu u.a. T. WITULSKI, Die Johannesapokalypse und Kaiser Hadrian (FRLANT, 221), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007; ders., Apokalypse 11 und der Bar-Kokhba-Aufstand (WUNT 2, 337), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012; ders., Der römische Kaiser Hadrian und die neutestamentliche Johannesapokalypse, in J. FREY – J.A. KELHOFFER – F. TÓTH (Hgg.), Die Johannesapokalypse: Kontexte – Konzepte – Rezeption (WUNT, 287), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 79-116. 6. Hierzu auch mein Beitrag T. NICKLAS, Der matthäische Davidssohn und das Römische Reich, in G. VAN BELLE – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Christ and the Emperor. The Gospel Evidence (BiTS, 20), Leuven, Peeters, 2014, 229-248. 7. M. EBNER, Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier, in Biblische Notizen 116 (2003) 28-42, sowie (knapper) ders., Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier: Eine politische Lektüre des ältesten „Evangeliums“, in Bibel und

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spannendes Unterfangen, dass es sich sicherlich lohnt, die Argumente der genannten Autoren hier noch einmal etwas genauer vorzustellen und sie gleichzeitig zu diskutieren – ich konzentriere mich dabei vor allem auf die Argumente Ebners und Heiningers, werde jedoch, soweit möglich, auch Nuancen und Einzelargumente der anderen Autoren würdigen.8 Soweit ich Ebners und Heiningers Argumentation verstehe, liegen nicht alle ihrer Beobachtungen auf gleicher Ebene: Entscheidend ist, soweit ich sehe, dass das Markusevangelium bereits zu Beginn einige Lesesignale gibt, die zum Schlüssel einer Gesamtinterpretation werden, welche es als Anti-Evangelium im Gegenüber zu Vespasian verstehen lassen. Sobald diese Lesesignale jedoch zweideutig oder unklar sind, relativieren sich auch alle anderen Beobachtungen. Ich lege deswegen besonderen Wert auf die Diskussion der Beobachtungen zu den ersten Versen des Textes. Ebner wie Heininger gehen von der üblichen Datierung des Markusevangeliums „um das Jahr 70“ aus – Mk falle somit „zeitgeschichtlich genau in die Phase des Aufstiegs des flavischen Kaiserhauses“,9 die Entstehung des Textes wird in Rom vermutet.10 Kirche 2 (2011) 64-69; B. HEININGER, „Politische Theologie“ im Markusevangelium: Der Aufstieg Vespasians zum Kaiser und der Abstieg Jesu ans Kreuz, in C. MAYER (Hg.), Augustinus Ethik und Politik: Zwei Würzburger Augustinus-Studientage (Cassiciacum, 39.4 = Res et signa. Augustinus-Studien, 4), Würzburg, Echter, 2009, 171-201, neu abgedruckt in ders., Die Inkulturation des Christentums: Aufsätze und Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (WUNT, 255), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, 181-205 (Seitenzahlen folgen dieser Ausgabe) sowie K.-M. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils: Erzählstrukturen und Rezeptionskontexte des Markusevangeliums (NTOA, 74), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Interessant zudem auch A. WINN, The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel: An Early Christian Response to Roman Imperial Propaganda (WUNT 2, 245), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, der sich in Teilen auf C.A. EVANS, Mark’s Incipit and the Priene Calendar Inscription: From Jewish Gospel to GrecoRoman Gospel, in Journal for the Study of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism 1 (2000) 67-81, stützt, die ausführlicheren Arbeiten von R.A. HORSLEY, Hearing the Whole Story: The Politics of Plot in Mark’s Gospel, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2001; C. MYERS, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, 1988 sowie der gegenüber dieser These sehr weitgehend zurückhaltende Beitrag von C.M. TUCKETT, Christ and the Emperor: Some Reflections on Method and Methodological Issues Illustrated from the Gospel of Mark, in G. VAN BELLE – J. VERHEYDEN (Hgg.), Christ and the Emperor: The Gospel Evidence (BiTS, 20), Leuven, Peeters, 2014, 185-202. M. Ebner hat sich darüber hinaus noch mehrfach an prominenter Stelle zum Markusevangelium geäußert, die Thesen zur Entstehung als Anti-Evangelium sind zudem auch in seine Einleitung M. EBNER, Das Markusevangelium, in M. EBNER – S. SCHREIBER (Hgg.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2008, 154-183 sowie seinem Kommentar M. EBNER, Das Markusevangelium: Neu übersetzt und kommentiert, Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2008. 8. Obwohl meine Auseinandersetzung kritisch ausfallen wird, versteht sich der folgende Aufsatz als Zeichen des Respekts gegenüber den genannten Autoren. 9. EBNER, Evangelium (Anm. 7), S. 29 und HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 182. 10. EBNER, Markusevangelium (Anm. 7), S. 171-172, übernommen von HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 186, Anm. 17.

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1. DIE VERWENDUNG DES BEGRIFFS „EVANGELIUM“ Ein erstes (und gleichzeitig, wie angedeutet, entscheidendes) Argument besteht in der Verwendung des Begriffs „Evangelium“: Mk setzt ein mit den Worten „Archē des Evangeliums von bzw. über Jesus Christus“ (Mk 1,1) – der anschließende Genitiv von υἱὸς θεοῦ, „Sohn Gottes“ – ist textkritisch bekanntlich umstritten. Mit dem bekannten Beispiel der Inschrift von Priene des Jahres 9 v. Chr., welche den Begriff εὐαγγέλιον in Bezug zum Geburtstag des Augustus setzt,11 dazu Beispielen aus Philos Legatio ad Gaium 18-19, der im Zusammenhang mit der Genesung des Gaius Caligula das Verb εὐαγγελίζω verwendet (vgl. auch Leg. 231), vor allem aber des Josephus, der im Zusammenhang mit der Ausrufung Vespasians als neuem Herrscher des römischen Reiches zwei Mal von εὐαγγέλια spricht (Bell. 4,618 sowie 4,658) stellen die beiden Autoren eine deutliche Verbindung des Begriffs εὐαγγέλιον mit verschiedenen Aspekten der Propaganda des römischen Herrscherhauses her. Dass sich diese Verbindung belegen lässt, ist m.E. unbestreitbar. Sie ist jedoch m.E. keineswegs eindeutig genug, um schlussfolgern zu können, dass ein antiker Leser auch in Mk 1,1 eindeutig an die kaiserliche Propaganda denken musste. Das Nomen εὐαγγέλιον bzw. das zugehörige Verb εὐαγγελίζω sind nämlich keineswegs so selten, dass die wenigen Beispiele, in denen sich eine klare Verbindung zu römischer Kaiserpropaganda (und konkret zum Aufstieg der Flavier) belegen lassen, seine Verwendung als klarer Terminus Technicus nahe legen. So bietet der Thesaurus Linguae Graecae für die Zeit vom ersten Jahrhundert vor bis zum 2. Jahrhundert unserer Zeitrechnung (auch ohne Berücksichtigung der Schriften des Neuen Testaments) jeweils dreistellige Zahlen von Belegen von εὐαγγέλιον bzw. εὐαγγελίζω, die hier natürlich nicht alle im Detail diskutiert werden können, von denen jedoch der allergrößte Teil nichts mit imperialer Propaganda zu tun hat. Konkret finden sich bei dem von Ebner und Heininger herangezogenen Philo von Alexandrien, soweit ich sehe, keine Belege für das Nomen, jedoch wird einige Male das Verb verwendet – und zwar nicht nur (mehrfach) in der Legatio ad Gaium, sondern auch in Schriften wie De Josepho 245 und 250 (beide Belege im Zusammenhang mit der Wiederzusammenführung Josephs und seiner Familie), De Opificio Mundi 115 (im Zusammenhang mit 11. Weiterführend: H. ENGELMANN – B. DREYER, Augustus und Germanicus im ionischen Metropolis, in ZPE 158 (2006) 173-182. Eine leicht zugängliche deutsche Übersetzung bieten zudem J. SCHRÖTER – J. ZANGENBERG (Hgg.), Texte zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments, UTB – Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, ³2013, S. 406-408.

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astrologischen Vorstellungen), De virtutibus 41 (in einer Auslegung von Num 25 als „frohe Botschaft“ der moabitischen Verführerinnen), De somniis 2,281 (Botschaften für die Seele durch Träume); De praemiis et poenis et De exsecrationibus 161 (im Zusammenhang mit einer Beschreibung der Hoffnung) u.a. Zwar kann Philo in der Legatio „die Genesung des Kaisers Caligula als ‚frohe Botschaft‘ bezeichnen“12 (Leg. 18f.) und spricht Leg. 231 von der frohen Botschaft über die Übernahme der imperialen Macht durch Gaius Caligula, welche sich verbreitet, doch auch hier ist das Verb nicht einfach an die Verbreitung guter Nachrichten über den Kaiser gebunden, erwähnt doch Leg. 99 die guten Nachrichten, welche durch den Gott Merkur überbracht werden. Ähnliches gilt auch für Josephus: Dieser verwendet das Nomen εὐαγγέλιον mehrfach in De bello Iudaico (2,420; 4,618.656) sowie das Verb εὐαγγελίζω in den Antiquitates (5,24.277.282; 6,56; 7,245.250; 11,65; 15,209; 18,228) und De bello Iudaico (1,607; 3,143.503): Auch hier ist der Befund keineswegs eindeutig: So „passt“ zwar Bell. 4,618 und 656 in das von Ebner und Heininger kreierte Bild, die anderen Belege jedoch kaum: So lesen wir etwa in Bell. 2,420 (ironisch) von der für Florus „guten Nachricht“ von den Unruhen in Jerusalem, 3,143 von der „guten Nachricht“ der Ankunft des Josephus in Jotapata und 3,503 von der „guten Nachricht“ des Titus an seinen Vater über den Verlauf des Kriegs; laut Ant. 5,24 übergibt Josua dem Volk die gute Nachricht, dass Jericho fallen werde, 5,277 wiederum erwähnt die gute Nachricht von der künftigen Geburt Samsons …, die Beispiele könnten fortgesetzt werden. Damit jedoch sind nur die neben der Inschrift von Priene von den beiden Autoren genannten Hauptzeugen untersucht und nichts erwähnt von Belegen bei Plutarch, Appian, Aelius Aristides oder auch bei christlichen Autoren, die m.E. deutlich machen, dass eine Verwendung des Wortes εὐαγγέλιον außerhalb konkret markierter Bezüge zu Kaiserkult und Kaiserpropaganda keineswegs derartige Assoziationen mit sich zieht. Damit ist das vielleicht grundlegende Argument Ebners und Heiningers noch nicht vollständig widerlegt – und müssen zwei weitere Punkte zugefügt werden: (1) Die Lesart υἱοῦ θεοῦ, die ja (wenigstens im weitesten Sinne) als eine solche Markierung verstanden werden könnte, ist deutlich unsicherer als v.a. von Heininger angenommen13; (2) vor allem jedoch lässt 12. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm.7), S. 183 (vgl. auch Anm. 4). 13. Dieser schreibt: „Warum Nestle-Aland υἱοῦ θεοῦ im Übrigen in eckige Klammern setzten und die Lesart bei B.M. Metzger … nur ein [C] erhält, ist überhaupt nicht einzusehen. Die bessere äußere Bezeugung … spricht eindeutig für deren Beibehaltung statt für die … Streichung“ (HEININGER, Politische Theologie [Anm. 7], S. 186, Anm. 18).

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sich die Verwendung von εὐαγγέλιον in Mk 1,1 (und noch einmal 1,15) auch anderweitig m.E. sehr einleuchtend erklären. (1) Tatsächlich ist Mk 1,1 in der längeren Variante mit υἱοῦ θεοῦ in einer beeindruckenden Zahl von Textzeugen belegt, während die schiere Nummer von Zeugen, die für die kurze Lesart steht, deutlich kleiner ist. Da auch das früher gerne angewandte Prinzip, der kürzeren Variante den Vorzug vor der längeren zu geben (lectio brevior potior), eher fragwürdig ist, könnte man den Fall als entschieden betrachten. Damit wäre jedoch ein wichtiges Prinzip übersehen: Die Bezeugung der kürzeren Variante ist so signifikant, dass ihre Entstehung aus der anderen erklären werden muss, bevor man sich für die Ursprünglichkeit der Langfassung entscheiden will. Konkret: die Kurzfassung ohne die Worte υἱοῦ θεοῦ ist belegt in einer Reihe von Zeugnissen verschiedener Überlieferungsgruppen des Markusevangeliums, so Codex Sinaiticus, Coridethi, Min. 28c und 1555, den Versionen des palästinischen Syrisch, Armenisch, Teilen des Georgischen sowie Origenes und anderen Vätern. Dabei findet sich die Lesart bei Origenes sowohl in seiner Zeit in Alexandria (Comm. in Joh. 1,13 und 6,24) als auch in Caesarea (Cels. 2,4),14 was einerseits mit dem Zeugnis einer so wichtigen alexandrinischen Handschrift wie dem Sinaiticus, andererseits so wichtiger Zeugen des CaesareaTexts wie dem Codex Coridethi einhergeht, während 1555 als „westlicher“ oder „byzantinischer“ Zeuge eingeordnet wird.15 Hinzu kommt seit kurzer Zeit das Zeugnis von P.Oxy. LXVI 5073, einem Amulett (wohl) des 3. oder 4. Jahrhunderts16 – eines von insgesamt zwei Manuskriptzeugen des Mk aus vorkonstantinischer Zeit – , welches die kurze Lesart bezeugt.17 Wie auch immer man hier im Detail zur Zuordnung einzelner Zeugen zu Textformen stehen mag: Die Verbreitung der kürzeren Lesart legt entweder ihre 14. Hinzu kommen zeitlich nicht klar einzuordnende Zitate der Kurzfassung von Fr.Eph. (vgl. R.E. HEINE, Evidence for the Date of Origen’s Commentary on Ephesians, in ZAC 4 [2000] 149-157, erwähnt auch bei T. WASSERMAN, The „Son of God“ was in the Beginning [Mark 1:1], in JTS 62 [2011] 20-50, S. 28, Anm. 33) und in dem nur in lat. Übersetzung erhaltenen und deswegen problematischen Comm.Rom. 1,3. 15. Übersicht nach B.D. EHRMAN, The Text of Mark in the Hands of the Orthodox, in ders., Studies in Textual Criticism of the New Testament (NTTS, 33), Leiden, Brill, 2006, 142-155, S. 149. Noch ausführlicher und deutlich genauer (v.a. auch mit weiteren Beispielen aus der Väterliteratur) WASSERMAN, Son of God (Anm. 14), S. 22-23, der hier zudem auch auf Varianten mit dem Artikel vor υἱοῦ und/oder θεοῦ verweist und Ehrmans Übersicht kritisiert (S. 41), jedoch ebenfalls die Kurzfassung in verschiedenen Text-Typen bezeugt sieht. 16. WASSERMAN, Son of God (Anm. 14), S. 25 neigt eher dazu, diesen Zeugen wegen seiner Eigenschaft als Amulett zu relativieren, da er als solches auch nicht in der GregoryAland-Liste auftaucht. 17. Edition: G.S. SMITH – A.E. BERNHARD, Mark I 1-2: Amulet, in P.Oxy. LXXVI, London, Egypt Exploration Society, 2011.

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Entstehung in einer sehr frühen Stufe der Überlieferung des Markusevangeliums nahe,18 d.h. in einer Zeit, bevor die Entwicklung der verschiedenen Textformen auseinander geht, oder erfordert, dass die Kürzung des ursprünglich längeren Textes an mehreren Stellen unabhängig voneinander vorgenommen wurde. Ein absichtliches Weglassen des Attributs υἱοῦ θεοῦ – noch dazu in mehreren Fällen unabhängig voneinander – ist kaum vorstellbar, denkbar ist nur ein sehr früher Abschreibfehler, der sich dann in Handschriften verschiedener Provenienz gehalten haben müsste. Interessanterweise ist jedoch ein solcher Abschreibfehler offenbar in keiner der vielen späteren byzantinischen Handschriften des Textes passiert. Eher schwächer scheint das zusätzliche Argument von Bart Ehrman, dass ein solcher Fehler am Beginn einer Schrift – in den allerersten Worten des Markusevangeliums! – deutlich unwahrscheinlicher ist als in deren Mitte.19 Gleichzeitig ließe sich die Hinzufügung der Worte υἱοῦ θεοῦ schon aus dem Grunde problemlos erklären, weil dieser für das weitere MkEv ja wichtige Titel (vgl. das Bekenntnis des Centurio in Mk 15,39)20 in 1,1 ein ja durchaus nicht unmögliches adoptianisches Verständnis der Taufszene Mk 1,9-11 deutlich erschwert.21 Dies alles macht zumindest sehr gut nachvollziehbar, warum trotz des auch bei T. Wasserman jüngst betonten Gewichts der Überlieferung der Langfassung22 einige Autoren

18. Selbst wenn man kein Anhänger eines geheimen Markusevangeliums ist, ist dies eine in hohem Maße signifikante Aussage, da das MkEv einerseits in vorkonstantinischer Zeit nur sehr schlecht bezeugt, andererseits bereits aufgrund der verschiedenen Fassungen von Kapitel 16 im Grunde in verschiedenen „Editionen“ überliefert ist. Zur Überlieferung des MkEv im Vergleich zu anderen Schriften des Neuen Testaments, aber auch des Pastor Hermae vgl. M. CHOAT – R. YUEN-COLLINGRIDGE, The Egyptian Hermas: The Shepherd in Egypt before Constantine, in T.J. KRAUS – T. NICKLAS (Hgg.), Early Christian Manuscripts: Examples of Applied Method and Approach (TENT, 5), Leiden, Brill, 2010, 191-212, S. 197. 19. Vgl. EHRMAN, Text of Mark (Anm. 15), S. 151-152. Vgl. die bei WASSERMAN, Son of God (Anm. 14), S. 23 genannten Varianten 3-5, die sich deutlich späteren Abschreibfehlern – präzise in Mk 1,1 – verdanken. 20. Aus der weiteren Bedeutung des Titels „Gottessohn“ für Mk ein Argument zu machen, halte ich für problematisch, weil dieses tatsächlich in beide Richtungen hin entwickelt werden könnte; auch das mögliche Argument einer Inclusio zwischen 1,1 und 15,39 kann jederzeit gegen das Argument einer Inclusio zwischen 1,10-11 und 15,39 ausgetauscht werden. Vgl. EHRMAN, Text of Mark (Anm. 15), S. 153. 21. Der Unterschied zu eindeutig adoptianisch verstandenen Erzählungen von der Taufe Jesu besteht ja in erster Linie im Fehlen der Worte „heute habe ich dich gezeugt“ aus Ps 2, welche z.B. in der ebionitischen Fassung der Erzählung, bei Justin sowie in einigen Zeugen der Lk-Fassung Lk 3,21-22 (D it et al.) auftauchen, wo jedoch durch die Kindheitserzählung ein adoptianisches Verständnis unmöglich gemacht ist. 22. Dieses noch einmal deutlich detaillierter als bisher diskutiert zu haben, ist sicherlich das Hauptverdienst des Beitrags WASSERMAN, Son of God (Anm. 14).

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die Kurzfassung von Mk 1,1 für ursprünglich halten23 und auch die aktuelle Ausgabe des NA 28 die Worte υἱοῦ θεοῦ in eckigen Klammern stehend angibt. Um nicht missverstanden zu werden: Es geht mir nicht darum, die kürzere Lesart auf Biegen und Brechen als ursprünglich zu verteidigen – es geht nur darum zu zeigen, dass der für das mögliche „politische“ Verständnis wichtige „Gottessohn“ in Mk 1,1 alles andere als sicher belegt ist. (2) Gleichzeitig darf nicht übersehen werden, dass mindestens zwei weitere Assoziationen des Wortes εὐαγγέλιον bzw. εὐαγγελίζω für das Verständnis des Markusevangeliums eine Rolle spielen dürften: Hier ist zunächst an die Jesaja-Septuaginta zu erinnern, wo wir die Verbform im Zusammenhang mit der Botschaft des Propheten finden.24 Während die Parallele zu Jes 60,6 LXX eher in Bezug zu Mt 2,1-12 zu setzen sein dürfte und Jes 61,1 LXX am Beginn des Wirkens des lukanischen Jesus in der Synagoge zu Nazaret explizit zitiert wird,25 dürfte für Mk vor allem Jes 52,7 LXX wichtig sein. Immerhin taucht die in Jes 52,7 LXX erkennbare Kombination von froher Botschaft und Königsherrschaft Gottes (in Variation) auch in dem für die weitere Botschaft des markinischen Jesus entscheidenden Mk 1,15 (vgl. auch 1,14) auf: Jes 52,7 LXX: … ὡς πόδες εὐαγγελιζομένου ἀκοὴν εἰρήνης, ὡς εὐαγγελιζόμενος ἀγαθά, ὅτι ἀκουστὴν ποιήσω τὴν σωτηρίαν σου λέγων Σιων Βασιλεύσει σου ὁ θεός. Mk 1,14-15: … κηρύσσων τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ λέγων ὅτι πεπλήρωται ὁ καιρὸς καὶ ἤγγικεν ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ. μετανοεῖτε καὶ πιστεύετε ἐν τῷ εὐαγγελίῳ.

Auch wenn natürlich weder von einem Zitat, noch selbst einer eindeutigen Anspielung auf Jes 52,7 LXX ausgegangen werden kann, ein „Echo“ dieses Textes liegt doch vor.26 Der Bezug des Clusters „Evangelium“ – „Königsherrschaft Gottes“ auf Jes wiederum wird zudem durch die Markierung des Zitats in 1,2 „wie beim Propheten Jesaja geschrieben steht“ (ohne dass anschließend ein reines Jesaja-Zitat folgen würde) nahegelegt. All dies heißt nun nicht, dass 23. Über die genannten hinaus vgl. auch A. YARBRO COLLINS, Establishing the Text: Mark 1:1, in T. FORNBERG – D. HELLHOLM (Hgg.), Text and Contexts: The Function of Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts, Oslo, Scandinavian University Press, 1995, 111-127. 24. So auch TUCKETT, Christ and the Emperor (Anm. 7), S. 190, während C.A. EVANS, Mark’s Incipit and the Priene Calendar Inscription: From Jewish Gospel to Greco-Roman Gospel, in Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism 1 (2000) 67-81, dafür plädiert, dass beide Hintergründe – Jesaja und die römische Kaiserverehrung – einander nicht ausschließen müssten. 25. Ein Bezug zur markinischen Taufe Jesu (Mk 1,9-11) scheint mir jedoch durchaus denkbar. 26. Zum Begriff „Echo“ für diese Form intertextuellen Zueinanders vgl. die Verwendung bei R. HAYS, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1989.

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eine „politische“ Interpretation des Markusevangeliums damit grundsätzlich unwahrscheinlich gemacht wäre – alleine die Rede von der königlichen Herrschaft Gottes trägt in sich schon das Potenzial politischer Brisanz, immerhin bedeutet jede Rede von einer Herrschaft des Gottes Israels eine Relativierung jeder anderen, menschlichen wie als göttlich verstandenen Macht27 – , jedoch schwindet der konkrete Bezug auf Vespasian. Doch dies ist nicht die einzige Verwendung der Worte εὐαγγέλιον bzw. εὐαγγελίζω, die um das Jahr 70 n. Chr. unter Christusanhängern bekannt gewesen sein mag. So spricht bereits Paulus in seinen Briefen regelmäßig vom Evangelium bzw. der Verkündigung des Evangeliums und meint damit das Christusereignis von Kreuz und Auferweckung Jesu von Nazaret, den er – wie Mk 1,1 – als Christus bezeichnet. Natürlich können wir um das Jahr 70 unserer Zeitrechnung noch nicht von einem unter Christusanhängern allgemein bekannten Corpus Paulinum ausgehen. Will man jedoch davon ausgehen, dass – mit den bekannten Argumenten – das Markusevangelium sich (wenigstens auch) an „Heidenchristen“ wendete oder es gar in Rom verfasst wurde,28 scheint es mir recht unwahrscheinlich, dass es sich bei den angesprochenen Erstadressaten um Christusanhänger jenseits jeglichen paulinischen Einflusses gehandelt haben kann. Will man zudem davon ausgehen, dass der Titel „Evangelium nach Markus“ wenigstens daran erinnert, dass der vorliegende Text von einem Christusanhänger verfasst wurde, welcher wenigstens zeitweise mit Paulus in Verbindung stand,29 dann könnten die Worte ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου in Mk 1,1 selbst bedeuten, dass der nun folgende Text vom Ursprung dessen erzählen will, was den Angesprochenen als „Euangelion“ von bzw. über Jesus Christus bekannt ist. Wenn somit die Interpretation von Mk 1,1 als Text, der vom antiken Leser mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit an antike Kaiserpropaganda – und speziell die Zeit des Aufstiegs der Flavier – denken lässt, unwahrscheinlich gemacht ist, relativieren sich auch andere Beobachtungen.30 27. Hierzu z.B. S. SCHREIBER, Gesalbter und König: Titel und Konzeptionen der königlichen Gesalbtenerwartung in frühjüdischen und urchristlichen Schriften (BZNW, 105), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2000. 28. Die Frage, ob Mk in Rom verfasst wurde, bleibt natürlich weiterhin umstritten und wird in verschiedenen Kommentaren und Einleitungen kontrovers diskutiert. Ihr im vorliegenden Rahmen im Detail nachzugehen scheint mir jedoch vom eigentlichen Thema eher wegzuführen. 29. Ob dies tatsächlich der Fall gewesen ist oder nicht, ist für die Argumentation nicht von allerhöchster Bedeutung. Die Antwort auf diese Frage muss in diesem Kontext offen bleiben. 30. Ich kann nicht im Detail auf die vielen Vergleiche eingehen, die v.a. K.M. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils: Erzählstrukturen und Rezeptionskontexte des Markusevangeliums (NTOA, 74), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010, 287-522 bietet, der jedoch gleichzeitig keine Kriterien diskutiert, ab wann denn eine Erzählung tatsächlich auf den Aufstieg Vespasians anspielt.

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2. GOTTESSOHN Selbst wenn man unsicher sein mag, ob Mk 1,1 von Jesus Christus als (dem bzw. einem) „Gottessohn“ spricht, ist nicht von der Hand zu weisen, dass dieser Titel für das Markusevangelium von großer Bedeutung ist.31 Dass antike Leser des Markusevangeliums in diesem Zusammenhang an den von Octavian verwendeten Titel divi filius, im Griechischen υἱὸς θεοῦ, gedacht haben mögen, ist durchaus möglich. Gerade der Titel Gottessohn jedoch unterscheidet Jesus von Vespasian, der diesen aufgrund seiner vergleichsweise niederen Herkunft als Sohn eines Steuereintreibers nicht für sich beanspruchen konnte. Bernhard Heininger schreibt mit Recht: Während Augustus und Tiberius, um nur die beiden ersten Vertreter der julisch-claudischen Dynastie zu nennen, ihre Vorgänger und Adoptivväter durch ein fest konturiertes Ritual, die so genannte Kaiserapotheose (consecratio), jeweils hatten vergotten lassen und sich fortan divi filius, ‚Sohn eines Vergöttlichten‘ nennen konnten, ging Vespasian diese Form ‚göttlicher Legitimation‘ nachweislich ab.32

Wenn mit M. Ebner „römische Kaiser zu ihren Lebzeiten, sofern sie sich auf einen Vorfahren berufen können, der durch den rituellen Akt der Apotheose vergöttlicht und divus genannt wird“, sich „Gottessohn“ nennen dürfen, so gilt dies für Vespasian gerade nicht, womit eine weitere mögliche Parallele zwischen dem markinischen Jesus und Vespasian wegfällt. Dies ändert sich auch wenigstens nicht sofort, als „Gerüchte von Zeichen und Prophezeiungen …, denen zufolge sich die spätere Kaiserwürde Vespasians schon frühzeitig abgezeichnet haben soll“,33 in Umlauf gebracht wurden; auch nicht mit den bekannten, mit seinem Aufenthalt in Alexandria verbundenen Heilungen, die „ihm den Ruf eines ‚Gottes‘ eintrugen“.34 Zwar setzt sich Vespasian in Bezug zu Sarapis und zwar wird er, wie von Heininger angegeben, in P.Fouad 8 als „Sohn Ammons“ bezeichnet, der konkrete Titel υἱὸς θεοῦ in der Form, wie in Octavian/Augustus aufgrund seiner 31. WINN, Purpose (Anm. 7), S. 179, sieht den Marker auch in der Bezeichnung Jesu als „Christus“ und schreibt: „By proclaiming Jesus to be the Messiah, Mark’s incipit clearly rejects the Flavian claim that Vespasian fulfilled messianic prophecy.“ Damit hat Winn natürlich Recht. Allerdings stellt sich die Frage, in welchen Kontexten die genannten, bei Josephus bezeugten „messianischen“ Ansprüche Vespasians (Bell. 6,312-313) überhaupt eine Rolle spielen konnten. Zudem muss natürlich davon ausgegangen werden, dass auch Mk den Titel „Christus“ bereits als ein ihm überkommenes Bekenntnis in sein Evangelium aufnimmt, das er zudem durchaus problematisiert. 32. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 184. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid.

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Adoptivsohnschaft zu Caesar für sich beanspruchen kann, ist für Vespasian, soweit ich sehe, nicht belegt.35 Ist es vor diesem Hintergrund nahe liegend, dass antike Leser des MkEvs bei der Verwendung gerade dieses Titels an Vespasian dachten?36

3. WUNDER Vor diesem Hintergrund37 wird von allen Vertretern der These, das Markusevangelium bringe den Abstieg Jesu zum Kreuz in deutlichen Zusammenhang mit dem Aufstieg Vespasians, ein deutlicher Bezug zu den über Vespasian in Umlauf gesetzten Wundererzählungen hergestellt. Bekanntlich überliefern ja Tacitus, Sueton und später Cassius Dio die Erzählung zweier Wundertaten Vespasians in der Zeit seines Aufenthalts in Alexandria vor dem Einzug in Rom, der Heilung eines Blinden durch Bestreichen von Wangen und Augenlidern mit Speichel sowie der Heilung eines an der Hand Leidenden durch Berührung der Fußsohlen. Der Wundertäter Jesus befinde sich „nicht nur auf Augenhöhe mit dem neuen römischen Kaiser, er überbietet ihn sogar quantitativ und qualitativ“.38 Dass der Jesus des Markusevangeliums – wie auch der der anderen Evangelien des Neuen Testaments – eine Vielzahl von Wundern tut, mit denen in den Synoptikern das Anbrechen der an sein Kommen gebundenen Basileia illustriert wird, ist keine Frage. Dass gerade der Verbindung zwischen Herrschaft Gottes und Machttaten aus der von Gott gegebenen Vollmacht (ἐξουσία) heraus eine „politische“ Komponente inne wohnt, indem das anbrechende Reich Gottes vorhandene Strukturen durchbricht, scheint mir nicht von der Hand zu weisen.39 Selbst die Austreibung des Dämons in Mk 1,21-28 beim ersten 35. Zudem stellt sich in jedem Fall die Frage, ab welchem Zeitpunkt Vespasian bestimmte Titel für sich beansprucht und was davon ein kurz nach 70 n. Chr. verfasstes MkEv kennen kann. 36. WINN, Purpose (Anm. 7), S. 182-183, dreht hier die Argumentation gerade um: Das Markusevangelium verwende den Gottessohn-Titel gerade deswegen besonders gerne, weil Vespasian diesen für sich nicht beanspruchen konnte. 37. Ich betone bewusst die Worte „vor diesem Hintergrund“, denn ohne die vorangegangene Interpretation von Mk 1,1 relativieren sich die Beobachtungen zu den markinischen Wundererzählungen doch deutlich. 38. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 187. 39. Hierzu auch M. EBNER, Die Rede von der „Vollmacht“ Jesu im MkEv – und ihre realpolitischen Implikationen, in ZNT 16 (2013) 21-30 sowie ausführlich, jedoch mit einem deutlich anderen Schwerpunkt, K. SCHOLTISSEK, Die Vollmacht Jesu: Traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Analysen zu einem Leitmotiv markinischer Christologie (NTA NF, 25), Münster, Aschendorff, 1992. – WINN, Purpose (Anm. 7), S. 183-184, sieht die Bedeutung der

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Auftreten Jesu am „wirkmächtigen Tag von Kafarnaum“, die von Aussagen über seine Lehre in Vollmacht gerahmt ist (Mk 1,22 und 27), eines Dämons, welcher aufgrund seiner Worte ἦλθες ἀπολέσαι ἡμᾶς ganz offenbar beispielhaft für alles dämonisch Böse steht, welches von nun an durch den von Gott Bevollmächtigten vernichtet werden wird,40 kann bereits als offen in diese Richtung interpretiert werden. Erneut möchte ich nicht abstreiten, dass antike Rezipienten, wenn sie von den Wundern Jesu hörten, auch an die angeblichen Wundertaten eines Vespasian gedacht haben mögen. Einen spezifischen Bezug zwischen den Wundern des markinischen Jesus und den Vespasian zugeschriebenen Wundern jedoch vermag ich nicht zu erkennen. Vor allem geht das MkEv an keiner Stelle so weit, einen solchen Bezug explizit zu machen oder in irgendeiner Weise textlich zu markieren. Mit anderen Worten: Natürlich ist der markinische Jesus „mehr als auf Augenhöhe“41 mit dem Wundertäter Vespasian, wenn ich die beiden vergleiche, das Markusevangelium fordert aber nirgends zu diesem spezifischen Vergleich heraus oder erfordert ihn gar. Bekanntlich bietet das Markusevangelium tatsächlich die Heilung eines Mannes mit einer verdorrten Hand (Mk 3,1-6) bzw. eines Gelähmten (Mk 2,1-12) und tatsächlich verwendet der markinische Jesus bei einer seiner Blindenheilungen Speichel (Mk 8,22-26).42 Wenn der Text des Mk damit tatsächlich einen konkreten Bezug auf die beiden alexandrinischen Wunder Vespasians herstellen wollte, stellt sich jedoch die Frage, warum dann beide Wunder nicht wenigstens in ähnlicher Weise wie bei Vespasian kombiniert auftreten und warum die Heilung des Mannes mit der verdorrten Hand in einen Sabbatkonflikt mündet und nur die bösen Geister Jesus als Sohn Gottes proklamieren (Mk 3,11). Mk 2,1-12 thematisiert zwar im Exorzismen bei Mk gerade darin, dass Vespasian (wenigstens, soweit wir wissen!) die Macht, böse Geister zu bannen, gerade nicht für sich beanspruchte – konkrete Bezüge zwischen den markinischen Exorzismen und Vespasian werden aber nicht hergestellt. Mit einem derartigen Argument könnte man auch die Heilung der Schwiegermutter des Petrus als Polemik gegen die Flavier lesen, bei denen keine einzige Heilung von Schwiegermüttern belegt ist. 40. Dass es dabei letztlich um eine Gotteserzählung geht, die davon erzählen will, wie Gott durch seinen Bevollmächtigten seine Basileia errichtet, habe ich ausführlicher in dem Beitrag T. NICKLAS, Mark’s „Jesus Story“: A Story about God, in B. ESTRADA – E. MANICARDI – A. PUIG I TARRÈCH (Hgg.), The Gospels: History and Theology. The Search of Joseph Ratzinger – Benedict XVI: Band 2, Rom, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2013, 37-62 gezeigt. 41. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 187. 42. Vgl. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 187: „Halten wir um der Parallelität zu Vespasian willen nur noch fest, dass Jesus wie jener nicht nur Gelähmte, sondern auch Blinde heilt, und zwar nicht nur einen, sondern zwei: In Mk 8,22-26 tut er das auf ähnliche Weise wie Vespasian, indem er die Augen des Blinden mit Speichel bestreicht, und in Mk 10-46-52, der Heilung des blinden Bartimäus …, auf eine Art, die Züge einer kaiserlichen Audienzszene trägt.“

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Zusammenhang mit der Heilung eines Gelähmten die Vollmacht Jesu, aber als Vollmacht des Menschensohns, Sünden zu vergeben. Dass Jesus in Mk 8,22-26 schließlich einen Blinden mit Hilfe von Speichel heilt (vgl. aber auch Joh 9,1-7), scheint als Bezugnahme sicherlich signifikanter als in den beiden anderen Fällen. Doch warum ist dieses Wunder dann so erzählt, dass erst ein zweiter Schritt, eine nochmalige Auflegung der Hände, nötig ist, um das Augenlicht des Mannes wieder herzustellen? Kann eine Erzählung mit Mk 8,22-26, die von beiden Seitenreferenten Mt und Lk mit ihrem erst im zweiten Schritt erfolgreichen Wundertäter Jesus offenbar als so anstößig empfunden wurde, dass sie diese (wohl unabhängig voneinander) aus ihren Evangelien strichen, wirklich das Ziel haben, Jesus als einen Wundertäter wie den neuen römischen Kaiser (oder diesen überbietend) darzustellen?43 Spannender erscheint mir das Argument, dass die zweite Blindenheilung (Mk 10,46-52) „Züge einer kaiserlichen Audienzszene“44 trage. M. Ebner schreibt in diesem Zusammenhang: Dazu gehört der korrekte Titel, mit dem der Herrscher angerufen wird (V. 48: „Sohn Davids, erbarme dich meiner!“), die ausdrückliche Frage nach dem Wunsch des Bittstellers (V. 51: „Was willst du, dass ich dir tun soll?“) sowie die Zusage der Bitte mit einem Entlassungswort (V. 52: „Geh, dein Glaube hat dich gerettet.“). Szenisch angedeutet sind schließlich das Gefolge, das den Herrscher umgibt (die Jünger, die den Bettler erst zum Schweigen bringen wollen), die Volksmassen, die den Vorgang beobachten, sowie der eigentliche Vorladevorgang: „Hab Mut, steh auf, er ruft dich!“, sagen die Jünger zum Bettler in V. 49.45

Auch wenn man diskutieren kann, ob die hier zusammengestellten Elemente wirklich im Sinne einer – und dann spezifisch kaiserlichen – Audienzszene zu verstehen sind,46 bleibt die bei Mk sonst nur selten 43. TUCKETT, Christ and the Emperor (Anm. 7), S. 192, zieht zudem Folgerungen für die Datierung des Markusevangeliums: „The issue of dating is perhaps quite important. Since the Vespasian incident took place only after Vespasian had been acclaimed as Emperor (in December 69 CE), the suggestion that the Markan story is a deliberate counter to Vespasian’s claims means that Mark must be dated later than 70 CE.“ Dies bedeutet zumindest für die Aussagen bei EVANS, Mark’s Incipit (Anm. 7), S. 79-80, der Mk in die Jahre 68 oder 69 datiert, ein Problem. 44. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 187. Die Beobachtung geht zurück auf H.-J. ECKSTEIN, Markus 10,46-52 als Schlüsseltext des Markusevangeliums, in ZNW 87 (1996) 33-50, S. 42-43. 45. EBNER, Evangelium (Anm. 7), S. 39-40 sowie (sehr ähnlich) HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 187-188. 46. Zur Diskussion vgl. auch E.-M. BECKER, Das Markus-Evangelium im Rahmen antiker Historiographie (WUNT, 194), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2006, S. 391-392, die die Szene zwar nicht im Sinne einer Audienz interpretiert, jedoch einen Bezug zu den Wundern Vespasians herstellt.

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begegnende Verbindung zwischen Jesus und David (Mk 2,25f.; 11,10; 12,35-37), welche Mk 10,46-52 recht offensichtlich mit dem darauf folgenden Einzug in Jerusalem (Mk 11,1-10) verbindet, welcher immerhin von der Volksmenge als Anzeichen für das Heranbrechen des Reiches „unseres Vaters Davids“ interpretiert wird. Passagen wie diesen jegliche politische Relevanz abzustreiten wäre m.E. naiv.47 Nicht übersehen werden darf jedoch die geheimnisvolle Szene Mk 12,35-37, in der Jesus argumentiert, dass der Messias nicht Davids Sohn sein könne: Die Bezeichnung als Davidssohn wird so von dem Jesus, der dem Leser seit 1,1 als „Christus“ bekannt ist, somit im Grunde zumindest relativiert – wohl um die für Mk zentrale Beziehung Jesu zu Gott hervorzuheben.48 Gerade das für Mk anders als Mt49 eher gebrochene Verhältnis zum Titel Davidssohn scheint mir eher nahe zu legen, auch die Verwendung des Titels in Mk 10,47 vorsichtig zu betrachten. Dass darüber hinaus wenigstens einige der Wundererzählungen des Markusevangeliums zumindest offen für eine imperiumskritische Interpretation sind, streite ich damit nicht ab. Besonders deutlich scheint mir das im Falle der Heilung des Besessenen von Gerasa, wo bereits die Verwendung des Wortes „Legion“ im Munde des Besessenen (Mk 5,9) eine konkrete Markierung darstellt, die den Überstieg von der Oberfläche der Erzählung auf die Situation der Besetzung durch die römische Legion erlaubt. Dass sich dann zudem Parallelen zwischen der Zahlenangabe „ungefähr 2000“ wie auch der Rolle der Schweine bei der Ausfahrt der Dämonen und der konkreten Legio X Fretensis in Judäa finden, scheint mir mit Heininger nicht zu bestreiten.50 Die Tatsache, dass diese sich um 67 n. Chr. in Judäa nachweisen lässt, führt uns tatsächlich in die Zeit der Entstehung des Markusevangeliums, jedoch eher in den Jüdischen Krieg selbst, noch nicht in die Zeit des Aufstiegs Vespasians zum Kaiser.

47. Nicht übersehen werden darf dabei allerdings, dass die Rede vom „Sohn Davids“ im Markusevangelium (wohl vor dem Hintergrund der Bezeichnung Salomos als „Sohn Davids“ im Alten Testament) auch und spezifisch den Heiler und Exorzisten Jesus bezeichnen will. Hierzu z.B. die Bemerkungen bei J. MARCUS, Mark 8-16 (The Anchor Yale Bible), New Haven, Yale University Press, 2009, S. 1119-1120. 48. So auch ibid., S. 850-851. 49. Zur Bedeutung des Davidssohntitels für Mt vgl. z.B. Y.S. CHAE, Jesus as the Eschatological Davidic Shepherd: Studies in the Old Testament, Second Temple Judaism, and in the Gospel of Matthew (WUNT 2, 216), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2006; eine „politische Auslegung“ des matthäischen Titels bietet W. CARTER, Matthean Christology in Roman Imperial Key: Matthew 1.1, in J. RICHES – D. SIM (Hgg.), The Gospel of Matthew in its Roman Imperial Context (JSNT.S, 276), London – New York, Continuum, 2005, 143-165. 50. HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 190-191.

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Das entscheidende Problem des Versuches, in möglichst vielen Szenen des Markusevangeliums Hinweise auf Vespasians Aufstieg, aber auch bekannte Ereignisse um andere römische Kaiser zu identifizieren, zeigt sich m.E. jedoch an der Interpretation der Szene von der Stillung des Seesturms (Mk 4,35-41). Bernhard Heininger erkennt hier weniger eine Parallele zum Aufstieg Vespasians als zu einer in der Römischen Geschichte des Dio Cassius, 41,46 erwähnten, jedoch auch anderen Autoren bekannten Szene, in der Caesar bei der Überfahrt nach Italien in einen Seesturm gerät und den bereits zum Umkehren entschlossenen Kapitän alleine durch die Enthüllung seiner Identität zur Weiterfahrt zu bringen sucht. Dies sei auch den Leserinnen und Lesern des Markusevangeliums bekannt gewesen, so dass „sich beim Lesen der durchaus ähnlichen Geschichte in Mk 4,35-41 zwangsläufig Assoziationen zum römischen Kaiser einstellten“. Heininger folgert: „Dass Jesus in Mk 4,35-41 als Herr über Wind und Wellen nicht nur in die Fußstapfen Gottes (biblische Tradition), sondern auch in Konkurrenz zum Kaiser tritt, ist m.E. nicht zu übersehen“.51 Heininger zitiert die bei Cassius Dio erwähnte Szene jedoch nur bis 41,46,3 und endet mit den Worten: „Da gab sich Cäsar zu erkennen, als wenn er damit den Sturm beruhigen könne, und erklärte: ‚Nur Mut! Cäsar fährst du!“52 – Die Szene ist damit jedoch noch keineswegs beendet: Dio C. 41,46,4 spekuliert nicht nur darüber, ob Caesar von sich aus oder aufgrund eines Orakels solcher Hoffnung gewesen sei, sondern dass er trotz allem gezwungen gewesen war, die Rückreise anzutreten: Dio Cassius‘ Erzählung handelt also vom ungeheueren Mut Caesars – sie ist jedoch alles andere als eine Sturmstillungsszene. Vergleiche neutestamentlicher Schriften mit paganen Quellen der Zeit sind sicherlich in vielen Fällen faszinierend und erhellend – gleichzeitig stellt sich die Frage nach den Kriterien, wann Textvergleiche wirklich sinnvoll sind: In seiner (über weite Strecken faszinierenden und originellen) Deutung des Markusevangeliums führt etwa K.M. Schmidt eine noch deutlich größere Zahl von Parallelen an als Heininger und Ebner.53 Dabei setzt er die gleiche Szene Mk 4,35-41 mit vollkommen anderen Texten als die beiden genannten Autoren in Bezug, nämlich der bei Josephus, Bell. 3,414428 erzählten Einnahme Joppes,54 wo wir erfahren, dass die Aufständischen sich vor den herannahenden Truppen Vespasians auf das Meer zurückziehen, 51. Beide Zitate aus HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 189-190. 52. Dio Cassius, 41,46,3, zitiert bei HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 188. 53. Noch einmal andere Parallelen von 2 Makk 9 über Philos Legatio ad Gaium hin zu den Res Gestae des Augustus findet WINN, Purpose (Anm. 7), S. 185-186, was den Anschein der Beliebigkeit der Argumentationen eher noch steigert. 54. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (Anm. 7), S. 303-304.

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die Boote jedoch wegen eines Seesturms zusammenprallen und sinken und dabei die Aufständischen entweder im Meer oder am Ufer durch die Truppen Vespasians den Tod finden. Schmidt setzt dies in Bezug zu Mk 4,35-41 und schreibt: „Jesus kontrolliert Wind und Wellen, der Untergang bleibt anders als vor Joppe aus.“ Auch Bell. 3,497-505.522-531, wo von einem weiteren Kampf zu Wasser (bei Tarichea am See Gennesareth) die Rede ist, wird herangezogen: „Vor dem Hintergrund der Schlachten und des blutgetränkten Sees lesen sich die Beschreibungen der Seeüberfahrten Jesu in Mk 4,35-41 und Mk 6,47-52 als heilvolle Kontrastgeschichten. Der Nazarener kontrolliert die Wellen, den Wind und die Begebenheiten auf dem Wasser“.55 Dies mag zutreffen – so verglichen „lesen sich“ die markinischen Erzählungen als Kontrast. Doch worin besteht das Kriterium, dass die genannten markinischen Szenen vor dem Hintergrund dieser Parallelen verstanden werden wollen, sei es nun in der Fassung des Josephus oder in Form der Erinnerungen an vergangene Gräuel?56 Die Parallelen bestehen doch im Grunde nur darin, dass die verschiedenen Szenen in Booten auf dem Wasser stattfinden und dass es auf dem Wasser zu einer Krise bzw. gefährlichen Situation kommt.

4. CAESAREA PHILIPPI Die vielleicht originellste Beobachtung, die vor allem in Ebners Argumentation einen Spitzenplatz einnimmt, setzt am Itinerar Jesu im Markusevangelium an – und hier insbesondere der Erwähnung von Caesarea Philippi in Mk 8,27, dem Wendepunkt der Erzählung, von dem ausgehend Jesus, nun mehrfach sein Leiden ankündigend, Richtung Jerusalem aufbricht. Die Frage, warum er eine solch eigenartige Route – von Betsaida (Mk 8,22) zunächst nach Norden und dann erst nach Süden – einschlägt, hat tatsächlich die Forschung seit langer Zeit beschäftigt. M. Ebner schreibt: Aus Josephus wissen wir: Nach ersten erfolgreichen Vorarbeiten in Galiläa legt Vespasian eine Winterpause ein: in Caesarea Philippi. Er ist zu Gast beim römischen Klientelfürsten Antipas II., einem der Nachfolger des Philippus, um von dort aus die zweite Phase der Unterwerfung einzuleiten, den Zug in den Süden mit dem Ziel: Jerusalem. Ob diese Einzelheiten jedermann bekannt waren, ist fraglich. Bekannt aber war, dass Josephus, der in Galiläa die jüdische Befreiungsfront 55. Zitate bei SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (Anm. 7), S. 304 und S. 306. 56. Sollte das MkEv, wie Ebner und Heininger annehmen, ja in Rom entstanden sein, ist wohl kaum damit zu rechnen, dass Erzählungen von vergleichsweise unwichtigen Ereignissen wie den Genannten, tatsächlich bei der Lektüre des Mk in Rom erinnert worden seien!

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anführte, sich freiwillig den Römern stellte und als Kriegsgefangener – zeitlich unmittelbar vor der genannten Ruhepause in Caesarea Philippi – dem Feldherrn Vespasian prophezeite, dass er Kaiser werden und die Weltherrschaft antreten wird (Bell. III 402; vgl. Suet, Vesp 5,6; Dio Cass. LXVI 1,3f.).57

Hergestellt wird damit einerseits eine Verbindung zwischen dem Weg Vespasians von Caesarea Philippi nach Jerusalem und andererseits (weniger explizit) zwischen dem Messiasbekenntnis des markinischen Petrus und der Prophezeiung des Josephus. Vor diesem Hintergrund wird der Aufstieg Vespasians zur Folie, vor deren Hintergrund der Weg Jesu ans Kreuz, verurteilt als „König der Juden“ (Mk 15,16-20), erzählt wird.58 Dies klingt bestechend – doch auch hier stellen sich wenigstens für mich einige Fragen: (1) Das Itinerar Jesu und das Vespasians entsprechen hier einander an zwei, wenn auch zumindest für das Markusevangelium signifikanten Punkten: Caesarea Philippi und Jerusalem. Von diesen wiederum ist nur der erste, Caesarea Philippi, auffallend. Dass der Tod Jesu in Jerusalem lokalisiert ist, hat einfach historische Gründe. Wenn hier wirklich zwei Itinerarien angeglichen werden sollten, stellt sich jedoch die Frage, warum dann nur an einem Punkt eine solch auffallende Übereinstimmung herrscht. Die Tatsache, dass beide – Jesus und Vespasian – „Vorarbeiten in Galiläa“59 leisten, hat einfach mit historischen Gründen zu tun. Die konkreten Itinerarien sind nicht deckungsgleich.60 (2) Man kann sicherlich darüber streiten, wie bekannt in den von Ebner und Heininger in Rom angesiedelten, vom Markusevangelium angesprochenen Kreisen die Prophezeiung des Josephus gewesen sein mag. Doch selbst wenn diese bekannt war, entsteht nur dann ein signifikanter Bezug zur Erzählung des Mk, wenn diese auch in eine Verbindung mit Caesarea Philippi gebracht werden konnte. Selbst wenn bekannt gewesen sein sollte, dass Josephus dies „zeitlich unmittelbar vor der genannten Ruhepause in Caesarea Philippi“61 gemacht hat, stellt sich doch die Frage, warum Mk dann das Messiasbekenntnis des Petrus an einem Ort ansiedelt,

57. EBNER, Evangelium (Anm. 7), S. 31-32. Sehr ähnlich SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (Anm. 7), S. 307-311. 58. Konkret vgl. EBNER, Evangelium (Anm. 7), S. 32. 59. Ibid., S. 30 und S. 31, verwendet für beide exakt die gleiche Formulierung. 60. Schaubilder hierzu bietet SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (Anm. 7), S. 298 und S. 301, der trotz seiner Unterstützung der Vespasian-Hypothese zugeben muss, „dass sich die Routen des Flaviers und des Nazareners erheblich unterscheiden“, gleichzeitig die Unterschiede zu erklären sucht und „eine Anlehnung der markinischen Topographie an den Kriegszügen Vespasians“ für „nicht ausgeschlossen“ hält (S. 302). 61. EBNER, Evangelium (Anm. 7), S. 32.

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den Vespasian erst nach der Prophezeiung des Josephus aufsuchte – und die Wende des Jesuswegs nicht einfach in Jotapata ansiedelte, wo die Prophezeiung des Josephus tatsächlich stattgefunden haben dürfte. Auch K.M. Schmidts Antwort auf diese Frage überzeugt mich nicht vollends: Die topographische Verankerung der Bekenntnisse divergiert allerdings. Denn Josephus blickt in Jotapata in die Zukunft, im Markusevangelium legt Petrus sein Zeugnis dagegen bei Cäsarea Philippi ab. Der Schauplatz für das Messiasbekenntnis ist vom Evangelisten aber gut gewählt. Denn die Topographie verdeutlicht die Unzulänglichkeit des Messiaskonzepts. Philippus hatte Banyas … ausgebaut und zu Ehren des Prinzeps ‚Cäsarea‘ genannt …, nachdem Herodes dort bereits einen Tempel zu Ehren des Augustus errichtet hatte. … Die Stadt erstrahlte in fürstlichem Glanz, hier ließ Titus tagelang Spiele abhalten, in denen die Gefangenen des Krieges abgeschlachtet wurden … Der Ort passte also zu einer Messiaskonzeption, die irdische Machtansprüche hervorhob, er passte zur Selbstdarstellung der römischen Kaiser, nicht aber zum Weg des Nazareners. Der Erzähler setzt Jesus in Distanz zur kaiserlichen Stadt, indem er ihn nur die Dörfer im Umland von Cäsarea Philippi durchwandern lässt (Mk 8,27). Schon diese Distanzierung offenbart ein alternatives Herrschaftskonzept.62

Auch dies klingt natürlich auf den ersten Blick plausibel, hat jedoch mit dem Weg Vespasians nur noch wenig zu tun. Vor allem aber stellen sich erneut zwei Fragen: Wie bekannt waren die von Schmidt vorausgesetzten Details über Caesarea Philippi bei den (womöglich römischen) Erstlesern des Markusevangeliums? Und warum hat Mk, wenn er seinen Jesus auf solche Weise von Vespasian und römischen Machtansprüchen absetzen wollte, dessen Weg nie nach Caesarea Maritima geführt, das eigentliche Hauptquartier Vespasians wie der römischen Statthalter zur Zeit Jesu?

5. FAZIT Bereits mit seiner Betonung des Herankommens der Königsherrschaft Gottes ist das Markusevangelium ein „politisches Evangelium“. Ich halte es auch für durchaus möglich, dass einzelne Passagen des Markusevangeliums, z.B. Mk 5,1-20, konkret auf Aspekte der römischen Herrschaft in Palästina Bezug nehmen. Gleichzeitig hege ich große Zweifel daran, dass das Evangelium als Ganzes oder in großen Teilen als Anti-Evangelium konzipiert wurde, das Jesus als einen aus einfachen Verhältnissen stammenden Gottessohn beschreibt, dessen Weg den des Flaviers Vespasian spiegelt, der jedoch nicht auf den Kaisersthron, sondern ans Kreuz führt. 62. SCHMIDT, Wege des Heils (Anm. 7), S. 309.

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Folgende Punkte erscheinen mir hier entscheidend: 5.1 Das Wort „Evangelium“ in Mk 1,1 ist keineswegs so eindeutig mit römischer Kaiserpropaganda assoziiert, dass es ohne eine klare Markierung an diese erinnern muss. Die vom Markusevangelium gegebenen Markierungen lassen stattdessen eher an einen Bezug zu Jes (v.a. 52,7 LXX) denken; vielleicht mag den Erstrezipientinnen und -rezipienten auch schon der paulinische „Evangeliums“-Begriff bekannt gewesen sein. 5.2 Die textliche Überlieferung der Worte υἱοῦ θεοῦ, mit denen Mk 1,1 endet und welche an den seit Octavian/Augustus verwendeten Titel divi filius erinnern und somit eine derartige „Markierung“ darstellen könnten, ist deutlich unsicherer als von den Vertretern der VespasianThese angenommen. 5.3 Dass Vespasian und Jesus Wunder zugeschrieben werden, schafft natürlich eine Parallele zwischen beiden Figuren. Wer markinische Wundererzählungen jedoch als „Spiegel“ oder „Überbietung“ der Vespasian zugeschriebenen Wunder lesen möchte, kann dies natürlich einerseits heute in rein synchronem Vergleich tun und diese als Lesemöglichkeiten aufzeigen. Wo aber Aussagen über die historische Aussageabsicht des Markusevangeliums getroffen werden, sind Kriterien am Text zu benennen, anhand derer solche Bezugnahmen wahrscheinlicher gemacht werden können, als dies bisher der Fall ist.63 5.4 Dass die Wege des markinischen Jesus wie auch Vespasians über Caesarea Philippi in Richtung Jerusalem gehen, ist interessant – und auch die Tatsache, dass Jesus damit einen Umweg macht, scheint tatsächlich signifikant. Der markinische Jesus macht jedoch auch andere Umwege (z.B. über die Dekapolis Mk 5). Ob zudem der Aufenthalt Vespasians in Caesarea Philippi wirklich von seinen römischen Zeitgenossen so signifikant gesehen wurde wie von heutigen Auslegern des MkEv, ist m.E. fraglich. Und schließlich verlangt es einige Phantasie, den Weg des markinischen Jesus mit dem Feldzug Vespasians in Bezug zu setzen.64 63. Das Problem wenigstens einiger, gerade bei Winn und Schmidt genannter Beispiele scheint mir darin zu bestehen, dass bereits ein (hoch gebildeter) Leser des Mk vorausgesetzt ist, welcher auf Schritt und Tritt nach Bezügen zum römischen Kaiserhaus, zu Ereignissen aus dem Jüdischen Krieg und zum Aufstieg Vespasians sucht – und diese dann auch in dem findet, was wir aus antiker Historiographie kennen. 64. Vor diesem Hintergrund halte ich auch die (v.a. von HEININGER, Politische Theologie (Anm. 7), S. 199-200 sehr vorsichtig vorgebrachte) These, dass Aspekte der Markuspassion in engen Bezug zum Triumph Vespasians mit seinen Söhnen Titus und Domitian im Jahre 71 n. Chr. zu setzen sind, für eher fraglich. Dass einzelne Leser des Markusevangeliums diesen Bezug hergestellt haben mögen, wie Heininger formuliert, ist nicht ausgeschlossen, aber wie Heininger zu Recht formuliert, (wenn auch anregend) „spekulativ“.

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Dies alles wirft nicht nur die bereits angesprochene Frage nach den Kriterien eines solchen, ja (in einem weiten Sinne) intertextuell arbeitenden Vergleichs auf.65 Konkret stellt sich wenigstens bei vielen der genannten Beispiele die Frage, was davon möglichen römischen Adressaten des Markusevangeliums bekannt gewesen sein kann. Die These, das Markusevangelium vor dem Hintergrund des Aufstiegs des flavischen Kaiserhauses zu verstehen, ist eine hoch spannende Herausforderung an die Exegese des Neuen Testaments. Dass das frühe Christentum nicht nur als frühjüdische Bewegung, sondern als Teil der hellenistisch-römischen Welt der Antike zu verstehen ist, ist klar. Noch deutlicher als bisher jedoch muss m.E. geklärt werden, welche Kriterien wir heranzuziehen haben, wenn wir Parallelen und Übereinstimmungen zwischen Aussagen frühchristlicher Literatur und Aspekten griechisch-römischer Geschichtsschreibung für das Verständnis neutestamentlicher Texte auswerten wollen. Tobias NICKLAS (Regensburg)

65. Dies gilt umso mehr, als, soweit ich sehe, keine greifbaren Anzeichen früher Rezeptionen des Markusevangeliums in der von den genannten Autoren vorgeschlagenen Weise vorliegen.

JESUS AND THE ROMAN STATE IN LUKE’S GOSPEL: A CONTRIBUTION TO THE DISCUSSION ABOUT CHURCH AND STATE

The relationship between church and state has always stirred up emotions. As an institution, the church is an establishment similar to the state in many ways. It deals with people and seeks the best for them. The church can also be a rival of the state. Thus the book of Revelation presents a distinctly negative relationship between the two entities, demonising the state while at the same time anticipating the reign of the Lamb in the near future. In this essay, I will explore the relationship of the historical Jesus to the Roman State, and the depiction of that relationship in Luke’s gospel. This will be followed by assessment with reference to texts from Acts and a concluding evaluation.

1. THE HISTORICAL JESUS As the historical Jesus proclaimed his message about the Kingdom of God – or the Empire of the Heavens, as Matthew puts it – his words simultaneously represented a critique of the Roman state. Several texts illustrate this.

1.1 Simon the “Zealot” In the Synoptic gospels, we meet Simon Kananaios (Mark 3,18/Matt 10,4) or “the Zealot” (Luke 6,15), who is one of Jesus’ closest disciples. While Simon had previously aligned himself with the Zealots, a set of people willing to engage in violent actions, he evidently came to feel that his concerns and expectations were ultimately better met in Jesus.

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1.2 Herod the “Fox” Herod suspected Jesus of becoming a threat through his preaching and healing activity. Luke relates that the Pharisees advised Jesus to leave the country because Herod intended to kill him (Luke 13,31) as he had killed John the Baptist (Luke 9,9). Jesus answers by calling Herod a fox (Luke 13,32), a reference which probably does not mean “smart”, as in Greek usage,1 but rather corresponds with the Hebrew understanding of the term: a “cunning” and “wicked”2 person who is determined to commit murder. 1.3 Gospel of Thomas 98 Another piece of evidence comes from a parable preserved only in the Gospel of Thomas, where Jesus says: The kingdom of the Father is like a person who wanted to kill a powerful person. He drew the sword in his house (and) stabbed it into the wall to test whether his hand would be strong (enough). Then he killed the powerful one. (Gospel of Thomas 98)

In terms of structure, this parable is very similar to those in Luke 14, 28-32 about the construction of a tower and about making war, and its authenticity can hardly be questioned.3 This parable was probably omitted by the Synoptics because it endorses a violent spirit, which might easily encourage someone to grab a sword and fight. In its original sense, however, it was perhaps intended to prompt followers of Jesus to examine themselves to discern whether they would follow a given path to its end, either for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven (in the Gospel of Thomas) or for the sake of discipleship (cf. Luke 14). One should train and test oneself in both cases. 1.4 The Stürmerspruch A certain fighting spirit can also be found in the so-called Stürmerspruch. Based on the versions in Matt 11,12 and Luke 16,16, the Q version can be reconstructed as follows: 1. See M. WOLTER, Das Lukasevangelium (HNT, 5), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, p. 495f., with much evidence from Greek literature. 2. Further details in H. KLEIN, Das Lukasevangelium (KEK, I/3), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006, p. 493. 3. Cf. R. NORDSIECK, Das Thomasevangelium: Einleitung: Zur Frage des historischen Jesus. Kommentierung aller 114 Logien, Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 32006, p. 149.

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ὁ νόμος καὶ οἱ προφῆται ἕως Ἰωάννου ἀπὸ τότε ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ βιάζεται καὶ οἱ βιασταὶ ἁρπάζουσιν αὐτήν.4

Whether this version exactly reproduces the Aramaic of Jesus’ original saying cannot be determined. Moreover, Matthew and Luke have understood the saying in different ways. The logion is difficult to understand and therefore variously interpreted. It uses two words, βιάζομαι and βιασταί, which derive from the noun βία (violence, pressure). βιασταί are people who use violence or apply pressure on others. Matthew is the first to use the word,5 and Luke does not use it. The verb βιάζομαι can be read either in a middle sense meaning “to break through by force” or “to force one’s way”6 or in a passive sense with the meaning of “to endure violence”. Matthew has presumably reproduced Jesus’ words the most faithfully.7 He puts the logion into a new context by moving the first line about the law and prophets to the end. In this new context the verb βιάζομαι is a passive form with a negative meaning: acts of violence are committed against the Kingdom of God, it is under pressure, and its representatives must endure (Matt 11,12).8 This expressly invokes the suffering to which the Kingdom of God is exposed. Luke has changed the logion linguistically and moved the verb βιάζομαι to the end. Luke may not have known the noun βιαστής, for which the corresponding word in classical Greek is βιατάς.9 He says that the Kingdom of God will be proclaimed and everybody εἰς αὐτὴν βιάζεται. He obviously understands the verb βιάζομαι in its passive sense with the meaning of “to feel compelled, urgently invited”.10 This understanding is illustrated by Luke 24,29 and Acts 16,15, where the verb

4. Cf. J.S. KLOPPENBORG – P. HOFFMANN – J.M. ROBINSON – M.C. MORELAND, The Sayings Gospel Q in Greek and English with Parallels from the Gospels of Mark and Thomas, Leuven, Peeters, 2001, p. 140f. 5. G. SCHRENK., Art. βιαστής, in TWNT, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1957, 1:612f. 6. Cf. W. BAUER – B. and K. ALAND, Griechisch-Deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testament und der urchristlichen Literatur, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 61988, p. 181. 7. See J. WEISS, Die Predigt Jesu vom Reiche Gottes, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 3 1964. 8. See STENGER, Art. βιάζομαι, in EWNT, 1:518-521, p. 520. Cf. U. LUZ, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 8-17) (EKK, I/2), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 1990, p. 178. Luz interprets the word as “the opponents of John and Jesus … who want to take away the Kingdom of God forcibly.” Similarly J.D.G. DUNN, Jesus Remembered: Christianity in the Making I, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2003, p. 452f. Both follow Mathew’s interpretation of the verse. 9. F. PASSOW, Handwörterbuch der griechischen Sprache I/1, Leipzig, Vogel, 1841, p. 502. 10. Cf. F. HAHN, Theologie des Neuen Testaments I. Die Vielfalt des Neuen Testaments (UTB 3500), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 32011, p. 52.

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παραβιάζομαι is used with the meaning of “urgently invite”.11 This would be a parallel to ἀναγκάζω (force, urge) in Luke 14,23, where people from the roads and the hedges are forced to come into the house to take part in the feast. Exactly what Jesus may have meant with these words remains uncertain. It is safe to say that Jesus talked about violence and violent activities and that he understood the dawn of the Kingdom of God to be present in his preaching and working of miracles (cf. Luke 11,20). Further insight is provided by the observation that Luke often substitutes different words for those of his tradition, while barely changing the overall meaning of the text, and that Matthew often transmits the words faithfully but changes the meaning of the text by reframing or relocating it.12 This leads to the conclusion that Jesus meant something to the effect of “Since the days of John the Kingdom of God is established violently and by force”.13 It can therefore be concluded that Jesus identified himself and his disciples with “perpetrators” or “determined rebels”14 who enact a fighting spirit for the sake of the Kingdom of God. They attain it and take it to the people, as evident in stories of miracles, which Mark (Mark 1,22) and Luke (Luke 4,36) interpret as symbolic of Jesus’ authority. The proximity to the practice of the Zealots in this verse has also long been observed.15 The goals of the latter, which were expressed in militant words and actions, are given a new direction by Jesus. Weapons are not used in this fight; it is a “spiritual struggle”, a combative

11. Cf. E. SCHWEIZER, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (NTD, 3), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982, p. 171. 12. E.g., instead of “debts” as in Matt 6,12, Luke writes “sins” in Luke 11,4. Matthew moves Mark 1,22, the statement that Jesus speaks with authority unlike the scribes, to Matt 7,29. This gives the statement a different nuance. Mark wants to say that Jesus works miracles with his words, while for Matthew the Sermon on the Mount is the authoritative word with its capacity to change hearts. 13. Most interpreters admittedly prefer the meaning “endure violence” and frequently comment that the noun βιασταί is linked with καί to βιάζομαι. But I do not know of a single verse in Luke where Luke changes the meaning of the statement to such a degree. He must have understood the saying as reflecting the self-assertion of the Kingdom of God, even if our linguistic analysis suggests that the statement should be understood as “to endure violence” committed by perpetrators of violence. 14. This is G. Theissen’s wording for disciples as perpetrators of violence (Matt 11,12f.; Luke 16,16); Der Stürmerspruch as Self-stigmatization of a Minority, in D. HELLHOLM – H. MOXNES – T.K. SEIM (eds.), Mighty Minorities? Minorities in Early Christianity: Positions and Strategies, Oslo, Aschehoug, 1995, 183-200, p. 186. Of course, Theissen wants to see this as a self-stigmatization of Jesus and his disciples. They adopt a characterization from outside. 15. According to WEISS, Predigt (n. 7), p. 196 and G. SCHRENK, Art. βιάζομαι, in TWNT, 1:608-612, p. 610 n. 9, this view had already been expressed by A. SCHWEIZER, Ob in der Stelle Matth. XI, 12 ein Lob oder ein Tadel einhalten sey? in TStKr 9 (1836) 90-122.

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conflict for the Kingdom of God16 that is fought through the work of Jesus and his people, the outcome of which will at least be that Satan is bound and demons are cast out (Mark 3,22-27; Luke 11,14-23). 1.5 Crucifixion It was utterances like the above that made Jesus seem similar to political rebels, with the result that he was put to death alongside of them. According to Mark 15,27//Matt 27,38, Jesus was crucified together with two λῃσταί or “bandits” – a term Josephus uses for Zealots.17 The accusation was that Jesus was “King of the Jews”, which shows that Jesus was condemned as a revolutionary. According to John, Jesus said to Pilate, “My Kingdom is not of this world” (Joh 18,36), but even expectations of a coming world can imply critique of the Roman Empire. While the reign of Jesus was not of this world and was eternal, the Empire would eventually end, hopefully soon. At any rate, the accusations made sense in a context where Messiahship was understood in earthly terms. Jesus had apparently led people to think of him as “subversive” by his preaching and demeanour. The announcement of the approaching Kingdom of God had called the power of local rulers into question, at least temporarily.18

2. LUKE’S PERSPECTIVE Luke’s perspective on the Roman state and political power are cautious. It seems significant that in the programmatic speech in Luke 4,16-30, Luke’s Jesus does not use the summarising sentence found in Mark’s gospel: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1,15 NRSV) Luke’s Jesus explains instead, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled” (Luke 4,21). In other words, the emphasis is on the help given to those who are disadvantaged by nature and society through Jesus (Luke 4,18). According to Luke, Jesus’ behaviour was not political but religious in character. 16. W. SCHMITHALS, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (ZBK, 3/1), Zürich, Theologischer Verlag Zürich, 1980, considers this statement to be a metaphor meaning that he who acts correctly regarding the approaching Kingdom of God and seizes it without further ado – like a robber seizes his prey – will take advantage of it. 17. Cf. K.H. RENGSTORF, Art. λῃστής, in TWNT, 4:257-262, with many references on 263-264. 18. Cf. Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.

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2.1 The Birth Narrative That this was Luke’s primary concern is revealed in Luke 2. The depiction of Jesus’ birth starts with a time specification naming Augustus as the ruler of the known and inhabited world, just as Herod had been mentioned in Luke 1,5 as being ruler of the Holy Land. Luke uses the Latin term “Augustus”, which perhaps had a less religious ring for ancient people than the Greek Σεβαστός.19 But perhaps one should not draw conclusions too hastily, because the latter term is employed in Acts when Luke recounts the appearance of Paul before the emperor (Acts 25,21.25), and the imperial cohort is called σπεῖρα Σεβαστή in Acts 27,1. So perhaps “Augustus” was the name of the emperor that Luke had heard in his area. More closely connected to the emperor is the appellation of Jesus as “saviour”, which is uttered by an angel: “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2,11). In Luke’s time, “saviour” was a designation for the emperor, especially for Augustus.20 One might thus be tempted to think that Luke wants to draw a contrast between the two figures and say that “it is not the emperor who is the saviour; the true saviour is Jesus Christ the Lord”.21 There are better interpretive options, however. Σωτήρ (saviour) is an allusion to the name of Jesus, jeschuah, meaning help or salvation. This is assumed by Matthew, as evident from the angel’s speech: “You are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1,21). One can rightly conclude, “The New Testament knows and uses the etymological meaning” of Jesus’ name.22 It is also possible that Luke wants this term to be understood within the tradition of the Hebrew Bible (cf. Judg 3,9.15; 1 Sam 10,19)23. Thus the title “saviour” may not have been understood by Luke as a reference to the emperor – although that possibility cannot be entirely ruled out. One might also point to the fact that an imperial decree (ἀπογραφή) is mentioned in Luke 2,2, to which Joseph and Mary react in a positive way by doing what the emperor commands. The word ἀπογράφεσθαι (to have 19. Contrast N. NEUMANN, Lukas and Menippos: Hoheit und Niedrigkeit in Lk 2,1-2,40 und in der menippeischen Literatur (NTOA, 68), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008, p. 171f., who emphasizes the religious character of the name and says that the readers can recognize opposition to God in the emperor’s actions. 20. Cf. K.H. SCHELKLE, Art. σωτήρ, in EWNT, 3:781-784, p. 782. 21. Tending in this direction is S. SCHREIBER, Weihnachtspolitik: Lukas 1-2 und das Goldene Zeitalter (NTOA, 82), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009, p. 65f. 22. M. KARRER, Jesus Christus im Neuen Testament (NTD Erg, 11), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998, p. 47. 23. Cf. J.A. FITZMYER, The Gospel according to Luke (AncB, 28), New York, NY, Doubleday, 1981, p. 204.

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one’s name entered in a register) is used three times. It is a technical term taken from administrative language.24 Neither Joseph nor Mary are reluctant to comply, like Judas of Galilee in Josephus’ account.25 It may well be that Luke saw in the birth of the saviour the dawn of a Golden Age, as similarly celebrated in Virgil’s 4th Eclogue with respect to Augustus.26 However, Luke 2 does not express any polemic against the Roman emperor.27 At most, Luke merely borrows motifs from contemporary usage to make it clear that Jesus is the real saviour. If Luke pushes back against imperial ideology, he does so only gently and indirectly. He shows that with the birth of Jesus the saviour has come to the world, heaven and earth rejoice, and the shepherds, like future missionaries, spread the message (Luke 2,17f.). He who addresses the people’s hearts and brings them tidings of the Saviour Jesus might be thinking about the hearts of his opponents, but probably not about a state structure. 2.2 The Kingdom of God Luke’s understanding of the Kingdom of God can be understood from Jesus’ words: “If it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Luke 11,20). The Kingdom of God is realised through the wonders worked by Jesus. The Kingdom of God does not have physical dimensions, but is near and in some sense already present in Jesus’ miracles. One can also strive for it. Jesus says, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17,2021).28 In other words, the Kingdom of God can be seized and even wants to be seized, insofar it is “among you”. This interpretation is controversial, however. Many translators prefer to render the phrase “the Kingdom of God is in yourself”. Contemporary Christians are often told that it means “the Kingdom of God is present in one’s faith”. This would hardly apply to the Pharisees, however, who are the ones 24. Cf. WOLTER, Lukasevangelium (n. 1), p. 121. 25. Josephus, Ant. 18,23. 26. Cf. SCHREIBER, Weihnachtspolitik (n. 21), 31f.; 54f. 27. W. RADL, Das Evangelium nach Lukas: Kommentar. Erster Teil 1,1-9,50, Freiburg – Basel – Wien, Herder, 2003, p. 110, says that the statement represents a “profound fine irony” in setting the child in the manger against the powerful emperor. 28. Cf. J. WEISS, Die Evangelien des Markus und Lukas (KEK, I/2), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1892, p. 556.

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who engage Jesus on the point in Luke’s Gospel. Surely Jesus would not have told his critics, “The Kingdom of God is in yourself”. In that case, he would have needed to add, “Look into your own heart and change yourself; modify your senses”. The latter idea is present in Mark (Mark 1,15), but even there the Kingdom is not in people, but at most comes to them. Thus interpreters since Origen have understood Jesus to mean that the Kingdom was “in” him, that is, in Jesus, and “among you” in his words and deeds. What about the statement that the Kingdom of God was not coming in an observable fashion such that one could say, “Look here, look there”? Jesus was visible and had an outward appearance, after all. To make sense of this, I understand – with some support from papyri – that “among you”, Greek ἐντὸς ὑμῶν, means “at your disposal”, “available for or among you”. There is a nice analogy for this. When a mother writes to her son, “I’ll send a cardigan to you so that it is ἐντός σου”, she means, “so that you have it when you need it” or “I will put it at your disposal”.29 Interpreting ἐντός in this way, Luke understands Jesus to mean, “The Kingdom of God is very close to you, it is with you, you just have to seize it.” In other words, “Believe.” He who believes can take part in it. Hence the Pharisees are close to the Kingdom of God and just have to seize it. It is present and at the end of days will arrive visibly.30 For Luke, the Kingdom of God is actually present in Jesus’ words and miracles, but only the faithful can take part in it. That means that the disciples of Jesus who renounce their goods (Luke 18,18-30) and give them to the poor like Zacchaeus (Luke 19,1-10) are the ones who participate in the Kingdom. Those who share in the Kingdom take care of the suffering like the Samaritan (Luke 10,30-37), or give their property to the service of Jesus’ movement like the women (Luke 8,1-3), for one cannot serve both God and Mammon (Luke 16,13). 2.3 The Crucifixion Luke’s depiction of the crucifixion shows that he understands Jesus’ message only minimally – if at all – as a political one. It is not Jesus who is the enemy of the Roman state, but Barabbas, who is released on demand of the crowd after being taken to prison as a murderer and because of a riot 29. Cf. T. HOLMÉN, The Alternative of the Kingdom: Encountering the Semantic Restrictions of Luke 17,20-21 (ἐντὸς ὑμῶν), in ZNW 82 (1996) 204-239. 30. WOLTER, Lukasevangelium (n. 9), p. 576, discusses many possible renderings and decides on “with you”.

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(Luke 23,19; Acts 3,14). Jesus is considered to be innocent by Pilate, and Herod does not want to kill him, either (Luke 23, 8-12). The warning of the Pharisees in Luke 13,31 is false: Jerusalem and its rulers, not Herod, are the ones who will kill Jesus. Luke suggests that they will be punished for this through the destruction of the city (Luke 13,34-35). According to Luke, it is unjust that Jesus is crucified with two “villains” (κακοῦργοι; Luke 23,39). This is what Luke calls the two men crucified together with Jesus. Mark had called them robbers or rebels (λῃσταί; Mark 15,27). Luke’s emphasis on Jesus’ innocence fits well with the statement of the centurion at the cross, who views Jesus as a righteous man who had not been crucified because of any breach of Roman law (Luke 23,47). Mark has the centurion finish this statement by identifying Jesus as the Son of God, but for Luke, this christological title seems to be less important than the declarative statement that Jesus had died as a righteous man. The inscription on the cross – “King of the Jews” (Mark 15,26) – is not connected with Pilate in the story. It is merely noted by Luke – as in Mark – that the inscription existed. According to Matt 27,37, in contrast, it is fixed on the cross by soldiers, and according to John 19,19, Pilate had been responsible. When Luke’s text is compared to the latter, it becomes clear that Luke has distanced the Roman administration from the action of affixing the inscription to the cross. Luke’s Pilate considers Jesus to be innocent (Luke 23,4.14.22) and wants to have him released (Luke 23,20). The crowd reviles him (Luke 23,35), but Luke does not explicitly identify exactly who carries out the crucifixion (Luke 23,33). The soldiers only take part in mockery of Jesus (Luke 23,36) and give him the title of king. 2.4 Luke 13,1-5 In the context of a speech by Jesus about repentance (Luke 13,1-5), Luke says that Pilate mixed the blood of some people who were sacrificing with the blood of their victims. A horrible depiction.31 But Pilate’s arbitrary action is not evaluated in the narrative. It is portrayed merely as an event in history, just as something that had happened. One might even say that it had been fate, because of how Luke presents another similar incident, the overthrow of the Siloam tower, as simply a natural disaster. There is no critical undertone against Pilate and his action. Note also that the incident is not related by Jesus, but by the narrator, in contrast to the report about the collapse of the tower. 31. Cf. W. WIEFEL, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (TKNT, 3), Berlin, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1987, p. 252f.

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2.5 Luke 22,35-38 A remark about swords in Luke 22,35-38 does not have any political overtones, either. The text is obscure. The statement that “the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one” (Luke 22,36) should be understood metaphorically to mean that hard times are just around the corner. Protection is needed in order for missionary work to flourish as envisioned in Jesus’ mission speech in Luke 9-10.32 2.6 Luke 12,51 A statement in Luke 12,51 shows how important it is for Luke to clarify the possible misunderstanding that Christians should expect a real fight. According to Matt 10,34, Jesus says that he has not come to bring peace but a sword. Luke changes that into “but dispute”.33 The mission will cause conflict and strife within the family, but not fights with swords. Jesus’ words are phrased so as to avoid allusion to any warlike activity. 2.7 Luke 20,20-26 With these circumstances in mind, we turn finally to the story of the denarius (20,20-26). A trap is set for Jesus by prelates and scribes (cf. 22,19), those who will later condemn him (cf. 22,1.66). They ask him whether taxes should be paid to the emperor or not. Jesus is in a precarious position. To pay taxes is to submit to the state, and not to pay is to rebel. There is no neutral ground. In response, Jesus asks for a denarius and asks whose image is on the coin. His opponents reply that it is that of the emperor. Jesus answers, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” At first glance, one might think that Jesus invokes a doctrine of the two kingdoms in this passage, in which the state should receive whatever it lays rightful claim to, namely compliance with laws and taxes, while God’s demands for faith and piety should also be fulfilled. Jesus’ words lean in a slightly different direction, however. The coin with its image of the emperor should be given to the emperor if he claims it; it is his. Humans, on the other hand, bear God’s image and should therefore give themselves to God. Those who serve God free themselves from money by giving it to the poor and even by paying taxes. Their 32. On this text, see KLEIN, Lukasevangelium (n. 1), pp. 676-680. 33. Cf. S. SCHULZ, Q: Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten, Zürich, Theologischer Verlag, 1972, p. 258: “Luke has definitely put διαμερισμόν instead of the original μαχαίραν.”

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heart is not set on money, but belongs to God. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind” (Luke 10,27). Every pious Jew carried this saying on his body, and Christians have also adopted it as a central commandment over the centuries. It is clear from the introductory portion of the pericope that this interpretation is in keeping with Luke’s point of view. Luke presents the “spies” who have come to ask Jesus about taxes as hypocritical, only pretending to act correctly. They hope to discredit Jesus politically, to catch him with words, and to hand him over to the governor (Luke 20,20). This intention is later manifested in the accusations brought against Jesus before Pilate: he is accused of impeding the payment of taxes. The readers know that this is a false indictment. Jesus had argued in a completely different way.34 Pilate reacts properly according to the third evangelist and does not take the accusation seriously. He asks Jesus instead whether he is the King of the Jews, and when Jesus gives an affirmative answer, Pilate explains to the accusers that he cannot find any wrong in Jesus (Luke 23,3f.).

3. SIMILARITIES WITH ACTS As this discussion shows, Luke did not want to present Jesus as a revolutionary, but went to great lengths to prevent such conclusions. In Luke’s depiction, Jesus dies at the request of the people and their elite (Luke 23,15; Acts 3,17), who simultaneously demand freedom for Barabbas, a murderer (Luke 23,18f; Acts 3,14). The inscription on the cross, “King of the Jews”, is interpreted spiritually: Jesus is and remains the king of all those who believe in him. This image of Jesus is important for the Christian community and for the Christians for whom Luke writes. In his depiction of Jesus, he shows that the church is not opposed to the Roman authorities, because Jesus himself had never had such an attitude. The Romans had not considered Jesus to be a revolutionary figure. He had been condemned because of the hustle of the Jewish people and their elite. The members of this people are still called brothers and are called to faith (Acts 3,17-26), but this hope is not realised – at least for the time being (Acts 28,23-28). In Acts, Luke expresses a similar view regarding Paul, whose preaching he sees as basically accommodating Roman rule. Thus Acts 18,12-17 says 34. Cf. KLEIN, Lukasevangelium (n. 1), pp. 628-631.

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that Paul is taken before Gallio the governor and accused of “persuading the people to worship God in ways that are contrary to the law” (Acts 18,13). Gallio deems this accusation inadmissible because it relates to Jewish law and thus falls outside his purview. He did not want to judge such matters (Acts 18,15). Luke’s goal is clear. He shows in this scene that the Christian message cannot be pitted against the Roman court.35 The scenes depicting trials before Felix and Festus in Caesarea also support this view. According to Acts 24,22, Felix does not decide about Paul’s fate until the arrival of the tribune Lysias. According to Acts 24,25f., he is appalled by Paul’s message concerning justice, abstinence, and future judgement. He postpones his decision once more and talks to Paul on multiple occasions. As stated in Acts 25,27, he then leaves the case to his successor Porcius Festus. Festus also fails to pass a sentence, but accedes to Paul’s request to appear before the judgement seat of the emperor (Acts 25,12). Paul makes this request because he was being ill-treated by the Roman official.36 Earlier, Paul had emphasized that he had not said or done anything against the emperor (Acts 25,11). Agrippa, the Jewish king consulted by Festus, states, “This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to the emperor” (Acts 26,32). Luke closes the hearing with the comment that Paul has not been found guilty. He should thus have been released, but had to be taken to the emperor because of the indecisiveness of the Roman officials.

4. EVALUATION To recap, with his message concerning the close proximity of God’s Kingdom, Jesus had questioned earthly power. His message itself was somewhat militant, at least regarding evil spirits, and the powerful might have seen it as posing a challenge to their position. This ultimately led to his crucifixion. He was seen as an agitator by the ruling class, and was crucified as such. Luke, meanwhile, wants to make it clear that Christianity does not oppose the Roman state or the emperor. Christians are loyal citizens, who meet their obligations in accordance with the Roman law. This is partly bound up with the fact that Christians constituted a very small minority in the Roman Empire in Luke’s time. Within Jewish circles, this minority 35. Cf. H. CONZELMANN, Die Apostelgeschichte (HNT, 7), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1963, p. 107: Luke wants to suggest, “The state should not get involved in that.” 36. J. JERVELL, Die Apostelgeschichte (KEK, III), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998, p. 581.

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caused unrest, as reflected in Jesus’ disputes with Pharisees, scribes, and high priests. In Acts 4-5, Luke similarly reports a confrontation between the first Christians and the Sanhedrin. Furthermore, in Acts 21,20–24,27, Luke describes the hostility of the high-ranking personalities of the Jewish people against Paul. They saw him as someone who questioned their authority. Thus from Luke’s perspective, the main opponent of Christianity was not the state, but the (religiously shaped) society that could not cope with the novelties brought about by Christianity. Roman authorities, on the other hand, tended to permit Christian missionaries to do their work. In Acts 18,2 it is said that Claudius banned Christians from Rome as conflicts arose among the Jews. This shows that the Roman state was not always tolerant towards Christians. After Claudius’ death those who had been expelled were allowed to return.37 The Neronian persecution of Christians affected only the city of Rome. The book of Revelation already considers the Roman state to be the Antichrist. In Asia Minor, Christians were persecuted in the time of Trajan. On the other hand, 1 Timothy calls Christians to pray for the kings, “that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life” (2,2). Christianity has been and continues to be both the leaven of the world and an object of its suspicion. It is occasionally perceived as being an alien element and thus sometimes combated by society or by state authorities. Whether Christians engage in apologetics and downplay disagreements like Luke, or whether they adopt a more aggressive tone as in the book of Revelation, varies depending on the circumstances – and one’s perspective. Hans KLEIN (Sibiu)

37. Cf. D.-A. KOCH, Geschichte des Urchristentums: Ein Lehrbuch, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013, p. 394.

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Both the lived experiences of scholars in various political systems and their political ideals influence how they approach biblical texts where political figures are depicted. Furthermore, the political perspectives of various biblical texts cannot be easily reduced to a common denominator. In the Hebrew Bible, monarchy-affirming passages are juxtaposed with monarchycritical ones. In the New Testament, Luke coexists with John the Seer, whose differences in this regard are regularly acknowledged by scholars. A varying range of influence is also attributed to private individuals. While Isaiah is said to have confronted the king (Isa 7), Paul encounters Roman proconsuls only in the context of defending himself and does not comport himself as someone who might be able to influence forms of government or perspectives on governing. Political circumstances are thus variously constructed by different biblical authors, with the result that biblical propositions cannot be applied directly to the question of how religion and politics should relate in the modern world. In this essay on the book of Acts, I will argue that Luke wanted to enable Christians, who represented an infinitesimal minority of the population in the Roman Empire, to claim persuasively that they were loyal. My argument involves several pieces, as a history of research will show.

1. HISTORY OF RESEARCH Scholars have taken a number of different positions regarding the political aims of the book of Acts.1 Steve Walton has summarized these in terms of five main categories,2 which have been modified slightly by Joshua Yoder. According to Yoder, scholars read Acts variously as “1) political apology for 1. For an exhaustive history of research, cf. J. YODER, Representatives of Roman Rule: Roman Provincial Governors in Luke-Acts (BZNW, 209), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2014, pp. 5-38. 2. S. WALTON, The State They Were In: Luke’s View of the Roman Empire, in P. OAKES (ed.), Rome in the Bible and the Early Church, Grand Rapids, MI, Baker, 2002, p. 2.

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the church to Rome (apologia pro ecclesia); 2) apology for Rome to the church (apologia pro imperio); 3) equipping the church for witness; 4) legitimation for the church’s identity; and 5) no definite political aim”.3 While interpreters’ viewpoints vary in detail, most broadly embrace one of the first three positions, and I will therefore structure this introductory overview according to those three classifications, with the addition of empire-critical readings. 1.1 Acts as apologia pro ecclesia Elements of the first – the idea that Acts is an apology for the church – were circulating as early as the works of John Chrysostom. Chrysostom saw a parallel between the trials of Jesus and Paul: the innocence of these men is demonstrated by means of a testimonium externum, when it is acknowledged by Pilate and Claudius Lysias, respectively.4 This line of interpretation was common in the nineteenth century, and the work of Ernst Haenchen and Hans Conzelmann likewise made it the predominant interpretive tendency in the middle of the twentieth century. Haenchen argued that Luke wanted to encourage the Roman authorities to tolerate Christianity by presenting it as the true form of Judaism, which already had official legal standing.5 According to Conzelmann, this concern arose because of the delay of the Parousia.6 Martin Hengel and Bernd Wander suggest further that Luke was aware of potential affliction coming in the future and wanted to prove that accusations against Christians were unjust.7 According to Peter Pilhofer, Luke was interested in promoting harmony between Christians and the Roman Empire,8 and avoided the terms παρουσία and εὐαγγέλιον because they were used in imperial propaganda.9 The historian Jürgen Molthagen suggests that Luke may appeal to traditions of Roman 3. YODER, Representatives (n. 1), p. 5. 4. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 49,2 (PG 60:340). 5. E. HAENCHEN, Die Apostelgeschichte neu übersetzt und erklärt (KEK, 3), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 131977, pp. 663-664. 6. H. CONZELMANN, Die Mitte der Zeit: Studien zur Theologie des Lukas (BHT, 17), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 61977, p. 133. 7. M. HENGEL, Zur urchristlichen Geschichtsschreibung, Stuttgart, Calwer, 1979, p. 55; B. WANDER, Apologien und Unschuldsbeteuerungen als besonderes Mittel des Lukas, in A. VON DOBLER – K. ERLEMANN – R. HEILIGENTHAL (eds.), Religionsgeschichte des Neuen Testaments (FS Klaus Berger), Tübingen, Francke, 2000, 465-476. 8. P. PILHOFER, Das Neue Testament und seine Welt: Eine Einführung (UTB 3363), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, pp. 366-367. 9. P. PILHOFER, Der andere König und sein Reich (Apg 17,7), in ID. (ed.), Neues aus der Welt der frühen Christen (BWANT, 195), Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2011, 127-136.

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law and politics in which efforts were not usually made to restrict religious practices, but only criminal delinquency.10 The same line of interpretation is also evident in the works of more recent scholars. Ben Witherington concludes that Luke hopes for tolerance from Roman authorities based on the idea that Christianity “has the proper claims to antiquity, being the legitimate development of Judaism”.11 According to Laurie Brink, Luke is aiming for imperial benevolence, something that would be ultimately achieved only later in the Edict of Milan.12 The work of Friedrich Wilhelm Horn also builds on this line of research. He examines the relational triangle in Acts between Christians, Jews who did not believe in Jesus, and the Roman government, and characterizes the latter’s actions as resulting from pressure exerted by the religious leaders of Israel. Nevertheless, the family of Herod provides reliable witnesses who exemplify allegiance to Rome, knowledge of Judaism and interest in Christianity.13 According to Klaus Wengst, the Lukan perspective on this relational triangle should be critiqued: it is historically and theologically atrocious to burden the Jews with the death of Jesus, as Luke does.14 Hans Klein also draws attention to problems with the Lukan perspective on the trial conducted by Pilate: it implies an alignment with the Roman superpower, and a simultaneous distancing from a people who had recently been defeated in war.15 The exegetical fit of this line of interpretation for Acts has been criticized on two grounds: 1. Luke did not whitewash every element of his story to make it acceptable, but chose to retain material that could be politically offensive. For instance, he makes a “Zealot” an apostle of Jesus (Luke 6,15; Acts 1,13). 10. J. MOLTHAGEN, Rom als Garant des Rechts und als apokalyptisches Ungeheuer, in E. BRANDT – P.S. FIDDES – J. MOLTHAGEN, Gemeinschaft am Evangelium (FS Wiard Popkes), Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1996, 127-142, p. 141. 11. B. WITHERINGTON III, The Acts of the Apostles: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1998, p. 555 n. 343. Cf. G.E. STERLING, Historiography and SelfDefinition: Josephus, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography (SupplNT, 64), Leiden, Brill, 1992, pp. 378-379. 12. L. BRINK, Soldiers in Luke-Acts: Engaging, Contradicting, and Transcending the Stereotypes (WUNT 2, 362), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014, p. 175: “Not until the Edict of Milan would the latter be realized (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 8.17)”. 13. F.W. HORN, Die Haltung des Lukas zum römischen Staat im Evangelium und in der Apostelgeschichte, in J. VERHEYDEN (ed.), The Unity of Luke-Acts (BETL, 142), Leuven, Peeters, 1999, 203-224, p. 221. 14. K. WENGST, Pax Romana, Anspruch und Wirklichkeit: Erfahrungen und Wahrnehmungen des Friedens bei Jesus und im Urchristentum, München, Kaiser, 1986, p. 121. English: K. WENGST, Pax Romana and the Peace of Christ (transl. by J. BOWDEN), Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1987, p. 97: “in historical and theological terms … a monstrosity.” 15. H. KLEIN, Das Lukasevangelium übersetzt und erklärt (KEK, I/3), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006, p. 702.

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Similarly, when Christian missionaries appear on stage in the story, there are always riots, which hardly makes Christianity look like a positive force that serves the interests of the Roman regime by promoting peace in the provinces.16 2. Some proponents of this sort of interpretation presuppose that Luke wrote for non-Christian readers, which cannot be proven. 1.2 Acts as apologia pro imperio Paul Walaskay and Jürgen Roloff are representative of the second view mentioned above, that Acts is an apologia pro imperio addressed to Christians.17 According to Walaskay, Luke mitigates pre-Lukan traditions that had displayed anti-Roman sentiment. For instance, Luke 22,24-27 considerably softens material drawn from Mark 10,42-45.18 Classical philologist Albrecht Dihle ascribes a conviction to Luke that anticipates one of the main theses of subsequent Christian apologetics: that the unity of the world under the Roman emperor serves the plan of the Christian God to spread his message of salvation.19 According to Philip Esler, this also explains the inclusion of Roman military and administrative personnel in the narrative of Luke-Acts: Luke wanted to show that Christian faith and obligation to Rome were not necessarily mutually exclusive.20 The positive portrayal of the Roman army that is used by Laurie Brink to support the idea of an apologia pro ecclesia is employed by Alexander Kyrychenko to argue that Acts is an apologia pro imperio. Kyrychenko describes the depiction of the Roman army in these narratives as far more favourable than in Greek and Roman literature; the army is an enforcer of the divine will both for nonJews and for Jews who do not believe in Jesus.21 This line of interpretation is encumbered with a problem, however. It does not satisfactorily account for negative comments made about representatives of the Roman government in the texts. Some scholars feel that 16. R.J. CASSIDY, Society and Politics in The Acts of the Apostles, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, 1987, pp. 148-157. 17. P.W. WALASKAY, “And So We Came to Rome”: The Political Perspective of St. Luke (MSSNTS, 49), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1983; J. ROLOFF, Die Kirche im Neuen Testament (GNT, 10), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993, p. 211. 18. WALASKAY, Rome (n. 17), pp. 22-25. 19. A. DIHLE, Die griechische und lateinische Literatur der Kaiserzeit: Von Augustus bis Justinian, München, C.H. Beck, 1989, p. 223. 20. P. ESLER, Community and Gospel in Luke-Acts: The Social and Political Motivations of Lucan Theology, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987, pp. 209-210. 21. A. KYRYCHENKO, The Roman Army and the Expansion of the Gospel: The Role of the Centurion in Luke-Acts (BZNW, 203), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2014, pp. 182-183.

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one cannot simply read those comments as critique of individual misconduct without addressing the question of the legitimacy of the system.22 1.3 Acts as Critique of Empire Empire-critical approaches have also been tested out on Luke-Acts. Some texts from the gospel of Luke are cited especially often in this context: the Magnificat,23 the nativity story24 with its portrayal of Emperor Augustus,25 the first appearance of Jesus in Nazareth and the pericope of the rich man and Lazarus,26 as well as the narrative of Christ’s ascension to heaven.27 From Acts, the commitment to Jesus as “lord” has been noted (Acts 10,36),28 and some have also seen a hidden critique of the ruler cult in Acts.29 It has been observed, for instance, that Luke puts the only reference to εἰρήνη into the mouth of Tertullus, an opponent of Christianity (Acts 24,2). John Chrysostom noted this: ὅρα πῶς εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν ἐμβάλλει κολάσεως τὸν δικαστήν.30 It is also an indication of Luke’s distance from the upper class that he inserts the idea of εὐεργέτης in Luke 22,25. Despite the comment by John Chrysostom on Acts 24,2, there is no evidence for such an empire-critical approach to Luke-Acts in the early church.31 Methodologically, empire-critical readings of Luke-Acts usually focus on the presence of terminology that appears in both Luke’s writings 22. YODER, Representatives (n. 1), p. 17. 23. A.C. MILLER, Rumors of Resistance: Status Research and Hidden Transcripts in the Gospel of Luke, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2014; N.A. BECK, Anti-Roman Cryptograms in the New Testament: Hidden Transcripts of Hope and Liberation (Studies in Biblical Literature, 127), New York, NY, Peter Lang, 22010, pp. 104-105. 24. L. KUNDERT, Jerusalem herrscht über Rom: Das Weihnachtsevangelium als Siegesbotschaft, in TZ 69 (2013) 478-495. 25. C. BLUMENTHAL, Augustus’ Erlass und Gottes Macht: Überlegungen zur Charakterisierung der Augustusfigur und ihrer erzählstrategischen Funktion in der lukanischen Erzählung, in NTS 57 (2011) 1-30. 26. MILLER, Rumors (n. 23), p. 255: Luke suggests temporarily accepting Roman dominance while emphasizing “radically different values and practices of God’s reign in the midst of the opposing Roman status quo”. 27. G. GILBERT, Roman Propaganda and Christian Identity in the Worldview of Luke-Acts, in T. PENNER – C. VANDER STICHELE (eds.), Contextualizing Acts: Lukan Narrative and Greco-Roman Discourse (SBL.SS, 20) Atlanta, GA, SBL, 2003, 233-256, pp. 246-247. 28. L. ALEXANDER, Luke’s Political Vision, in Interpretation 66 (2012), 283-293. 29. A. BRENT, Luke-Acts and the Imperial Cult in Asia Minor, in JTS 48 (1997) 411-438; J. SWEET, Latent Meanings. Luke-Acts and the Revelation of John, in Theology 112 (2009) 403-409. 30. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 50.1 (PG 60:344). 31. M. MEISER, Lukas und die römische Staatsmacht, in M. LABAHN – J. ZANGENBERG (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft (TANZ, 36), Tübingen, Francke, 2002, 175-193, pp. 188-189.

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and Roman ruler ideology (e.g., “gospel”; “son of God”) or employ sociohistorical models. The sociological theory of public vs. hidden transcripts has been invoked several times. In his book Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts,32 American sociologist James C. Scott differentiates between public and hidden transcripts as follows: the former contain statements of the subordinate made towards the superior, while the latter contain what the subordinate actually thinks. The hidden transcript is not entirely inaccessible, but conceals by means of anonymity or ambiguous language.33 1.4 Acts as Equipping the Church for Witness Another line of interpretation primarily focuses on the behaviour Luke recommends for Christians. According to Martin Dibelius, Luke wanted to advise his fellow Christians about how to defend themselves. Specifically, they should stress that they did not want to revolt against the emperor, Temple, or law; the primary point of contention with the Jews was the question of resurrection.34 The commentaries of Rudolf Pesch35 and Craig Keener are committed to this line of interpretation.36 1.5 Politics Unimportant in Luke-Acts Finally, some scholars challenge the idea that politics is important in Luke-Acts. According to Michael Wolter, the episodes collected in Acts 21-26 do not address the relationship between the Christian community and the Roman government, but the divergent development of Judaism and Christianity.37 The Jews, especially in the eastern part of the Roman 32. J.C. SCOTT, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 1990. 33. S. SCHREIBER, Caesar oder Gott, in BZ 48 (2004) 64-85. 34. M. DIBELIUS, Paulus in der Apostelgeschichte, in ID. – H. GREEVEN (eds.), Aufsätze zur Apostelgeschichte, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 21953, 175-180, p. 180. 35. R. PESCH, Die Apostelgeschichte (Apg 1-12) (EKK, V/1), Zürich – Neukirchen, Benziger – Neukirchener, 1986, p. 29. 36. Cf. C.S. KEENER, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary, Vol. 3, Grand Rapids, Baker, 2014, p. 2774: “Pilate pronounced Jesus’s innocence … as did the leader of the Roman execution squad. … Luke’s marshaling of such precedents would provide Christians with a sense of security and perhaps evidence they could use to respond against slanders in the public arena. His approach comports well with the respect for Roman government often found in early Christian literature (Rom 13:1-7; 1 Tim 2:2; Tit 3:1; 1 Pet 2:13-14).” 37. M. WOLTER, Die Juden und die Obrigkeit bei Lukas, in ID. (ed.), Theologie und Ethos im frühen Christentum (WUNT, 236), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2009, 388-401.

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Empire,38 tried to prevent the propagation of the gospel, and Roman authorities ended up protecting the Christian movement unawares. 1.6 Conclusions Several conclusions can be drawn in light of this history of research. First, distinctions need to be made between various different representatives of the Roman government: emperors and Roman ideology vs. proconsuls vs. members of the Roman army. Second, the portrayal of such representatives in other Greco-Roman and Jewish literature needs to be considered. Third, as generally acknowledged, Luke wrote for Christians and not for eminent Roman officials. Fourth, one cannot solve the problem of reconciling the many positive statements about Roman authorities with the few critical ones simply by declaring the latter to be tradition39 or by reinterpreting them as being somehow positive.40 Clearly, Luke could make both positive and negative statements in the same work. This raises multiple questions that will be addressed in the rest of this essay. I will ask about the portrayal of the governing principes and proconsuls mentioned by Luke in other ancient sources. I will inquire about the situation of Christians in the Roman Empire and about Luke’s perception of this situation. I will also investigate the conditions under which Luke wrote, and interpretations of Luke’s works by ancient theologians.

2. EMPERORS: DOMITIAN, NERVA, TRAJAN, HADRIAN The dating of Acts is more debated today than ever. The historian Alexander Mittelstaedt dates it early, arguing that the actual historical details of the destruction of Jerusalem are incompatible with Luke 19,41-44 and 21,20-2441 – but ignoring the nature of apocalyptic language in the process. 38. WOLTER, Juden (n. 37), p. 391f., considers the events described up to Acts 26 as part of the past onto which Luke and his readers look back. The sea journey described in Acts 27,1-28,16 disrupts the continuity of the narrative and draws attention to a new stage in the expansion of Christianity, which is no longer hindered by non-believing Jews. The relational triangle between Jews, Christians, and Roman governance was thus a thing of the past. 39. WALASKAY, Rome (n. 17), p. 64. 40. WENGST, Pax Romana (n. 14), p. 122 (concerning Luke 22,25). 41. A. MITTELSTAEDT, Lukas als Historiker: Zur Datierung des lukanischen Doppelwerkes (TANZ, 43), Tübingen, Francke, 2005, 132.

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Others point to a lack of evidence for early reception and posit a later dating around 120,42 13043 or even 150.44 I cannot warm to a date as late as 150, since other texts that are more securely dated to that time period offer a rather different portrayal of Christianity. A date around 90 is probable, although any time before 120 is possible.45 This compels us to include not only Domitian, but also Nerva, Trajan and Hadrian in our analysis. In the process, we must keep several issues in mind: 1. Our knowledge of these figures differs from Luke’s knowledge of them. In all likelihood, Luke did not have access to information from the governing authorities or to the works of historians, but depended on what was commonly said about these emperors. 2. These figures may have been depicted differently in Rome and in the provinces, in the East and in the West.46 3. The portrayal of the emperors by Roman authors was no doubt influenced by their own rank and position. Senators and others who supported the senatorial republic might have thought the principate violated republican ideals, while members of the knighthood and their minions may have seen other issues as more important. 4. We have to recognize that some authors, such as Pliny47 and Tacitus,48 only stylized themselves as steadfast opponents of Domitian retrospectively. 5. The ruler cult was more pronounced in the East than in the West. This might explain some of the differences between Luke and John the Seer.

42. R.I. PERVO, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists, Santa Rosa, CA, Polebridge, 2006. 43. M. MÜLLER, The Reception of the Old Testament in Matthew and Luke-Acts: From Interpretation to Proof from Scripture, in NT 43 (2001) 313-330. 44. A. GREGORY, The Reception of Luke and Acts in the Period before Irenaeus (WUNT 2, 169), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003. 45. In M. MEISER, Der theologiegeschichtliche Standort des lukanischen Doppelwerkes, in W. KRAUS (ed.), Beiträge zur Theologiegeschichte (BZNW, 163), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2009, 99-126, pp. 101-111, I had opted for the possibility of a late dating up to 120 CE. We should, however, ask whether Luke 19,41-44 would make sense fifty years after the destruction of the Temple (with Hans Klein, oral communication). 46. C. SCHUBERT, Studien zum Nerobild in der lateinischen Dichtung der Antike (BzA, 116), Stuttgart, Teubner, 1998, p. 245. 47. S. FEIN, Die Beziehungen der Kaiser Trajan und Hadrian zu den Litterati (BzA, 26), Stuttgart, Teubner, 1994, pp. 14-18. 48. W. ECK, Traian, in M. CLAUSS (ed.), Die römischen Kaiser: 55 historische Portraits von Caesar bis Iustinian, München, C.H. Beck, 1997, 110-124, p. 114.

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2.1 Domitian The depiction of Domitian in modern research is no longer lopsidedly influenced by Greco-Roman authors like Tacitus, Suetonius, and Philostratus, or by Christian authors like John the Seer or Tertullian. Domitian’s dubious character notwithstanding,49 Suetonius points to the positive quality of imperial administration under his rule, especially with regard to judicial processes,50 an assessment that is supported by literary and epigraphic evidence.51 Domitian closely supervised provincial proconsuls.52 There is no evidence of an empire-wide persecution of Christians under Domitian.53 Nor does the letter of Pliny provide a mirror for the time of this emperor.54 The address dominus ac deus noster,55 which is known from the works of Martial, was no doubt unacceptable to both Jews and Christians, but is not actually found in any documents that can be definitively traced to Domitian.56 Nonetheless, it may have been a common address in the household of the princeps.57 2.2 Nerva Nerva’s short reign58 – he became emperor at 66 years of age and had no children – was characterized by antagonism between the senate and the socalled praetoriani, the emperor’s bodyguards.59 In contrast to the senate, which condemned the former emperor Domitian to damnatio memoriae, the praetoriani took vengeance on Domitian’s murderers. Fearing for his reign, Nerva decided to adopt Marcus Ulpius Traianus.60 This antagonism 49. Philostratus, Vita Apollonii 7,8, characterizes him as χαλεπός. 50. Suetonius, Domitian, 8,2. 51. K. CHRIST, Geschichte der römischen Kaiserzeit von Augustus bis zu Konstantin, München, C.H. Beck, 1988, p. 289. 52. P. SOUTHERN, Domitian: Tragic Tyrant, London, Routledge, 1997, pp. 55-58. 53. J. ULRICH, Euseb, HistEccl III, 14-20 und die Frage nach der Christenverfolgung unter Domitian, in ZNW 89 (1996) 269-289. 54. A. REICHERT, Durchdachte Konfusion: Plinius, Trajan und das Christentum, in ZNW 93 (2002) 227-250, esp. p. 228f. 55. Martial, Epigr. 5,8,1; 10,72,3. 56. U. SEIDEL, Die Christenverfolgung zur Zeit Domitians, Diss., Leipzig, 1983. 57. W. ECK, Domitianus, in DNP 3 (1997) 746-750. 58. M. Cocceius Nerva was consul in 71 CE and 90 CE, but had no military experience. Cf. CHRIST, Geschichte (n. 51), p. 285. 59. CHRIST, Geschichte (n. 51), p. 286. 60. O. SCHIPP, Die Adoptivkaiser: Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antonius Pius, Mark Aurel, Lucius Verus und Commodus (Geschichte kompakt), Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2001, pp. 20-22. Pliny the Younger, Paneg. 89, praises Nerva for electing the best candidate.

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between the elites of Rome was not important for daily life in the provinces, however, and authors who did not belong to the elite saw no need to depict Nerva in a particularly positive or negative manner. His social reforms focused primarily on Italy, and authors in the Eastern provinces may not have known much about the details. An epigram of Martial says, recta fides, hilaris clementia … iam redeunt.61 This could be mere homage, or gratitude for a better state of affairs than under Domitian. 2.3 Trajan Although Martial depicts Trajan positively, recent historical research has challenged this portrayal.62 While his principate was more conciliatory than that of Domitian,63 he did not relinquish autocratic influence.64 A famous line from Trajan’s correspondence with Pliny, nec nostri saeculi est,65 shows that he wanted to contrast himself with Domitian, as one also sees in Pliny’s Panegyricus.66 He was probably also rather skilled at flattering senators.67 At least he did not have to experience a riot in the army or a conspiracy against him.68 Coins minted in the city of Rome depict Trajan with a bundle of lightning bolts; this portrait does not suggest that Trajan was viewed as divine, however, but rather concords with the understanding of his role as a representative of Jupiter.69 This contrasts the situation in Alexandria, where coins evidence divine veneration of Trajan; divine veneration of Domitian was rare in comparison.70 Martin Fell notes positive characteristics 61. Martial, Epigr. 12,6,3-4. 62. Martial, Epigr. 10,72,1-4: “Flatteries, you come to me in vain, you poor creatures with your shameless lips! I am not about speak of ‘Lord and God’. There is no place for you any more in this city” (D.R. SHACKELTON BAILEY, Martial, Epigrams [LCL, 95], Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1993, p. 390). 63. At least, he was consul only four times (in 100, 101, 103, 112 CE), whereas Domitian was consul ten times (SCHIPP, Adoptivkaiser [n. 60], p. 24). 64. J. BENNETT, Trajan optimus princeps: A Life and Times, Bloomington, IN, Indiana University Press, 1997, pp. 208-213; CHRIST, Geschichte (n. 51), p. 289. 65. Ep. 10,97,2. 66. Discernatur orationibus nostris diversitas temporum. Cf. 53: Omnia, Patres Conscripti, quae de aliis principibus a me aut dicuntur, aut dicta sunt, eo pertinent, ut ostendam, quam longa consuetudine corruptos depravatosque mores principatus parens noster reformet et corrigat. 67. CHRIST, Geschichte (n. 51), p. 291. 68. Cassius Dio, Rom. Hist. 68,7,5. 69. St. PFEIFFER, Der römische Kaiser und das Land am Nil: Kaiserverehrung und Kaiserkult in Alexandria und Ägypten von Augustus bis Caracalla (30 v. Chr.-217 n. Chr.) (Historia.E, 212), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2010, p. 137. 70. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 69), p. 140.

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of Trajan: this emperor fulfilled his obligation to ensure justice, support the provinces, and promote the universal acceptance of his reign.71 Nevertheless, it could have been dangerous to write about contemporary issues during Trajan’s reign.72 His attitude toward Christians and what he perceived as their illogical responses to questions from judicial figures is known from his correspondence with Pliny.73 2.4 Hadrian At the beginning of Hadrian’s reign, four aristocrats were executed. Hadrian also took long journeys, not only to play tourist, but also to check on the welfare of the provinces, examine Roman troops, and reform the judicial system.74 During his reign, temples were dedicated to him in Cycicus, Smyrna and Ephesus – or at least he sponsored these temples financially. Private altars were also dedicated to him.75 He also built temples for himself in Egypt, in places where the Egyptians did not take the initiative to do so themselves.76 Regarding Hadrian’s war against the Jews, Anthony Birley may be right that he was influenced by the example of Antiochus IV Epiphanes.77 Depiction of Hadrian in rabbinic literature is ambivalent. Negative portrayal of Hadrian was influenced by his interest in the fate and culture of nonRomans, as well as the second Jewish revolt in 132-135 CE. The sorts of atrocities attributed to Titus are not ascribed to Hadrian,78 but the period between 135 and Hadrian’s death in 138 was considered to be a time of active persecution of Jews, because he prohibited circumcision. While Christian authors were offended by Hadrian’s relation to Antinoos, they acknowledged that he did not persecute Christians.79 Although the so-called Hadrian rescript – mentioned by Justin Martyr and Eusebius of Caesarea80 – suggests a greater level of tolerance with regard to Christians, 71. M. FELL, Optimus Princeps? Anspruch und Wirklichkeit der imperialen Programmatik Kaiser Traians (Quellen und Forschungen zur antiken Welt, 7), München, Tuduv, 1992, pp. 174-176. 72. FEIN, Beziehungen (n. 47), pp. 207-208. 73. Pliny, Ep. 10,97. 74. CHRIST, Geschichte (n. 51), pp. 319-321. 75. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 69), p. 145. 76. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 69), p. 167. 77. A.R. BIRLEY, Hadrian: The Restless Emperor, London, Routledge, 1997, p. 228: Both Antiochus and Hadrian supported the cult of the Olympian Zeus; beginning in 129 CE, Hadrian used “Olympios” as an epithet. 78. ARN B 7; b.Gitt. 56b-57a. 79. SCHIPP, Adoptivkaiser (n. 60), p. 45, referring to Tertullian, Apol. 5,7. 80. Justin, First Apol. 68,3-10; Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 4,8,6-9,3.

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he likely continued along lines similar to those outlined in Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan.81

3. THE SITUATION

OF THE

CHRISTIANS IN THE ROMAN EMPIRE

3.1 Non-Lukan Sources To what extent did Christian individuals or groups have conflict with the Roman authorities? We need to make allowances for both chronological and regional variation. Paul mentions such conflict in 2 Cor 11,25, although it may have arisen because he was seen as a troublemaker, and not directly because of his commitment to Christ. One might associate the persecution of Christians mentioned by Tacitus with the martyrdom of the apostles Peter and Paul in Rome, but these events are not always connected with one another in early Christian literature.82 Writing shortly thereafter, Mark 13,9 presupposes that followers of Jesus “shall be brought before rulers and kings for my sake”. Apparently, when disagreeable individuals were accused before the authorities, they were sometimes marked as members of a Christian group in order to prejudice the judge against them, but this does not reflect an official policy of persecuting Christians. Matthew incorporates the same sentence into his gospel (Matt 10,18), but he also complains about halfhearted discipleship (Matt 7,21-23), as if some Christians did not anticipate any real problems. In the Didache, the subject is addressed in Did 1,3 in the admonition to fast for those “who persecute you” – but we do not learn anything else. At that time, Syria might still have been safer than other regions such as Asia Minor, where there was some initial persecution at least when the book of Revelation was being composed (Rev 2,13). The author of Revelation seems to have anticipated an increase in conflict. The correspondence between Pliny and Trajan can probably be dated to 112 CE. The proconsul’s uncertainty about appropriate penalties reveals that trials against Christians were not yet standard practice.83 According to Angelika Reichert, Pliny wanted to repress Christianity by two means: offering 81. BIRLEY, Hadrian (n. 77), p. 127. 82. Cf. Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 2,25,5. Pseudo-Sophronius of Jerusalem, De laboribus, certaminibus et peregrinationibus SS. Petri et Pauli (PG 87/3:4014 A), presupposes the death of both apostles in the thirteenth year of Nero, 65 or 66 CE at the earliest, and does not mention a general persecution of Christians. 83. B.J.L. PEERBOLTE, To Worship the Beast: The Revelation of John and the Imperial Cult in Asia Minor, in M. LABAHN – J. ZANGENBERG (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft (TANZ, 36), Tübingen, Francke, 2002, 239-266, p. 240.

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forgiveness for apostates and penalizing Christianity itself.84 Since the dating of the letters of Ignatius is a matter of debate,85 they do not necessarily provide information about the time of Trajan. No Christian martyrdoms can reliably be traced to the time of Hadrian. We have evidence for martyrdoms during the reign of Antonius Pius,86 but Acts had most likely already been written before that. 3.2 Luke Did Luke write at a time when Roman authorities were tolerant towards Christians?87 Luke does not depict an outright persecution of Christians, although one can still speak of a perceived threat: non-Jews in Acts consider Christians to be Jews and accuse them of characteristically Jewish behaviour in the context of general anti-Jewish aggression, while Jews distance themselves from them in order to avoid reprisals.88 Accusations against Christians in Acts can be categorized according to whether the denouncer is Jewish or Roman. In Jewish denunciations, Paul and his assistants are said to cause turmoil (Acts 17,6), contravene the commandment of the emperor by announcing “another king” (Acts 17,7), call for worship of God παρὰ τὸν νόμον (Acts 18,13),89 cause στάσεις among Jews (Acts 24,5), and desecrate the Temple (Acts 24,6). Roman accusations concern un-Roman ἔθη (Acts 16,21)90, as well as βλασφημία and ἱεροσυλία towards traditional deities (Acts 19,37).

84. A. REICHERT, Durchdachte Konfusion (n. 54), p. 239. Taking this interpretation of the letter as a basis, Angelika Reichert considers a late dating of 1 Peter and Revelation possible. Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 3,33,1-2, claims that persecutions of Christians declined after the edict of Trajan. This is apologetic and historically improbable. 85. R.M. HÜBNER, Thesen zur Echtheit und Datierung der sieben Briefe des Ignatius von Antiochien, in ZAC 1 (1997) 44-72; cf., however, A. LINDEMANN, Antwort auf die Thesen von Reinhard M. Hübner, in ZAC 1 (1997) 185-194. 86. Cf. Justin, Second Apol. 2 (Quintus Lollius Urbicus was prefect of Rome from ca. 150 until ca. 160); Shepherd of Hermas, Vis. 2,2,2; 3,2,1. 87. KLEIN, Lukasevangelium (n. 15), p. 702. 88. W. STEGEMANN, Zwischen Synagoge und Obrigkeit: Zur historischen Situation der lukanischen Christen (FRLANT, 152), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991, passim. 89. Luke is intentionally vague regarding whether Roman or Jewish law is meant. Gallio considers the accusations of the Jews an internal Jewish matter. 90. As an example of the administration of Philippi, W.C. VAN UNNIK, Die Anklage gegen die Apostel in Philippi, in ID. (ed.), Sparsa Collecta I (SupplNT, 29/1), Leiden, Brill, 1973, 374-385, p. 383, recalls the expulsion of Jews from Rome in 139 BCE by the praetor Peregrinus Hispalus, which was justified with the accusation that they were undermining Roman customs.

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Luke knows of at least one martyrdom under Roman rule: that of Paul. Had he also heard of others? The word order in Mark 13,9, “rulers and kings”, is changed to “kings and rulers” in Luke 21,12, which is consistent with Acts 12,21 and Acts 26. Luke wanted to show that Jesus’ words were reliable. In my opinion, when Luke uses the phrase κατὰ πρόσωπον in Acts 25,16, he is already thinking about anonymous denunciations.

4. RESTRICTIONS ON FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION Since Luke was not writing in a liberal democracy, he had to think carefully about whom he could characterize positively and whom he could criticize. Even in non-democratic systems, the conventional assessment of certain persons and epochs is subject to change, sometimes allowing for a fairly free description of former times, as long as one does not contradict official doctrine. Thus figures that are routinely criticized in official sources can be criticized by other authors, and past conflicts can be described in such a way that they become a means of commenting on present ones. 4.1 Critique of Figures from the Past Luke criticizes persons from the time of Caligula, Claudius and Nero – including Herod Antipas, Gallio, and Antonius Felix – and it is important to recognize that this was acceptable at the time when he was writing. Christoph Schubert points out the anti-Nero rhetoric of the Flavians Vespasian and Titus.91 Herod Antipas had fallen into disgrace because he wanted to be called “king”.92 While Gallio is portrayed favourably by his brother Seneca and Statius,93 Dio Cassius resents him for his mocking depiction of Claudius’ postmortem ascension to heaven on a meat hook.94 Antonius Felix, whom Luke criticizes for greed, only escaped punishment thanks to the advocacy of his brother Pallas.95 This makes Nero look bad, but it was unproblematic to criticise Nero in later times, except for the short interregnum of Otho, who wanted to stage himself as the new Nero.

91. C. SCHUBERT, Studien zum Nerobild in der lateinischen Dichtung der Antike (BzA, 116), Stuttgart, Teubner, 1998, p. 292. 92. Josephus, Ant. 18, 252. 93. Seneca, Nat. Quaest. 4 praef. 10f.; Statius, Silvae 2,7,32. 94. Cassius Dio, 61,35,4. 95. Josephus, Ant. 20,182-183.

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Furthermore, critical comments about past authority figures in Luke’s works are not simply a dark background against which current representatives of government can shine. Given passages that are friendly to the Romans, another interpretation is preferable. Luke wanted Christians to know that both upright and corrupt representatives of the state often existed simultaneously. Christians therefore had no right to rebel against Roman authority, despite some misconduct by some representatives of the latter. 4.2 Accounts of Conflicts While Acts 5 and 12 report conflict with Jewish authorities, they also shed light on conflict with non-Jewish authorities. During his trial before the Sanhedrin, Peter refuses to refrain from propagating his message and uses a phrase reminiscent of Socrates (Acts 5,29). This statement is applicable to the question of “confession or denial” in general and has repeatedly been used to explain Christian willingness to undergo martyrdom.96 Furthermore, episodes in which apostles “suffer shame for his name” are not restricted to conflicts with Jewish authorities. Luke has Gamaliel counsel against blind opposition to the Christians, lest one become a θεομάχος (Acts 5,38f.).97 Traditions about the fate of the θεομάχος were common in Greek tradition. Gamaliel’s statement extends to pagan authorities who have forgotten the differences between God and humanity and have underestimated God’s power. At the end of Acts 12, Gamaliel’s warning is illustrated narratively when Agrippa I, persecutor of the community (Acts 12,1f.), is struck down and eaten by worms,98 while the Word of God continues to spread. Since his death by worms was a result of accepting divine homage, Luke could have been thinking about literary accounts of quasi-divine homage of Domitian, or of the ruler cult.

96. Origen, Comm. on Rom. 9,27; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 13,10,13. 97. The term first occurs in Euripides, Bacchae 45.323.1255. Further pieces of evidence are named by D.H. LEE, Luke-Acts and “Tragic History”: Communicating Gospel with the World (WUNT 2, 346), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, p. 206 as well as p. 207 n. 20 with reference to H. WINDISCH, Die Christusepiphanie vor Damaskus (Act 9, 22 und 26) und ihre religionsgeschichtlichen Parallelen, in ZNW 31 (1932) 1-23, p. 23. Generally, cf. W. SPEYER, Art. Gottesfeind, in RAC 11 (1981) 996-1043. M. WOLTER, Paulus, der bekehrte Gottesfeind (1. Tim 1,13), in WOLTER (ed.), Theologie und Ethos im frühen Christentum (WUNT, 236), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2009, 241-257, pp. 245-250, points out frequent connections with the word families of ὕβρις and βλασφημία. 98. Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 2,10,1.

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5. INDIVIDUAL OFFICIALS Here I will include statements by ancient Christian exegetes and ask whether the watershed events of 325 CE influenced exegesis (and reception) of texts relating to this issue. 5.1 Cornelius John Chrysostom praises Cornelius for his commitment to prayer and charity rather than carousing, and for restraining from making the most of his status as a Roman soldier.99 In Chrysostom’s era, this was meant as an admonition for Christian soldiers. According to Ps.-Oecumenius of Tricca, wealth did not hinder Cornelius from adopting a life of piety.100 5.2 Gallio The manuscript tradition of Acts 18,17 is split, as one observes in early Christian commentaries, some of which do not have the simple πάντες as a subject, but include the additional specification πάντες οἱ Ἕλληνες101 or πάντες οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι.102 John Chrysostom’s citation of the text presupposes that Greeks are the subject, but his commentary mentions Jews as the subject: he praises the ἐπιείκεια of Gallio and recommends him as a role model, in contrast to Paul’s opponents who act contrary to the law.103 The textual differences do not really affect the interpretation of Ammonius of Alexandria and Pseudo-Oecumenius, who are more interested in why Sosthenes was seized than in how Gallio behaves. Pseudo-Oecumenius does not assess the behavior of Gallio. According to Ammonius of Alexandria, who presupposes the reading πάντες οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι in Acts 18,17, Gallio would have intervened if they had not begun beating each other.104 According to Hans Conzelmann, the Gallio scene depicts ideal behavior of governing authorities.105 Richard Pervo follows Haenchen’s view on 99. John Chrysostom, Catech. Bapt. 3/6.28-30. 100. Pseudo-Oecumenius, Act. (PG 118:477 CD). 101. D E L Ψ 33. 323. 614. 945 etc.; Pseudo-Oecumenius, Act. (PG 118:244 C); The Venerable Bede, Retr. (CCL 121:154). 102. Minuscles 453. 2818; Ammonius of Alexandria, Frgm. Act. (PG 85:1569 B). 103. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 39,2-3 (PG 60:279). Eusebius of Caesarea does not mention Gallio. 104. Ammonius of Alexandria, Frgm. Act. (PG 85:1569 B). 105. H. CONZELMANN, Die Mitte der Zeit: Studien zur Theologie des Lukas (BHT, 17), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 61977, p. 133.

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Gallio: his behavior was correct, and Rome should take this standpoint “as her own”. “Christianity is an inner-Jewish affair in which Rome does not meddle.”106 Rudolf Pesch is more careful: although Gallio may behave impeccably as a statesman, his refusal to accept the case against Paul is not the same as a statement in the latter’s favor.107 Luke Timothy Johnson concludes similarly: “If Gallio has dismissed the suit as a Jewish matter and then allowed an anti-semitic riot to break out without interfering, his ‘judicial restraint’ does nothing to positively protect the Christians.”108 5.3 Antonius Felix and Tertullus The depiction of Antonius Felix109 in Roman and Jewish literature is unfavourable. Tacitus and Josephus say that he was partly to blame for riots in Judaea.110 According to Tacitus, he executed the office with the cruelty of a slavish soul.111 Josephus reports that Felix had eliminated the inconvenient high priest Jonathan by means of bribed assassins; after his dismissal, a Jewish delegation supposedly complained to Nero about him.112 With regard to Acts 24,1-13, John Chrysostom considers the words of Tertullus113 rather than the words of Paul to be κολακεία.114 He characterizes Antonius Felix as μιαρός because he accepts money,115 while Paul does not try to flatter the judge. Luke truthfully describes the mindset of the judge.116 Felix’s relationship with the Jewish woman Drusilla117 is also known to Pseudo-Oecumenius, who is interested in why Drusilla married Felix. He concludes that she hoped he would convert from idolatry, and that she told him 106. R.I. PERVO, Acts: A Commentary, Hermeneia, MN, Fortress, 2009, pp. 454-455. 107. R. PESCH, Die Apostelgeschichte (Apg 13-28) (EKK, V/2), Zürich – Neukirchen, Benziger – Neukirchener, 1986, p. 151. 108. L.T. JOHNSON, The Acts of the Apostles (Sacra Pagina Series, 5), Collegeville, PA, Liturgical Press, 1992, p. 334. 109. Luke refers to him as ἡγεμών, Josephus, Bell. 2,247 as ἐπίτροπος. 110. Tacitus, Ann. 12,54,1; Josephus, Ant. 20,162. 111. Tacitus, Hist. 5,9: Antonius Felix per omnem saevitiam ac libidinem ius regium servili ingenio exercuit; cf. Tacitus, Ann. 12,54,1. 112. Josephus, Ant. 20,162-165.182 113. Ammonius of Alexandria, Frgm. Act. (PG 85:1592 B). According to Ammonius of Alexandria, Tertullus seems to be a non-Jew. 114. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 50,1 (PG 60:345). Eusebius of Caesarea mentions Felix as ἐπίτροπος (Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 2,19,2), but does not comment on his behavior. 115. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 51,2 (PG 60:354). 116. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 51,1 (PG 60:351-52). 117. According to Josephus, Ant. 20,141-143, she had been married to Azizus and this marriage was annulled so that she could marry Felix.

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a lot about Christianity based on the Old Testament.118 Pseudo-Oecumenius does not discuss Tertullus. 5.4 Porcius Festus According to Josephus, Porcius Festus planned to destroy a newly erected wall which would have prevented Agrippa from watching events in the temple. Nevertheless, Festus allowed the Jews to send an embassy to Nero, who decided in their favour.119 John Chrysostom contrasts Porcius Festus and the apostle Paul. Porcius’ behaviour is called ἀπάτη,120 while Paul’s actions in Acts 25,9-12 are praised as παρρησία.121 While Ammonius of Alexandria is not really interested in Porcius Festus, he concludes from Acts 25,16 that Pilate had violated both divine and Roman law by leaving Jesus to the Jews for the purpose of homicide.122 5.5 Christian Figures How do Christian characters behave in Acts? Despite difficult conditions, they keep spreading the message, moving on to new locations if necessary, following the lead of Jesus (Luke 4,31-44; cf. Luke 4,28-30), Peter (Acts 4,20), the apostles (Acts 5,42) and Paul (e.g., Acts 14,19f.). They justify their mission as obedience to God (Acts 4,19; 5,29). When confronted by state authorities, they avail themselves of all possible legal means to protect themselves. They affirm their good conscience (Acts 23,1; 24,16) and their innocence (Acts 28,8.10), reject generic charges raised against them as false (Acts 24,13) and insist on their rights (Acts 16,35-40; 22,25; 25,10f.). This stands in tension to the willingness to suffer expressed by the community, and the willingness to be martyred (Acts 14,22; 21,13).

118. Pseudo-Oecumenius, Act. (PG 118:284 AB). 119. Josephus, Ant. 20,191-195. 120. John Chrysostom, Hom. Act. 51.3 (PG 60:355). 121. Ibid. 122. Ammonius of Alexandria, Frgm. Act. (PG 85:1593 D – 1596 A). PseudoOecumenius, Act. (PG 118:285 A) offers only the hint that “Caesar” was a Roman title, not a name.

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6. CONCLUSION Putting this all together, I want to discuss the consequences of the foregoing for dating Acts, as well as some theological repercussions. Regarding the question of “religion and politics” in Luke-Acts, key features include protection of the in-group, active promulgation of one’s own standpoint, and a willingness to be martyred. While the depiction of centurions and chiliarchs is consistently positive in Acts, the portrayal of proconsuls is ambivalent. Is it a coincidence that the latter function as judges in trials of Christians?123 Acts contains an implicit demand for tolerance – as Tertullian would observe – and for protection of the in-group. This makes a dating of 90 CE still seem likely, although a dating as late as 110 CE is possible. I would hesitate to date Acts to the time of Hadrian, since his claims to divinity do not seem to be reflected in Luke’s work. This point about demanding tolerance for the in-group has theological consequences. Such a demand fits the situation of an infinitesimal minority in the Roman Empire. While the protection of people outside the group would not be much of a concern for an author writing under those circumstances, we have to think beyond this today. We are aided by the fact that the issue of good government is discussed from a minority’s perspective in the (Jewish) Letter of Aristeas, which calls for rulers to imitate God with regard to his kindness towards humans and his philanthropy124 – a topos that appears in the New Testament only in connection with individual ethics. As is commonly acknowledged, this topos originated in Greek ruler ethics, and one could profitably appropriate it and apply it to politics today. Martin MEISER (Saarbrücken)

123. Pliny, Ep. 10,96; Justin, Second Apol. 2; Mart. Polyc. 9,2. 124. EpArist. 188.210.281.

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In no other New Testament text is there such a focus on the status and unity of Christian groups in the Roman Empire1 as in the Revelation of John. No other NT book responds to a troubled situation with such a strong political theology. And no other book has been so highly esteemed in times of crisis2 and situations of political repression.3 This essay deals with the impact of the Roman political situation at the end of the first century on Christianity in Asia Minor as described by John the prophet, and with his response to that situation. It examines the impact of a political authority figure (the Roman emperor) and his claim to power on a particular geographical area, Asia Minor. It focuses on the practical implementation of power rather than on how it is conceptualised.4 Regarding the setting in which Revelation was composed, exegetes have published articles and books examining the political situation at the time when John wrote his circular letter.5 Our interest is in searching for traces 1. Cf. L. ALEXANDER (ed.), Images of Empire (JSOT.S, 122), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1991. 2. Cf. A. YARBRO COLLINS, Crisis and Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse, Philadelphia, PA, Westminster Press, 1984; P.B. DUFF, Who Rides the Beast? Prophetic Rivalry and the Rhetoric of Crisis in the Churches of the Apocalypse, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001; P.B. DUFF, “The Synagogue of Satan”: Crisis Mongering and the Apocalypse of John, in D.L. BARR. (ed.), The Reality of Apocalypse: Rhetoric and Politics in the Book of Revelation (SBL.Sym, 39), Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2006, pp. 147-168; D. FURLAN TAYLOR, The Monetary Crisis in Revelation 13:17 and the Provenance of the Book of Revelation, in CBQ 71 (2009), 580-596; X.A. SANTA-MARÍA, Die Offenbarung des Johannes: Eine gläubige Relecture des Lebens in Zeiten der Krise, in Concilium 50 (2014), 261-268. 3. Cf. A.A. BOESAK, Comfort and Protest: Reflections on the Apocalypse of John of Patmos, Philadelphia, PA, Westminster, 1987. 4. Cf. W. OSWALD, Staat, in WiBiLex (www.bibelwissenschaft.de/stichwort/30238). We do not apply an exclusive definition. 5. Cf. recent discussion provoked by the new dating of T. WITULSKI, Ein neuer Ansatz zur Datierung der neutestamentlichen Johannesapokalypse, in SNTU.A 30 (2005) 39-60; T. WITULSKI, Kaiserkult in Kleinasien: Die Entwicklung der kultisch-religiösen Kaiserverehrung in der römischen Provinz Asia von Augustus bis Antoninus Pius (NTOA, 63), Göttingen Vandenhoeck

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of his theological response to the circumstances of daily life. Exploring issues facing Christians in the Roman Empire means examining the social behaviour of a diverse minority group found within a powerful political system. Christian communities at this time were very small, and Christianity was very diverse overall. John describes some Christians in pejorative terms, speaking of Nicolaitans (2,6)6 and false apostles (2,2) in Ephesus, followers of Balaam and Nicolaitans in Smyrna (2,14), followers of the false prophetess Jezebel in Thyatira (2,20),7 half-hearted Christians (3,2) and people who compromise in Sardis (3,4), and lukewarm Christians (3,15f.) in Laodicea. He also refers positively to faithful Christians (2,13). Tensions are visible between Christians who are socially deprived or poor (2,9, Smyrna) and others who are rich (3,17, Laodicea). John also knows of conflicts with the Jewish minority.8 This essay will argue that John’s theology reinforces the status of Christians as a minority, although the community is still open to new members. His theological ideas produce social conflict by “proposing alternative propositions”. John’s approach rules out flexible negotiation with the majority, as he insists on a radical counter-cultural ethics and social exclusivity. He distinguishes sharply between in-group and out-group, a move that may help construct social identity, but does not facilitate dialogue between minority and majority. Of course, it is doubtful whether Christians who & Ruprecht, 2007; T. WITULSKI, Die Johannesoffenbarung und Kaiser Hadrian: Studien zur Datierung der neutestamentlichen Apokalypse (FRLANT, 221), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007; T. WITULSKI, Die Datierung der Ap in die Zeit des Claudius: Eine exegetische Möglichkeit? in EstB 69 (2011), 79-91; T. WITULSKI, Der römische Kaiser Hadrian und die neutestamentliche Johannesapokalypse, in J. FREY – J.A. KELHOFFER (eds.). Die Johannesapokalypse: Kontexte – Konzepte – Rezeption (WUNT, 287), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 79-115; T. WITULSKI, Die vier “apokalyptischen Reiter” Apk 6,1-8: Ein Versuch ihrer zeitgeschichtlichen (Neu-)Interpretation (Biblisch-Theologische Studien, 154), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener Theologie, 2015. 6. Cf. M. STOWASSER, “Dies spricht für dich, dass du die Werke der Nikolaiten hasst” (Offb 2,6): Ein frühes Zeugnis für den Konflikt um Anpassung oder Widerstand? in R. KLIEBER – M. STOWASSER (eds.), Inkulturation: Historische Beispiele und theologische Reflexionen zur Flexibilität und Widerständigkeit des Christlichen (TFW, 10), Wien, Lit-Verlag, 2006, 203227; G.J. STEYN, A Way of Life: The Balaamites and Nicolaitans of Revelation 2 in the Light of the Priapus Cult, in J. ELSCHENBROICH – J. DE VRIES (eds.), Worte der Weissagung: Studien zu Septuaginta und Johannesoffenbarung (Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte, 47), Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014, 188-209. 7. Cf. W. CARTER, Accommodating “Jezebel” and Withdrawing John: Negotiating Empire in Revelation Then and Now, in Interpretation 63 (2009), 32-47. 8. Cf. M. STOWASSER, Synagoge des Satans: Innerjüdische Bruchlinien in der Offenbarung des Johannes, in T. SCHMELLER – M. EBNER (eds.), Die Offenbarung des Johannes: Kommunikation im Konflikt (Quaestiones disputatae, 253), Freiburg – Basel – Wien, Herder, 2013, 137-164.

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were suffering persecution9 were in a position to enter into dialogue with the political authorities.

1. MATTERS ARISING The practise of religion can only be analysed within the specific cultural, social and political systems in which those involved participate. Religious freedom as enshrined in the constitutions of many modern countries represents only one possible relational model, and even this can take a variety of forms, including neutrality, separation of church and state, non-intervention, respectful interaction, selective cooperation, and full social participation.10 It should also be noted that in Antiquity, mysteries, cults and religions were closely intertwined with politics. Emperors often utilized them to manifest their power. Cult and politics could even merge, such as when an emperor was also a religious leader or seen as being in a personal union with a deity. Separation between religion and state is a modern idea. With this in mind, how can the relationship between Christians and the Roman Empire at the end of the first century in Asia Minor be described? From John’s perspective, how did the Roman Empire deal with cultural and religious diversity?11 Was John aware of cultural and religious diversity in the Roman Empire? Would John’s theology help foster integration by the Christian minority? This essay will try to respond to some of these questions, drawing on Revelation as a central source. Since authors of texts are never neutral or objective, we can only assess the author’s perspective on a given situation. In terms of methodology, a mix of narrative critical, historical, philological and sociological methods will be applied. Revelation gives us a glimpse of a troubled relationship between Christianity, Greco-Roman mysteries, cults and politics. This is a key issue addressed by John, whose response is a highly political theology. Although his visionary narratives at first seem out of touch with reality, they actually reflect an intense, one-sided engagement with the political situation in Asia Minor. 9. A. YARBRO COLLINS, Persecution and Vengeance in the Book of Revelation, in D. HELLHOLM (ed.), Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 21989, 729-749; A. YARBRO COLLINS, Vilification and Self-Definition in the Book of Revelation, in G.W.E. NICKELSBURG – G.W. MACRAE (eds.), Christians among Jews and Gentiles (FS Krister Stendahl), Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1986, 308-320. 10. Cf. C. BRUNN, How Integration Policies Have Discovered Religion: German, French and British Politics within the Scope of a Comparative Institutional Analysis, in IJRTCS 2 (2016), 12-36. 11. Cf. IJRTCS 2 (2016), no. 1, which presents institutional responses to religious diversity.

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John does not deny the violent repression of Christians12 or its destructive effect on the powerless Christian minority. He knows of suffering and is informed about individual cases of martyrdom (Rev 2,13; 6,9).13 The question is: How does he deal with this theologically? What is his advice? Is he politically active and does he encourage Christians to be politically involved? Does he have an awareness of the minority status of Christians? Revelation is the only prophetic writing in the New Testament.14 Like other prophetic writings it can only be interpreted adequately within its historical and political context. The majority of researchers assume that the text was composed during the reign of Domitian. There are debates about how widespread the emperor cult was in Asia Minor, and Domitian has also recently been rehabilitated among scholars with regard to persecution of Christians,15 but Christians still faced risks to the extent that their legal situation was unregulated. If denounced or accused, they could not be sure what punishment would await. The everyday lives of Christians in John’s time were thus shaped by high uncertainty. According to John, the formative experience to which he, the prophet on the island of Patmos, is responding is the troubled situation of Christians in the Roman Empire. His crucial questions are: How can Christians maintain their faith? What about the clear power of the Roman Empire and the seeming powerlessness of Jesus Christ? How can one resolve the apparent contradiction between Jesus’ powerlessness and his divinity? What is appropriate ethical behaviour when religious and political interests conflict? 12. Cf. M. MAYORDOMO, Gewalt in der Johannesoffenbarung als theologisches Problem, in SCHMELLER – EBNER (eds.), Die Offenbarung des Johannes (n. 8), 107-136. 13. Cf. C.A. FRILINGOS, Spectacles of Empire: Monsters, Martyrs, and the Book of Revelation (Divinations: Reading Late Ancient Religion), Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004; J.W. VAN HENTEN, The Concept of Martyrdom in Revelation, in J. FREY – J.A. KELHOFFER (eds.), Die Johannesapokalypse: Kontexte – Konzepte – Rezeption (WUNT, 287), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 587-618; M.V. LEE, A Call to Martyrdom: Function as Method and Message in Revelation, in NT 40 (1998), 164-194; P. MIDDLETON, Male Virgins, Male Martyrs, Male Brides: A Reconsideration of the 144,000 “who have not dirtied themselves with women” (Revelation 14.4), in G.V. ALLEN – I. PAUL (eds.), The Book of Revelation: Currents in British Research on the Apocalypse (WUNT 2, 411), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015, 193208; B. KOWALSKI, “… sie werden Priester Gottes und des Messias sein; und sie werden König sein mit ihm – tausend Jahre lang.” (Offb 20,6): Martyrium und Auferstehung in der Offenbarung, in SNTU A 26 (2001) 139-163. 14. Cf. B. KOWALSKI, Prophetie und die Offenbarung des Johannes? Offb 22,6-21 als Testfall, in J. VERHEYDEN – K. ZAMFIR – E. EYNIKEL (eds.), Prophets and Prophecy in Jewish and Early Christian Literature (WUNT 2, 286), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, 253-293. 15. Cf. J.C. WILSON, The Problem of the Domitianic Date of Revelation, in NTS 39 (1993) 587-605; U. RIEMER, Das Tier auf dem Kaiserthron? Eine Untersuchung zur Offenbarung des Johannes als historischer Quelle (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 114), Stuttgart, Teubner, 1998; U. RIEMER, Domitian: (K)ein Christenverfolger? in ZRGG 52 (2000) 75-80.

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For John, the relationship between politics and different Greco-Roman mysteries, cults and monotheistic religions was a sore point for Christians in Asia Minor. Gods and deities affected the quality of daily life. John’s visionary narratives respond to this situation. However, we need to be aware of the fact that his understanding of reality and his theological interpretation are somewhat dramatic and radical. His dualistic perspective does not mirror reality in a nuanced manner, and it excludes diplomatic solutions, favoring simple, one-sided, radical answers that smack of fundamentalism.16 This can be traced to the author’s prophetic posture. In order to provoke behavioural change in his recipients, John employs stylistic devices such as exaggeration, simplification and dramatization. It is important to keep in mind that John’s worldview is one-sided and not compatible with what scholars have reconstructed about historical life in the first century.

2. METHODOLOGY What criteria can we use to describe relations between various Christian groups in the Roman Empire? Generally speaking, a relationship is a state of being between individuals or social groups. The following questions help to describe such relationships: – – – – – –

From whose perspective is the relationship being depicted? What is the author’s worldview? What is his assessment horizon (short- or long-term)? What is the purpose of relations? Is it a mutual relationship? Equal? What is the nature of the relationship (business, private, legal, social, individual)? – Does the author describe the relationship as static or dynamic? – Does he expect changes for the better or the worse? – From the author’s point of view, who or what might influence the relationship? Precise analysis of language is also helpful: How does John characterize the relationships of Christians with others in the Roman Empire? How can one describe his language? Is it inclusive or exclusive? Does he endeavour to improve relations? And finally: How can John’s ideal relationship between

16. Cf. a 2016 issue of the Interdisciplinary Journal for Religion and Transformation in Contemporary Society on Religious Fundamentalisms (www.vr-elibrary.de/toc/jrat/2/2).

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Christians and wider society in Asia Minor be summarized: as separation, assimilation, self-exclusion, exclusion, etc.? These questions are based on a (socio-)narrative approach, in particular on the method of Sönke Finnern’s analysis of characters.17 In what follows, this approach will be applied to Revelation in order to develop a theory about the relationship between religion and politics.

3. JOHN’S PERSPECTIVE We begin with the following questions: From whose perspective is the relationship being depicted? What is the author’s worldview? And how does he present himself? In Revelation, relations between Christianity and the Roman Empire in Asia Minor are presented from John’s perspective, and he characterises his writing (1,3; 22,7.10.18.19), his addressees (10,7; 11,18; 16,6; 18,20.24), his profession (10,11;19,10) and his brothers (22,9) as prophets or prophetic. He was probably an itinerant prophet, and introduces himself as δοῦλος (1,1), ἀδελφός and συγκοινωνός (1,9). These terms point to his status as an ordinary member of the community who is not a leader. His place of residence was the island of Patmos, presumably a place of exile.18 His understands himself as a martyr (1,2.9; 19,10) and thinks that future martyrdoms are possible (2,13; 6.9; 11,3-8; 17,6; 20,4), which he understands as participation in Christ’s existence (1,5; 3,13; 11,8). He describes his own situation and that of Christian communities with the term θλῖψις (1,9; 2,9.10.22; 7,14), a noun belonging to the semantic field of trouble, hardship, and distress.19 Every theology is contextual, and his point of view and theological response are shaped by stressful experiences. John thus presents a perspective from below.20 Characteristics include a strong emphasis on suffering in a time of persecution and a call for endurance 17. Cf. S. FINNERN, Narratologie und biblische Exegese: Eine integrative Methode der Erzählanalyse und ihr Ertrag am Beispiel von Matthäus 28 (WUNT 2, 285), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010; S. FINNERN – J. RÜGGEMEIER, Methoden der neutestamentlichen Exegese: Ein Lehr- und Arbeitsbuch (UTB, 4212), Tübingen, A. Francke, 2016. 18. M. EBNER – S. SCHREIBER (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament (KST, 6), Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2008, p. 568 argues against this thesis. According to him there is no historical evidence that Christians were banished under Domitian. He presumes that John withdrew from community life in Asia Minor. His main arguments are Rev 18,4 and the fact that John does not employ a pseudonym. 19. Cf. J.P. LOUW – E.A. NIDA, Greek-English Lexicon of the Greek New Testament Based on Semantic Domains, New York, United Bible Society, 1988. 20. “The so-called underground poets were predominantly anti-war, anti-establishment, non-traditional and experimental, and quite often wrote a kind of poetry of protest which was

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(fidelity to Jesus’ name), belief in the omnipotence of God, faith in predestination,21 need for divine mediators (angels), exaggeration, support for (conservative) traditional values, insider knowledge and language, radical ethical demands, resistance to the political system, willingness to be martyred, rich metaphorical language, and the idea of a counterculture accompanied by the development of distinct local identity markers.22 These criteria are interconnected: if God is omnipotent, divine mediators are required, and resistance to a political system requires radical ethical demands. These criteria can be demonstrated with the following example. In Revelation, both Christians and the Roman authorities have visible signs of membership – identity markers in a literal sense – which indicate belonging to Christian churches or the Roman Empire, respectively. From John’s perspective, belonging is something exclusive: Christians – and those who would join the Christian faith and churches – can belong only to Jesus Christ, and not simultaneously to the Roman emperor. Belonging is understood in terms of a personal relationship of worship and following of Jesus Christ. Although Christians remain residents of the Roman Empire, their self-understanding should be solely defined by Jesus Christ. This idea represents a Christocentric ecclesiology and ethics and would mean that Christians face conflicts of interest. The seal of God (σφραγῖδα τοῦ θεοῦ) on the forehead of Christians (ἐπὶ τῶν μετώπων αὐτῶν) is one of the strongest visible identity markers in Revelation (7,2f; 9,4).23 It is carried out by an angel who comes from the East and is a symbol of protection against plagues that are being caused by four angels standing at the four corners of the earth (7,1). The seal is given clearly influenced by traditional folksong” (J.A. CUDDON, Underground Literature/Poetry, in A Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, rev. by M.A.R. HABIB, Chichester, WileyBlackwell, 52013, ad loc.). M. FRENSCHKOWSKI, Apokalyptik und Phantastik: Kann die Johannesoffenbarung als Text phantastischer Literatur verstanden werden? in S. ALKER – T. HIEKE – T. NICKLAS (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT, 356), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015, 177-204, classifies Revelation quite differently as science fiction. 21. Cf. T. NICKLAS, Freiheit oder Prädestination? Gedanken zum Menschenbild der Johannesapokalypse, in A. YARBRO COLLINS (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation (BETL, 291), Leuven, Peeters, 2017, 105-125. He argues for predestination including the option of conversion. The Lasterkataloge offer the possibility of repenting and converting. 22. Some of these criteria are based on J.J. Collins’ description of Revelation as “resistance literature”, as presented in his paper at the CBL 2015 conference in Leuven. According to Collins, Revelation is apocalyptic literature, but he speaks about a considerable transformation of prophecy. 23. Cf. G.K. BEALE, The Book of Revelation. A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC), Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1999, pp. 409-416, suggests a Hebrew Bible background for this image (Ez 9) and interprets it as a metaphor for salvation and identification with God and Christ.

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to every tribe of the sons of Israel (7,4-8), a symbolic 144,000 people, so that neither land, nor sea, nor trees will be harmed (μὴ ἀδικήσητε) (7,3). All those who are sealed are called servants of God (7,3: τοὺς δούλους τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν). The sealing is carried out by representatives of God (cf. the first person plural: σφραγίσωμεν). The Christian seal is a pointed counterpoint to the practise of marking (χάραγμα) the right hand or forehead as a sign of belonging to the Roman Empire (13,16f).24 Christians are exhorted under threat of God’s wrath and anger not to receive this alternative mark and not to worship the beast and its image (14,9). John threatens Christians with “their smoke of the torment” forever (14,11), as well as foul and evil sores (16,2). The originator of the practise is eventually captured and defeated. Whilst the seal of God leads to salvation, the mark of the Roman emperor misleads or seduces Christians (πλανάω). Christians who resist the mark are promised that they will come to life and reign with Christ for a thousand years (20,4). In both cases, the seal is placed on the forehead (13,16, or on the right hand) and indicates belonging to a person and community. It is a visible sign of affiliation. John is demanding clarity: Christians should be clear about their undivided loyalty to their Christian faith in the midst of the religious and political situation in Asia Minor. John’s dualistic perspective, with its radicalism and rigorism, is characteristic of this kind of prophetic literature. He constructs a counter-world or Christian counter-culture by drawing polemical parallels, juxtaposing the socio-political system of the Roman Empire with the socio-religious system of Christian communities. In particular, highly metaphorical and insider language is characteristic for John. Attention should be paid to how the two different systems are described: John uses code names for the two emperors (in particular for the Roman emperor) and their followers. The socio-political authorities are also described polemically in a manner that parallels the Christian trinity: the satanic trinity of “dragon – beast of the sea – beast of the earth” mimics the Christian trinity of “god – lamb – spirit” (see Fig. 1). What is his assessment horizon (short- or long-term)? John has a shortterm assessment horizon. He emphasizes repeatedly that the time is near (1,3; 22,10: ὁ γὰρ καιρὸς ἐγγύς; 2,16; 3,11; 11,14; 22,7.12.20: ἔρχομαι ταχύς). He expects changes through divine intervention in due course. This 24. Cf. BEALE, Revelation (n. 23), p. 411: “The equation of the ‘name’ and the ‘seal’ as designations of membership in God’s covenant community is also confirmed by the similar equation in Exodus.” He distinguishes between the martyrs and the group being sealed (p. 413). Sealing is thus protection from physical harm.

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Socio-political system

Socio-religious system

Dragon

God

Beast out of the sea

Lamb

Beast out of the earth

Spirit

Great harlot

Angels

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FIGURE 1. Parallels between the socio-political and socio-religious systems in Revelation

might be help explain John’s radical call to repent, not to fear suffering (2,10), and to conquer (see in particular the seven letters in Rev 2-3).

4. JOHN’S RESPONSE From the author’s point of view, Christians have no influence on relations with the Roman Empire. They are powerless and victims with little room to manoeuvre – in contrast to the massive scope of divine intervention in the visionary narratives. However, John’s response focuses on two issues: he presents a prophetic interpretation of the signs of the times in order to alert and exhort his recipients (Gegenwartsanalyse), and develops an alternative idea of what Christian communities should be like. With regard to the first aspect, John exaggerates and polemicises against the political system of the Roman Empire. His description of the Son of Man in his call narrative (1,9-20) polemically parallels Roman statues.25 His Christology is an alternative (Gegenentwurf ) to the worship of the Roman emperor (e.g., Rev 1,9-20 portrays the Son of Man with some motifs of a Roman emperor). Furthermore, his literary skills are revealed in a dramatic polemical description of three mythical creatures in Rev 12-13 and a personification of the Roman Empire as the whore of Babylon in Rev 17-18. The persiflage or parody on the political concept with all its polemics is intended to shake up Christians and to take a clear stance. It ridicules practices of the Roman Empire as pseudo-religious (e.g., feasts or contests in Ephesus). Secondly, John develops an understanding of Christians as an alternative society, as can be observed in his ethical demands and exhortations (e.g., the 25. Cf. K. HUBER, Einer gleich einem Menschensohn: Die Christusvisionen in Offb 1,9-20 und Offb 14,14-20 und die Christologie der Johannesoffenbarung (Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen, 51), Münster, Aschendorff, 2007.

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repeated call to repent [μετανοέω], hear [ἀκούω], conquer [νικάω] etc.). In what follows we will focus on John’s methods of communication, which can be described as insider communication. There are metaphors from Jewish literature that could only be understood by (Jewish-)Christians acquainted with Biblical writings. More than a third of Revelation is influenced by intertextual references (allusions, quotations, etc.). Prophetic writings from the Babylonian exile are used particularly frequently with regard to the current political situation, which John experiences as an exile (“second Ezekiel”).26 Such a text can only be fully appreciated by people who are part of a long tradition. Verbs also underline John’s insider perspective. Verbs of sensory perception (ἀκούω, ὁράω) are characteristic of prophetic-apocalyptic literature. The prophet or seer expresses his or her visionary and auditory experiences with these verbs. Moreover, John uses the verb ἀκούω to exhort his recipients. He requires listening to the Spirit (2,7.11.17.29; 3,6.13.22; 22,17), prophetic words (1,3; 22,18) and Christ (1,10; 3,3.20). John presents himself as an example of a good listener and observer of divine revelation.27 Christians are asked to improve their awareness and to “listen” with their inner ears to what faith tells them in the current situation. Prophetic words become very important and set a standard with respect to which the behaviour of Christians is evaluated. They also present an interpretation of the signs of the times.28 There are no exhortations to listen to political authorities in Revelation. The only authority for John is the eternal and almighty God (cf. the Dreizeitenformel ).

5. CONCLUSION The relationship between Christian communities and the political system is regarded in manifold ways in the New Testament. Revelation represents 26. Cf. S. MOYISE, The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation (JSNT.S, 115), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1995, p. 80. 27. Cf. the high frequency of the verbs of sense perception ὁράω and ἀκούω. Note an interesting article, S. ALKIER – T. NICKLAS, Wenn sich Welten berühren: Beobachtungen zu zeitlichen und räumlichen Strukturen in der Apokalypse des Johannes, in S. ALKIER – T. HIEKE – T. NICKLAS (eds.), Poetik und Intertextualität der Johannesapokalypse (WUNT, 356), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015, 205-236. They also emphasize John’s focus on identity and analysis of the current situation. 28. Cf. M. STOWASSER, Die Sendschreiben der Offenbarung des Johannes: Literarische Gestaltung – Buchkompositorische Funktion – Textpragmatik, in NTS 61 (2015) 50-66; B. KOWALSKI, Das Verhältnis von Theologie und Zeitgeschichte in den Sendschreiben der Johannes-Offenbarung, in K. BACKHAUS (ed.), Theologie als Vision: Studien zur Johannes-Offenbarung (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien, 191), Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2001, 54-76.

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only one response to the Roman Empire in early Christianity. And it is particularly radical. In order to strengthen and protect the group identity of the Christian minority in Asia Minor, John pleads for self-exclusion from pagan cults and the acceptance of social and economic deprivation. This non-participation involves resisting integration into society. John seems to envisage Christians as an erratic block. He does not attempt to open any kind of dialogue with the surrounding society. Communication is limited to insiders of Christian churches, who are encouraged to place their hope solely in the almighty God and to listen carefully to the voice of the Spirit and the prophecies of John and others. John thus makes his contemporary situation into an opportunity to strengthen Christians’ faith in God, and his circular letter to the Christian churches in Asia Minor is a political act. From the viewpoint of the Roman Empire the behaviour of some Christians in Asia Minor may have looked like a stubborn refusal to participate in daily social life. In a political system where politics and religion were regarded as a unit, the Christian minority was deviating and questioning political and religious authority. A choice not to submit to representatives of state power might have raised suspicion. Yet rather than engaging in violent and/or criminal behaviour,29 Christians developed strategies of nonviolent resistance. John’s perspective is lacking in nuance, and his theology edges toward fundamentalism insofar as he simplifies reality. Is there a difference between contemporary fundamentalism and John’s radical theology?30 Is it a balancing act? John condemns dissidents (see Rev 2-3), but does not call for acts of violence, although he knows about incidents of violence, war and conflict. John is also aware of the potentially destructive and even deadly power of language. His one-sided theology could be dangerous for people who read biblical writings literally and exploit them for their own purposes, but that was definitely not his intention. Seven macarisms exhort Christians to hear and keep John’s words (1,3; 22,7), die in the Lord (14,13), wake up and keep and wash garments (16,15; 22,14), and participate in the first resurrection (20,6). He eagerly awaits the coming of Jesus Christ. 29. Cf. R. FACTOR – D. MAHALEL – A. RAFAELI – D.R. WILLIAMS, A Social Resistance Perspective for Delinquent Behaviour among Non-Dominant Minority Groups, in Brit J. Criminol 53 (2013) 784-804. 30. Only a few articles deal with the “dangerous” theology of Revelation. Cf. F. ANNEN, Weltuntergangsprophetie – gültiges Wort Gottes…? Zur Aktualität der Johannesapokalypse, in H.-G. GRADL – G. STEINS (eds.), Am Ende der Tage: Apokalyptische Bilder in Bibel, Kunst, Musik und Literatur, Regensburg, Pustet, 2011, 90-104.

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Finally, we will try to classify John’s perspective on the relationship between Christianity and the Roman Empire.31 L. Gregory Bloomquist, an expert in socio-rhetorical interpretation in religious antiquity, distinguishes between seven typologies of religious reactions to social situations: conversionist, revolutionist, introversionist, gnostic-manipulationist, thaumaturgic, reformist, and utopian. Exegetes usually classify Revelation as introversionist, which is defined by Vernon K. Robbins as follows: The introversionist response views the world as irredeemably evil and considers salvation to be attainable only by the fullest possible withdrawal from it. The self may be purified by renouncing the world and leaving it. This response might be an individual response, of course, but as the response of a social movement it leads to the establishment of a separated community preoccupied with its own holiness and its means of insulation from the wider society.32

This would include self-exclusion and withdrawal from politics and society. Rev 18,4 can be interpreted as an exhortation to renounce the world (ἐξέλθατε ὁ λαός μου). It is not directed at individuals, but at the entire people of God. There are two models of interpretation: 1. as isolation and withdrawal from society; 2. as liberation and inner freedom which enables new social commitment.33 However, thaumaturgic models fit better with John’s expectation of divine intervention leading to salvation. A thaumaturgic model is defined by Robbins as follows: “A person or group which maintains a thaumaturgical response seeks immediate relief from their present circumstances through a special act of the divine. The relief is personal, local, and a one time event, and its occurrence is magical.”34 John demands a final determination and participation in Jesus’ way of life.35 In terms of the relationship between Christians and the Roman Empire, this model is process-oriented and reckons with a process of change through divine intervention. 31. L.G. BLOOMQUIST, Methodological Criteria for Apocalyptic Rhetoric: A Suggestion for the Expanded Use of Sociorhetorical Analysis, in G. CAREY – L.G. BLOOMQUIST (eds.), Vision and Persuasion: Rhetorical Dimensions of Apocalyptic Discourse, St. Louis, 1999, 181-203. 32. From www.religion.emory.edu/faculty/robbins/SRI/defns/i_defns.cfm, which is based on V.K. ROBBINS, Exploring the Texture of Texts, Valley Forge, Trinity Press International, 1996; V.K. ROBBINS, The Tapestry of Early Christianity: Rhetoric, Society, and Ideology, London, Routledge, 1996. Emphasis mine. 33. Cf. B. KOWALSKI, Ora et labora in der Offenbarung des Johannes: Ein Kapitel neutestamentlicher Sozialethik, in T. SODING – P. WICK (eds.), Würde und Last der Arbeit: Beiträge zur neutestamentlichen Sozialethik (BWANT, 209), Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2017, 253-271, pp. 269-270. 34. www.religion.emory.edu/faculty/robbins/SRI/defns/t_z_defns.cfm (n. 31). Emphasis mine. 35. Cf. KOWALSKI, Ora (n. 33), pp. 253-271.

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To summarize, John’s perspective on religion and politics is a sort of balancing act. He rejects any kind of assimilation into the pseudo-religious culture and politics of the Roman Empire and demands a clear decision for the Christian faith and churches. Disadvantages and martyrdom attend the true Christian life. Whilst John’s ethical demands are extremely radical, their goal is not to exclude others. He encourages repentance (μετανοέω: 2,5.16.21.22; 3,3.19; 9,20.21; 16,9.11), and even the Lasterkataloge are aimed at inclusion rather than exclusion. According to John, clear boundaries will make Christianity more attractive. He envisages countercultural communities eagerly awaiting the coming of the Messiah. Beate KOWALSKI (Dortmund)

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This essay explores “political” perspectives in the Acts of Peter, the Acts of Thekla, a narrative about Paul in Ephesus, and a story about Paul’s martyrdom. I will assess the literary function of references to government officials and legal proceedings, and ask whether it is justified to label the stories “anti-imperial”. Two other narratives, the Acts of John at Rome and Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, will serve as reference points for the latter discussion. Overall, the essay will seek to highlight methodological considerations that are important when assessing a text’s “political” stance.1

1. “ANTI-IMPERIAL”: A DEFINITION Scholars do not always define the term “anti-imperial” before applying it to ancient texts, but a definition is essential for others to be able to evaluate one’s claims. A first decision that needs to be made is whether to use the term to describe the hermeneutical potential of a text – how it might be received by different audiences – or the interests of its producer.2 Much could be said for a reception-oriented approach, since one can never fully reconstruct a writer’s thoughts, and since texts can inspire a wide range of reactions and interpretations, some of which may differ significantly from what the producer had in mind. A reception-oriented definition is also fairly safe, because all that is required to show that a text has a certain hermeneutical potential is for a single scholar to interpret it accordingly. A production-oriented approach is riskier: many claims about what producers of 1. The writing of this essay was supported by a grant from the German Research Foundation (DFG) (SN 111/2-1). 2. In this paper, I use the term “producers” to refer to real persons who produced written versions of the narratives under investigation. The term is preferable to “author” for narratives that were continually reworked over the centuries and whose earliest versions cannot be reconstructed with any certainty.

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texts may have been thinking, feeling, or trying to communicate will be wrong. The risk involved hardly seems to make production questions less interesting for scholars, however, as secondary literature on ancient texts continually demonstrates. Indeed, most of those who apply the term “antiimperial” to stories about the apostles seem to be making production claims. I will therefore now set aside the question of whether a reception-oriented definition might be best in general and instead suggest a production-oriented framework in which it would make sense to apply the label to a text, so as to be able to engage with the current conversation. In this essay, a text will be considered “anti-imperial” from a production perspective if it fulfills the following criteria: (i) It actively portrays the (Roman) imperial system as lacking ongoing earthly legitimacy or calls for a system change within the current age. (ii) It does not display elements that attribute an ongoing earthly legitimacy or valid functional role to the (Roman) imperial system. (iii) The aforementioned traits would have been acknowledged by the text’s producer, had the issue been brought to his or her attention. Let me briefly unpack this definition. The first criterion speaks of actively portraying the imperial system as lacking ongoing earthly legitimacy or calling for a system change within the current age. The key here is to distinguish between asking whether changes are desired within the current age and whether producers hoped for the coming of a new eschatological age characterized by direct divine rule. As discussion of the Acts of John at Rome will illustrate, a text can simultaneously articulate the latter hope and attribute at least a qualified temporary legitimacy to imperial rule. (Cf. “It will be nice when King Jesus returns and establishes his reign, but in the mean time it is okay for the imperial system to continue – at least, I am not calling for it to be replaced by democracy or some other provisional alternative.”) This first criterion also does not require a text to be entirely positive about the imperial system or to refrain from critique. One can be highly critical of a system without insinuating that it lacks (any) ongoing earthly legitimacy, and without implying that it has absolutely no valid (even if temporary) role. To give a partial analogy, citizens in modern democracies often criticize politicians and political structures without advocating for an immediate, wholesale change of system or even regime.3 While it goes 3. People in democratic societies often criticize the government without wishing that they lived in a monarchy.

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without saying that some producers of apostle stories may have been less supportive of their own political order than the average citizen in a modern democracy, and more eager for the coming of an eschatological age, there is still no reason to assume that criticism of the imperial system in an ancient text automatically constitutes a complete rejection of it. (Cf. “There are a lot of problems with this system, but it has some functional value at the moment.”) The second criterion takes up some of the same concerns from another angle, encouraging us not to limit our analysis to elements of texts that might appear critical of the imperial system. For a robust analysis, we should also consider whether other features of the texts pull in the other direction, attributing an ongoing earthly legitimacy or valid functional role to the system, at least in a partial, temporary, qualified manner. The presence of such affirming elements would make the label “anti-imperial” misleading, insofar as it suggests a simple, mono-directional stance against the system. The third criterion has two parts. The first part concerns acknowledgement by the text’s producer, and reflects the fact that “subversive” is in the eye of the beholder. US citizens who opposed military involvement in Iraq in 2003 were sometimes labelled “anti-American” by fellow citizens who supported the war, but generally did not understand their own words that way. In the same way, a text that might have seemed “anti-imperial” to a Roman emperor may not have been construed that way by the person who produced it. The second part of this last criterion clarifies that the producer of a text need not have thought consciously about what his or her narrative might communicate for it to fulfill this definition of “anti-imperial”. It is only required that the producer would have acknowledged that the text meets the other criteria (at least to him- or herself), had the issue been brought to his or her attention.

2. REFLECTIONS ON METHODOLOGY As already remarked, the term “anti-imperial” could be defined differently than I have done above. In fact, I myself would be open to other alternatives. The essential thing is that some definition should be offered when such claims are made about a text, and that this definition should be complex enough to communicate precisely what the interpreter is trying to establish or refute. Lack of precision in this regard is a weakness of many “empire critical” claims that I have encountered in secondary literature,

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especially with regard to New Testament texts. All too often, such labels are applied without a discussion of what being “anti-imperial” would have actually entailed at the time the texts were produced – e.g., a desire for an actual change of system? Many studies also fail to distinguish sufficiently between critique and rejection, and do not take adequate account of the fact that hope for an eschatological age and (resigned) acceptance of current realities can be expressed within the same text. Similarly, there is a tendency to focus one-sidedly on critical aspects of texts without assessing elements that seem more positive toward the political system. The lack of precision in many “anti-imperial” readings of ancient texts is easily explained: such readings are trendy, and popular modes of interpretation inspire less justification and theorization than attempts to refute those readings. But where is the burden of proof? The fit of “anti-imperial” readings for ancient texts is rarely as self-evident as assertions of them suggest. This is an area where extra-canonical texts that come without the baggage of two thousand years of intense interpretive activity can help us reflect on methodology. The apostle stories considered in this study will help us explore the sorts of questions one might want to ask when assessing a text’s “political” stance. In future research, one might pose similar questions of “canonical” texts. At the end of the essay, I will offer a few further observations on the term “anti-imperial” and will also remark on the question of “hidden transcripts”. First, however, I will turn to the texts themselves. One focus will be on problematizing claims by other interpreters that some of these texts are “anti-imperial” or the equivalent. Since these interpreters have rarely provided a definition of “anti-imperial” or extended arguments, it can be difficult to interact with their claims. Implicitly, however, many seem to be making statements about producer intent and the earthly legitimacy of the imperial system, and I will respond to their points on that basis. I would like to clarify up front that this essay is not designed to be a comprehensive exploration of the texts’ “political” stances. A full analysis of how they incorporate critique of imperial structures and expression of eschatological hopes alongside a qualified acceptance of the system will be left for future research. The goal of the current essay is to highlight methodological issues, which will be important for that more detailed analysis. One particular suggestion I would like to make is that a robust exploration of “political” aspects of texts should not be limited to the “anti-imperial” issue. As we will see, many references to government officials and institutions in apostle stories seem to be incidental rather than a primary focus. They help producers tell a good story, bring honor to revered figures, and

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illustrate the power of their god. If one is interested in assessing the “political” stances taken in such texts, these “storytelling” considerations are important to keep in mind. If a “political” element of a text has a clear plot function, with what degree of certainty and precision can the producer’s own “political” perspectives be inferred from it? Regarding the latter aspect of my analysis, I would like to emphasize that many statements made by interpreters – including me – about characterization, literary function, and other textual dynamics in narratives are actually descriptions of potential effects of texts. They are not descriptions of “properties” of the texts themselves. While producers may have had some of these potential effects in mind, one can never be entirely sure. My statements about literary features in this essay are thus descriptions of the potential I see for various aspects of the texts to function in a certain way. Do they also capture what motivated producers to frame the texts as they have (consciously or otherwise)? I consider that plausible, but there are admittedly no guarantees.4

3. ACTS OF PETER (VERCELLI ACTS) Each of the stories discussed in this essay circulated in multiple different forms over the centuries. Instead of working with reconstructed texts, I will base my analysis on one extant version of each, beginning with the Latin Vercelli version of the “Acts of Peter” (AV).5 The first section of the Vercelli Acts recounts a conflict between the apostle Peter and a magician named Simon, who has been trying to discredit the apostles’ message. The apostle Paul had 4. When I originally drafted this essay in 2015, I was more confident about attributing text- or producer-oriented “literary functions” to aspects of texts than I am now. I am still convinced that my readings of the texts are plausible, and have reworked the essay somewhat in the meantime, but some of my language may still reflect the earlier redactional stage. 5. For the Latin text, see R.A. LIPSIUS (ed.), Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, vol. I, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959 (reprint; first published 1891), pp. 45-103. English versions include R.F. STOOPS, The Acts of Peter (Early Christian Apocrypha, 4), Salem, OR, Polebridge, 2012; W. SCHNEEMELCHER (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha, vol. II, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 1992, pp. 287-317. German: W. SCHNEEMELCHER (ed.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung, vol. II, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1989, pp. 258-289. French: G. POUPON, Actes de Pierre, in F. BOVON – P. GEOLTRAIN (eds.), Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. I (Bibliothèque de la Pléiade, 442), Paris, Gallimard, 1997, pp. 1054-1114. The Vercelli manuscript dates to the sixth or seventh century, but reflects older material (M.C. BALDWIN, Whose Acts of Peter? Text and Historical Context of the Actus Vercellenses (WUNT 2, 196), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2005, pp. 137.156-157.193. The vignettes it contains may have been circulating in a written form as early as the second century.

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been active in Rome, but after he leaves for Spain, Simon arrives and creates havoc in the fledgling church, causing many members to fall away. Peter is then sent to Rome to defeat Simon and build up the church. This section of the narrative is followed by an account of Peter’s martyrdom. 3.1 “Political” Elements of the Vercelli Acts: Providing Narrative Texture and Furthering Characterization We will first look at some instances where “political” elements of the Vercelli Acts add texture to the narrative or further characterization. These passages illustrate that references to political figures and themes in a story can serve other purposes besides expressing a concrete political “agenda”. Some references to government officials in the Vercelli Acts add incidental colour to the narrative. When a woman named Eubula discovers she has been robbed, the Judean governor Pompey tortures slaves to find out what has happened (AV 17). The Roman prefect Agrippa presides in an official manner over a contest between Peter and Simon (AV 23-28). A woman formally announces in Agrippa’s presence that she has freed some slaves (AV 28). In none of these scenes is any particular attention paid to the officials’ administrative function: it seems to be simply part of the decorative backdrop of the plot. A reference to another political figure furthers characterization, or at least has that potential. Near the beginning of the story, Peter hears a report about a senator named Marcellus, who had previously given so generously to the Christian community that the emperor had refused to give him a provincial office. The emperor had reportedly said, “I am holding you back from every office, lest you despoil the provinces and give to the Christians” (AV 8).6 Marcellus had later turned away from the apostles’ movement, and within that literary context, the emperor’s remark both illustrates how committed Marcellus had previously been to the church and makes his subsequent defection appear all the more tragic. This contributes in turn to showing how effective Simon (and Satan) have been at leading people astray. “Politics” and characterization also intersect in the Martyrdom. After Peter’s crucifixion, Senator Marcellus, who has long since returned to the Christian fold, removes Peter’s body from the cross “without seeking anyone’s authorization, which was not allowed” (AV 40).7 The vignette in which this comment 6. Ab omni officio te abstineo, ne prouincias expolians Christianis conferas. 7. [neque] consilium cuiusquam petens, quod non licebat nisi petisset. I have followed LIPSIUS, Acta (n. 5), and added neque before consilium. The text is admittedly problematic. It also does not specify whose permission was needed, but it seems likely that governmental approval

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is embedded provides an opportunity for a miraculous after-death appearance by Peter – ostensibly to rebuke Marcellus for wasting money embalming the body – and also has the potential to bring honor to Peter by showing the lengths to which the senator is willing to go on his behalf. The fact that Marcellus acts without official clearance in this scene is all the more striking given that he had been portrayed in earlier episodes as quite concerned for sociopolitical propriety. In response to Caesar’s complaints about his generosity to Christians (described above), the senator had reportedly replied in an attempt to mollify the emperor and emphasize his loyalty, “All I have is yours” (AV 8).8 In another scene, a statue of Caesar belonging to Marcellus gets broken, and the senator says to Peter, “A serious offense has been committed. If Caesar finds out through one of his spies, he will punish us severely” (AV 11).9 Marcellus expresses anxiety here about political propriety. Later, he also has a dream in which he is instructed to kill a demon, leading him to protest, “I am a senator from an important family and have never stained my hands. I have never even killed a sparrow” (AV 22).10 Marcellus is thus repeatedly characterized as concerned for preserving at least the appearance of loyalty and propriety. Against this backdrop, his removing Peter’s body from the cross without authorization makes Marcellus seem particularly devoted to Peter – so much so that he would perform an action out of keeping with his general character – and has the potential to bring honor to the apostle in the process. As these examples show, “political” elements of the Vercelli Acts have the potential to serve a variety of purposes, some of which relate at least as much to “telling a good story” as to some political “agenda.” 3.2 Are the Vercelli Acts “anti-imperial”? We will now reflect more specifically on the question of whether the Vercelli Acts warrant the label “anti-imperial” as defined above. As we will see, that is hardly self-evident. While the narrative is not uncritical of the manifestations of imperial rule, there is no call for a system change within the current age, and critical elements are often accompanied by details that pull in the other direction or at least suggest that the scope of the critique could be limited. is in view (and not, e.g., permission from a Christian leader). Cf. AV 41, where Nero is angry at Agrippa for executing Peter without his authorization (sine consilio suo). 8. Et mea omnia tua sunt. 9. Magnum flagitium factum est: si enim hoc innotuerit Caesari per aliquem de curiosis, magnis poenis nos adfliget. 10. Senator sum generis mag[n]i et nunquam manus meas maculaui, neque passerem aliquando occidi.

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A case in point is the scene where Caesar’s statue gets broken, which I mentioned above (AV 11). As already remarked, Marcellus expresses anxiety that he will get in trouble with the emperor. This leads Peter to accuse him of being fickle: “I see you are not the same as a minute ago.”11 Peter’s remark suggests that Marcellus should not worry about the broken statue, and the scene thus can hardly be described as promoting the sanctity of imperial images. At the same time, however, a number of literary details warn us not to go to the opposite extreme and read active opposition to the imperial cult into the text or label it “anti-imperial”. First, the statue is broken by a demon rather than by a Christian character. Second, Peter tells Marcellus how to repair the statue, which the latter does successfully – by praying to Jesus! Peter and Jesus thus help the senator protect his reputation for loyalty. Although it is not stated explicitly, the story also implies that Marcellus may continue to display an imperial statue on his property. Third, the emperor is Nero (cf. AV 1).12 It was risky to damage images of reigning emperors in the Roman world, but statues of former emperors who had been condemned by the senate could be removed with official sanction.13 Against that background, there is no reason to assume that the destruction of Nero’s statue in the text was necessarily meant to imply that all emperors lack legitimacy or that all imperial images should be rejected. Methodologically, one also needs to remember to distinguish between production and reception perspectives. While later emperors might have been disturbed if they had read the text, that does not mean that producers would have considered it “anti-imperial” according to the definition given above (cf. criterion iii of my definition). In fact, they may have thought that they were avoiding any suggestion that Christians were out to undermine emperors and imperial images by having the statue repaired (cf. criterion ii).14 11. Non te talem uideo sicut paulo ante. 12. In the Vercelli Acts, “Nero” is named only once outside the Martyrdom. Earlier versions of the narrative may not have contained this section, and may thus have referred to an unnamed emperor in the statue episode. Without manuscript evidence, it is impossible to know for sure, however. 13. On dangers associated with imperial images, see S.R.F. PRICE, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1984, pp. 194195. On the sanctioned removal of images of disgraced emperors, ibid., pp. 193-194; P. STEWART, The Destruction of Statues in Late Antiquity, in R. MILES (ed.), Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, London, Routledge, 1999, pp. 159-189; and, e.g., Suetonius, Domitian 23. 14. Callie Callon suggests, “Rather than exhibiting hostility toward imperial rule and its accompanying imperial cult, … the Acts Pet. employs an almost apologetic stance” (C. CALLON, Images of Empire, Imaging the Self: The Significance of the Imperial Statue Episode in the Acts of Peter, in HTR 106 [2013] 331-355, p. 332). This may go too far; it is safer to say that the story displays ambivalence.

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I have raised the “anti-imperial” question with regard to the statue episode because it has prompted other interpreters to suggest that the text “challenges the authority of the imperial cult and emperor himself”.15 In my opinion, this claim is potentially misleading, as Callie Callon has already persuasively argued.16 The attitude displayed toward emperors and images in the statue scene may be ambivalent, but the text does not actively advocate system change within the current age, and some elements suggest acceptance (however resigned) of some ongoing role for the imperial system and even images. Another episode relevant for the “anti-imperial” question is the Martyrdom, where Peter’s preaching inspires female companions of the Roman prefect Agrippa and a “friend” of the emperor named Albinus17 to refuse them sex. This makes the men angry and leads to Peter’s execution (AV 33-34). The person who orders Peter’s death is Agrippa, a government official, but this should not lead us to label the episode “anti-imperial”. Indeed, the fact that Agrippa is a Roman official may well be an incidental feature of the plot. In order to tell a martyrdom story, one needs to account for the protagonist’s death, and introducing a government official with the authority to order an execution is a plausible way to accomplish that. It is also striking that Agrippa and Albinus are motivated by lust and Satan rather than by “political” concerns.18 “Manipulation of the Roman justice system for personal ends” was a conventional motif that would hardly have been novel for early audiences of the story,19 and it may have been employed in 15. H. RHEE, Early Christian Literature: Christ and Culture in the Second and Third Centuries, London, Routledge, 2005, p. 178; cf. J. PERKINS, The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era, London, Routledge, 1995, pp. 132-133. RHEE entitles this section of her book, “Apocryphal Acts: Christian subversiveness to the Empire” and concludes that “the antithesis between the Church and the Empire is definite and absolute” in these stories (RHEE, Early Christian, pp. 171.179). 16. CALLON, Images (n. 14); thus also A.G. BROCK, Political Authority and Cultural Accommodation: Social Diversity in the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter, in F. BOVON – A.G. BROCK – C.R. MATTHEWS (eds.), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: Harvard Divinity School Studies, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1999, 145-169, p. 152; R. VON HAEHLING, Zwei Fremde in Rom: Das Wunderduell des Petrus mit Simon Magus in den acta Petri, in RQ 98 (2003) 47-71, pp. 65-67. 17. The term amici was used in the Roman Empire to denote a select set of individuals who had recognized, mutually beneficial relationships with the emperor. These relationships were not generally characterized by the close emotions and equality associated with the term “friendship” today, and had more formal dimensions. See F. MILLAR, The Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC-AD 337), Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 1977, pp. 110-122; R.P. SALLER, Personal Patronage under the Early Empire, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1982, pp. 11-15.41-78. 18. Peter calls Agrippa minister paternae aenergiae (AV 36,14). 19. For insightful discussion of a number of relevant texts, see J. YODER, Representatives of Roman Rule: Roman Provincial Governors in Luke-Acts (BZNW, 209), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2014.

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the Vercelli Acts primarily for “storytelling” purposes as a way to get Peter killed. Needless to say, this possibility raises questions about what exactly one can infer about producers’ “political” stances from the episode. A short epilogue recounting events after Peter’s death also deserves our attention (AV 41). In this scene, Nero is angry because Peter did not suffer enough before his execution, and because some of Nero’s circle have accepted Peter’s message and separated from him as a result.20 The emperor proceeds to persecute Christians, stopping only when he has a vision of an angel who scourges him. Judith Perkins has found “powerfully subversive” elements in this vignette, and Helen Rhee has seen an “attitude of animosity to and denunciation of the emperor and the Empire”, both of them citing the fact that Nero is portrayed negatively and scourged by a figure associated with Peter’s god.21 It is only Nero as an individual who is portrayed negatively in this scene, however, which does not necessarily constitute a critique or rejection of the whole imperial system. As mentioned above, Nero had been condemned by the senate, so there was no risk in defaming his memory. Furthermore, many other ancient texts also depict Nero in a negative light, some of which actively praise other emperors.22 Thus what the epilogue does – if one focuses on the content of the text – is to depict an infamous dead emperor in a conventional manner. I consider this insufficient evidence to justify labelling the text “anti-imperial” or the equivalent.23 Before moving on, let me second John Barclay’s observation that one should think about the salience of political categories when assessing a text’s political overtones.24 In the Vercelli Acts, occasional references to government officials evoke a political context, but this is not the most highly activated 20. Nero ad manum habebat qui crediderant in Christo, qui recesserant a latere Neronis. On the portrayal of Nero in this scene, see C.M. THOMAS, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003, pp. 51-54; VON HAEHLING, Zwei Fremde (n. 16), pp. 63-64; CALLON, Images (n. 14), p. 352; cf. PERKINS, Suffering (n. 15), p. 132. 21. PERKINS, Suffering (n. 15), p. 132; RHEE, Early Christian (n. 15), p. 178. PERKINS follows manuscripts that say this figure is Peter, whereas the Vercelli Codex identifies it as an angel. 22. See below and, e.g., Tertullian, Apology 5; Cassius Dio, Roman History 61-63; Tacitus, Annals 13-16; Plutarch, Antony 87; Suetonius, Nero and Domitian 23. 23. For other Christian texts that feature Nero persecuting Christians, see W. JAKOBSONNABEND, Untersuchungen zum Nero-Bild der Spätantike (AWTS, 18), Hildesheim, OlmsWeidmann, 1990. The Vercelli Acts give relatively little space to Nero in comparison with other stories about Peter, many of which can be consulted in D.L. EASTMAN, The Ancient Martyrdom Accounts of Peter and Paul (WGRW, 39), Atlanta, GA, SBL Press, 2015. 24. J.M.G. BARCLAY, Why the Roman Empire Was Insignificant to Paul, in Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews (WUNT, 275), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2011, 363-387, pp. 383-387.

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aspect of the plot or the only type of conflict faced by characters. Although I have not discussed it here, far more attention is devoted to a battle for allegiance between Peter/Jesus and Simon/Satan, which has little to do with imperial politics.25 This is yet another reason not to be too quick to label the story “anti-imperial” based on isolated passages that incorporate critique of governmental officials.

4. ACTS OF THEKLA We will now examine a second story, the Acts of Thekla.26 Are the Acts of Thekla “anti-imperial”? Examination of the text highlights many of the same methodological issues just raised, including a need to consider plot contingencies when assessing why certain “political” elements and figures have been included in a narrative, and to differentiate between critique and rejection. As we will see, government officials serve a functional role in the plot: in both Iconium and Antioch, local governors help get the protagonists into mortal danger. We will also observe that while critique of these figures and the larger political system they represent is implicit in the narrative, the text does not go so far as to suggest that there is a fundamental conflict between “Christians” and the state. Based on these considerations, I will argue that one should not be too quick to deem the story “anti-imperial”. 4.1 Thekla and Paul in Iconium Thekla’s story begins in Iconium, where she hears Paul preaching and is mesmerized. Her fiancé Thamyris soon begins to suspect that she will not 25. For a more detailed discussion of antagonists in the Vercelli Acts, see J.A. SNYDER, Simon, Agrippa, and Other Antagonists in the Vercelli Acts of Peter, in U. MELL – M. TILLY (eds.), Gegenspieler: Zur Auseinandersetzung mit dem Gegner in frühjüdischer und urchristlicher Literatur (WUNT), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2019. Regarding the question of salience, the term “Roman” is used in the Vercelli Acts in reference to the city and its populace, but not imperial structures. 26. Greek: LIPSIUS, Acta (n. 5), pp. 235-272. English: SCHNEEMELCHER, New Testament Apocrypha, vol. II (n. 5), pp. 239-246; R.I. PERVO, The Acts of Paul: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Cambridge, James Clarke, 2014. German: SCHNEEMELCHER, Neutestamentliche Apokryphen, vol. II (n. 5), pp. 216-224. French: W. RORDORF, Actes de Paul, in BOVON – GEOLTRAIN, Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. I (n. 5), pp. 1129-1142. All of these versions are based on a conflation of multiple manuscripts. For the sake of illustration, I will cite the version of the story in codex Vat. gr. 797, which is designated E by LIPSIUS. Regarding the date of the tradition, some stories about Thekla were already circulating in written form in the late second century, when Tertullian condemned them (Tertullian, De baptismo 17; ca. 200 CE).

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marry him and brings Paul before the Iconian governor, complaining, “He doesn’t let girls get married” (APaulE 3,16).27 Governor Castellius then asks Thekla, “Why don’t you marry Thamyris in accordance with the law [or: custom] of the Iconians?”28 Thekla’s mother is also present and proceeds to call for capital punishment for her own daughter, crying out, “Burn the opponent of matrimony! Burn the deviant!” (APaulE 3,20).29 Castellius complies. Does this episode warrant the label “anti-imperial”? The simple fact that a governor orders the execution of a Christian character should not make us leap to that conclusion, because significant questions are raised when one analyzes the characterization of Castellius and his role in the plot. In comparison with Thekla’s mother and fiancé, Castellius is a weak and even sympathetic character. He “listens with pleasure” to Paul (APaulE 3,20)30 and in some versions of the story seems to order Thekla’s death and Paul’s expulsion from the city reluctantly (APaul 3,21). He appears to punish them only because the other characters request it. In short, he may not be characterized in a flattering manner, but neither is he demonized or portrayed as the primary antagonist. This warns us that the critique of Castellius implicit in the story may not entail a wholescale rejection of the political system. In fact, he may have been introduced into the story primarily for “storytelling” reasons, rather than for the sake of some political “agenda”. Thekla’s close shave with death adds significant excitement to the story, and only a political figure would have the authority to order an execution. Other elements of the episode suggest that producers may even have taken steps to avoid portraying conflict between “Christians” and the state as inevitable. The idea that Paul and Thekla could be arraigned for “Christian” commitment is raised in the narrative, then implicitly set aside. Two enigmatic characters named Demas and Hermogenes, who are private persons rather than government officials, advise Thamyris to accuse Paul of promoting “the new teaching of the Christians” (APaulE 3,14)31 or of being a Christian himself (APaul 3,16),32 but in the ensuing scenes, Paul and Thekla are only accused of marriage-related matters and sorcery (APaul 27. οὐκ ἐᾷ γαμεῖσθαι τὰς παρθένους. 28. διὰ τί οὐ γαμεῖ κατὰ τὸν Ἰκονιαίων νόμον τῷ Θαμύριδι; 29. κατάκαιε τὴν ἄνυμφον, κατάκαιε τὴν ἄνομον. 30. ἡδέως δὲ ἤκουσεν. 31. ἐπὶ κενῇ διδαχῇ Χριστιανῶν. On Demas and Hermogenes, see M. EBNER, Sein und Schein auf dem “Königsweg”: Figurenaufstellung und “Einspurung” des Lesers (ActThecl 1-4), in M. EBNER (ed.), Aus Liebe zu Paulus? Die Akte Thekla neu aufgerollt, Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2005, 52-63, pp. 52-55. 32. Λέγετε αὐτὸν Χριστιανόν.

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3,20). (The latter is a common charge in ancient texts where people are upset with other members of society on grounds that are more difficult to prosecute.) The narrative thus displays awareness of potential tension between “Christians” qua Christians and local authorities, but does not portray that as the center of the conflict in the story.33 On a similar note, one could interpret the verdict against Paul as a miscarriage of justice. He would have been “guilty” of “Christianity”, but to the charges actually brought against him, he can reply, “What wrong am I doing?” (τί ἀδικῶ; APaulE 3,17). This rhetorical question arguably supplies its own answer: “None.” Both of these features suggest that producers may not have wanted to communicate that the imperial system was inevitably at odds with Christianity, and may even have actively tried to avoid creating that impression. The question of legality is complicated in Thekla’s case, of course. Marriage had broad social and legal implications in the ancient world, and pressure on members of the social elite to marry and produce legitimate heirs was sometimes codified in law, as the governor’s question to Thekla seems to reflect (see above).34 She is not the initial target of prosecution, however,35 and although Castellius is the one who summons her, it is ultimately her mother’s condemnation that results in a death sentence. To summarize, Castellius is a secondary character who goes along with the wishes of the primary antagonists, who are themselves motivated by personal concerns. There is no reason to read him a representative of 33. It is unclear from the Greek versions collated by Lipsius whether Castellius is understood to overhear Demas’ and Hermogenes’ suggestion. At any event, he does not pursue the matter. In one of the Syriac manuscripts collated by Wright, Castellius does hear that charge. See W. WRIGHT, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, edited from Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum and Other Libraries, vol. II, London, Williams and Norgate, 1871, p. 124 n. l. 34. See Tacitus, Annals 3,25-28; A. METTE-DITTMANN, Die Ehegesetze des Augustus: Eine Untersuchung im Rahmen der Gesellschaftspolitik des Princeps (Hist., 67), Stuttgart, Franz Steiner, 1991; A.S. JACOBS, A Family Affair: Marriage, Class, and Ethics in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, in JECS 7 (1999) 105-138. The marriages of elite persons also excite public interest in, e.g., Chariton, Chaereas and Callirhoe 1,1; 5,4. On the social implications of a decision not to marry, see D.R. MACDONALD, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon, Philadelphia, Westminster, 1983, p. 49; A. JENSEN, Thekla – die Apostolin: Ein apokrypher Text neu entdeckt, Gütersloh, Chr. Kaiser, 1999, p. 101; H. SCHERER, Haus-Frauen-Geschichten: Die beiden Mutterfiguren in den Theklaakten, in M. EBNER (ed.), Aus Liebe (n. 31), 110-123, pp. 117-119; J.N. VORSTER, Construction of Culture through the Construction of Person: The Construction of Thecla in the Acts of Thecla, in A.-J. LEVINE (ed.), A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha (Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings, 11), London, T & T Clark International, 2006, 98-117, pp. 113-114; M. MISSET-VAN DE WEG, Answers to the Plights of an Ascetic Woman Named Thecla, in ibid., 146-162, pp. 150-151. 35. Cf. E. ESCH-WERMELING, Thekla – Paulusschülerin wider Willen? Strategien der Leserlenkung in den Theklaakten (NTA, NF 53), Münster, Aschendorff, 2008, p. 236.

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“Roman” power seeking to persecute “Christians”, and while a certain critique is implicit in the episode, it does not necessarily constitute a claim that the imperial system per se lacks a legitimate ongoing role.36 When asking why Castellius has been introduced into the plot, it is also important to observe that his ability to order Thekla’s execution is a convenient device for creating tension and excitement in the story. 4.2 Thekla in Antioch Another major episode takes place in Antioch,37 where a governor condemns Thekla to wild beasts. As with Castellius, this governor plays a supporting role: the introduction of this character into the plot allows another character’s personal concerns to result in an attempted public execution. The Antioch episode also has an additional feature worthy of our attention: it raises questions about the imperial cult. At the beginning of the episode, a man named Alexander sees Thekla and is captivated by desire, and after trying unsuccessfully to purchase her (or her services) from Paul, assaults her in the street. She tries to protect herself and her virginity, as any free woman would,38 grabbing Alexander’s clothes and knocking a crown from his head. Laying hold of Alexander, she tore off his cloak and knocked the crown from his head, and made him an object of derision. Both desiring her and ashamed at what had happened to him by her hand, he brought her before the governor. 36. Timothy Barnes observes that Roman provincial officials had considerable discretion as to what actions they chose to punish and how, with the primary goal being to keep order. See T.D. BARNES, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 21985, 143-163; and also R. MACMULLEN, Judicial Savagery in the Roman Empire, in Changes in the Roman Empire: Essays in the Ordinary, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1990, 204-217, pp. 205-206. On the element of personal animosity in judicial proceedings, see BARNES, Tertullian, pp. 160-161. As Misset-van de Weg observes, a governor had reasons to accommodate the wishes of the local elite. See MISSET-VAN DE WEG, Answers (n. 34), p. 160. For ambivalent attitudes toward local officials in other texts, see J.-J. FLINTERMAN, Power, Paideia & Pythagoreanism: Greek Identity, Conceptions of the Relationship Between Philosophers and Monarchs and Political Ideas in Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius (Dutch Monographs on Ancient History and Archaeology, 13), Amsterdam, Gieben, 1995, pp. 117, 120124; YODER, Representatives (n. 19). Overall, my reading of the Thekla story is contra that of Rhee, who comments about Paul and Thekla’s conflicts with political authorities, “These instances unabashedly portray Christians as law-breakers and rebels against the present political establishment, which is part of the oppressive forces against them” (RHEE, Early Christian [n. 15], p. 172). Cf. CALLON, Images (n. 14), p. 335. 37. There is debate about which Antioch is meant. See ESCH-WERMELING, Thekla [n. 35], pp. 93-96. 38. For free persons protecting their honor, see, e.g., Chariton, Chaereas and Callirhoe 3,1; Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 7,42.

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When she admitted that these things had been done, he condemned her39 to the beasts, but the women were shocked and cried out to the bench, “Wicked judgment, impious judgment!” (APaulE 4,1-2 [26-27])40

At least in extant versions of the story, Alexander leads Thekla before the governor not because she is a “Christian”, but because he has been publicly shamed.41 Since he can hardly accuse her of the latter, however, or of resisting sexual assault, he decides to treat her self-defense as a “sacrilegious” action (ἱερόσυλος; APaulE 4,3.7 [28.32]). The “sacrilege” must relate to the crown, which in some versions of the story is said to have imperial images on it.42 Producers may have been thinking of Alexander as an imperial priest, although that is an open question, as Elisabeth Esch-Wermeling has pointed out, drawing on an informative study by Jutta Rumscheid.43 A variety of persons wore crowns with images of gods or emperors when involved in games in honor of the emperor or (other) divinities, and Alexander could thus be understood as a sponsor of games rather than a priest.44 39. Manuscript E reads (confusingly) “them”. 40. καὶ λαβομένη τοῦ Ἀλεξάνδρου περιέσχισεν αὐτοῦ τὴν χλαμύδα καὶ τὸν στέφανον ἀφείλετο ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἔστησεν αὐτὸν θριάμβον. ὁ δὲ ἅμα μὲν φιλῶν αὐτήν, ἅμα δὲ καὶ αἰσχυνόμενος τὸ γεγονὸς αὐτῷ ὑπ’ αὐτῆς, προσήγαγεν αὐτὴν τῷ ἡγεμόνι, κἀκείνης ὁμολογησάσης ταῦτα πεπραχθέναι κατέκρινεν αὐτοὺς εἰς θηρία. αἱ δὲ γυναῖκες ἐξεπλάγησαν καὶ ἀνέκραξαν πρὸς τὸ βῆμα Κακὴ κρίσις, ἀνοσία κρίσις. 41. Like some other commentators, Esch-Wermeling thinks that the Antioch episode circulated independently before being set in its current literary context. She suggests that the conflict between Alexander and Thekla had more strongly religious-political overtones in the earliest version of the story, but remarks that they are attenuated in extant versions, which draw attention to Alexander’s personal (sexual) concerns (ESCH-WERMELING, Thekla [n. 35], pp. 239, 272-290). My focus here is on an extant form of the narrative, for which our conclusions are similar. Regarding the hypothesis of an independent Antioch episode, it is certainly possible that Thekla stories developed in the way ESCH-WERMELING and others describe, since our extant manuscripts are merely snapshots of an evolving tradition, but there is no actual manuscript evidence to support her conclusion. 42. See WRIGHT, Apocryphal Acts, vol. II (n. 33), pp. 131e.133a. In Syriac versions, the charge is explicitly associated with the crown. See ibid., pp. 132-133. On the charge against Thekla, see also ESCH-WERMELING, Thekla (n. 35), pp. 159-161. 43. ESCH-WERMELING, Thekla (n. 35), pp. 122-129; J. RUMSCHEID, Kranz und Krone: Zu Insignien, Siegespreisen und Ehrenzeichen der römischen Kaiserzeit (IF, 43), Tübingen, Ernst Wasmuth, 2000, pp. 7-51. For interpretation of Alexander as a priest, see PRICE, Rituals and Power, 170-171 (n. 13); J.N. BREMMER, Magic, Martyrdom and Women’s Liberation in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, in J.N. BREMMER (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Studies on the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 2), Kampen, Kok Pharos, 1996, 36-59, p. 50; M. KÖTZEL, Thekla und Alexander – oder: Kleider machen Leute: Dramatische Ouvertüre des Antiochia-Zyklus, in EBNER (ed.), Aus Liebe (n. 31), 91-109, pp. 96-99. 44. In those versions where he is called a “syriarch”, a priestly function may be more directly implied. See Par. gr. 1468; M. CARTER, Archiereis and Asiarchs: A Gladiatorial Perspective in GRBS 44 (2004) 41-68; M. VITALE, Koinon Syrias: Priester, Gymnasiarchen und Metropoleis der Eparchien im kaiserzeitlichen Syrien, (BAG.B, NF 20), Berlin, Walter de

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Regardless, Thekla’s actions give him sufficient grounds to accuse her of “sacrilege”, perhaps in relation to the imperial cult. Is that enough to make this episode “anti-imperial”? A key question here is whether producers of the narrative also construed Thekla’s actions as “sacrilege” (cf. criterion iii of my definition). Reading the text carefully, one observes that while the literary antagonists choose to interpret Thekla’s actions as an intentional slight against a cult, other voices in the narrative suggest that she is innocent of the charges. Part of the crowd condemns Thekla (APaul 4,7 [32]), but another part decries the judgment against her as unjust (APaul 4,2.7 [27.32]). Multiple perspectives on Thekla’s actions are thus mooted within the narrative. Which of these is most likely to represent the perspective of producers of the story? They would surely have sided with the voices proclaiming the judgment against Thekla unjust rather than with the literary antagonists. One can easily understand Thekla’s actions as self-defense rather than as “sacrilege”. From this perspective, the crown would be knocked off either accidentally in the struggle or incidentally as Thekla defends herself, and Alexander would primarily be a male aggressor rather than a cultic representative.45 In other words, while the scene may demonstrate a certain lack of concern for the sanctity of imperial images, there is no reason to think that producers understood it as advocating action against the imperial cult or as implying that the cult lacked all legitimacy. The fact that a government official condemns Thekla to the beasts is also insufficient warrant to label the episode “anti-imperial”. The presence of a governor in the story allows Alexander’s personal sense of shame to result in an attempted public execution, and this literary function has to be kept in mind when asking about “political” stances taken in the narrative. 4.3 Acts of Thekla: Summary Examination of “political” figures and themes in the Acts of Thekla thus highlights many of the same methodological issues already mentioned with regard to the Vercelli Acts. One of these is the need to distinguish between critique and rejection. While the Acts of Thekla evidence ambivalence toward some manifestations of empire – especially judicial systems – there is no call for a system change within the current age or obvious suggestion that the Gruyter, 2013, pp. 52-56; J.N. BREMMER, The Onomastics and Provenance of the Acts of Paul, in F.P. BARONE – C. MACÉ – P.A. UBIERNA (eds.), Philologie, herméneutique et histoire des textes entre Orient et Occident, Turnhout, Brepols, 2017, 527-547. 45. Cf. Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 1,15.

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imperial system lacks a valid ongoing functional role. Critical elements of the story also have to be weighed against details that seem to pull in the other direction, such as the fact that the possibility of a conflict between “Christians” qua Christians and the state is raised, then implicitly set aside. As we have seen, one also needs to consider how the shape of the narrative may reflect plot contingencies. The governors who condemn the protagonists in the Acts of Thekla play a clear functional role: the “mortal danger” plot device allows Thekla to demonstrate courage in the face of death, and her god to show his power by rescuing her. This suggests that the “governor who condemns the heroine to death” could be a conventional motif that has been introduced primarily in order to accomplish “storytelling” ends rather than as part of a political “agenda”. This conclusion would be supported by the fact that Thekla faces other trials in the narrative that do not involve political figures, such as pressure from her mother to marry, attempted sexual assault, and other challenges to her virginity. Based on these considerations, I conclude that one should not be too quick to label the story “anti-imperial”. Another reason for caution in that regard is that only local judicial systems are salient in the narrative (cf. APaul 3,20),46 and that the emperor is mentioned only once, in a context unrelated to “Christianity”.47 When a woman named Queen Tryphaena faints during the beast fight in Antioch, Alexander is worried that she might die and says to the governor, “Let the beast fighter go… If Caesar hears about this, he might destroy the city” (APaulE 4,11 [36]).48 His remark implies a certain distance between city and emperor: local and “imperial” interests do not seem to be equivalent in this narrative.

5. PAUL

IN

EPHESUS (APAUL 9)

A brief glance at another narrative will reinforce some of the points just made. Parallels to both the Acts of Thekla and the Vercelli Acts are found in a story about Paul in Ephesus, where is he arrested for preaching against 46. Cf. PERVO, Acts of Paul (n. 26), p. 304. On the ongoing operation of local legal systems in the Roman era, see T. MOMMSEN, Römisches Strafrecht, Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1955, pp. 113-125 (reprint; first published 1899); S. DMITRIEV, City Government in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005, pp. 289-328. 47. As far as I can tell, the emperor is only mentioned once in ms. E. In another manuscript, Demas and Hermogenes tell Thamyris that if he accuses Paul of spreading the new teaching of the Christians, he will destroy him “according to Caesar’s decree” (APaul 3,14). 48. ἀπόλυσον τὴν θηριομάχον … ταῦτα γὰρ ἐὰν ἀκούσῃ ὁ Καῖσαρ, τάχα συναπολέσαι τὴν πόλιν.

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“Roman” gods – at least in the Coptic version, which preserves this section (APaul 9,12).49 As in the Acts of Thekla, there is a governor in this story whose “persecution” of the protagonist initially consists of going along with the wishes of others (in this case, the crowd) (APaul 9,14). Furthermore, the story incorporates a plot element reminiscent of the Vercelli Acts: the governor’s wife is eventually won over by Paul’s preaching, whereupon he begins to seek Paul’s death more actively (APaul 9,18.22). This story illustrates that “a justice system that allows individuals to pursue personal grudges” and “a governor with the authority to put protagonists in lifethreatening situations” are conventional motifs that are not unique to the stories about Peter and Thekla discussed above. Just as in those narratives, these aspects of the Ephesus Act allow for Paul to demonstrate his faith, especially when he refuses to escape (APaul 9,21), and for the power of his god to be demonstrated via a miraculous rescue. If one wants to speculate about the governor’s literary function and why he appears in the story, these considerations seem just as relevant as a possible desire to make a “political” statement.50

6. MARTYRDOM OF PAUL (APAUL 14) We will now look at a story that illustrates one of the other methodological issues mentioned at the beginning of the essay: the need to distinguish between desire for system change within the current age and hope for a new eschatological age characterized by direct divine rule. Our focus will be on the Martyrdom of Paul, an account of Paul’s demise that sometimes circulated with the Thekla and Ephesus narratives just discussed.51 As we will see, a distinction is made within the narrative between “current age” 49. This part of the story is only preserved in the Coptic Bodmer papyrus. For the text, see R. KASSER – P. LUISIER, Le Papyrus Bodmer XLI en Édition Princeps: L’Épisode d’Éphèse des Acta Pauli en Copte et en Traduction, in Muséon 117 (2004) 281-384. For a Greek version of the Ephesus Act, see C. SCHMIDT – W. SCHUBART, ΠΡΑΞΕΙϹ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ: Nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staats- und Universitäts-Bibliothek, Glückstadt – Hamburg, J.J. Augustin, 1936. The Hamburg papyrus also has other stories, including a fragmentary Martyrdom of Paul and an account of his journey to Rome that anticipates his death (cf. APaul 12-13). 50. In this story, only Paul is punished, and the issue of a more general conflict between Christians and the state is not raised. 51. I have chosen to analyze the Acts of Thekla, the Ephesus episode, and the Martyrdom of Paul separately because it seems likely to me that they circulated independently before being brought together and because manuscript issues present significant challenges for crosssection analysis. On these issues, see G.E. SNYDER, Acts of Paul: The Formation of a Pauline Corpus (WUNT 2, 352), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013.

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and “eschatological age” hopes, a fact that raises questions about the fit of the label “anti-imperial” for the story. The Marytrdom of Paul is set in Rome, and most of the action takes place in and around the emperor’s court. At the beginning of the story, Satan causes Nero’s cupbearer Patroclus to fall from a parapet and die while he is listening to Paul preach (APaul 14,1; see also 14,3). Although Patroclus is immediately resuscitated, Nero only hears the first half of the story, and is therefore surprised when the cupbearer shows up for duty as usual. Nero asks him: “Who brought you back to life?” With resolute faith, the boy said, “Christ Jesus, the king of the ages.” Disturbed, the emperor said, “Is he going to rule the ages, then, and destroy all the kingdoms of the ages?” Patroclus replied, “Yes, he is going to destroy all kingdoms. He alone will be eternal, and no kingdom will escape him.” Striking him in the face, he asked, “Do you serve in the army of that king, too, Patroclus?” He said, “Yes, lord Caesar, because he raised me from the dead.” And “Flatfoot” Barsabbas Justus, Ourion the Cappadocian, and Festus the Galatian, Nero’s leading men, said, “We serve in the army of that king of the ages, too.” He locked up these men whom he loved, torturing them terribly, and commanded that the soldiers of the great king be sought out. He issued a decree that all those found to be Christians and soldiers of Jesus should be executed. (APaulP 14,2)52

Because the relationship between “Christian” characters and a Roman emperor is a central focus of this passage, it provides an interesting opportunity to consider what would justify labelling a text “anti-imperial”. A first 52. Τίς ὁ ποιήσας σὲ ζῆσαι; ὁ δὲ παῖς φρονήματι πίστεως φερόμενος εἶπεν· Χριστὸς Ἰησοῦς ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν αἰώνων. ὁ δὲ Καῖσαρ ταρακθεὶσ (sic) εἶπεν· ἐκεῖνος οὖν μέλλει βασιλεύγην (sic) τῶν αἰώνων, καὶ καταλύειν πάσας τὰς βασιλείας τῶν αἰώνων; Λέγει αὐτῷ Πάτροκλος· ναί, πάσας τὰς βασιλείας καταλύει, καὶ αὐτὸς ἔσται μόνος εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας, καὶ οὐκ ἔσται βασιλεία, ἥτις διαφεύξεται αὐτόν. ὁ δὲ ῥαπίσας εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον εἶπεν· Πάτροκλε, καὶ σὺ στρατεύγῃ τῷ βασιλεῖ ἐκείνῳ; ὁ δὲ εἶπεν· ναί, κύριε Καῖσαρ· καὶ γὰρ ἤγειρέν με τεθνηκότα. καὶ Βαρσαβᾶς ϊσοῦστοσ (sic) ὁ πλατύπους καὶ Ουρίων ὁ Καππάδοξ καὶ Φῆστος ὁ Γαλάτης οἱ πρῶτοι τοῦ Νέρωνος εἶπον· καὶ ἡμεῖς ἐκείνῳ στρατευόμεθα τῷ βασιλεῖ τῶν αἰώνων. ὁ δὲ συνέκλεισεν αὐτοὺς δεινῶς βασανίσας οὓς λίαν ἐφίλει καὶ ἐκέλευσεν ζητεῖσθαι τοὺς τοῦ μεγάλου βασιλέως στρατιώτας καὶ προέθηκεν διάταγμα τοιοῦτον, πάντας τοὺς εὑρισκομένους Χριστιανοὺς καὶ στρατιώτας Ἰησοῦ ἀναιρεῖσθαι.

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observation to make is that the conflict in this scene is ultimately attributed to Satan and not to Christian characters or even to Nero. Furthermore, Patroclus and Nero’s other “leading men” continue to serve the emperor even after “enlisting in Jesus’ army”; their new allegiance is thus not portrayed as incompatible with imperial loyalty, at least of a certain sort. Nero’s notorious paranoia is also important to keep in mind when assessing the import of the political and military language used by Christian characters, such as the references to Jesus as a “king” with an “army” in the passage just quoted. Nero is disturbed by such language and interprets it as a threat to his position as emperor, but in the following scene, it becomes clear that he has misunderstood its implications. He asks Paul: “What made you decide to sneak into Roman territory and recruit from my dominion?” Filled with the Holy Spirit, Paul replied, “Caesar, we recruit not only from your dominion, but from the whole world. For we have been directed not to turn anyone away who wants to serve in the army of my king. If it is appealing even to you to serve in his army, neither wealth nor the splendors of this current life will save, but if you submit and entreat him, you will be saved. For in a single day, he is going to wage battle against the world.” (APaulP 14,3)53

In this passage, Jesus’ kingship is portrayed as something of an entirely different order than that of Nero. Paul refers to recruiting from “the whole world” – not just the Roman Empire – and describes the ultimate establishment of Jesus’ reign as a future event. Paul also suggests that even Nero could become a soldier of Jesus. References to Jesus as a “king” with “soldiers” are thus not framed in this passage as challenging Nero’s actual position as emperor within the current age. Instead, Nero’s paranoia and consequent persecution of Paul and other Christians are portrayed as misguided. Although it is plausible that Nero would interpret military language as conveying a concrete, imminent threat – since commanding the loyalty of troops was crucial to an emperor’s gaining and retaining power in a Roman context – this interpretation of Paul’s message is presented as a misunderstanding within the story. The theme of misunderstanding continues in the next scene, where Paul tells a prefect and a centurion that Christians “do not serve in the army of 53. τί σοι ἔδοξεν λάθρᾳ εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὴν ̔Ρωμαίων ἡγεμονίαν, καὶ στρατολογεῖν ἐκ τῆς ἐμῆς ἐπαρχίας; ὁ δὲ Παῦλος πλησθεὶς πνεύματος ἁγίου εἶπεν· Καῖσαρ, οὐ μόνον ἐκ τῆς σῆς ἐπαρχίας στρατολογοῦμεν, ἀλλὰ ἐκ τῆς οἰκουμένης πάσης. τοῦτο γὰρ διατέτακται ἡμῖν, μηδένα ἀποκλεισθῆναι θέλοντα στρατευθῆναι τῷ ἐμῷ βασιλεῖ. ὅπερ εἰ καὶ σοὶ φίλον ἐστὶν στρατευθῆναι αὐτῷ, οὐχ ὁ πλοῦτος ἢ τὰ νῦν ἐν τῷ βίῳ λαμπρὰ σώσει, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ὑποπέσῃς καὶ δεηθῇς αὐτοῦ, σωθήσῃ. μέλλει γὰρ ἐν μιᾷ ἡμέρᾳ τὸν κόσμον πολεμιν (sic).

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a king from the earth, as you suppose, but from heaven, a living god who is coming to judge” (APaulP 14,4).54 The interjection “as you suppose” indicates that the men have misunderstood what Paul is preaching, at least to a degree. Paul’s remark also indicates that “current age” and “eschatological age” hopes should not be conflated. When considering whether the story warrants the label “anti-imperial”, one should also note that its most pointed critique is directed at Nero as an individual, and that it is never suggested that all non-Christians or imperial officials agree with his actions.55 One vignette is particularly interesting in this regard. As Nero begins executing “Christians”, the “Romans” cry out before the palace, “That’s enough, Caesar! These are our people! You are destroying the power of the Romans!” (APaulP 14,3).56 While the term “Christian” is used in distinction to “Roman” here, the story nevertheless has non-Christian characters call Christians “ours” and “the strength of the Romans”, thus characterizing them as an integral part of society.57 Based on these elements of the story, I conclude that the label “antiimperial” is not warranted. This conclusion goes against the suggestions of a number of previous interpreters. Unfortunately, these interpreters have not offered extended arguments to support their claims, but I will summarize what can be gleaned from their work about their reasoning. Ann Graham Brock seems to apply the term “anti-imperial” to the story because Nero is portrayed as killing Christians, and Paul as predicting punishment for him.58 Richard Pervo seems to think that the attribution of Paul’s death to a political figure and Christian use of military language are necessarily “anti-imperial”, and affirms an appraisal by Dennis MacDonald that “no 54. οὐ γὰρ ὡς ὑμεῖς ὑπονοεῖτε βασιλέα (sic) ἀπὸ γῆς ἐρχομένῳ στρατευγόμεθα (sic), ἀλλ’ ἀπ’ οὐρανοῦ, ζῶντι θεῷ, ὃς … ἔρχεται κριτής. 55. Contra Brock, it is Nero as an individual who is portrayed as culpable for Paul’s Martyrdom, not “the Roman political structure” (cf. BROCK, Political Authority [n. 16], p. 149). She calls MartPaul “anti-imperial”, but argues that the Acts of Peter portrays political authorities more positively (ibid., pp. 147-152). While it is true that Nero gets more stage time in MartPaul than in the Vercelli Acts, and that governors come across more negatively on average in the Acts of Thekla and Ephesus Act (she considers all three Paul stories together) than in the Peter story, the differences are not as stark as she suggests. She does not mention the sympathetic portrayal of Castellius in the Acts of Thekla, or that members of Caesar’s household convert in MartPaul. The Vercelli Acts may be somewhat more positive about prevailing political systems, but the difference is merely a matter of degree. 56. ἀρκεῖ, Καῖσαρ, οἱ γὰρ ἄνθρωποι ἡμέτεροί εἰσιν· έρης [= αἴρεις] τὴν Ρ ̔ ωμαίων δύναμιν. 57. The “Romans” in this context are probably the people of the city. The wording could suggest that the relevant producer of the text was a Christian who was not from Rome. 58. BROCK, Political Authority (n. 16), pp. 148-149.

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one serves two masters in this story”.59 Helen Rhee similarly asserts that “Christians … cannot serve two masters”,60 and cites military language and the “apocalyptic language of Christ’s universal kingship” to support her claim that “radical enmity between Christianity and the Roman Empire climaxes in the Martyrdom of Paul ”.61 She is drawing on Willy Rordorf, who sees Paul’s description of an eschatological destruction of worldly kingdoms as “apocalyptic”. Rordorf comments that such traditions typically show “the hatred of the East toward the Roman Empire”, but does not explain why he thinks that applies to the Martyrdom of Paul specifically.62 Like other commentators, he also raises the issue of military language, remarking without elaboration that in this story, “Der christliche Soldatenstand [wird] zur Alternative der bürgerlich-politischen Existenz: man kann als Christ nicht römischer Bürger sein, denn das Reich Christi wird zum Feind des römischen Reichs erklärt.”63 We have already seen the weaknesses of these arguments. The narrative does not clearly imply that Christians “cannot serve two masters”: in fact, Patroclus and other imperial servants seem prepared to do just that. Furthermore, Nero’s interpretation of Christian military language as subversive – at least in the sense of conveying a concrete, “current age” threat – is portrayed as a misunderstanding in the text. Nor is there any a priori reason to assume that ascribing Paul’s death to Nero necessarily constitutes a critique of the entire imperial system, especially given the presence of other more sympathetic “Roman” characters, including some imperial officials 59. See R.I. PERVO, (Not) “Appealing to the Emperor”: Acts (and the Acts of Paul), in D.P. MOESSNER et al. (eds.), Paul and the Heritage of Israel: Paul’s Claim upon Israel’s Legacy in Luke and Acts in the Light of the Pauline Letters (LNTS, 452), London, T & T Clark International, 2012, 165-179, pp. 173-74.176-77.179; MACDONALD, Legend (n. 34), p. 66. 60. RHEE, Early Christian (n. 15), p. 179. 61. Ibid., pp. 178-179. 62. W. RORDORF, Die neronische Christenverfolgung im Spiegel der apokryphen Paulusakten, in NTS 28 (1982) 365-374, pp. 368-371; reprinted in his Lex orandi – Lex credendi: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag (Par., 36), Freiburg, Universitätsverlag, 1993, pp. 368-377. Picking up on RORDORF’s ideas are also H.W. TAJRA, The Martyrdom of St. Paul: Historical and Judicial Context, Traditions, and Legends (WUNT 2, 67), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1994, pp. 129-130; J. BOLYKI, Events after the Martyrdom: Missionary Transformation of an Apocalyptical Metaphor in Martyrium Pauli, in BREMMER (ed.), Apocryphal Acts (n. 43), 92-106, pp. 105-106. 63. RORDORF, Christenverfolgung (n. 62), p. 367. Coming at the question from another perspective, Jeremy Barrier comments in passing that MartPaul is “very confrontational between Christians and the Empire”, in contrast to stories about Thekla (J.W. BARRIER, The Acts of Paul and Thecla: A Critical Introduction and Commentary [WUNT 2, 270], Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2009, pp. 103-104, qu. 104). For BARRIER, this suggests that the traditions have independent origins. I agree with the latter conclusion, but do not see MartPaul as more “confrontational” than the Acts of Thekla from a production perspective.

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who convert. Finally, there is no reason to assume that “apocalyptic” language necessarily communicates anti-imperial sentiment in a “current age” sense. It is also important to distinguish between the perspective attributed to Nero and that of the narrative as a whole. While it would be interesting to read the story from the perspective of the literary antagonists and to ask, “How would Roman officials have reacted to this story?”, that is fundamentally different than asking whether the term “anti-imperial” is warranted from a production perspective, as the scholars cited above are presumably suggesting – although they do not always make that clear.64

7. ACTS OF JOHN

AT

ROME

I will now introduce two other narratives that show even more clearly that a story can critique former emperors and relativize imperial authority without justifying the label “anti-imperial”. One of these is the Acts of John at Rome, which recounts a conflict between John and the emperor Domitian. I will cite the version of the story in tenth-century Ochrida 4, which is very close to the main text of Junod and Kaestli’s edition.65 This narrative is reminiscent of the Martyrdom of Paul, and may even have been influenced by it.66 As in the Paul story, Domitian decrees that “Christians” should be put to death (AJR 4)67 and misunderstands the implications of John’s message. He hears that John has been preaching, “The empire of the Romans … will soon be rooted out and the imperial power of the Romans will be given to another” (AJR 5).68 This is not true, however. The emperor said, “Are you John, who says my reign will soon be destroyed and that someone else – Jesus – is going to rule instead of me?” 64. Interestingly, Candida Moss recognizes that the protagonists of such stories are sometimes misunderstood by antagonists, but still thinks that they “usurp the Roman political system” through military language and descriptions of Jesus in royal terms (C.R. MOSS, Roman Imperialism: The Political Context of Early Christian Apocrypha, in A. GREGORY – C. TUCKETT [eds.], The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Apocrypha, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2015, 378-388, p. 385). She is still essentially thinking about the stories from the antagonists’ perspective. 65. E. JUNOD – J.-D. KAESTLI (eds.), Acta Iohannis (CCSA, 2), Turnhout, Brepols, 1983, 835-886. They provide a French translation. English: B. PICK, The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, Peter, John, Andrew and Thomas, Chicago, Open Court, 1909. It is not known when this story began to circulate; its earliest written versions may date to the fourth century or later. See below, n. 74. 66. One could arguably read AJR as “reception” of (some form of) MartPaul. 67. Domitian is egged on by the Devil and the Jews (AJR 3-4). 68. περὶ τοῦ ̔Ρωμαίων βασιλείου διαφημίζει λέγων ἐν τάχει ἐκριζωθήσεσθαι, καὶ ἑτέρῳ τὴν βασιλείαν τῶν ̔Ρωμαίων διαδεδόσθαι. Translations of AJR are mine.

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John replied, “You will continue to reign for a considerable time, as granted to you by God, and many others will reign after you. And when the times of earth have been fulfilled, an eternal king will come from heaven, a true one, judge of the living and the dead, whom every people and tribe will confess, and on whose account every authority and power on earth will be destroyed.”69 (AJR 8)

John’s answer makes it clear that he has not been preaching that the empire will “soon” (ἐν τάχει) be rooted out or that Jesus will depose Domitian. The coming of the “eternal king” is set far in the future. Furthermore, John says that Domitian’s imperial authority comes from the (Christian) god. He announces that Domitian will continue to reign “for a considerable time, as granted to you by God” and later tells the emperor, “Learn who has authority over both you and your reign” (AJR 13).70 These comments simultaneously relativize and affirm Domitian’s authority, and thus do not constitute a concrete challenge to the ongoing earthly existence of the imperial system, a fact that Domitian eventually recognizes.71 After John drinks deadly poison and does not die, Domitian announces that Christians do not deserve punishment, and even calls their cultic perspective useful (AJR 12).72 This story is thus a good example of a narrative that depicts former rulers negatively and ascribes ultimate authority to the apostles’ god, and does so without being “anti-imperial” as defined above.73

69. καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Σὺ εἶ Ἰωάννης ὁ τὴν βασιλείαν μου λέγων ἐν τάχει καταλυθήσεσθαι καὶ μέλλειν ἕτερον βασιλεύειν ἀντ’ ἐμοῦ, Ιησοῦν; Ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰωάννης εἶπεν· Σὺ καὶ βασιλεύσεις πολλοῖς χρόνοις τοῖς ὑπὸ θεοῦ σοι δεδομένοις, καὶ μετὰ σὲ ἕτεροι πλεῖστοι· πληρωθέντων δὲ τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς χρόνων ἐξ οὐρανοῦ ἐλεύσεται βασιλεὺς αἰώνιος, ἀληθής, κριτὴς ζώντων καὶ νεκρῶν, ᾧ πᾶν ἔθνος φυλαὶ ἐξομολογήσονται, δι’ ὃν πᾶσα ἐξουσία καὶ ἀρχὴ ἐπίγειος καταργηθήσεται. One of the manuscripts collated by Junod and Kaestli omits “given to you by God”, as well as the last phrase. 70. μάθε τίς καὶ σοῦ καὶ τῆς βασιλείας σου ἐξουσίαν ἔχει. 71. John also relativizes Domitian’s authority when he kisses the latter’s breast, explaining, “It is right to bow before God’s hand first, and then to kiss the king’s mouth” (δίκαιον τὴν χεῖρα τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν πρώτοις προσκυνεῖν, καὶ οὕτως τὸ στόμα τοῦ βασιλέως καταφιλεῖν) (AJR 7). 72. ἐπωφελῆ εἶναι αὐτῶν τὴν θεοσέβειαν. On the poisoning scene, see M. BRAUN, History and Romance in Graeco-Oriental Literature, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1938, pp. 70-71; J.A. KELHOFFER, Miracle and Mission: The Authentication of Missionaries and Their Message in the Longer Ending of Mark (WUNT 2, 112), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2000, pp. 459-465. 73. Regarding salience, the Jews accuse Christians of being against “Roman” ways in this story (AJR 3), and rumor has it that John preaches against the “kingdom of the Romans” (AJR 5.11).

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8. PHILOSTRATUS’ LIFE OF APOLLONIUS Partly on the basis of AJR’s political stance, Junod and Kaestli date it after Constantine,74 but earlier texts also critique past emperors without portraying the imperial system as lacking all legitimacy.75 One example is Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, which traces to the first half of the third century, closer to the time when traditions about Peter and Paul began circulating.76 The Life cannot be called anti-imperial. The text states that a key source document was provided by empress Julia Domna (ca. 170-217 CE), and the implied author Philostratus claims to have been a member of her circle (VA 1,3). The text also depicts the reigns of Vespasian and Titus in a positive light.77 At their request, Apollonius counsels Vespasian and Titus about how to rule well (see VA 5,27-38; 6,29-34), and in one scene Vespasian is even advised by two other philosophers – Euphrates and Dio (Chrysostom) – to promote “democracy” or to allow the Romans to choose their form of government, and Apollonius disagrees, explicitly supporting Vespasian’s rule as emperor (VA 5,31-38).78 Euphrates tells Vespasian, “Put an end to monarchy, …, and give the Romans democracy and 74. JUNOD – KAESTLI, Acta Iohannis (n. 65), pp. 847, 857. On the dating of the tradition, see also KELHOFFER, Miracle (n. 72), p. 459 and n. 95; E. JUNOD, De l’introduction de l’historiographie dans la littérature apocryphe ancienne: les Actes de Jean à Rome, in B. POUDERON – Y.-M. DUVAL (eds.), L’historiographie de l’Église des premiers siècles (ThH, 114), Paris, Beauchesne, 2001, 97-104, p. 97. 75. Thus Tertullian attributes imperial power to a divine source in his Apology, and states that Christians pray for emperors and the continuation of the Empire (which is in their own best interest) (30-34.39), but is critical of Nero and Domitian (5). 76. The most recent Greek edition and English translation is by C.P. JONES (ed.), Philostratus: The Life of Apollonius of Tyana (LCL, 16-17), Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2005 (digital version in the digital Loeb Classical Library, 2014). A new Greek edition is currently being prepared by Gerard Boter. The work was probably written after the death of Julia Domna in 217 and before Philostratus composed his Lives of the Sophists. See VA 1,3; VS 570; FLINTERMAN, Power (n. 36), pp. 25-26; T. WHITMARSH, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 225226. 77. Vespasian’s subjugation of Greece is criticized (VA 5,41), but Philostratus then comments, “But hearing that he conducted his reign well thereafter, [Apollonius] did not conceal his pleasure and his belief that he had done well for himself” by supporting Vespasian’s rule (ἀκούων δ’ αὐτὸν εὖ διατιθέμενον τὴν μετὰ ταῦτα ἀρχὴν πᾶσαν, οὐκ ἀφανὴς ἦν χαίρων καὶ ἡγούμενος ἑαυτῷ ἀγαθὸν πράττεσθαι). Greek citations of VA are from JONES, Apollonius (n. 76). Translations are my adaptation of his. 78. On this episode, see FLINTERMAN, Power (n. 36), pp. 194-205; J.A. FRANCIS, Subversive Virtue: Asceticism and Authority in the Second-Century Pagan World, University Park, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995, pp. 116-118; WHITMARSH, Greek Literature (n. 76), pp. 230-238. Cf. Herodotus 3,80-82.

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yourself the honor of having established their liberty” (VA 5,33).79 Dio advises, “Give the Romans the choice of their own form of government, and if they choose democracy, grant it to them… But if they accept monarchy, whom will they vote into power if not you?” (VA 5,34).80 The narrative’s main protagonist then announces that both of these advisors are out of touch with reality. Apollonius remarks, “To me no form of government matters, since I live as the gods’ subject, but I do not think that the human herd should perish for lack of a just and sensible herdsman” (VA 5,35).81 Apollonius does not say here that imperial structures are intrinsically better than other forms of government, but argues on pragmatic grounds that Vespasian, who has already raised expectations that he will assume power, cannot realistically back out now. This exhortation allows Philostratus to have his cake and eat it, too. He manages to portray Apollonius as an independent thinker who is not merely a servant of imperial power, while having his protagonist explicitly support an imperial regime. Apollonius’ insistence on his impartiality strengthens the apologetic force of his pro-imperial advice, and negative characterization of Euphrates elsewhere in the work casts further doubt on the latter’s counsel in this scene (VA 1,13; 6,7.9; 7,9; 8,3).82 While emperors are thus portrayed positively and the imperial system is explicitly affirmed in this narrative, Nero and Domitian are critiqued in more pointed terms than in the stories about the apostles discussed above. Apollonius reports criticizing Nero during his lifetime (VA 5,35), and according to Philostratus’ (possibly fictional) source Damis,83 the philosopher may have conspired against Nero with the governor of Baetica 79. παῦε μοναρχίαν, … , καὶ δίδου ̔Ρωμαίοις μὲν τὸ τοῦ δήμου κράτος, σαυτῷ δὲ τὸ ἐλευθερίας αὐτοῖς ἄρξαι. 80. δίδου ̔Ρωμαίοις αἵρεσιν τῆς αὑτῶν πολιτείας, κἂν μὲν αἱρῶνται δημοκρατίαν, ξυγχώρει … εἰ δὲ μοναρχίαν προσδέχοιντο, τίνι λοιπὸν ἀλλ’ ἢ σοὶ ψηφίσασθαι τὴν ἀρχὴν πάντας; 81. ἐμοὶ πολιτείας μὲν οὐδεμιᾶς μέλει, ζῶ γὰρ ὑπὸ τοῖς θεοῖς, τὴν δὲ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀγέλην οὐκ ἀξιῶ φθείρεσθαι χήτει βουκόλου δικαίου τε καὶ σώφρονος. 82. Whitmarsh reads the contrasting portrayal of the three philosophers as “part of an ongoing attempt to characterize Apollonius as a vehicle of divine wisdom” (WHITMARSH, Greek Literature [n. 76], p. 233). 83. Classicists debate whether Damis is a fictional source invented by Philostratus. See, e.g., R.J. PENELLA, The Letters of Apollonius of Tyana: A Critical Text with Prolegomena, Translation and Commentary (MnS, 56), Leiden, Brill, 1979, p. 1 n. 3; M. DZIELSKA, Apollonius of Tyana in Legend and History, trans. P. PIEŃKOWSKI (PRSA, 10), L’Erma di Bretschneider, Roma, 1986, pp. 25-29; E.L. BOWIE, Philostratus: Writer of Fiction, in J.R. MORGAN – R. STONEMAN (eds.), Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context, London, Routledge, 1994, pp. 181-199; FRANCIS, Subversive Virtue (n. 78), pp. 86-89; J.A. FRANCIS, Truthful Fiction: New Questions to Old Answers on Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius, in AJP 119 (1998) 419-441.

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(VA 5,10).84 Apollonius also speaks openly against Domitian, who has him arrested on charges that include conspiring against the emperor.85 While Apollonius is not guilty of the particular charge against him (child sacrifice), the hero is pointedly and publicly critical of Domitian in other ways (see, e.g., VA 7,3-8). The Life thus criticizes past emperors and acknowledges abuse of power without opposing the imperial system per se.86 In this and other ways, it is a useful point of comparison for apostle stories.87 Like the apostles, Apollonius is not motivated by money, sex, or fear of death, and does not pander to power.88 He courageously speaks truth for the benefit of society at large, and is vindicated by the outcome of events. He is on good terms with the gods and spends much of his time instructing people how to worship them appropriately.89 In one scene, he indicates that Zeus is a higher power than the emperor (VA 8,4). And the Life accepts the reality of the empire with all its faults – and without calling for an earthly alternative.90

9. FURTHER REFLECTIONS ON METHODOLOGY I would now like to return to some of the methodological issues raised at the beginning of the essay. To reiterate, I have not been using a production-oriented definition of “anti-imperial” because I consider that the best approach, but because most of the scholars who have commented on the political stances of these apostle stories seem to have been interested 84. For criticism of Nero, see also VA 4,35-39; 5,7–10,28; 7,4; 8,7. Intriguingly, Flinterman suggests that Philostratus may be more positive about Nero than tradition allowed him to express (FLINTERMAN, Power [n. 36], pp. 132-136). 85. This extended saga is found in books 7-8. 86. On this dynamic, see E.L. BOWIE, Apollonius of Tyana: Tradition and Reality, in W. HAASE (ed.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II.16.2, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1978, 1652-1699, p. 1682; FLINTERMAN, Power (n. 36); FRANCIS, Subversive Virtue, p. 116 (n. 78). 87. Cf. M. VAN UYTFANGHE, La Vie d’Apollonius de Tyane et le discours hagiographique, in K. DEMOEN – D. PRAET (eds.), Theios Sophistès: Essays on Flavius Philostratus’ Vita Apollonii (MnS, 305), Leiden, Brill, 2009, pp. 335-374. 88. On Apollonius’ ascetic practices, see FRANCIS, Subversive Virtue (n. 78), pp. 83-129. 89. On Apollonius’ correcting of cultic practices, see BOWIE, Apollonius (n. 86), pp. 16881690; DZIELSKA, Apollonius (n. 83), pp. 145-147; FRANCIS, Subversive Virtue (n. 78), pp. 108-112; J. ELSNER, Hagiographic Geography: Travel and Allegory in the Life of Apollonius of Tyana, in JHS 117 (1997) 22-37, pp. 26-27. 90. Like the apostle stories, Philostratus’ story is about more than imperial politics, a theme that is absent from large sections of the work. This is just one aspect of the multifaceted story Philostratus weaves about the philosopher Apollonius.

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in production questions, even if they do not say so explicitly. Needless to say, the narratives’ political stances could also be analyzed from a reception perspective, which is a desideratum for future research. I have also engaged in the risky business of speculating about what producers may have been thinking and why they may have deployed government officials as characters in their narratives, among other literary moves. Since such speculation is fraught with uncertainty, I would like to re-emphasize that my comments about literary dynamics are observations about potential effects of the texts in the first instance. Nevertheless, they could well represent the perspective of producers. I also expect that some readers will find my definition of “anti-imperial” too restrictive even from a production-oriented perspective, and will ask whether these stories about Peter, Paul, and Thekla might have anti-imperial “hidden transcripts” perceptible to those with inside knowledge.91 An author could theoretically write a story that portrays political figures in a positive light on the surface, but which would be recognized as satire or critique by people with extra-textual information about the author’s political views. Could the apostle stories discussed here be considered “anti-imperial” if one’s definition allowed for that sort of “hidden transcript”? Even if that were the case, the fact that texts could theoretically have “hidden transcripts” does not mean that we should actually apply the label “anti-imperial” to them. This is perhaps especially true for stories where aspects of the texts themselves pull in another direction, appearing to move away from outright rejection of empire (cf. criterion ii of my definition). In the Martyrdom of Paul, Nero is depicted as misunderstanding Christian claims about Jesus and misjudging the threat they represent to his reign, and one would need quite strong extra-textual counter-evidence to conclude that the text is “anti-imperial” in spite of this. Similarly, an imperial statue is repaired in the Vercelli Acts so that conflict with the emperor can be avoided, and in the Acts of Thekla, the idea that someone could be condemned for being “Christian” is explicitly mooted, then set aside. The question of a conflict between Christians and the state is thus raised in each text, and a step is then taken away from suggesting that Christians want to challenge the system. In light of this, one would need quite convincing counter-evidence to warrant application of the label “anti-imperial”.92 91. Thanks to participants at the 2016 meeting of Bavarian New Testament scholars, especially Christian Strecker, for prompting clarification on this point. 92. The essential question for analysis is the following: is there extra-textual information pointing to an “anti-imperial” hidden transcript that is sufficiently probable and salient to outweigh any intra-textual data pulling in the other direction?

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In fact, one might even ask whether producers of these texts wanted to repair relationships between Christians and the state, e.g., by staging Christians in judicial contexts and then portraying decisions against them as resulting from personal grudges.93 Since the comments of Demas and Hermogenes in the Acts of Thekla (APaul 3,14.16; cf. AV 34) suggest that the judicial scenes in at least some of these stories may have been partly inspired by cultural memory of Christians’ being taken to court, it is interesting to note the differences between these texts and other martyr accounts in which protagonists are condemned for confessing that they are “Christians” (cf. Acts of Perpetua and Felicitas 2,2; Letter from Vienna and Lyons), refusing to sacrifice (cf. Acts of Perpetua and Felicitas 5,2), or refusing to say that Caesar is lord, offer incense, and revile Christ (cf. MartPoly 4; 8,2; 9,212,2). In contrast to the protagonists of these other narratives, Peter, Paul, and Thekla are condemned because of personal grudges and lust. This speaks against reading their stories as pointed critiques of the system, at the very least.94

10. CONCLUSION In conclusion, I have argued in this essay that although stories about Peter, Paul, and Thekla may portray Nero and judicial systems in a negative light and show little concern for protecting imperial statues and crowns, they do not deserve the label “anti-imperial” – despite how literary antagonists interpret the actions and words of Christian characters. One of the goals of the essay was to explore methodological issues that are important for analysis of “political” perspectives in ancient texts. Whether one is reading extra-canonical stories about the apostles or texts from other corpora such as the New Testament, we have seen that one needs to distinguish between critique and rejection, and to allow for the possibility that eschatological hopes about the coming of “King Jesus” and resigned acceptance of current political realities might be expressed within the same text. One also needs to weigh critical aspects of texts against less 93. Thanks to Janet Spittler for pointing this out. 94. One should also note that judicial scenes are not unique to Christian narratives. Cf. S.C. SCHWARTZ, Courtroom Scenes in the Ancient Greek Novels, PhD diss., New York, NY, Columbia University, 1998. She writes, “The literary device of the trial scene is exceptionally well-suited to keeping the plot of the novel pleasurably complex” (p. 3). A detailed study of judicial scenes in apostle stories, comparing them to other ancient texts in which similar scenes appear, would no doubt repay the effort.

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negative elements suggesting that the scope of the critique might be limited, and avoid conflating producers’ intentions with the question of whether a Roman emperor might have liked a text. I have also emphasized the importance of situating one’s assessment of a text’s “political” stance within a larger analysis of the structure of the plot, exploring how political elements might relate to a producer’s goal of “telling a good story”. This includes paying attention to the salience of “political” elements. I have pointed out that political figures play a relatively minor role in some of the apostle stories studied here, where they represent only one of several challenges faced by protagonists. If these sorts of methodological issues are taken seriously, we may discover that fewer texts warrant the label “anti-imperial” than has previously been suggested. While this may disappoint some readers, hopefully that disappointment will be short-lived, as interpreters discover that a more precise and robust approach to “political” aspects of texts opens up new possibilities for research. I look forward to seeing what new perspectives on ancient texts emerge as a result.95 Julia A. SNYDER (Regensburg)

95. Warm thanks to Jan Bremmer, Tobias Nicklas, and Daniel Weiss for comments on this essay, and to participants at the 2015 Cluj conference and a 2016 meeting of Bavarian New Testament scholars for lively discussion of the issues.

READING THE APOCALYPSE OF PETER POLITICALLY: DEPICTIONS OF CHRIST AND TRAJAN*

Any talk of “politics” – including “political” dimensions of the Apocalypse of Peter, the topic of this essay – has to begin with society in general. The research landscape of New Testament Studies has undergone significant transformation in recent decades in this regard. In recent years, increasing numbers of scholars have realised that “Jewish”, “Christian” and “Greek” did not represent distinct, mutually exclusive categories in the ancient world. These terms were used in different ways by different people, and the categories were surely overlapping. Fortunately, scholars have now begun to use these terms in a more nuanced manner, recognizing that we need to think in complex ways about the social structure of the ancient world, and to remember that Christians were part of society at large. The English translation of Walter Bauer’s work1 and influential books by Philip Rousseau2 and Bart Ehrman3 have changed the picture we have of early Christianity so that it now recognizes more diversity. In the 1990s, the prevailing models involved a plurality of different Christian groups with different self-understandings and perspectives.4 Comparable shifts of thinking also *  Support for work on this essay was provided by the Centre for Advanced Studies (Beyond Canon) at the University of Regensburg (FOR 2770). Select abbreviations used in this essay: RIC = H. MATTINGLY – E.A. SYDENHAM (eds.), Roman Imperial Coinage II: Vespasian to Hadrian, London, Spink, 1926. RPC III = M. AMANDRY – A. BURNETT (eds.), Roman Provincial Coinage III, Part 1: Nerva, Trajan and Hadrian (AD 96-138), London, British Muesum Press, 2015. 1. W. BAUER, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum (Beiträge zur historischen Theologie, 10), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1934. English translation: W. BAUER, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (edited by R.A. KRAFT and G. KRODEL), Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1971. 2. P. ROUSSEAU, Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1985. 3. B.D. EHRMAN, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew, New York, NY, Oxford University Press, 2003. 4. For instance, D. BRAKKE, The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual and Diversity in Early Christianity, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2010, esp. his chapter “Imagining ‘Gnosticism’ and

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began happening in Jewish Studies at this time. Also in the 1990s, scholars followed the pioneering examples of Hans-Dieter Betz, Hans-Josef Klauck, and, of course, Martin Hengel.5 Since then, “Jews” and “Christians” have increasingly been understood as an integral part of the diverse Graeco-Roman world. Put simply, I understand the formation of early Christian identity as involving people who took part in the everyday life of the Roman provinces and its discourses. Ideas, images and stereotypes encountered in daily life influenced the production as well as the reception of early Christian texts. This background is important for appreciating the potential “political” effects of the Apocalypse of Peter. Everyday life is the starting point of my own approach to the complex field of “politics”. Because of the difficulty – even impossibility – of defining the term “politics” in a comprehensive manner, I will focus on only one aspect in this paper: aesthetics. What images were used in Roman depictions of the emperor, and where were those images encountered in daily life? How might a reader who was confronted with those images on a daily basis have heard the Apocalypse of Peter? In this essay, I will try to imagine how the Apocalypse might have affected readers steeped in the everyday life of Alexandria, showing that “pagan” and “Christian” discourses featured similar ideas. My main goal is to unveil the potential political effects of a text whose message has often been described as apolitical, an assessment that is implicit in the labels “Christian” and “inner-Jewish” that have sometimes been applied.

1. THE APOCALYPSE

OF

PETER: INTRODUCTION RESEARCH

AND

HISTORY OF

The original version of the Apocalypse of Peter has been lost, but two later versions have been preserved: a longer Ethiopic version and a shorter Greek version. The latter is part of the Akhmim Codex (P. 10759), a parchment codex dating to the sixth or seventh century that was discovered in 1886-1887 in Upper Egypt. This codex contains fragments of the Gospel of Peter, parts of 1 Enoch, and sections of the Apocalypse of Peter. Two Greek fragments of the Apocalypse of Peter from a miniature codex of the fifth century are also known (P. Vindob. G 39756 and Bodl. MS Gr.th.f. Early Christianities”, pp. 1-28. 5. See the history of research in E. PORTER – A.W. PITTS, Greco-Roman Culture in New Testament Interpretation, in E. PORTER – A.W. PITTS, Christian Origins and Greco-Roman Culture: Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament: Early Christianity in its Hellenistic Context, Volume I (TENT, 9), Leiden, Brill, 2013, 1-12.

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4 [P]). I will focus mainly on the Ethiopic version, because it has some interesting sections not included in the Greek fragments. The Ethiopic text has two main parts. In chapters 1-6, Peter receives a revelation of Jesus, who foretells the final judgement on God’s great day and the arrival of the Messiah on the clouds of heaven. This is followed by a “tour of Hell” that describes punishments for various sins (chapters 7-13). The text ends with a promise of salvation, but the most space is devoted to the depiction of Hell. The text contains many allusions to Israel’s scriptures, especially in the first part, and although it also refers to the Gospel of Matthew, it is very “Jewish” in character overall.6 To date, little research has been done on the work, and much of what has been written has focussed on its origins. Enrico Norelli and Richard Bauckham suggest that the text comes from Palestine and reflects the Bar Kokhba crisis.7 Most others scholars think the work was written in Alexandria under the reign of Trajan.8 In my opinion, we will never been able to 6. M. Himmelfarb identifies the “Jewish” ideas in the tour of Hell. Cf. M. HIMMELFARB, Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature, Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1983. 7. They see the text as criticising the messianic self-understanding of Bar Kokhba and the persecution of Christians by Jewish followers of this “false messiah”. R. BAUCKHAM, The Fate of the Dead: Studies on Jewish and Christian Apocalypses (SupplNT, 93), Leiden, Brill, 1998, pp. 160-258; E. NORELLI, Situation des apocryphes pétriniens, in Apocrypha 2 (1991) 31-83, pp. 34-62; E. NORELLI, Pertinence théologique et canonicité: Les premières apocalypses chrétiennes, in Apocrypha 8 (1997) 147-164, pp. 157-158. 8. Jan Bremmer and Tobias Nicklas situate the text in Alexandria, and connect it to wars under Trajan, basing their arguments on a reconstruction of the political atmosphere and socio-cultural milieu. Other scholars share the opinion that Egypt was a melting pot of various cultures, but do not see the Apocalypse of Peter as fitting there. Bremmer believes that the depiction of Hell has been influenced by Orphic traditions. J. BREMMER, The Apocalypse of Peter: Greek or Jewish, in J.N. BREMMER – I. CZACHESZ (eds.), The Apocalypse of Peter (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha, 7), Leuven, Peeters, 2003, 1-14. He posits an initial Egyptian provenance for the work, with later redaction in Palestine. J.N. BREMMER, Orphic, Roman, Jewish and Christian Tours of Hell: Observations on the Apocalypse of Peter, in T. NICKLAS – J. VERHEYDEN – E. EYNIKEL – F. GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ (eds.), Other Worlds and Their Relation to This World: Early Jewish and Ancient Christian Traditions (JSJ.S, 143), Leiden, Brill, 2010, 305-321. Wolfgang Grünstäudl points out that the motif of the Weltenbrand has Hellenistic roots. W. GRÜNSTÄUDL, Petrus, das Feuer und die Interpretation der Schrift: Beobachtungen zum Weltenbrandmotiv im Zweiten Petrusbrief, in L. NEUBERT – M. TILLY (eds.), Der eine Gott und die Völker in eschatologischer Perspektive: Studien zur Inklusion und Exklusion im biblischen Monotheismus (BTSt, 137), Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener, 2013, 183-208. Nicklas bases his argument for Alexandria on intertextual relations to Israel’s scriptures and Hellenistic motifs like Acherusia and Elysium. (Regarding these motifs, see T.J. KRAUS, Acherousia und Elysion: Anmerkungen im Hinblick auf deren Verwendung auch im christlichen Kontext, in Mnemosyne 56 [2003] 145-163). He is critical of the methodology and hermeneutics of Bauckham and Norelli (especially their reading of Justin and Cassius Dio),

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resolve the question of the Apocalypse’s provenance with any certainty; in any case, it is interesting to think about how the work would have been received in either context. Tobias Nicklas has recently taken a first step in that direction,9 and the current essay is inspired by his work, although my own reading of the Apocalypse differs. In this essay, I am going to ask how the Apocalypse of Peter might have been received in Egypt. My approach is similar to that of Sjef van Tilborg in his book Reading John in Ephesus. He uses reader-response criticism to show that the Gospel of John has a certain potential impact if read against epigraphical and literary sources from Ephesus.10 Adopting a similar approach, I will suggest that the storyline of the Apocalypse of Peter might have been understood as having “political” dimensions if read in the culturally complex city of Alexandria. Based on coins and literary witnesses from Graeco-Roman Egypt – specifically, Roman propaganda under Trajan – I will show that certain Christological images in the Apocalypse of Peter fit the broader context of Hellenistic provincial society.11 Numismatic evidence thus suggests that the Apocalypse of Peter could have been understood “politically” by some readers.12 In other words, this essay explores and argues that the text reflects persecution. This leads him to date the text tentatively between 115 and 117 CE. Cf. T. NICKLAS, Resurrection – Judgement – Punishment: Apocalypse of Peter 4, in G. VAN OYEN – T. SHEPHERD (eds.), Resurrection from the Dead: Biblical Traditions in Dialogue (BETL, 249), Leuven, Peeters, 2012, 461-474; T. NICKLAS, “Insider” und “Outsider”: Überlegungen zum historischen Kontext der Darstellung “jenseitiger Orte” in der Offenbarung des Petrus, in W. AMELING (ed.), Topographie des Jenseits: Studien zur Geschichte des Todes in Kaiserzeit und Spätantike (Altertumswissenschaftliches Kolloquium, 21), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2011, 35-48. 9. Cf. T. NICKLAS, Jewish, Christian, Greek? The Apocalypse of Peter as a Witness of Early Second Century Christianity in Alexandria in L. ARCARI (ed.), Beyond Conflicts: Cultural and Religious Cohabitations in Alexandria and Egypt between the 1st and the 6th Century CE (STAC), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2017, 27-46. 10. S. VAN TILBORG, Reading John in Ephesus (SupplNT, 83), Leiden, Brill, 1996. 11. Research on the Revelation of John supports my argument. It is generally acknowledged that depictions of the throne room and cult in Revelation are “open” and could easily have evoked Graeco-Roman ideas. See, e.g., the many parallels collected in D.E. AUNE, Revelation (WBC 52a-c), Nashville, TN, Thomas Nelson, 1997-1998. 12. Contra Bauckham, who describes the text as reflecting an inner-Jewish debate, its continual denouncement of idolatry suggests that it was produced in a society where different cultic ideas collided. Bauckham’s understanding of a Judaism and Christianity isolated from Graeco-Roman ideas is hard to reconcile with the realities of the ancient world, even in Palestine during the revolt. Regarding idols, see T.J. KRAUS, Zur näheren Bedeutung der Götzen(bilder) in der Apokalypse des Petrus, in ASE 24 (2007) 147-176. Bauckham considers interpreting the messianic figure of ApocPet 2 as either the Roman Empire or Bar Kokhba, opting for the latter and declining to consider the imperial cult or Roman politics in general as important for understanding the text. He points out that the messiah does not strive to be worshiped as a god, and that the text does not mention the Romans. Bauckham’s observa-

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cultural artefacts of Alexandria as a way of considering the effects that images in the Apocalypse of Peter might have had in that milieu.

2. THE PAROUSIA OF CHRIST AND

THE

GOSPEL OF MATTHEW

At the very beginning of the Apocalypse of Peter, the reader is confronted with a description of the Parousia of Christ: For when the Son of God returns notice will not be given. Instead, he will appear like a bolt of lightning flashes from east to west. Just like that I will return in my glory riding the clouds of heaven accompanied by my vast heavenly army. My cross will go in front of me. I will be shining seven times brighter than the sun. And at my return in glory all my holy angels will be with me. Then my Father will crown me (or: set a crown on my head) to judge the living and the dead.13

This passage offers a rich, powerful depiction of Christ. He appears like a bolt of lightning flashing from east to west. He comes in glory on the clouds of heaven, accompanied by a great army. He shines seven times brighter than the sun and a cross goes before him. He receives a crown from God, symbolizing the authority given to him to judge the whole earth. Bauckham interprets the depiction of Christ in this scene as creative reception of Matt 24.14 He thinks the Apocalypse has taken up core motifs from the Gospel, adding additional material derived from “Christian” tradition. Bauckham is correct that Matt 24 has a lot in common with the Apocalypse of Peter.15 The closest parallel between Matthew and the passage quoted above is the motif of the thunderbolt. In Matt 24,27, Jesus announces, “For as the lightning comes from the east and flashes as far as the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man” (ὥσπερ γὰρ ἡ ἀστραπὴ tions are correct, but his conclusions are nevertheless problematic. His argument reflects the simplistic idea that the emperor was equal to the Roman gods in the imperial cult. It has been shown, however, that the contours of the cult differed between provinces and among emperors, not all of whom pressed for divine adoration. Bauckham also concentrates on selected passages: it would be possible to interpret the figure of Christ as a counter-point to the emperor. Whether or not the similarities reflect intentionality, the images in ApocPet 1 are ambiguous and open to a variety of interpretations. 13. Translation from D.D. BUCHHOLZ, Your Eyes Will Be Opened: A Study of the Greek (Ethiopic) Apocalypse of Peter (SBDS, 97), Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press, 1988, pp. 167-169. 14. See BAUCKHAM, Fate (n. 7), pp. 175-176. 15. The Apocalypse also relates intertextually to 2 Peter. A more detailed overview of the discussion is provided by W. GRÜNSTÄUDL, Petrus Alexandrinus: Studien zum historischen und theologischen Ort des zweiten Petrusbriefes (WUNT 2, 353), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, pp. 105-111. Also NICKLAS, Jewish (n. 9).

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ἐξέρχεται ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν καὶ φαίνεται ἕως δυσμῶν, οὕτως ἔσται ἡ παρουσία τοῦ υἱοῦ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου).16 References to the cross and the arrival of the Messiah on the clouds of heaven in the Apocalypse of Peter are very similar to Matt 24,30.17 However, this passage from the Apocalypse of Peter also contains motifs that have not been taken from Matthew, some of which appear only infrequently in “Christian” texts. For instance, not many texts associate Christ directly with the motif of the sun. Also the picture of crowning is not commonly used as a symbol expressing the subordination of the messiah (Heb 2,7.9). Of course, crowns (e.g., 2 Clem 7,3; IgnMagn [long] 13,1; MartPoly 19,2; Hermas, Man. 1,2,5)18 and the sun (Rev 1,16; Acts 26,13; Matt 17,2 [the Transfiguration]; 1 Clem 20,3; 25,4; Barn 5,10; 15,15; Diog 7,2; IgnEp 19,2),19 do appear in “Christian” texts. It is also not completely improbable that the author of the Apocalypse of Peter might have simply put together motifs known from other “Christian” texts. However, Bauckham’s approach of interpreting the vision of Christ in the Apocalypse of Peter exclusively as a kind of mosaic of “Christian traditions” is highly questionable. In my view, that is not the only way it might have been received. Given how rarely the motifs that form the focus of this essay are used in “Christian” contexts, and the fact that they also appear in other contexts in the ancient world, it is unlikely that they would have evoked exclusively “Christian” overtones for second-century readers. As I will now demonstrate, the author of the Apocalypse has employed images that some readers might have connected with other contexts, including “political” discourses.

3. PORTRAYAL OF TRAJAN IN LITERATURE

AND

COINAGE

Motifs such as the crowning of a subordinate by a god, that subordinate’s shining like the sun, and his coming like a thunderbolt are not unique to “Christian” texts. Romans in Egypt regularly used such images in connection with leaders, especially under Trajan, and “Christian” readers of the Apocalypse of Peter could easily have noticed the parallels.20 In this section, I will 16. The imagery is deeply rooted in Israel’s theophany texts, e.g., Ex 19,16; Ps 76,19 (LXX); 96,4 (LXX); Job 20,25; Sir 43,13; Zech 9,14; Ez 1,13; Dan 10,6. 17. See BAUCKHAM, Fate (n. 7), p. 180. 18. See also Matt 13,43. 19. Rev 10,1 mentions an angel shining like the sun. 20. Even if the “origin” of these motifs was “Christian”, readers might have interpreted them against a different background.

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263

show that images used to depict Christ in the Apocalypse had parallels in other contexts. 3.1 Portrayal of Trajan in Literary Sources Depictions of Trajan differed from those of his forerunner Domitian and his successor, Hadrian, despite some similarities. The manner in which the institutions responsible for imperial propaganda both in the provinces and at the centre of the Empire chose to portray him in relation to Roman gods is very significant. The Panegyricus of Pliny says that Trajan was not striving to be seen or worshiped as god, but to be depicted as a subordinate representative of Jupiter (Paneg. 52,6).21 Subordination was key to his self-understanding. According to Pliny (Paneg. 1,3-4), he wanted to be seen as the chosen one (ab Iove … electus).22 Pliny’s text corresponds with official portrayals of the emperor: this is how Roman society was supposed to see Trajan.23 As Pfeiffer,24 Fears25 and Kuhoff26 note, this also explains the imagery on the Arch of Trajan in Benevento, which depicts Jupiter giving his thunderbolts to Trajan in order to empower him. 3.2 Portrayal of Trajan on Coins Depictions of Trajan as subordinate to god(s) appear in coinage from nearly every part of the Roman Empire, especially on imperial, but also on provincial coins. These coins share motifs with the Apocalypse of Peter, where Christ is depicted as shining like the sun, being crowned by a god and coming like a thunderbolt. 21. See M. PEPPEL, Gott oder Mensch? Kaiserverehrung und Herrschaftskontrolle, in H. CANICK – K. HITZL (eds.), Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003, 69-96. Also J.R. FEARS, The Cult of Jupiter and Roman Imperial Ideology, in ANRW II 17 (1981) 1-141. 22. Cf. S. PFEIFFER, Der römische Kaiser und das Land am Nil: Kaiserverehrung und Kaiserkult in Alexandria und Ägypten von Augustus bis Caracalla (30 v. Chr.-217 n. Chr.), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2010, p. 136. Also D.N. SCHOWALTER, The Relationship between the Emperor and the Gods: Images from Pliny’s “Panegyricus” and Other Sources from the Time of Trajan, Ann Arbor, MA, University Microfilms International, 1991. 23. See also P. LUMMEL, “Zielgruppen” römischer Staatskunst: Die Münzen der Kaiser Augustus bis Trajan und die trajanischen Staatsreliefs, München, C.H. Beck, 1991. 24. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), p. 136. 25. J.R. FEARS, The Cult of Virtutes and Roman Imperial Ideology, in ANRW II 17 (1981) 827-948, esp. p. 918. 26. W. KUHOFF, Felicior Augusto melior Trajano: Aspekte der Selbstdarstellung der römischen Kaiser während der Prinzipatszeit, Frankfurt am Main, Peter Lang, 1993, p. 233.

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3.2.1 Imperial Coinage All known Roman imperial coins from the time of Trajan that have a person and a god on the reverse side – apart from coins featuring Abundancia, the goddess of fruitfulness, with children – feature the emperor in a subordinate position. These coins visually depict Trajan as being the representative of a god and not a god himself. He is not equal to the gods; he is dependent on them for his authority. The images on many coins communicate legitimation and subordination simultaneously, often employing the symbol of a crown, corona and/or act of crowning. A god, who sometimes stands above the emperor, gives him a crown and thereby empowers him to rule. 3.2.1.1 Trajan and Victoria Trajan appears with a variety of gods and goddesses on coins, one of whom is Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. She is often depicted crowning the emperor with a wreath, which symbolizes political and military power. TABLE 1. Imperial coins from the Trajan era that depict Victoria crowning Trajan Frequency

Cohen Collection

Motif on the reverse

RIC II

Rare

C. 318; 319

Victoria crowns Trajan

RIC II 28

Rare; Scarce

C. 251; 252; 253

Victoria crowns Trajan

RIC II 69

Rare

C. 261

Victoria crowns Trajan

RIC II 85

Scarce

C. 514; 515

Victoria crowns Trajan

RIC II 212

Scarce

B.M.

Victoria crowns Trajan

RIC II 213

Scarce/ Common

C. 516; 517

Victoria crowns Trajan; both are standing; Thunderbolts

RIC II 549

Rare

C. 519

Trajan stands on the throne; Victoria flies above, and crowns him

RIC II 551

Rare

C. 520

Trajan stands on the throne; Victoria flies above, and crowns him

RIC II 551a

Rare

C. 521

Trajan stands on the throne; Victoria flies above, and crowns him

RIC II 552

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As Table 1 demonstrates, a number of different imperial coins depict Trajan being crowned by Victoria. On these coins, Trajan receives a crown, which is a symbol of victory and strength, and is portrayed as being subordinate to the goddess: she is crowning him. Sometimes he is even depicted below the image of the goddess.27 Most commonly, Trajan is depicted in a standing position with a spear in his hand, and he is crowned from behind. Images 1 and 2 illustrate this motif. Image 1 (RIC II 212) is a silver denarius found in Italy that dates to 103-111 CE and depicts Victoria crowning Trajan, who holds a spear in his right hand. Image 2 (RIC II 549), a sestertius found in Rome that dates to 103-111 CE, has a similar layout, but with an important difference. The motif of crowning is comparable, but Trajan now holds a spear in his left hand and a thunderbolt, the symbol of Jupiter, in his right. This difference is significant. Although the emperor is not depicted as a god on either coin, the image on the bronze coin indicates that he has a particular connection with Jupiter that is important for his political status. Thunderbolts, which had already been used to signify Jupiter’s power, were now employed to symbolize Trajan’s authority to govern the empire.

IMAGE 1. RIC II 212, silver denarius from Italy (Rome), 103-111 CE, depicting Trajan with a spear in his right hand. Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society.28

27. On RIC II 551, a sestertius from 103-111 CE, Trajan is standing on a throne, and Victoria flies over him, giving him a crown. 28. http://numismatics.org/collection/1985.140.76. Last accessed 10 June 2016. Coin identifier: ANS 1985.140.76.

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IMAGE 2. RIC II 549, bronze sestertius from Rome, 103-111 CE, depicting Trajan with a spear in his left hand. Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society.29

3.2.1.2 Trajan and Roma In other imperial coins, Trajan is depicted with Roma, the divine personification of the city of Rome. In the coins listed in Table 2, Trajan is depicted in a subordinate position before Roma. Crowning also plays a very important role. Like the coin in Image 2, one of the Trajan-Roma coins connects him – and thus also his political authority – with Jupiter: RIC II 448 shows him holding a thunderbolt. TABLE 2. Imperial coins from the Trajan era that depict the emperor with Roma Frequency

Cohen Collection

Motif on the reverse

RIC II

Rare

C. 598

RIC II 448

Rare

B.M.

Rare

C. 599

Rare

C. 600

Rare

C. 601

Rare

B.M.

Roma sits with outstretched hands; Trajan stands with spear/thunderbolt Roma sits; Trajan stands in front of her Roma sits and receives a corona from Trajan Roma sits and receives a corona from Trajan Roma sits and receives a corona from Trajan Trajan stretches out his hand toward Roma

RIC II 449 RIC II 451 RIC II 452 RIC II 453 RIC II 474

29. http://numismatics.org/collection/1923.150.78. Last accessed 10 June 2016. Coin identifier: ANS 1923.150.78.

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3.2.1.3 Trajan and Jupiter Coins connecting Trajan with Jupiter are even more common. On some of these, Trajan is depicted with Jupiter himself, who is crowning and empowering him. This motif resembles the portrayal of Trajan as Jupiter’s chosen one in literary sources (e.g., Pliny, Paneg. 1,3-4; 52,6). In both cases, the emperor is connected with the god, but not equated with him. All of these sources clearly differentiate between Jupiter and the human emperor. Table 3 lists coins featuring Trajan and Jupiter. TABLE 3. Imperial coins from the Trajan era that depict the emperor with Jupiter Frequency

Cohen Collection

Motif on the reverse

RIC II

Rare

C. 97

Trajan worships Jupiter in a temple

RIC II 145

Scarce

C. 46; 47; PI. IX 148

Jupiter empowers Trajan; Thunderbolts; Branch/ corona Subordination

RIC II 249

Scarce

C. 48

Jupiter stands holding thunderbolts; he empowers Trajan, who is holding a branch

RIC II 619

Scarce

C. 49

Similar to RIC 619

RIC II 643

Image 3 (RIC II 249) is a silver denarius from 112-114 CE – a very late coin – that portrays Trajan holding a thunderbolt and receiving a crown from Jupiter, who is holding a spear. Trajan’s subordinate status is clearly evident – he is much smaller than Jupiter on the coin, which highlights their different statuses. The god’s symbols, the spear and thunderbolt, are distributed between the figures: Jupiter is holding the spear and Trajan the thunderbolt. This indicates that Trajan’s power comes from Jupiter. Similar motifs are also found on aureus coins of a similar date.30

30. RIC II 298, a denarius from the same time period, also features the motif, but the inscription differs. There is also an aureus coin that shares these motifs.

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IMAGE 3. RIC II 249, silver denarius from Italy, 112-114 CE, depicting Trajan receiving a crown from Jupiter. Courtesy of Pegasi Numismatics and with permission of wildwinds.com.

3.2.2 Provincial Coinage Although coinage in the provinces was produced fairly independently, templates found on coins produced in Rome appear regularly throughout the Empire. These patterns were intentionally adopted in the provinces and combined with local elements.31 For instance, the motif of Trajan worshipping while being crowned by a god in a temple can be seen on coins from Asia Minor, as listed in Table 4. TABLE 4. Provincial coins from Asia Minor that depict Trajan being crowned in a temple Frequency

Cohen Collection

Motif on the reverse

RIC II

Rare

C. 610

Temple; Trajan wearing military clothes; being crowned by Fortuna

RIC II 723

Temple; Trajan wearing military clothes; being crowned by Victoria

RIC II 724

Rare

Image 4 (RIC II 723), a cistophorus minted around 98 or 99 CE, depicts Trajan in military clothing being crowned by Fortuna. It is not known if the coin was actually minted in Asia Minor or produced elsewhere for use in the province.32 31. For instance, Macedonian coins connect Trajan with Augustus, who is crowned by the divine Caesar (Moushmov 6927, plate 44 #14). 32. RIC II 723v., a variation of this coin, has the same motif. This coin was made for Ephesus.

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IMAGE 4. RIC II 723, cistophorus from Asia Minor, 98-99 CE, depicting Trajan being crowned by Fortuna. With permission of wildwinds.com.

RPC III 1717 (not pictured here), a coin from Pergamum minted in 113/114 CE,33 shows Augustus being crowned by Roma. Other coins from Cyrenaica and Crete depict the crowning of Trajan by Nike. An example of this is RPC III 32, a coin from 115 CE, five different specimens of which have been preserved. The motifs on this coin and the Victoria-Trajan coins from Rome are nearly identical, although the provincial coin is made from bronze rather than silver. 3.3 Alexandrian Coins Similar motifs are found in coins from Alexandria, where, in my opinion, the Apocalypse of Peter was written. 3.3.1 Motif of crowning in Egypt Pfeiffer describes the Trajan coinage of Alexandria34 as melding together Roman ideas and Egyptian motifs.35 As in other provinces, Egyptians adopted certain motifs from outside and combined them with local elements.36 Good examples are two coins owned by the American Numismatic Society, one of 33. This coin circulated widely, and thirty-two specimens have been preserved. 34. Cf. J. VOGT, Die alexandrinischen Münzen: Grundlegung einer alexandrinischen Kaisergeschichte, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1924, reprinted Stuttgart, Olms, 2013. 35. Practices differed from emperor to emperor, but archaeological documents show that Egyptian ideas were integrated into the Roman-Hellenistic imperial cult. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), pp. 19-30. 36. I do not completely follow Pfeiffer’s model of society. He suggests that first-century Roman society was fascinated by Egyptian motifs and ideas, but that there is no evidence that Jewish ideas exerted a similar influence. He does not consider the possibility of a two-sided cultural exchange between Jewish and Hellenistic Alexandria. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), pp. 31-40. I can hardly imagine that such influence was entirely absent.

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which is depicted in Image 5. Both were minted in Alexandria between 108 and 109 CE. As on the imperial coin RIC II 551, these coins feature Victoria/ Nike flying above Trajan and giving him a crown, while Trajan sits in a quadriga of elephants.

IMAGE 5. 1994.92.4 (American Numismatic Society), bronze drachm from Alexandria, 108-109 CE, depicting Trajan being crowned by Nike. Courtesy of the American Numismatic Society.37

RPC III 4164, a silver tetradrachm from 103 or 107 CE, of which three specimens have been found, shows Trajan receiving a crown from Victoria/ Nike who is standing behind him. The motif is very close to the imperial coins RIC II 212 and RIC II 549. It shows that the Victoria-Trajan template found in Roman coinage also circulated in Alexandria.38 As in other provinces, coins depicting Trajan being crowned in a temple also appear in Alexandria, but it is the Egyptian god Serapis rather than Jupiter who crowns the emperor. Numi Augg. Alexandrini 792, which seems to be similar to RIC II 723 from Asia Minor, illustrates Trajan adoring Serapis in front of an altar (i.e., inside a temple). In return, Serapis gives Trajan a crown, which symbolizes his authority in Egypt.39 3.3.2 Emperor, sun, thunderbolts and the Helios-Serapis tradition It is interesting that coins depicting Trajan in a subordinate position often include images symbolizing a transfer of divine attributes: he is allowed to carry the god’s symbols, such as Jupiter’s thunderbolts.40 The 37. http://numismatics.org/collection/1994.92.4. Last accessed 10 June 2016. Coin identifier: ANS 1994.92.4. 38. Roma also crowns the emperor on some Alexandrian coins, e.g., 1944.100.55529 (American Numismatic Society). This coin was minted between 112-114 CE. 39. PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), p. 141. On a drachma (Sear 3267), Serapis gives something to a kneeling person. The coin has not been well preserved, but may resemble Numi Augg. Alexandrini 792. 40. Numerous imperial coins show Trajan holding Jupiter’s thunderbolts (e.g., RIC II 549), even in Egypt. See PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), p. 141; PEPPEL, Gott (n. 21), p. 88. Also

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motif of the sun communicates similar ideas. This image was frequently used in imperial propaganda, especially in Egypt. Beginning with Augustus (I. Philae II 142), there was a long tradition in Egypt of associating the emperor with the rising sun. Under Nero, the motif became very prominent (ILS 879441; Seneca, Apocol. 40,1,25-31), and was adopted across the whole Empire. Under Vespasian, the Egyptians connected the theme with the East (cf. Pfeiffer’s reading of P. Foud I 8,2),42 because Vespasian came to Egypt from Jerusalem. Although the sun was thus a commonly used motif, the Egyptians employed it in a special manner during the reign of Trajan. Trajan was the first emperor since Nero to be portrayed with the symbols of Helios: a radiating aureole and aegis. Especially on later coins, the laurel wreath has been replaced by a radiating crown and symbols of the sun.43 Table 5 lists Alexandrian coins featuring a variety of sun-related images. TABLE 5. Alexandrian coins depicting Trajan associated with the motif of the sun Number in Milne1

Other Collections

Milne 696

Köln 633; Emmett 436; Laureate bust; aegis Dattari 836

Milne 701

BMC 432

Motif on the reverse

Laureate head; aegis

Milne 720

Laureate head; sun

Milne 724

Laureate head; sun

Köln 689

Dattari 811; Emmet 406

Laureate bust; aegis

Milne 760

Laureate bust; sun

Milne 750

Radiating bust; sun

Milne 777v

Emmet 372; BMC 363

Radiating bust; aegis; sun

Milne 781

BMC 364

Radiating bust; aegis; sun

M. BERGMANN, Die Strahlen der Herrscher: Theomorphes Herrscherbild und politische Symbolik im Hellenismus und in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Mainz, von Zabern, 1998. 41. H. DESSAU, Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, Berlin, Weidmann, 1892-1916 (reprinted Zürich, Weidmann, 1997). 42. See PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), pp. 108-110. 43. A. GEISSEN, Katalog Alexandrinischer Kaisermünzen der Sammlung des Instituts für Altertumskunde der Univerisät zu Köln: Band 1 Augustus-Trajan (Nr. 1-740), Opladen, Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 1974, reprinted with corrections in 1983, lists a number of examples (588; 657; 658; 685; 686; 687; 688; 705; 706; 707; 708; 709).

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M. SOMMER

If one compares these coins with those discussed above, one notices immediately that on some of them, the laurel wreath has been replaced by sunrays, and that Trajan wears the aegis and is depicted with cosmic symbols, especially stars. All of these coins come from a later stage of his reign. Image 6 (Milne 760) serves as an example.

IMAGE 6. Milne 760, silver denarius from Alexandria, 115-116 CE depicting Trajan with a spear in his right hand. David Lowe Collection, with permission of wildwinds.com.

According to Pfeiffer, these images are rooted in the Helio-Serapis tradition, and Trajan’s empowerment through Serapis gave him the authority to wear these symbols. This seems to be similar to imperial coins featuring Trajan with Jupiter and thunderbolts.44

4. POTENTIAL POLITICAL EFFECTS OF THE IMAGES IN OF PETER

THE

APOCALYPSE

As emphasized by theories of “cultural memory”, images can typically be interpreted in multiple different ways, even in the same contexts, and this process is influenced by the socio-cultural background of interpreters.45 Traditions, images, ideas, stereotypes, associations and role models shared by members of a certain group or society impact the effects of images and texts. It is interesting in this context to think about how regular exposure 44. See PFEIFFER, Kaiser (n. 22), p. 141. 45. “Memory” approaches generally envisage the formation of cultural memory as a process that involves collection, warping, combination, transmission and adoption of ideas, motifs, etc. A. Assmann’s famous Erinnerungsräume, an impressive account of the intellectual history of Western Europe, makes clear that ideas change as soon as they are transmitted. Regarding the Yale Critics (esp. Paul de Man and Harold Bloom), she even goes so far as to speak about motifs’ decaying in cultural archives. By this, she means that items archived in cultural memories may lose their roots, but still flower because other connection facilities come to life. Cf. A. ASSMANN, Erinnerungsräume: Formen und Wandlungen des kulturellen Gedächtnisses, München, C.H. Beck, 2010, pp. 343-358.

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to images of Trajan such as those found on Roman and provincial coins might have influenced the way the Apocalypse of Peter was received by some readers. An examination of coins has revealed the following common themes: (1) Subordination: In nearly every part of the empire, Trajan was depicted as subordinate to the Roman gods. He was not a god himself, merely a representative. In this regard, Roman propaganda tried to distinguish between Trajan and Domitian. (2) Crowning: The motif of crowning was very significant in Trajan coinage, and symbolized his subordinate relationship to the Roman gods, even if the precise symbolism of the crowning of Trajan differed depending on which god was giving him a crown.46 The importance of crowns for the portrayal of the emperor becomes even more clear when one compares the coinage of Trajan with that of Hadrian, where virtually no crowning scenes appear. (3) Thunderbolts and the sun – transfer of divine symbols: The legitimation of Trajan by association with the Roman gods was usually by means of a transfer of divine symbols to the emperor. A god gave his insignia to the emperor as a sign of empowerment. Jupiter’s thunderbolts were the most common motif in this regard, and were depicted as transferred to Trajan on both imperial and provincial coins. On many coins, this image was combined with the motif of crowning. Egyptian coins displayed some unique features. Trajan was crowned by Serapis instead of Jupiter, and was connected with the sun. The sun had been used in imperial propaganda for a long time, but its symbolism was especially significant in Egypt during the reign of Trajan. The motif of a crowned representative of a god shining like the sun and coming like a thunderbolt was thus employed in Egyptian “political” propaganda under the reign of Trajan. Some readers of the Apocalypse of Peter might have thought about this when they read the text. Richard Bauckham has labelled these aspects of the depiction of Christ “Christian”, but they bear a striking resemblance to images of Trajan. For a reader who used coins in everyday life or was familiar with images of the subordinate emperor from other contexts,47 who lived in a multi-cultural society and was exposed to images and discourses beyond simply Israel’s scriptures and so-called 46. Victoria/Nike, Jupiter and Serapion had different functions. 47. Even if people never looked at the coins they were using, these archaeological findings provide insights into a discourse of a certain region.

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M. SOMMER

“Christian” tradition, the Apocalypse of Peter may therefore have evoked “political” associations. Even if producers of the Apocalypse of Peter drew the images from Jewish and/or Christian discourses, those images could have had “political” significance for a reader who was part of a broader cultural memory network.48 Michael SOMMER (Halle)

48. I would like to thank Julia Snyder for editing this essay.

SECTION C

READING THE “POLITICAL” IN CONTEMPORARY CONTEXTS

CONTEMPORARY POLITICS IN ANCIENT TEXTS: SOME WAYS TO READ SCHOLARSHIP ON CHRISTIAN ORIGINS AS IDEOLOGICAL HISTORY

The social history of scholarship has become a growing sub-field in the critical study of early Christian and Jewish texts over the past fifteen to twenty years. Metacritical approaches are nothing new, of course, and such readings have long been present in, for instance, feminist scholarship and its critique of patriarchal assumptions in the field, as well as popular and intellectual culture.1 Other overtly ideological-critical approaches (e.g., postcolonialism, queer theory, gender studies, deconstruction, Marxist approaches, etc.) have likewise incorporated contextualisation of the field, revealing the often unconscious ideological assumptions of apparently disinterested exegetes. Indeed, we might even classify landmark works in the field – such as those of Elizabeth Cady Stanton or Albert Schweitzer – as metacritical in their own particular way.2 What I want to do here is to show some of the more recent and less publicised ways in which scholarship on early Christian and Jewish texts can been read in light of geopolitical developments such as nationalism, foreign policy, and imperialism. To do this, I will assume what I have argued elsewhere: the framework developed by people like Edward Hermann and Noam Chomsky, and the idea that intellectuals play a significant role in manufacturing consent in elite discourse. This is not to say that there can be no disagreement or that intellectuals are consciously replicating the language of hegemony (on the contrary). Rather, the setting of critical scholarship in institutions of importance to private 1. For a survey of relevant issues in relation to (mainstream) historical criticism with wider ramifications see, e.g., C. VANDER STICHELE – T. PENNER, Mastering the Tools or Retooling the Masters? in C. VANDER STICHELE – T. PENNER (eds.), Her Master’s Tools? Feminist and Postcolonial Engagements of Historical-Critical Discourse, Atlanta, GA – Leiden, SBL – Brill, 2005, 1-30. 2. E.C. STANTON, The Woman’s Bible, New York, NY, European Publishing Company, 1895-1898; A. SCHWEITZER, The Quest of the Historical Jesus, trans. by J. BOWDEN, London, SCM, 2000.

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and public power (e.g., universities), and the unconscious constraints they bring, mean that we should expect scholarship to be part of such discourses, assumptions, and questions.3 In particular, I want to show how three major emphases in contemporary scholarship – “Jewishness”, “the Mediterranean”, and anti-imperialism – are part of ongoing developments in AngloAmerican geopolitics and ideologies over the past forty to fifty years.

1. JEWISHNESS AND

THE

POLITICS OF RACIALIZED SCHOLARSHIP

One of the most dominant features of the academic interpretation of early Christian texts over the past forty years has been a positive emphasis on “Jewishness” and the “Jewish background”. This emphasis stands out as a distinctive feature of postmodern interpretation, partly because it also stands in contrast to pre-1970s scholarly views of ethnicity and race. Those earlier views were centred on negative constructions of “Jew”, “Judaism”, and “Jewishness” that emerged from European understandings of nationalism and reached their nadir in Nazi-influenced scholarship, with notions of an Aryan Jesus and Aryan Galilee being seriously entertained.4 But even after the Second World War, Lutheran-influenced constructions of Judaism as a harsh, legalistic religion of works righteousness remained dominant, despite the prominence of anti-Nazi German scholars like Rudolf Bultmann and Ernst Käsemann. Indeed, such negative stereotypes were so embedded in the field that even in the 1960s, Käsemann could claim (in print and on the radio) that Paul had been firing at “the hidden Jew in all of us, at the man who validates rights and demands over against God on the basis of God’s past dealings with him and to this extent is serving not God but an illusion”.5 One of the dominant methodologies of the time, Form Criticism, 3. E.g., N. CHOMSKY, Scholarship and Ideology: American Historians as “Experts in Legitimation”, in Social Scientist 1 (1973) 20-37; E.S. HERMAN – N. CHOMSKY, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media, London, Vintage, 1988; J.G. CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror: Scholarly Projects for a New American Century, London, Equinox, 2008. 4. Cf., e.g., M. CASEY, Some Anti-Semitic Assumptions in The Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, in NovT 41 (1999) 280-291; S. KELLEY, Racializing Jesus: Race, Ideology and the Formation of Modern Biblical Scholarship, London, New York, NY, Routledge, 2002; P. HEAD, The Nazi Quest for an Aryan Jesus, in JSHJ 2 (2004) 55-89; R. DEINES – V. LEPPIN – K.-W. NIEBUHR (eds.), Walter Grundmann: Ein Neutestamentler im Dritten Reich, Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007; S. HESCHEL, The Aryan Jesus: Christian Theologians and the Bible in Nazi Germany, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2008. 5. E. KÄSEMANN, New Testament Questions of Today, London, SCM, 1969, p. 186. For discussion see D. BOYARIN, A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity. Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1994, pp. 213-214.

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likewise took the emphasis in studies of Gospel passages away from the potential Jewish contexts of the historical Jesus and focussed instead on the faith of the early church. There were multiple reasons for this development, but one was an ongoing and often implicit negativity towards Jews and Judaism.6 Scholarly rhetoric on early Christian and Jewish texts shifted in the 1970s due to high-profile works such as Geza Vermes’ Jesus the Jew and E.P. Sanders’ Paul and Palestinian Judaism.7 Vermes effectively paralleled numerous Gospel passages with Jewish (including rabbinic) texts in order to show their similarity, and the memorable book title caught the Zeitgeist for the beginnings of changing scholarly perceptions.8 Today, there are numerous books presenting Jesus within a scholarly construction of Judaism (e.g., Jesus within Judaism; The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant; The Religion of Jesus the Jew; A Marginal Jew; Jesus, a Jewish Galilean). But it was Sanders’ work on Paul that showed how Judaism was constantly being presented in negative terms (especially as legalistic), in contrast to the scholarly construction of Paul’s loving religion of grace. By challenging these influential tendencies, Sanders opened up possibilities for new constructions of Judaism to become dominant. Nevertheless, these new constructions of Judaism, despite being ostensibly positive, would perpetuate certain notions of “Jewishness” (and thus also of “race”, “ethnicity”, and “Otherness”). For instance, Sanders famously coined the term “covenantal nomism” as a means of understanding “common Judaism”. “Covenantal nomism” was deemed to combine the ideas of grace-based election and maintenance of the covenantal relationship through observance of the commandments (“getting in” and “staying in”). This model of Judaism would come to characterise the diverse range of scholarship known as the New Perspective on Paul, as well as other works on Christian origins, including Sanders’ similarly influential contribution to historical Jesus studies.9 Certainly, this was a rhetorically more positive 6. M. CASEY, Who’s Afraid of Jesus Christ? Some Comments on Attempts to Write a Life of Jesus, in J.G. CROSSLEY – C. KARNER (eds.), Writing History, Constructing Religion, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2005, 129-146; J.G. CROSSLEY, Why Christianity Happened: A Sociohistorical Account of Christian Origins (26-50 CE), Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2006, pp. 3-22. 7. G. VERMES, Jesus the Jew, London, SCM, 1973; E.P. SANDERS, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion, London, SCM, 1977. 8. For a critical (and metacritical) evaluation of Vermes and his influence see now H.B. MOLLER, The Vermes Quest: The Significance of Geza Vermes for Jesus Research, London, T & T Clark, 2017. 9. E.P. SANDERS, Jesus and Judaism, London, SCM, 1985.

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construction of Judaism than earlier models (as New Perspective advocates have regularly reminded us), but the “covenantal nomism” model still imposes the categories of “grace” and “works” – which are drawn from Christian systematic theology – on early Jewish ideas. The concepts of “grace” and “works” can be found in early Jewish texts, of course, but not necessarily in a systematized way. “Covenantal nomism” implicitly functions as a model that is deemed to make Judaism worthy, at least for the Protestant-dominated field of Pauline studies. Moreover, such scholarship obscures such agendas through the use of “secularizing” language, while perpetuating a myth of religious/theological/ ethnic difference or even superiority. As Michael Bird notes, the academic language used in New Perspective scholarship includes ostensibly “critical” or “scholarly” categories, employing terms such as “nationalism”, “boundary markers”, “story, symbol and praxis”, “a web of social and religious commitments”, “ethnicity”, etc., instead of the “normative” Old Perspective language of imputed righteousness, justification by faith, righteousness of God, salvation, etc., which had previously dominated.10 Stephen Young has shown that such “secularization” of theological language has become typical of contemporary evangelical New Testament scholarship, where self-representation as academics and the “insider” language of the academic have become significant protective strategies.11 This language also casts difference from Judaism in a more acceptable discursive form. In such discourses, Paul may be “within Judaism”, but this “Judaism” is marked by nationalism and ethnic boundary markers and stands in contrast to Pauline Christianity, which removes them. A distinctively liberal move is at play here. For instance, we might note James Dunn’s well-intentioned suggestion that the New Perspective on Paul, in stark contrast to pre-New Perspective interpretation, can help combat “nationalism and racialism”.12 The implications of this for the construction of Judaism in the New Perspective are clearly negative, because (non“Christian”) Judaism in this account implicitly concerns “nationalism and racialism”. In this respect, we might point to recent work on race and racializing discourses in the context of neoliberalism, and how anti-racist rhetoric 10. M.F. BIRD, The Saving Righteousness of God: Studies on Paul, Justification and the New Perspective, Milton Keynes, Paternoster, 2006, p. 105. 11. S.L. YOUNG, Protective Strategies and the Prestige of the “Academic”: A Religious Studies and Practice Theory Redescription of Evangelical Inerrantist Scholarship, in Bib. Int. 23 (2015) 1-35. 12. J.D.G. DUNN, The New Perspective on Paul: Collected Essays, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2005, p. 15.

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in political institutions, universities and academic discourse perpetuates unconscious and implicit racializing distinctions, despite good intentions.13 Similarly, we might point to Slavoj Žižek’s argument that liberal western multicultural inclusiveness is typically an acceptance of the Other without problematic Otherness.14 Put another way, Vermes’ Jesus might have provided an experience of the Other with all the Otherness – for the Christian or non-Jewish academic at least – but the dominant response to Vermes’ construction of Jesus in relation to Judaism has combined the rhetoric of a “very Jewish” Jesus with scholarly constructions in which problematic parts of Judaism are transcended or dropped because of their perceived incompatibility with Jesus.15 A dominant issue in contemporary scholarship therefore involves the paying of lip service to “Jesus the Jew”, at least in terms of Jewish identity as constructed in modern scholarship, which is typically essentialized around issues of purity, family, apocalypticism, ethnicity, circumcision, Torah, Temple, Sabbath, and/or gender, irrespective of whether a given ancient figure self-identified in such a way or was identified in such a way. Jesus is typically seen to be “Jewish” or “very Jewish”, but noticeably different from his constructed Jewish context. For all John Meier’s emphasis on the Jewish Jesus, his Jesus remains a marginal Jew. In crucial ways, then, some things have not changed from pre-Vermes times. There have been rhetorical shifts from describing Jesus as “radical” in terms of Law and grace to socio-religiously “radical”, but still over against the rest of Judaism, as Amy-Jill Levine has shown.16 This pattern of finding ways for Jesus to “transcend” or intensify Judaism, or at least to do something new and unparalleled, is found both in more obscure Jesus scholarship and major works, whether the transcending moment is discovered to relate to the issue of forgiveness of the wicked, burying the dead, purity, food, oaths, attitude towards women, or Sabbath.17 N.T. Wright – who brings together the main emphases of 13. E.g., D.T. GOLDBERG, The Threat of Race: Reflections on Racial Neoliberalism, Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Cf. A. LENTIN – G. TITLEY, The Crises of Multiculturalism: Racism in a Neoliberal Age, London, Zed Books, 2011. 14. S. ŽIŽEK, Multiculturalism, or, the Cultural Logic of Multinational Capitalism, in New Left Review 225 (1997) 28-51 and Liberal Multiculturalism Masks an Old Barbarism with a Human Face, in Guardian (October 3, 2010). 15. J.G. CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Neoliberalism: Quests, Scholarship, Ideology, London, Routledge, 2012; J.G. CROSSLEY, A “Very Jewish” Jesus: Perpetuating the Myth of Superiority, in JSHJ 11 (2013) 109-129. 16. A.-J. LEVINE, The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus, San Francisco, CA, HarperCollins, 2006. 17. Crossley, A “Very Jewish” Jesus (n. 15).

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contemporary scholarship more than any other prominent mainstream scholar – summarises plenty of other historical Jesus studies when describing his own reconstruction of Jesus: “a very Jewish Jesus who was nevertheless opposed to some high-profile features of first-century Judaism”.18 That the historical Jesus should be deemed a “Jewish Jesus” (similarly, a “Jewish Paul” or “Jewish New Testament”) is now part of scholarly common sense. Yet we should not forget that this has only been dominant scholarly common sense since the 1970s, at least in European and American scholarship. This is not to say that it was normative in previous eras to deny that Jesus was ethnically Jewish (Nazi and antisemitic scholarship aside), because almost everyone would have accepted that. Rather, the question is why a positive emphasis on the Jewishness of Jesus became so widespread when and where it did. William Arnal has argued that an emphasis on the essentializing of Jewish identity in such scholarship is partly a reaction against fractured cultural identities associated with globalisation and postmodernity over the past forty years. He has argued further that the emergence of an emphasis on Jewishness at a time when no one would have denied that Jesus was Jewish has partly been a reaction against the dominance of pre-1970s German scholarship, and has been influenced by shifts in the geographical centre of scholarship towards the UK and North America.19 But there are further geopolitical reasons for this shifting emphasis on Jewishness in scholarship on early Christianity, particularly shifts in attitudes toward the state of Israel since 1967, as expressed in Anglo-American mainstream political discourse. The decisive Six Day War in 1967 brought about important strategic change and geographical accumulation in the area associated with Christian origins, as Israel now emerged as the major political power in the region. There is little doubt that this war signalled a dramatic shift in American attitudes toward Israel, from a kind of indifference to high levels of staunch support over against Palestinians, including contrasts with perceived American failures in Vietnam.20 This has become a major trend found across party politics, mass media, higher education, and culture more broadly, including in the UK. A crucial post-1967 development in terms of sympathising with Jews, Judaism, and Israel has involved the memorialising of the Holocaust, which became increasingly significant 18. N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, London, SPCK, 1996, p. 93. 19. W. ARNAL, The Symbolic Jesus: Historical Scholarship, Judaism and the Construction of Contemporary Identity, London, Equinox, 2005. 20. CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror (n. 3), pp. 143-194.

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in American culture after 1967.21 This new or increased interest in the Holocaust also involved American-Jewish perceptions of “new antisemitism” and the increasing prominence of issues surrounding assimilation and identity politics, with the wars of 1967 and 1973 forging tighter bonds between America and Israel.22 The tension involved in the “very Jewish” Jesus, Paul, or early Christian texts that “transcend” Judaism or override some aspect of Judaism no doubt reflects the lengthy history of the perceived cultural superiority of Christianity over Judaism that goes back centuries and has dominated the field of New Testament studies. But there are other factors that help explain the simultaneous philo-Semitism present in contemporary scholarship. There are, of course, tensions in the various contemporary relationships with Israel that are related to feelings of religious and cultural superiority. In many ways, the Christian Zionist relationship with Israel ought to be a strange one, even if it is obviously pragmatic from the perspective of some Israeli Jews and some Jewish Zionists. The pattern of an asymmetrical relationship runs deep. In American politics, it is difficult to see the dominant pro-Israel policy as motivated by eternal love for Israelis. The Project for the New American Century, a pressure group which has included important and staunch supporters of Israeli actions, was founded as an attempt to establish American values, after all, and is part of a long political tradition in the aftermath of 1967 that has dominated mainstream American (and, to a lesser extent, British and European) political discourse since.23 In this respect, contemporary scholarship on Christian origins plays a cultural role in manufacturing such consent.

2. THE ARAB WORLD AND THE POLITICS OF RACIALIZED SCHOLARSHIP This geopolitical history is obviously entangled with another important factor for understanding the critical study of early Christian and Jewish texts, namely, constructions of “the Arab world” or related constructs (“the Middle East”, “the Muslim world”, “the Persian”, etc.). The Six Day War not only contributed to debates on Jewishness, but also marked a new stage in Anglo-American understandings of the Middle East. By the end of the 21. P. NOVICK, The Holocaust and Collective Memory, London, Bloomsbury, 1999; N. FINKELSTEIN, The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering, London – New York, NY, Verso, 2003. 22. NOVICK, Holocaust and Collective Memory (n. 21), pp. 127-203. 23. For further discussion see CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror (n. 3), pp. 143-194.

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1970s, the Yom Kippur war, the question of oil supply, the Iranian revolution, and the American embassy hostage crisis meant, as Edward Said famously showed, that “the Arab”, “the Muslim”, “the Persian”, etc. had become figures of some interest in American popular culture, the academic world, the cultural world, the policy planners’ world and the business world.24 From the 1970s onward, the cartoon image of the Arab depicted as a sheik and oil supplier with racialized “Semitic” features became common (e.g., hooked noses, moustachioed leer). In news presentations, “the Arab” would regularly be presented in a depersonalised and threatening manner – typically in large numbers, often angry, and with strange gestures – while the intelligentsia tried to establish why “they” hate “us”.25 Such caricatures were replicated and reinforced in film, media, and popular culture. Such foreign policy interests were normalized further through interest in issues deemed typical of the Middle East, e.g., the (strategically significant) Iran-Iraq war, conflicts in Israel, Lebanon, and Palestine, airline hijackings, the emergence of Hamas and Hezbollah, the Algerian civil war, the Salman Rushdie affair, and hostage situations. The fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War meant that “Islam” and the “Arab world” were ready to replace the Soviet Union as the widely assumed threat to American hegemony, as epitomised by Samuel Huntington’s much discussed “Clash of Civilizations” theory. For Huntington, the cultural differences between different “civilisations” (e.g., Western and Islamic) would become increasingly important. These differences were classified in terms of history, language, culture, tradition, and religion. The West versus Islam would be a prominent ideological battle. The West was deemed to be marked by ideas such as individualism, liberalism, human rights, equality, liberty, democracy, and free markets, while Islam would take on a prominent oppositional role with its apparently violent, tyrannical tendencies. Huntington’s formulation has since achieved the status of “oft-cited”: In Eurasia the great historic fault lines between civilizations are once more aflame. This is particularly true along the boundaries of the crescent-shaped Islamic bloc of nations from the bulge of Africa to central Asia. Violence also occurs between Muslims, on the one hand, and Orthodox Serbs in the Balkans, Jews in Israel, Hindus in India, Buddhists in Burma and Catholics in the Philippines. Islam has bloody borders.26 24. E.W. SAID, Orientalism, London, Penguin, ³2003, pp. 284-288. 25. SAID, Orientalism (n. 24), pp. 284-288. 26. S.P. HUNTINGTON, The Clash of Civilizations? in Foreign Affairs 72 (1993) 22-49, p. 35.

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Such constructions in mainstream American political and cultural discourses intensified after 9/11, the War on Terror, the Arab Spring, the rise of ISIS, and Trump’s immigration ban, with stereotypes now shifting towards, for instance, the terror mastermind or the conflicted Muslim we might see in political TV shows like Homeland or 24.27 Whilst influenced by older (and ongoing) Orientialist histories, the significance of such geopolitical constructs for the study of Christian origins has been especially clear in the popularity of the construction of “the Mediterranean”. Static and Orientalist generalisations about “the Mediterranean” as important for understanding “New Testament backgrounds” (e.g., honour and shame, limited good, dyadic personality) have been central to BruceMalina–inspired social-scientific approaches to the Bible, an initiative (once?) associated with the Context Group, particularly over the past forty years.28 But what is “the Mediterranean” deemed to be? One prominent Context Group member mentioned anthropological study of “Mediterranean culture from Spain in the west to Iraq in the east”,29 which is not a typical description of the Mediterranean, insofar as it incorporates the Middle East and (presumably) North Africa. Indeed, there have been numerous discussions in Context Group publications where “the Mediterranean” and “the Middle East” are effectively synonymous. To give one example from Richard Rohrbaugh, “Luke [in Luke 4,22] has drawn us into a Mediterranean melodrama that would have had every Middle Eastern reader clinging to the edge of the seat” (my italics).30 A number of familiar stereotypes about the Middle East have been employed in such scholarship, such as the following: [S]ince in Mediterranean perspective all Americans form an undifferentiated ethnic ego mass, it would be impossible for a Middle Easterner to view the kidnaping of a single American as a random act… Any group member equally well represents the whole group.31 (my italics) [S]uppressed behavior, however, can burst out unexpectedly and uncontrollably, a common occurrence in Middle-eastern cultures.32 27. Cf. CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror (n. 3), for discussion and further references. 28. R.S. SUGIRTHARAJAH, Asian Biblical Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism: Contesting the Interpretations, Sheffield, Sheffield Academic, 1998; CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror (n. 3). 29. P.F. ESLER, The First Christians in their Social Worlds: Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation, London, Routledge, 1994, p. 22. 30. R.L. ROHRBAUGH, Legitimating Sonship – A Test of Honour: A Social-Scientific Study of Luke 4:1-30, in P.F. ESLER (ed.), Modelling Early Christianity: Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in Its Context, London, Routledge, 1995, 183-197, p. 195. 31. B.J. MALINA, The Social World of Jesus and the Gospels, London, Routledge, 1996, p. 41. 32. J.J. PILCH, “Beat His Ribs While He is Young” (Sir 30:12): A Window on the Mediterranean World, in BTB 23 (1993) 101-113.

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As is still thought in the Middle East and traditional Mediterranean societies today, women are thought to be unable to resist men’s sexual advances, and must therefore be protected from them.33

We also get common Context Group tabulations that contrast individualistic cultures with collectivist cultures, and are reminiscent of Huntingdon’s claims about the Clash of Civilisations, such as this example from Rohrbaugh: Individualist Cultures They tend to attribute actions to internal causes and to personal choices in ways that collectivists do not. They focus on personal rights, needs, and abilities. They are relentless in seeking cognitive consistency. Individualists attribute motives to internal needs and aspirations… This sort of individualism, however, has been rare in world culture. It is nearly absent in the Middle East today and almost certainly in antiquity as well. Collectivist Cultures Persons are defined by the groups to which they belong and do not understand themselves as having a separate identity. They are motivated by group norms rather than individual needs or aspirations, and strenuously avoid articulating personal goals or giving them priority over the goals of the group… The individualism-versus-collectivism distinction is a fundamental challenge to the universal applicability of Western psychological understandings.34

We could dispute the relevance of this for ancient historical reconstruction, or indeed contemporary anthropology, but that is not the point of this essay. Rather, the question is why such scholarship, emphasising the role of the “Middle East” and the “Arab world”, and with associated cultural generalisations, rose to prominence when and where it did. Appreciating the timing of such social-scientific scholarship is indeed vital for understanding its emphases. There was a virtual absence of socialscientific approaches to the New Testament between (approximately) the 1930s and the 1970s, partly because of the not-wholly-unjustified association of social sciences with atheistic Marxism and, by implication, Soviet Communism. One key factor among many (e.g., 1960s protest movements, growth of sociology in universities, development of non-Marxist social anthropology, translations of Weber into English, declining church attendance) was the heavy (re-)emphasis in Anglo-American culture from the 33. C. OSIEK – D.L. BALCH, Families in the New Testament World: Households and House Churches, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 1997, p. 238 n. 8. 34. R.L. ROHRBAUGH, Ethnocentrism and Historical Questions about Jesus, in W. STEGEMANN – B.J. MALINA – G. THEISSEN (eds.), The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2002, 27-43, pp. 29-30 (my italics).

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1970s onwards on the “Arab world”, etc. and a number of Orientalist and ideologically convenient stereotypes that fed into the world of Malina, as well as his key colleagues such as Rohrbaugh and John Pilch, and their use of the static construction of “the Mediterranean”. While the examples already given offer enough indication of the associated ideological influences on contemporary social-scientific study of early Christian texts, the next example shows how embedded scholarship can be in contemporary political discourses, whether the scholar knows it or not. The following excerpt is from Malina’s book on the Gospels, where he references a particularly apt example that he says holds for “village Mediterraneans” in general. The quote is from Hans Tütsch, Vorderasien im Aufruhr, and Malina is citing the translation in Raphael Patai’s The Arab Mind: The personalization of problems goes so far in the Arab countries that even material, technical difficulties accompanying the adoption of elements of Western civilization are considered as resulting from human malevolence and felt to be a humiliation… Where the Arab encounters an obstacle he imagines that an enemy is hidden. Proud peoples with a weak “ego structure” tend to interpret difficulties on their life path as personal humiliations and get entangled in endless lawsuits or throw themselves into the arms of extremist political movements. A defeat in elections, a risk that every politician must face in a democracy, appears to be such a humiliation that an Arab can thereby be induced without further ceremony to take up arms against the victor and the legal government.35

Whatever Malina’s personal intentions, this example obviously complements the Orientalist discourse of the contemporary Clash of Civilizations rhetoric, which would soon be updated after 9/11 to include the idea that Iraq and the Middle East are not inherently “suited” to democracy, or at least not without “our” help. Similarly, the notion of Arab or Muslim “humiliation” is a common category with which the problems of “the Arab” and “the Muslim” in Iraq and “the Middle East” are conveniently explained. Indeed, Patai’s work on “the Arab mind” has been used in governmental and military circles as a means to understand Iraq and influenced the thinking behind the acts carried out by the US military in Abu Ghraib.36 Plenty more examples of the influence of militarised anthropology can be found in scholarship on early Christian texts.37 35. MALINA, Jesus and the Gospels (n. 31), p. 63, cf. H.E. Tütsch, Vorderasien im Aufruhr, Zürich, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 1959, 141-142 (italics in original German); R. PATAI, The Arab Mind, New York, NY, Hatherleigh, 22002. 36. S. HERSH, Annals of National Security: The Gray Zone – How a Secret Pentagon Program Came to Abu Ghraib, in The New Yorker (May 15, 2004). 37. CROSSLEY, Jesus in an Age of Terror (n. 3). Cf. V. YANS-MCLAUGHLIN, Science, Democracy, and Ethics: Mobilizing Culture and Personality for World War II, in G.W. STOCKING,

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The work of Malina and his colleagues on this “background” to the New Testament would eventually become normalized in scholarship on Christian origins. By this I mean that such work began to be referenced by mainstream scholarship as another accepted exegetical method or tool, including by scholars not known for their interest in social anthropology.38 Such thinking has also been brought to the fore by some of the most prominent scholars interested in such interdisciplinary work, perhaps most significantly by John Dominic Crossan in his major works.39 What we see with the work of Crossan is something strikingly similar to the construction of “the Jewish background” in New Testament scholarship. Systematically applying a “Mediterranean” background of honour, Crossan provides an elaborate trajectory of textual history in order to construct arguably the most famous liberalized historical Jesus of recent times. For all Crossan’s anti-imperial rhetoric, it is noticeable that his Jesus stands over against the alien Mediterranean world. The world of honour and shame that supposedly characterises “the Mediterranean” is, so the argument goes, profoundly challenged. And against this fixed Mediterranean world is a Jesus with common table fellowship and a brokerless kingdom, subverting the system, playing around with gender categories, and so on.40 Crossan’s Jesus is in many ways, and almost certainly unintentionally, representative of liberal America or perhaps the liberal West overcoming the brutal, backwards East. 3. ANTI-IMPERIALISM, LIBERATION,

AND

SUBVERSION

This construction of the liberalized West and the despotic East may go some way to explaining a related feature of contemporary scholarship on Malinowski, Rivers, Benedict and Others: Essays on Culture and Personality, Madison, WI, University of Wisconsin Press, 1986, 184-217; D. PRICE, Lessons from Second World War Anthropology: Peripheral, Persuasive and Ignored Contributions, in Anthropology Today 18 (2002) 14-20; D. PRICE, Gregory Bateson and the OSS: World War II and Bateson’s Assessment of Applied Anthropology, in Human Organization 57 (1998) 379-384; M. FARISH, Targeting the Inner Landscape, in D. GREGORY – A. PRED (eds.), Violent Geographies: Fear, Terror, and Political Violence, London, Routledge, 2007, 255-271, pp. 260-265. 38. WRIGHT, Jesus and the Victory of God (n. 18), pp. 52-53; J.P. MEIER, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume One: The Roots of the Problem and the Person, New York, NY, Doubleday, 1991, pp. 10-11; J.P. MEIER, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume Three: Companions and Competitors, New York, NY, Doubleday, 2001, p. 67. 39. E.g., J.D. CROSSAN, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant, San Francisco, CA, HarperCollins, 1991 and The Birth of Christianity: Discovering What Happened in the Years Immediately After the Execution of Jesus, San Francisco, CA, HarperCollins, 1998. 40. Cf. J.H. ELLIOTT, Jesus Was Not an Egalitarian: A Critique of an Anachronistic and Idealist Theory, in BTB 32 (2002) 75-91.

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early Christian texts: anti-imperialism. Partly through the influence of postcolonial criticism and liberation theology, reading New Testament texts (especially Paul’s letters) in opposition to the Roman Empire has becoming increasingly commonplace since the 1990s, and has been perpetuated partly as a reaction to Bush-era American imperialism. To summarise one (and only one) key discussion in the debate: to what extent, and in what ways, is the proclamation of Jesus an alternative to Caesar? Would an “antiRome” message in Paul, for instance, have been picked up by all hearers or readers? If so, how might it have been understood? Would it have led to indifference to the Empire in the knowledge that Rome’s end was at hand? Would such a message have provoked outright hostility to the Empire? Or would there have been varying reactions and nuances?41 What is curious about such observations is that, unlike other cultural and political trends in contemporary scholarship, one prominent strand of such discussion construes Jesus and the proclamation of Jesus (by Paul in particular) as strongly countercultural and as placing Jesus in mocking opposition to Rome and the socio-economic settlement. However, it could alternatively be argued that in its use of countercultural rhetoric such scholarship is functioning in a way integral to neoliberalism or at least one recent aspect of neoliberalism that Mark Fisher has called “capitalist realism”, in which capitalism is assumed to be the only political and economic system, with no coherent alternative. In dystopian terms, this is a world of ironic postmodern detachment where even our anti-capitalism is performed for us (e.g., in film) and where dangerous hopes for a better future have been traded in for a promise of protection against fanaticism.42 A similar point has been developed by Žižek: Today, when everyone is “anticapitalist”, up to the Hollywood “socio-critical” conspiracy movies (from The Enemy of the State to The Insider) in which the enemy are the big corporations with their ruthless pursuit of profit, the signifier “anticapitalism” has lost its subversive sting. What one should problematize 41. For a different range of discussions and critiques among many, see, e.g., J.D. CROS– J.L. REED, In Search of Paul: How Jesus’s Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom, San Francisco, CA, HarperCollins, 2004; S. KIM, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2008; N. ELLIOTT, The Arrogance of Nations: Reading Romans in the Shadow of Empire, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; D.C. LOPEZ, Apostle to the Conquered: Reimagining Paul’s Mission, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; J.A. MARCHAL, The Politics of Heaven: Women, Gender and Empire in the Study of Paul, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2008; C. HEILIG, Hidden Criticism? The Methodology and Plausibility of the Search for a Counter-Imperial Subtext in Paul, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015. 42. M. FISHER, Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative? Winchester, UK – Washington, D.C., Zero Books, 2009. SAN

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is rather the self-evident opposite of this “anticapitalism”: the trust in the democratic substance of the honest Americans to break up the conspiracy.43

Žižek develops this point even more precisely in his review of the film Avatar. He argues that at the time when Avatar was generating a billion dollars on its release, something resembling its plot was happening in the Indian state of Orissa, where land was sold to mining companies, provoking an armed rebellion and retaliation from the state. Žižek adds: So where is Cameron’s film here? Nowhere: in Orissa, there are no noble princesses waiting for white heroes to seduce them and help their people, just the Maoists organising the starving farmers. The film enables us to practise a typical ideological division: sympathising with the idealised aborigines while rejecting their actual struggle. The same people who enjoy the film and admire its aboriginal rebels would in all probability turn away in horror from the Naxalites, dismissing them as murderous terrorists. The true avatar is thus Avatar itself – the film substituting for reality.44

We might suggest that the neoliberal settlement helps explain the antiimperial, even anti-capitalist claims made in scholarship on Christian origins. Scholarly Pauls may have been against Caesar and academic Jesuses may have led a revolution, but this hardly means that scholarship or scholars, including apologists for such Jesuses and Pauls, have had any significant oppositional political impact. Is this obvious? Yes! Did we ever really expect contemporary scholarship to contribute to the overthrow of the existing order? No! Instead we might suggest that the New Testament, Jesus, Paul, et al. displace our anti-capitalist fantasies into the distant and safe past. Crossan and Borg may have Jesuses who are radical political figures, but their most significant ideological function is arguably to sell books to liberal church audiences on a large scale, and Borg’s mystical, Buddhist-esque Jesus effectively ends up looking inward, arguably the ultimate capitalist subject.45 Robert Myles has similarly argued that in postmodern historical Jesus scholarship – and the point is applicable more broadly – the common language of “subversion” is in fact a culturally acceptable form of compliance that can displace violent revolutionary subversion, a sort of hipster Jesus for our neoliberal era.46 In this respect it is striking that Wright’s recent popular 43. S. ŽIŽEK, Do We Still Live in a World? at www.lacan.com/zizrattlesnakeshake.html. 44. S. ŽIŽEK, Return of the Natives, in New Statesman (March 4, 2010), at www.newstatesman.com/film/2010/03/avatar-reality-love-couple-sex. 45. E.g., M.J. BORG, Conflict, Holiness, and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus, Harrisburg, PA, Trinity Press International, 1998 and Jesus, a New Vision: Spirit, Culture, and the Life of Discipleship, London, SPCK, 1993. 46. R.J. MYLES, The Fetish for the Subversive Jesus, in JSHJ 14 (2016) 52-70.

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book on the crucifixion is entitled The Day the Revolution Began. As with Crossan’s major and popular work on Jesus the “revolutionary”, this title is presumably marketable enough to be published under HarperCollins, a company that, like Wright, is unsurprisingly not known for its desire to establish full communism.47 But revolution is eminently marketable. The ideological and social setting of such scholarship is worth comparing with aspects of Liberation Theology in Latin America, which is dedicated to socio-economic liberation in contexts that have faced serious peasant exploitation and the brutal effects of imperialism, of a sort that might form the context for a historical Jesus book. Lethal state or imperial reactions against Liberation Theology in Latin America point to what can happen when anti-imperial, anti-capitalist resistance takes place on the ground and not simply in ideologically acceptable venues.48 We would not expect the American state to react with force to Crossan- or Borg-inspired liberal American church groups; while violence and death threats certainly occur, they owe more to American “culture wars” than to a direct challenge to state, corporate, or multinational power. Here we might mention Wright’s views on the impact of his bodily resurrected Jesus: “In the real world … the tyrants and bullies (including intellectual and cultural tyrants and bullies) try to rule by force, only to discover that in order to do so they have to quash all rumours of resurrection, rumours that would imply that their greatest weapons, death and deconstruction, are not after all omnipotent.”49 Wright’s otherwise popular books have not provided an obvious threat to tyrants, and his conservative market is not known for embracing resurrection in quite the same way as a devotee like Razis in 2 Macc 14,43-46, whose views on resurrection are distinctly Other, both politically and culturally. But Wright, Borg, and Crossan still produce radical historical Jesus and Paul books for mass consumption. To paraphrase Mark Fisher’s analysis of Wall-E, radical Jesuses and Pauls perform our anti-capitalism, antiimperialism, and radicalism for us, allowing us to consume books about them with impunity.50

47. N.T. WRIGHT, The Day the Revolution Began: Reconsidering the Meaning of Jesus’s Crucifixion, San Francisco, CA, HarperOne, 2016; cf. J.D. CROSSAN, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, San Francisco, CA, HarperCollins, 1994. 48. J.G. CROSSLEY, Jesus and the Chaos of History: Redirecting the Quest for the Historical Jesus, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 6-9. See also N. CHOMSKY, Understanding Power, New York, NY, New Press, 2002, p. 154. 49. N.T. WRIGHT, The Resurrection of the Son of God, London, SPCK, 2003, p. 737. 50. FISHER, Capitalist Realism (n. 42), p. 12: “The film performs our anti-capitalism for us, allowing us to consume with impunity.”

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We might also apply a postcolonial critique to Wright’s anti-imperial Paul, particularly in the sense that it simultaneously mimics and replicates the language of power it critiques. In Wright’s discussion of anti-imperialist rhetoric he implicitly endorses imperialist rhetoric as its replacement. Wright’s Paul may have noted “gods many and lords many”, but they would be upstaged by “the one God, one lord of his revised monotheism”.51 Imperial rhetoric may have been confronted “at point after point”, but “Jesus is ‘son of God’; he is ‘lord of the world’; he is ‘saviour’; the worldwide revelation of his rule is ‘good news’, because through it ‘justice’ and ‘peace’ are brought to birth at last. He is the one who ‘rises to rule the nations’”.52 Instead of Caesar “coming from Rome to rescue a beleaguered colony”, Paul’s Jesus “will come from heaven to transform the world… He is the sōtēr, the saviour; he is the kyrios, the lord; he is Christos, the Messiah, the Jewish king destined to be lord of the whole world”. According to Wright, Phil 2,6-11 is “a narrative of imperial legitimation”, where Paul declares that “Jesus is to receive the homage from every creature in heaven, on earth and under the earth” under his “universal sovereignty”.53 Is this not the replacement of Empire with Empire? Given that Wright’s historical work also functions as an ongoing critique of postmodernity, is Wright not promoting a new dictatorship of God to overthrow the present age? Perhaps this goes some way to explaining such fondness for anti-imperial language in scholarship, at least in Wright’s case: it provides an opportunity to present a preferable imperial order.

4. CONCLUSION As I stated at the beginning, this essay should be seen as a summary of just some of the recent ways in which Anglo-American scholarship can be read as part of contemporary geopolitical developments. These are only certain angles on the issues and might be complemented (as they have been) with other sorts of metacritical readings (e.g., feminist, gender, queer, postcolonial). We have seen that some of the political engagements in scholarship are overt, at least to an extent. So, for instance, scholarship on antiimperialism and Jesus, Paul and the New Testament might attract scholars prepared to come clean about their political interests. This is obviously 51. N.T. WRIGHT, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, London, SPCK, 2013, p. 382. 52. Ibid., p. 382. 53. Ibid., pp. 1293-1294.

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significant for understanding scholarship, as it allows for a degree of intentionality and scholarly self-awareness to come into play and thereby assist in the contextualisation of scholarship. But that is only part of the story. Not all scholars want to promote an anti-imperial Paul, and some may do this not because they are necessarily in favour of American imperialism, but because they think it is the most honest scholarly decision to make. Yet unconscious and contradictory biases affect us all, and this is why it is important to look at scholarship that is not so upfront about its ideological commitments. The issues of “Jewishness” and “the Mediterranean” are not typically presented as “political” in the way that “anti-imperialism” in Paul is, but we might conclude that it is in this apolitical presentation itself that they, or indeed any of us, become credible carriers of ideology in mainstream Anglo-American political discourses. James G. CROSSLEY (Twickenham)

BIBLISCHE HERMENEUTIK IN DER ZEIT DES KOMMUNISMUS

Hermeneutik ist die Kunst der Auslegung eines Textes. Um auszulegen, muss man zuerst verstanden haben.1 Und Verstehen bedeutet Einordnen von Aussagen in die gegenwärtige Situation des Auslegers. Verstanden hat erst, wer die Bedeutung einer Aussage für das eigene Leben und das seiner Umwelt mitbedacht hat. Darum hat keine Hermeneutik allgemeine Gültigkeit für alle Zeiten. Sie ist konkret an die Zeit und die Umstände gebunden in der Ausleger und Empfänger der Auslegung leben.

1. GRUNDSÄTZLICHE ERWÄGUNGEN Vorangestellt seien zwei Reflexionen über die Hermeneutik im Allgemeinen und über die Möglichkeiten der Bibelauslegung in einer Diktatur. 1.1 Allgemeines zur Hermeneutik Die Beschäftigung mit der Auslegungstradition biblischer Texte zeigt, dass es grundsätzlich drei Ansatzpunkte zur Auslegung gibt, die eine Hermeneutik immer bedenken wird: Stabilität, Geistlichkeit und Bewegung. Man kann diese Systematisierung noch mehr verkürzen und festhalten: Die Bibelauslegung ist entweder von der Geschichte geprägt, von der Gegenwart oder von der Zukunft. Geht eine Hermeneutik von Stabilität aus, wird eine Theologie erarbeitet, die den Schöpfer- oder Geschichtsgott in den Mittelpunkt stellt. Sie setzt voraus, dass die vorfindliche Welt grundsätzlich gut ist, aber verbessert werden kann. Eine solche wird sich verstärkt auf die Fragen der Ethik konzentrieren, weil sie davon ausgeht, dass die Schöpfung gepflegt und richtig bewahrt wird, und der Mensch innerhalb vorhandener Gegebenheiten 1. Darum nennt Peter STUHLMACHER seine Hermeneutik: Vom Verstehen des Neuen Testaments: Eine Hermeneutik (Grundrisse zum NT, 6), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979.

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beiträgt zu einem dem Leben förderlichen Verhalten. Dadurch soll die gegenwärtige Lage erhalten und gleichzeitig lebenswerter gemacht werden. Nach diesem Konzept kommt das vornehmste Gebot mit seiner Forderung nach der Liebe zu Gott und dem Nächsten erhöht zum Zuge. Man strebt eine Verbesserung der Situation für die Nächsten, für die Umwelt und die Umgebung an. Ausgegangen wird von der gegenwärtigen Situation und von dem allgemeinen Verständnis der Welt und der Umwelt, aber es wird eine bessere Welt durch rechtes ethisches Verhalten angestrebt. Man kann verkürzt sagen, dass eine solche Hermeneutik weisheitlich geprägt ist. Der zweite Ansatzpunkt wird das Geistliche hervorheben und damit dem himmlischen Kyrios ein starkes Gewicht geben. Es werden innere, geistige und geistliche Werte betont. Gottesdienst und Kultus bekommen eine erhöhte Bedeutung, ebenso der Glauben als einer innerlichen geistlichen Welt, als einer göttlichen Sphäre, in die man eindringen kann. Die Hymnen und Psalmen des Neuen Testaments bilden den Grund für die christliche, geistliche Lehre. Das geistliche Leben wird als Kraft für die Bewältigung des Alltags verstanden und die Texte der Schrift werden als Hilfe zu einem geistlichen Leben gelesen. Die Eschatologie wird als Jenseitigkeit begriffen, der sich der gegenwärtige Mensch sehnsüchtig mit Blick auf seine Innerlichkeit entgegenstreckt. Die Mystik hat hier ihre besondere Bedeutung, ebenso das Lesen der Psalmen. Man möchte sagen: Hier ist das Priesterliche dominant. Der dritte Ansatzpunkt, der die Bewegung thematisiert, misst der Veränderung der Welt und dem Blick auf die Zukunft erhöhte Bedeutung bei. Angestrebt wird eine bessere Welt. Erwartet wird von Gott eine Änderung der ungünstigen Lage in Bälde. Es wird weniger nach den Gesetzen dieser Welt gefragt, es werden auch nicht die geistigen inneren Werte bedacht, man ist auf Veränderung aus. Hier dominiert das prophetische Element. Damit werden die Ausleger der Bibel zu Propheten für eine neue, bessere Welt, die Gott selbst will und bringen wird. Sie können zu einer solchen Weltverbesserung sogar anhalten. Aber sie selbst implizieren sich nicht in die Veränderungen, sondern überlassen sie Gott oder anderen Menschen, durch die sie Gott am Werk sehen. Es hängt vom Charakter des Auslegenden, von den täglichen Gegebenheiten, den Erwartungen und den Voraussetzungen durch Gesellschaft und Umwelt ab, wie die Schwerpunkte gesetzt werden. Wahrscheinlich lassen sich aber nur zwei der genannten Konzepte miteinander verbinden, weil Stabilität und Bewegung nicht gleichzeitig tragende Bedeutung bekommen können. Eine von beiden wird stärker hervortreten. Normalerweise werden zwei dieser Ansatzpunkte mitbedacht. Wenn Vergangenheit und Gegenwart

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zusammengehen, also Stabilität und geistliche Orientierung, lebt der Ausleger in dieser Welt, die er vorfindet und als solche hinnimmt und pflegt, daneben innere Werte. Werden Gegenwart und Zukunft zusammen gesehen, wird die Gegenwart als veränderungsbedürftig erkannt. Der Ausleger legt in der Gegenwart Wert auf das Geistliche und streckt sich einer besseren Zukunft entgegen. In diesem Fall wird er die gegenwärtige Welt für unerträglich oder nur für mangelhaft empfinden, sei es, dass er unter ihr leidet, sei es, dass er aus geistlicher Sicht eine andere Welt als Vision erschaut und die gegenwärtige daraufhin ausrichtet. Verbindet endlich der Ausleger Vergangenheit und Zukunft, dann wird er die Vergangenheit verklären, die Gegenwart auch im geistlichen Bereich vernachlässigen und sich ganz der Zukunft entgegenstrecken, die er als Wiederherstellung der idealisierten Vergangenheit, etwa als goldenes Zeitalter im Blick hat. 1.2 Bibelauslegung in der Zeit einer Diktatur Jede Diktatur hat eine Ideologie als Basis und erwartet von der Bevölkerung, dass sie sich dieser unterwirft. Sie versucht, die für richtig gehaltene Lehre den Menschen glaubhaft nahe zu bringen. Aber sie erwartet weniger Akzeptanz derselben als vielmehr Gehorsam ihr gegenüber. Diese Ideologie nimmt Elemente der Vergangenheit auf, die idealisiert werden, etwa die Urgemeinschaft für den Kommunismus oder das Germanische bei den Nazis, hält die Gegenwart für veränderungsbedürftig und verspricht in der Zukunft eine neue, bessere, heilvolle Welt. Jede Diktatur ist also auf Bewegung, auf Veränderung aus. Damit ist gegeben, dass sie der Welt, wie sie ist, zu wenig Rechnung trägt. Sie lebt in einer selbstgeschaffenen Sicht der Welt, die erdachte Welt wird in die Zukunft projiziert. Diese Sicht gibt sie als Wahrheit aus. Eine von da aus angestellte Analyse der Gegenwart kann durchaus der Sicht eines Großteils der Bevölkerung entsprechen, die dann auch die Zukunftsvision mitträgt. Aber Wirklichkeit und Wahrheit werden verkürzt. Dies führt dazu, dass zumindest einige diese Ideologie nicht übernehmen können, weil sie ihrer Welterfahrung und Menschenkenntnis nicht oder allenfalls teilweise entspricht. Äußert sich diese skeptische Sicht öffentlich, greift die Diktatur zu Mitteln der Repression, etwa nach Goethes Wort im Erlkönig: „und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt.“ Jede Diktatur schränkt das Wissen und die Erkenntnis und damit auch das Verständnis der Wahrheit ein. Das Verhältnis einer Diktatur zur Kirche kann am Anfang verschieden sein. Die Nationalsozialisten haben zunächst um das Wohlwollen der Kirche gebuhlt und die kirchlichen Organe in ihr System zu integrieren

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gesucht. Erst im Laufe einer gewissen Zeit gingen sie sichtbar zur Kirche auf Distanz. Anders die Kommunisten. Sie standen den Kirchen von Anfang an eher feindlich gegenüber. In letzterem Fall hat es die Kirche in ideologischer Hinsicht leichter, auch wenn sie unter Druck steht, weil die Fronten von Anfang an gegeben sind. Im anderen Fall spürt sie zunächst eher Werbung als Druck, muss aber, und das ist das Mühseligere, ihre Abgrenzungsmechanismen entwickeln. Grundsätzlich muss aber gelten, dass eine Kirche und damit die Bibelauslegung einer Ideologie gegenüber immer skeptisch bleiben sollte oder sogar skeptisch bleiben muss. Denn die Bibel hat nicht eine einheitliche Lehre oder gar Ideologie, sie bringt sehr verschiedene Gesichtspunkte zur Sprache, die in der langen Geschichte ihres Werdens zum Verständnis der Welt insgesamt beigetragen haben. Eine Kirche, die in besonderer Weise das Geistliche pflegt, kann eine Zeit lang durchaus in einer Diktatur ihr Anliegen vertreten. Da sie weiß, dass Politik nicht ihr eigentliches Anliegen ist, kann sie sich auch mit der Diktatur zeitweilig arrangieren. Sie wird sich in einem autoritär regierten Land weitgehend auf ihr eigentliches Gebiet zurückziehen (intra muros ecclesiae), sei es, dass sie eine geistlich geprägte Theologie entwickelt, sei es, dass sie eine apokalyptische Theologie pflegt und von Gott eine Veränderung der Lage erwartet, auch wenn eine solche Veränderung erst nach dem Tod oder am Ende der Welt in Aussicht ist. Diese beiden Möglichkeiten wurden vom Johannesevangelium einerseits und von der Offenbarung des Johannes andererseits gewählt. Wie das tatsächlich im Kommunismus aussah, ist jetzt zu bedenken. Vorneweg aber kann gesagt werden, dass die Kirchen im Kommunismus den Weg gewählt haben, den auch das Johannesevangelium gegangen ist, den der Konzentration auf das Geistliche. Denn sie hatte im irdischen Bereich nichts zu sagen. Dies Gebiet hatte ihr der Staat genommen. Man hat aus der Not eine Tugend gemacht und sprach davon, dass man sich auf das Wesentliche konzentrieren muss. Das ist die eigentliche Hermeneutik in dieser Zeit gewesen. Sie war wahrscheinlich bei allen Kirchen vergleichbar, wenn es auch spezifische Unterschiede gegeben hat. Denn sie half dem Christen, im Glauben den Sinn des Lebens zu finden. Mir ist aus dem Raum der ehemaligen sozialistischen Länder keine gedruckte Publikation bekannt, die sich speziell der Hermeneutik gewidmet hat. Mein Lehrer, Hermann Binder, hat 1955 und 1957 eine Vorlesung über Hermeneutik gehalten, und das Skript wurde verbreitet.2 Er stellt die 2. H. BINDER, Patristische und neuzeitliche evangelische Literatur zum Neuen Testament (Hermeneutik), Typoskript, 1955.

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historisch-kritische Methode der Bibelauslegung vor und kritisiert an ihr die Tendenz zur Objektivität, die den Forscher innerlich unbeteiligt lässt und eine gemeindeferne Theologie entwickelt. Bei der religionsgeschichtlichen Betrachtung findet er, dass sie die Botschaft zu sehr relativiert und von der lebendigen Wirklichkeit des Christus nichts weiß. Er meint, dass der Biblizismus die Schrift als Objekt betrachtet und dass die Dialektische Theologie die Probleme der Bibel nicht auf der Basis der Philologie, sondern von einem systematischen Konzept her zu lösen versucht. Er ist ein Verfechter einer Theologie des Wortes, wie sie bei Paulus und Johannes begegnet und auf den Jesusworten aufgebaut werden kann. Nach seinem Verständnis setzt sich das Wort selbst durch und zwar in der Christuswirklichkeit, die in der Gemeinde präsent ist. Wo Gottes Geist wirkt, wird das Wort richtig ausgelegt und sachgemäß verstanden. Er plädiert für eine sinnbildliche (sprich: allegorische) Exegese der Jesusgleichnisse und zielt damit auf das geistliche Verständnis der Texte. Das ermöglicht ihm, eine weitgehend einheitliche Theologie für das NT zu entwerfen, in der das Geistliche dominiert. Texte mit apokalyptischem Inhalt sieht er als sekundär, von der alttestamentlichen Tradition her geprägt und damit als weniger wichtig an. Hier liegt die Betonung des Geistlichen, das Element der Stabilität vor, eine Konzentration auf die Gegenwart.

2. BIBELAUSLEGUNG IN RUMÄNIEN NACH 1945 Der Kommunismus ging von der Voraussetzung aus, dass Kirche und Glauben der Vergangenheit angehören und obsolet geworden sind. In dieser Sicht ist er geprägt vom Fortschrittsglauben des Protestantismus im 19. Jahrhundert, wo man meinte, die Kirche würde im (preußisch geprägten) Staat aufgehen. Grundsätzlich ist damit ein gewisses Desinteresse des kommunistischen Staates an Kirche und Glaube gegeben. Aber die Erfahrungen mit der Kirche in Russland haben gezeigt, dass die Kirche sich nicht so schnell auflöst wie erwartet. Damit begann eine mehr oder weniger durchgreifende Repression, einerseits, indem die Kirche als Organisation bekämpft wurde, weil sie eine gewisse Machtstellung besaß, andererseits wurde der Glaube mit Mitteln wissenschaftlicher Argumente angefochten und als rückständig zu erweisen versucht. Beides gelang nicht. Und so musste der Staat mit der Kirche in ein gewisses Einvernehmen kommen. Den persönlichen Glauben hat er dadurch bekämpft, dass er die Verkündigung an verschiedene, festgelegte Orte außerhalb der Schule und der Öffentlichkeit verbannte und möglichst kirchlich engagierte Menschen an der Verantwortung

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für die Gesellschaft nicht mitwirken ließ. Aber Staat und Kirche haben sich im Laufe der Zeit verändert, zuweilen eher bekämpft, zuweilen etwas angenähert. 2.1 Die ersten zehn Jahre Die ersten zehn Jahre nach dem 23. August 1944 waren von der Tendenz einer strengen Trennung zwischen Staat und Kirche geprägt. Die Kirche hatte ein Schattendasein erhalten und suchte zaghaft erste Wege der Gestaltung in der neuen Situation. Ein neuer Ansatz zur Bibelauslegung wurde vom Staat nicht erwartet. Die Hermeneutik, die der Bibelauslegung zugrunde gelegt wurde, war jene der Dreißigerjahre. Diese wiederum hatte sich nach dem ersten Weltkrieg auf die geistigen Werte konzentriert. Das hing damit zusammen, dass mit dem Ende des ersten Weltkrieges die enge Verbindung von Kirche und Staat gelockert wurde und damit auch die irdische Erwartung einer wie immer gearteten Gottesherrschaft aufgegeben wurde. Man verstand sich damals als „Zwischen den Zeiten“ lebend, wie eine ab 1923 herausgegebene Zeitschrift bezeichnet wurde. Das Alte war zerbrochen, neues noch nicht da. Darum wurde das Geistliche sehr stark hervorgehoben. Die geistliche, oft auch allegorische Auslegung der Bibel war in den Dreißigerjahren und auch zu Beginn der kommunistischen Diktatur in unserm Land weit verbreitet. Diese Auslegung konnte man intra muros ecclesiae ausüben. Sie störte den Staat nicht. Wohl aber fühlte sich dieser von der griechisch-katholischen Kirche gestört, weil diese dem Papst unterstellt war. Sie wurde aufgelöst und in die orthodoxe Kirche eingegliedert. Ob das Auswirkungen für die Hermeneutik hatte, ist mir nicht bekannt. Im Jahr 1949 gab es einen Ansatz, der eine Veränderung bringen sollte. Die Kirchen kamen mit dem Staat überein, dass man den „Kampf für den Frieden“ gemeinsam tragen solle. Wie jede Diktatur, beginnend mit den römischen Kaisern, war auch diese an „Frieden und Ruhe“ interessiert. Wie zweideutig diese Parole schon damals war, zeigt ihre kritische Aufnahme in 1Thess 5,3. Man sollte den Staat von außen her in Ruhe lassen, darum Frieden, und er sollte von innen nicht angefochten werden, darum Ruhe. Gebete für die Obrigkeit im Gottesdienst wurden festgelegt und formuliert, seit jeher ein Zeichen der Unterwürfigkeit. Der Religionsunterricht wurde am Sonnabend in Räumen der Kirche gestattet, nicht mehr in der Schule. Da „Frieden“ ein irdisches und ein geistliches Gut ist, war eine Einigung relativ leicht. Auch die Kirchen hatten Interesse am Frieden in der Welt. Da innerhalb der Kirchen aber vor allem der innere Frieden als ein geistliches Gut betont wurde, gab es bei Pfarrversammlungen immer wieder Diskussionen

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mit den als Beobachter dieser Zusammenkünfte gesandten staatlichen Inspektoren. Aber man konnte sich in der Bibelauslegung innerhalb der Kirche durchaus frei bewegen. Schikanen erlebte man, wenn man als Pfarrer mehr machte als erwartet, z.B. wenn man ein Krippenspiel zu Weihnachten aufführte und damit die übliche Gottesdienstordnung überbot oder wenn man den Unterricht der Kinder attraktiv gestaltete. Aber im Ganzen hatte sich ein modus vivendi gebildet, mit dem ein einigermaßen erträgliches Leben möglich war. 2.2 Die Jahre 1956-1968 Das sollte sich im Gefolge der Ungarnrevolution von 1956 ändern. Die Repressionen, die nach deren Niederschlagung erfolgten, weil es auch in Siebenbürgen Bekundungen der Unzufriedenheit gab, waren für die Protestantischen Kirchen einschneidend. Ein Teil des Lehrkörpers des Protestantisch-Theologischen Institutes in Klausenburg / Cluj-Napoca und eine Anzahl von Pfarrern wanderten ins Gefängnis. Die großen von der dialektischen Theologie geprägten Persönlichkeiten, vor allem bei Reformierten und Unitariern, waren betroffen. Es traf auch Studenten, die neue Wege der Lebensgestaltung in Kirche und Gesellschaft gesucht und gefunden hatten. Und es traf die Theologiestudentinnen. Sie waren seinerzeit im Zuge der Gleichberechtigung der Geschlechter zum Studium aufgenommen worden. Nun wurden sie davon ausgeschlossen. Man meinte, sie seien für den Pfarrberuf nicht geeignet. Einige von ihnen hatten als Religionslehrerinnen viele Kinder begeistert. Das war unerwünscht. Die Repression machte deutlich, dass innerhalb dieses Staates neue Wege im Umgang der Kirche mit den Gläubigen, die nicht vom Staate initiiert wurden, nicht geduldet wurden. Angesichts dieses harten Durchgreifens des Staates wuchs das geistliche Bedürfnis an, es bildeten sich Gebetskreise für die gefangenen Kollegen. Andererseits empfahlen oder verordneten gar die staatlichen Organe neue Lehrer anstelle der Verhafteten, die den Anliegen des kommunistischen Staates gegenüber als loyal angesehen wurden. Mit dem Verlust der in den Dreißigerjahren geprägten großen Persönlichkeiten verlor die allegorische, geistlich orientierte Auslegung der Bibel an Boden. Vor allem aber merkten Lehrer und Studenten, dass man der Welt mehr Rechnung tragen muss, als es bis dahin geschah, wo das Geistliche so sehr im Mittelpunkt stand. Die Methode der Auslegung änderte sich. Zumindest in Klausenburg / Cluj-Napoca mussten die neuen Professoren für die Bibelauslegung erst ihr Fach neu lernen, bevor sie für die Studenten auch als Lehrer auftreten konnten, die gehört wurden. Wir beim Zweig mit deutscher

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Unterrichtssprache in Hermannstadt/Sibiu sind glimpflicher davon gekommen. Aber eine neue Sicht der Dinge kündigte sich auch hier bald an. Auch im kirchenpolitischen Bereich trat eine Änderung ein. 1958 wurde in Prag die sogenannte „Christliche Friedenkonferenz“ gegründet, die Theologie aus Ost und West verbinden sollte. Das einende Element war die Opposition gegen das Wettrüsten nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, besonders auf dem Gebiet der Massenvernichtungsmittel. Interessant für die Mächtigen im Osten war es aber auch, in den Kirchen ein Sprachrohr gegen die Aufrüstung der NATO zu finden. Wiewohl Rumänien in dieser Organisation einen Vertreter im Arbeitsausschuss hatte und mehrere an den Vollversammlungen teilnahmen, wirkten sich die dort erarbeiteten und verbreiteten Dokumente kaum aus. Mit dem Beitritt der Kirchen zum Ökumenischen Rat der Kirchen im Jahr 1961 öffneten sich einige bis dahin geschlossene Türen. Der Staat hatte ein vermehrtes Interesse an den Kirchen, nicht nur einzelner theologische Vertreter derselben, weil er sich durch sie Einflussnahme auf die Ereignisse in der Welt versprach. Er war bestrebt, auf die Vertreter der Kirchen bei ökumenischen Veranstaltungen Einfluss zu nehmen. Das gelang in begrenztem Ausmaß, hatte aber zunächst auf die Methode der Bibelauslegung wenig Auswirkung. Auf Dauer trat aber ins Bewusstsein, dass es mehrere Möglichkeiten der Auslegung der Bibel gibt, die man zwar nicht alle kennen, wohl aber die eigene Position besser begründen und andere Möglichkeiten des Bibelverständnisses gelten lassen muss. Das hatte auf dem Gebiet der Hermeneutik zwei sehr verschiedene Auswirkungen. Die schon vorher bekannte Unterscheidung zwischen den Botschaften der einzelnen Autoren der Bibel bekam neuen Auftrieb. Man hatte schon im 19. Jahrhundert die Persönlichkeiten der Propheten voneinander unterschieden und hatte innerhalb der Theologie des NT zwischen der Botschaft Jesu, der des Paulus und der des Johannes zu differenzieren gewusst. Nun kam die Theologie der einzelnen Schriften vermehrt ins Blickfeld, man erarbeitete eine Theologie der einzelnen Synoptiker und auch der verschiedenen Schreiber der Geschichte Israels. Dies alles bekam im Rahmen der Teilnahme an der Ökumene neue Bedeutung. Es führte dazu, dass die verschiedenen Botschaften nebeneinander gestellt werden konnten und selbständige Bedeutung erhielten und dass damit die Frage von primär und sekundär, von „echten“ und „unechten“ Worten der Propheten, Jesu oder des Paulus keine wertende mehr war. Man konnte die Bibel wieder als eine Einheit sehen, nun allerdings mit verschiedenen Botschaften. Auf solcher Basis konnte auch der alten These von der Inspiration neue Bedeutung zukommen, indem die Texte als für die jeweilige Zeit verbal inspiriert angesehen wurden. Das entspricht der biblischen Botschaft, insofern die Worte der Propheten selbst in eine ganz genau bestimmte Zeit angesetzt sind.

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2.3 Die Jahre 1968-1979 Der Prager Frühling hat in unserm Land eine große innere Bewegung ausgelöst. Rumänien wurde durch die Weigerung ihres Staatschefs, Truppen nach Prag zu schicken, sehr bekannt. An Anerkennung von außen hatte der Staat erhöhtes Interesse. Darum war eine gewisse Flexibilität und auch Anpassung an andere Modelle angebracht. So erfolgte eine gewisse interne Lockerung. Die Doktorate wurden neu geregelt, es kam zu Neubesetzungen an den Fakultäten mit jüngeren Theologen, die nicht mehr von den Theologen der dialektischen Theologie geprägt waren, sondern gelernt hatten, selbständig Theologie mit Bezug auf die gegenwärtige Situation zu betreiben. Durch die Öffnung der Kirchen nach außen entdeckten die staatlichen Organe, dass es Theologien gab, die der kommunistischen Ideologie nahe standen wie die „Theologie der Befreiung“,3 oder die „Schwarze Theologie“.4 Es war die Zeit der Genitiv-Theologien, die mit Jürgen Moltmanns „Theologie der Hoffnung“ eingesetzt hatte, ein Konzept, das auf Bewegung aus war, neue Wege aufzeigen wollte und sich den Exodus Israels im AT und „das wandernde Gottesvolk“ des Hebräerbriefes zum Ausgangspunkt wählte.5 Nicht mehr die Stabilität, sondern die Bewegung, die Dynamik, wurde für die Bibelauslegung wichtig, Geschichte und Eschatologie traten in den Vordergrund. Die „geistliche Dimension“ trat etwas zurück. Bei interkonfessionellen Tagungen wurde darüber gesprochen. Die Staatsorgane erwarteten einen längeren Bericht über diese Entwicklungen, entsprach doch die „Theologie der Befreiung“ und die „Schwarze Theologie“ dem Gedanken einer Sozialistischen Weltordnung, für welche sich die sich befreienden ehemaligen Kolonialvölker stark machten, und vom Ostblock in ihrem Kampf unterstützt wurden. Die Staatsorgane vertraten die Meinung, dass diese Theologien das Richtige treffen und wollten, dass sich die Kirchen dieser Tendenz anschließen. Das wurde sehr deutlich bei einer interkonfessionellen Tagung der Theologischen Institute. Hier wurde dieses Thema eingehend behandelt. Problematisch war für einen der Hauptreferenten die Umsetzung der Theologie der Befreiung in die gegenwärtige Situation des Landes, denn hier gab es Dinge genug, aus denen die Menschen befreit werden sollten. Der Referent zog sich auf die Position des Matthäusevangeliums zurück: „Wer das Schwert zieht, wird durch das Schwert fallen“ 3. Vgl. dazu U. LUZ, Theologische Hermeneutik des Neuen Testaments, Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener Theologie, 2014, pp. 263-287. 4. Zugänglich war damals Evangelische Theologie 34,6, Schwarze Theologie. 5. J. MOLTMANN, Theologie der Hoffnung: Untersuchungen zur Begründung und zu den Konsequenzen einer christlichen Eschatologie, Gütersloh, Gütersloher Verlag-Haus, 1964.

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(Mt 26,52). Er zeigte damit seine Skepsis gegenüber der Anwendung der Theologie der Befreiung auf unsere Situation an. Die geistliche Dimension des Gotteswortes wurde als einzig mögliche in der gegenwärtigen Situation angesehen. Bei der Diskussion des Referates gab es dann drei bestellte Redner, die mit Hinweis auf Bonhoeffer für die Theologie der Befreiung, der Veränderung eintraten. Das machte das Doppelgesicht des Staates offenbar: Theologie der Befreiung, wunderbar. Aber bei uns braucht es sie nicht, da ist doch alles schon befreit. Der Staat, der mit Neuerungen begonnen hatte, wollte Neuerungen im Sinne seiner Ideologie von anderen, aber nicht im eigenen Land. Wirkliche Konflikte hat es aber darüber nicht gegeben, Auseinandersetzungen schon, aber ohne Folgen. Ein interessanter Versuch eines theologischen Neuansatzes, welcher der geänderten Situation in dieser Richtung Rechnung tragen sollte, kam vom nachmaligen Metropoliten von Siebenbürgen, Antonie Plămădeală, der 1972 das Konzept einer dienenden Kirche vorstellte.6 Er stellte die Kirche als eine der Gesellschaft dienende dar. Die Ausrichtung war: Die Kirche soll in der Gesellschaft eine dienende Funktion haben. Hier waren neue Ansätze für eine Theologie sichtbar, die viele wertvolle Beobachtungen an biblischen Aussagen machte und in mancher Hinsicht bedenkenswert war, vor allem, weil sie die horizontale Dimension des christlichen Glaubens wieder betonte, nachdem die Theologie lange Zeit der vertikalen Dimension erhöhte Bedeutung zugemessen hatte. Sie konnte aber nicht bewirken, dass sich etwas Entscheidendes in der Kirche selbst änderte. Bloß in der Sprache der Theologen. Bedenklich erschien freilich den reflektierenden Theologen die dahinter stehende Konsequenz: Weil der Staat die Gesellschaft zu verkörpern beanspruchte, war eine Theologie des Dienstes für die Gesellschaft rasch eine Theologie des Dienstes der Kirche im Staat und damit ihre Unterwürfigkeit an die Staatsmacht. Es blieb eine offene Frage, inwieweit solche Gedanken ernst genommen werden können, wenn man ehrlich war. Die Doppelgleisigkeit in Kirche und Gesellschaft wurde immer deutlicher. Das Buch bekam weithin die Funktion einer damals von der Staatsführung verlangten Wandzeitung, in der „Erfolge“ aufgezeichnet wurden, die zeigen sollten, wie schön und sinnvoll das Leben ist. Ähnlich steht es mit der vom Budapester Bischof Zoltan Káldy 1974 herausgegebenen „Theologie der Diakonie“. Die darin ausgesprochenen Gedanken kamen auch nach Siebenbürgen. Man sprach darüber. Aber die daraus erwachsene Forderung von Kirchenvertretern nach einer diakonischen 6. A. PLĂMĂDEALĂ, Biserica slujitoare, in Sfânta Scriptura, Sfânta Tradiție si in teologia contemporană (Dienende Kirche in der Sicht der Heiligen Schrift, der Heiligen Tradition und in der gegenwärtigen Theologie), Bukarest, 1972.

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Arbeit in Diakonischen Anstalten in unserer Kirche wurde verboten. Diakonie sollte nur als Dienst der Gesellschaft, d.h. als Kirche im Dienst des Staates geübt werden. Anstaltsdiakonie war Sache des Staates. Auch die Menschenrechte wurden verhandelt. Damit stellte sich für die Kirche die Frage, ob sie sich mit dem Recht auf Arbeit und der Gleichberechtigung von Mann und Frau zufrieden geben kann, oder ob sie auch andere Menschenrechte im Blick hat. Besonders die Gruppenrechte wurden immer wieder thematisiert. Die feministische Theologie wurde nicht besprochen. Es wurde darin kein Problem gesehen, denn die Gleichberechtigung der Geschlechter bei Arbeit und Entlohnung war geregelt, im gesellschaftlichen Bereich freilich nicht. Ein konkretes Beispiel aus persönlicher Erfahrung mag die Situation beleuchten. Der Situation Rechnung tragend, dass wir im autoritären Staat eine ganze Reihe von Dingen hinnehmen mussten, ohne sie ändern zu können, hatte ich in einem Gastvortrag in Greifswald 1979 über „Die Bewältigung der Not im Alten und Neuen Testament“ gesprochen. Ich wurde gebeten, diesen Vortrag zu veröffentlichen. Der rumänische Staat, der die Ausfuhr von Veröffentlichungen genehmigen musste, gestattete diese. Aber der Aufsatz konnte in der DDR nicht gedruckt werden. Die Zensur erlaubte es nicht. Man war der Meinung, dass man über Nöte, die man nicht ändern kann, nicht weiter nachdenken soll, weil es sie eigentlich nicht geben darf. Noch interessanter war es dann, dass das Thema auch in der BRD unerwünscht war. Dort meinte man, Nöte verändern zu sollen und nicht bewältigen zu müssen. Der Aufsatz wurde dann in der Schweiz gedruckt.7 An diesem Beispiel kann man erkennen, dass eine verantwortungsvoll wahrgenommene Hermeneutik, die der Situation Rechnung trägt, im Kommunismus nur begrenzt möglich war. In Rumänien eher als in der DDR? Kaum. Denn mit einer Auslegung einer Seligpreisung geschah etwas Ähnliches wie in der DDR. Ein Pfarrer hatte für unsere kirchliche Zeitschrift eine kurze Erläuterung zu Mt 5,6 – „Selig sind, die hungern und dürsten nach der Gerechtigkeit“ – geschrieben und den Text so ausgelegt, dass unter „Gerechtigkeit“ das Tun anderer verstanden wird, sodass in der Seligpreisung die angesprochen sind, die Ungerechtigkeit erleben und sich nach Gerechtigkeit sehnen. Die Veröffentlichung wurde nicht genehmigt. Ich bin nicht überzeugt, dass die Auslegung des Pfarrers den Sinn trifft, den Jesus nach Mt 5 meinte. Aber es ging hier nicht um eine unrichtige, sondern um eine nicht gewollte Auslegung. 7. H. KLEIN, Die Bewältigung der Not im Alten und Neuen Testament, in TZ 40 (1984) 257-274.

306

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Eine ganz besondere Position nahmen die vom Staat erwarteten Stellungnahmen zum Tagesgeschehen in Zeitschriften und anderen Veröffentlichungen ein. Hier lag es am Geschick der Redaktoren, die Dinge so darzustellen, dass sie nicht als Liebedienerei oder als vorauseilender Gehorsam erschienen. Das war ein Weg am Abgrund, bei dem sicher oft auch die dem Glauben gesetzten Grenzen überschritten oder nicht eingehalten wurden. Aber die Leser wussten zu trennen, zumindest grundsätzlich. Das Interessante ist, dass gerade diese Artikel, die so viel Kopfzerbrechen bereiteten, besonders im Ausland aufmerksam gelesen wurden. Es war dann doch oft eine sehr andere Sprache als die in staatlichen Zeitungen. Es waren zaghafte Schritte über die Kirchenmauern hinweg in die Welt, in der man sich nicht ganz zuhause fühlte, weil sie von oben gesteuert war und man daran kaum etwas ändern konnte. Ändern konnte man in den persönlichen Beziehungen, aber nicht in der Gesellschaft. Ob man wollte oder nicht, die Situation im Kommunismus nötigte die Kirche zu einer Hermeneutik, die der Zwei-Reiche-Lehre Luthers nahekam. Man konnte im Staatsgefüge wenig ändern. Die Bischöfe der Kirchen, die Abgeordnete in der Großen Nationalversammlung waren, konnten kaum kleine Akzente setzen. Aber sie konnten schützende Hände über ihre Kirchen halten. Und das war nicht wenig. 2.4 Die Jahre 1980-1989 In den Achtzigerjahren erfolgte eine weitere Liberalisierung innerhalb der Theologie aus der Sicht des Staates. Wie die Bibelauslegung geschah, damit beschäftigte sich der Staat kaum. Er konnte voraussetzen, dass die Auslegung der Bibel so geschieht, dass sie der Ideologie des Staates nicht direkt widerspricht. Auch wenn in manchen Gemeinden die Auslegung der Offenbarung des Johannes sehr erwünscht war, hat sie allenfalls eine Sehnsucht nach der Ewigkeit stimuliert, nicht eine irdische Änderung. Innerhalb der Bibelauslegung aber wurde die Frage nach der Einheit der Bibel diskutiert. Man suchte nach einem Konzept, das die beiden Teile der Bibel miteinander verbinden kann. Wenn es einen Ansatz dazu in dieser Zeit gab, dann war es die Hervorhebung des Lebens. Sowohl in Rumänien8 als auch in der Slowakei9 wurde dies gleicherweise thematisiert, man sprach von einer Theologie des Lebens. 8. H. KLEIN, Leben – Neues Leben: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen einer gesamtbiblischen Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments, in EvTheol 43 (1983) 91-107. Nachdruck in O. MERK (Hg.), Schriftauslegung als theologische Aufklärung: Aspekte gegenwärtiger Fragestellungen in der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft, Gütersloh, Gütersloher Verlag-Haus, 1984, 76-93. 9. Z.K. NANDRASKY (Hg.), Teológia života (Theologie des Lebens), Bratislava, Cirkevné Nakl, 1989.

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Das war nun nicht eine auf Veränderung abzielende Theologie. Sie trug den Gegebenheiten Rechnung, dass man als Kirche oder vom Glauben her im Land nichts Entscheidendes verändern konnte. Und das, obwohl diese Theologie das AT unter dem Stichwort „Leben“, das Neue Testament unter dem Begriff „Neues Leben“ zu lesen empfahl. Das AT sollte das gegenwärtige Leben verstehen helfen, das NT aber die Ausrichtung geben. Die Ausrichtung zum „Neuen Leben“ geschah, der urchristlichen Botschaft entsprechend auf die Endzeit hin. Damit war der geistlichen Ausrichtung der Theologie Rechnung getragen. Diese Theologie hatte keine politische Konnotation, sie entsprach den Bedürfnissen und Erwartungen der Menschen. Hier war ein großer Freiraum entdeckt, der sich nach ganz verschiedenen Seiten hin entfalten ließ. Dieses Konzept regte zu einem Nachdenken über Welt und Mensch vor Gott an und schloss dann doch als Erwartung eines neuen Lebens die Hoffnung in sich. Natürlich wurde damit auch eine Gegenwelt zur vorhandenen gezeichnet. Das ist in der Kirche durch die Zeiten hindurch geschehen. Neu war die Lektüre des AT vom Konzept des Lebens her vielleicht, weil auf diese Weise der Stabilität, der Gegebenheit innerhalb der Schöpfung, vor dem geistlichen Element mehr Rechnung getragen wurde. Eine solche Stabilität ist tatsächlich von den Bürgern des Landes wahrgenommen worden, auch wenn viele damit nicht zufrieden waren. Niemand rechnete mit einer Änderung, auch wenn sie sehr erwünscht war. Man kann darum fragen, ob eine solche Hermeneutik dem verlogenen Wesen der Diktatur nicht zu sehr konform war und auch der Ausblick auf das neue Leben nicht zu wenige Kräfte für einen Wandel in der Gesellschaft mobilisiert hat. Es lässt sich feststellen, dass die biblischen Vorlesungen in jener Zeit die Studenten mehr bewegten als andere Fächer. Dass es nicht so sehr an den Lehrern, sondern am Fach lag, zeigt die Tatsache, dass sich mit der Wende 1989/1990 die Dinge rapide änderten. Hatten die Studenten bis dahin in der Bibelauslegung eine andere Lehre als die Staatsideologie gesucht und gefunden, so ging es in der veränderten Zeit weniger um die Lehre, als um deren Anwendung in der Praxis.

3. DIE WENDE NACH 1989 Die Freiheit, die wir nach 1989 erhielten, forderte auch eine neue Hermeneutik. Neu war das Verhältnis von Kirche und Gesellschaft. Nun galt es, die Gegebenheiten der Welt neu zu bedenken. Für mich bedeutete das den Wechsel von der Auslegung des 2. Korintherbriefes mit seiner tiefschürfenden Kreuzestheologie zur Exegese des 1. Korintherbriefes, weil dort

308

H. KLEIN

Fragen des Lebens der Christen in der Welt behandelt wurden. Die Studenten fragten nun weniger nach der Lehre als nach deren Umsetzung in der Praxis. Sie brauchten Orientierung. Diese bekamen sie nicht durch ein geistlich erarbeitetes Konzept, sondern durch den Versuch, mit ihnen an den Problemen zu bleiben. Die Diskussion über die Anwendung der Texte wurde wichtig. Man musste sich innerhalb der Theologie auf einen Wettbewerb der Meinungen einlassen. Kirche und Theologie waren neu gefragt, es musste zu vielen Fragen eine Antwort gesucht werden. Sozialwissenschaften, Wirtschaftsethik und vieles andere musste anhand biblischer Texte neu beleuchtet werden. Vor allem aber musste der Umgang mit dem Geld verantwortlich gestaltet werden, weil das Geld jetzt eine ganz andere Rolle spielte als früher. Dies alles verlangte eine Neubesinnung innerhalb der Hermeneutik. Der Glaube als innere Gewissheit war weniger wichtig als das Leben aus dem Glauben. Die Schöpfung mit ihren Gesetzen, die Gesellschaft in ihrer Veränderbarkeit und ihrem stetigen Wandel, das waren die neuen und heute noch gültigen Probleme. Eine Hermeneutik für heute wird freilich kaum allen diesen Herausforderungen gerecht werden können. Hilft da etwa der Spruch Augustins weiter: dilige et fac quod vis, liebe und dann tue, was du (dann) willst? Ulrich Luz plädiert für diesen Ansatz.10 Er ist weisheitlich und ermöglicht, die gegenwärtigen Fragen an die Bibel und an das Christentum mit dem vorhandenen Sachverstand anzugehen. Das setzt voraus, dass die Welt und die Umwelt ernst genommen, zunächst sorgfältig analysiert werden und anschließend nach der Botschaft der Bibel gefragt wird. Aber ist das ausreichend? Die Reformatoren haben als Kern der biblischen Botschaft den Zuspruch (Verheißung) und den Anspruch (Verpflichtung) angesehen, den Indikativ und den daraus sich ergebenden Imperativ. Das ist prophetische Sicht und gibt der Botschaft der Bibel den Vorrang vor den zeitgenössischen Fragen. Oder soll man doch dem Geistlichen den Vorrang geben? Das ist priesterliche Denkweise und macht ernst damit, dass Kirche nicht dazu gerufen ist, die Probleme der Welt zu lösen, sondern die himmlische Welt darzustellen und bildhaft vorzuleben. Ich denke, dass es Zeit braucht, bis wir uns in den neuen Gegebenheiten zurechtfinden. Sicher ist nur, dass auch in einer solchen Situation das Geistliche vom Irdischen nicht verschlungen werden, aber auch umgekehrt das Geistliche das Irdische nicht ganz verdrängen darf. Es bedarf der Kombination zweier Elemente von den dreien, dem weisheitlichen, dem prophetischen und dem priesterlichen. Da darf auch jeder Einzelne in großer Verantwortung neue Wege suchen und finden. Eines der 10. U. LUZ, Hermeneutik (n. 4), pp. 647-653.

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drei Elemente muss dann zurücktreten. Das macht die Diskussion immer spannend.

4. ZUSAMMENFASSUNG Die Zeit des Kommunismus war eine schwere Zeit für die Menschen. Man stand ständig unter Druck. Aber dieser Druck wurde hingenommen, weil er alle und das ganze Leben umschloss. Eine bestimmte Auslegung wurde nicht vorgeschrieben. Jeder wusste oder lernte, wie er auf seine Weise mit den Aussagen der Bibel umgehen kann und soll. Sie wurde geistlich vorgenommen. Die Frage, was Gott uns sagen will und was er erwartet, war dominant. Man ging von einer Stabilität in der Welt aus. Die Orientierung an der Geschichte, auch an Gottes Wirken in der Geschichte, trat zurück. Ebenso die Hoffnung, die Ausrichtung auf die Zukunft. Das Geistliche dominierte. Auch als Gegenideologie zu der der Mächtigen. Dass sich alle nach mehr Freiheit auch in der Auslegung der Bibel sehnten, ist selbstverständlich. Aber intra muros ecclesiae gab es doch ausreichend Freiheit. Heute sind diese Kirchenmauern gefallen. Sie boten seinerzeit auch ein wenig Schutz. Jetzt gibt es zu viele Möglichkeiten. Die Suche nach der Mitte der Schrift, und damit nach der sachgemäßen Auslegung der biblischen Botschaft wird die Hermeneutik weiterhin beschäftigen. Hans KLEIN (Sibiu)

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Eberhard Bons. PhD in Romance Languages and Philosophy from the University of Mainz and Dr. theol. from Philosophisch-Theologische Hochschule Sankt Georgen, Frankfurt am Main. Habilitation in Theology, University of Strasbourg, France. Currently Professor of Old Testament Exegesis at the University of Strasbourg. Publications include Textkritik und Textgeschichte: Studien zur Septuaginta und zum hebräischen Alten Testament (FAT, 93), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014. James G. Crossley. PhD in New Testament from the University of Nottingham. Currently Professor of Bible, Society and Politics at St. Mary’s University, Twickenham, UK. Publications include Jesus in an Age of Neoliberalism: Quests, Scholarship, Ideology, London, Routledge, 2012. Babett Edelmann-Singer. PhD and Habilitation in Ancient History from the University of Regensburg. Currently Research Fellow with the DFG Heisenberg Programme and Visiting Professor at Ludwig-Maximilians-University Munich, Germany. Publications include Koina und Concilia: Genese, Organisation und sozioökonomische Funktion der Provinziallandtage im römischen Reich (HABES, 57), Stuttgart, Franz Steiner, 2015. Jan Willem van Henten. PhD in Jewish Studies from Leiden University. Currently Professor of Religion at the University of Amsterdam and ExtraOrdinary Professor of Old and New Testament at Stellenbosch University, South Africa. Publications include Judean Antiquities 15: Translation and Commentary (Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, 7b), Leiden, Brill, 2014. Sandra Huebenthal. Dr. theol. in New Testament from PhilosophischTheologische Hochschule Sankt Georgen, Frankfurt am Main. Habilitation in New Testament from the University of Tübingen. Currently Professor of Exegesis and Biblical Theology at the University of Passau, Germany. Publications include Reading Mark’s Gospel as a Text from Collective Memory, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2019.

312

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Hans Klein. PhD in Biblical Theology from United Protestant Theological Institute of Cluj-Napoca / Sibiu, Romania. Currently Professor emeritus of New Testament at Lician Blaga University, Sibiu. Publications include Das Lukasevangelium (KEK, I/3), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006. Johannes Klein. PhD and Habilitation in Old Testament from the University of Bern. Currently pastor in Fogarasch, Romania. Publications include David versus Saul: Ein Beitrag zum Erzählsystem der Samuelbücher (BWANT, 158), Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2002. Beate Kowalski. Dr. theol. in New Testament from Ruhr-UniversityBochum. Habilitation in New Testament Studies, Leopold-Franzens University Innsbruck. Currently Professor of Exegesis and Theology at TU Dortmund University, Germany. Publications include Die Rezeption des Propheten Ezechiel in der Offenbarung des Johannes (SBB, 52), Stuttgart, Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004. Martin Meiser. Dr. theol. and Habilitation in New Testament from the University of Erlangen. Currently Associate Professor at Saarland University, Germany. Publications include Galater (NTP, 9), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007. Tobias Nicklas. Dr. theol. and Habilitation in New Testament from the University of Regensburg, Germany. Currently Professor of New Testament and Director of the Centre for Advanced Studies “Beyond Canon” at the University of Regensburg, as well as Research Associate at the University of the Free State, Bloemfontein and Adjunct Ordinary Professor at Catholic University of America. Publications include Der zweite Thessalonicherbrief (KEK, 10/2), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019. Zoltán Oláh. PhD in Old Testament from Babeș-Bolyai University, Cluj, Romania. Currently Associate Professor of Old Testament at BabeșBolyai University. Publications include “… werden sie bezahlen” (JesLXX 9,4): Erfahrungen von Fremdherrschaft als Aktualisierung, in M. Meiser et al. (eds.), Die Septuaginta: Geschichte, Wirkung, Relevanz (WUNT, 405), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2018, 656-672. Barbara Schmitz. Dr. theol. in Old Testament from the University of Münster and Habilitation in Old Testament from the University of Regensburg. Currently Professor of Old Testament at Julius-Maximilians-Universität

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

313

Würzburg, Germany. Publications include Geschichte Israels, Paderborn, Schöningh, 22014. Julia A. Snyder. PhD in New Testament and Early Christianity from the University of Edinburgh. Currently Research Fellow at the Centre for Advanced Studies, University of Regensburg, Germany. Publications include Language and Identity in Ancient Narratives: The Relationship between Speech Patterns and Social Context in the Acts of the Apostles, Acts of John, and Acts of Philip (WUNT 2, 370), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014. Michael Sommer. Dr. theol. in New Testament from the University of Regensburg. Currently Junior Professor at Martin-Luther-University HalleWittenberg, Germany. Publications include Der Tag der Plagen: Studien zur Verbindung der Rezeption von Ex 7-11 in den Posaunen- und Schalenvisionen der Johannesoffenbarung und der Tag des Herrn-Tradition (WUNT 2, 387), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2015. Korinna Zamfir. PhD in Ecumenical Theology from Babeș-Bolyai University, Cluj, Romania. Habilitation in New Testament, University of Regensburg. Currently Professor of Biblical Studies at Babeș-Bolyai University. Publications include Men and Women in the Household of God: A Contextual Approach to Roles and Ministries in the Pastoral Epistles (NTOA, 103), Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013.

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

HEBREW BIBLE / SEPTUAGINT Exodus 19,16 30,11-13 34,16 38,25-26

262 88 24 28 88

Numbers 24,17 25

8 55-58 163

Deuteronomy 6,18 6,23 7,3-4 7,3 9,5 11,21 20,1-9 23,4-7 23,7 28,30-33

36 36 90 24 28 36 36 21-22 28 25 27-28 40

Joshua 23,7

38

Judges 3,9 3,15

184 184

1 Samuel 8 8,7-9 8,7 8,18 10,19

84 84-85 84 85 184

21–22 22,6-23

86 86

2 Samuel 8,16 11 14,11 20,24

37 88 38 37

1 Kings 4,3 11,2 15,9-24 15,23-24

37 90 91 91

2 Kings 18,18 18,37 19,35

37 37 69

2 Chronicles 14,1–16,14 16,7-14 32,21

91 91 69

Ezra 1,1-4 1,13 6,3-5 6,15-18 9–10 9 9,12 29,16 32,7

31 262 31 30 24 7 28 25-27 37 55

316

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

Nehemiah 12,11 12,22 13,23-27

53 53 28

Job 20,25

262

Psalms 2 8,4 15,4 20,8 76,19 89,37-38 96,4 103,5 116,16 122,6-7 137 145,14

165 50 36 38 262 55 262 50 36 22 21 36

Isaiah 7 14,32 21,9 36,3 36,22 37,36 40–55 40,1-11 44,23-28 48,1 48,13 49,14 49,16 52,7 52,8 56–66 58 58,4 58,7 58,9 60–62 60,6 60,11 61,1 62

193 50 51 37 37 69 30 31 31 38 50 37 37 11 166 177 39 29-30 32 32 32 35 32 35 29-30 32 166 39 11 166 30

62,1 62,6-9 62,6 62,7 62,8 65,16 65,21

39 7 29 32 30 39-40 40 37 40 36 35

Jeremiah 16,5 24,5-7 24,5 25,9 28,3-4 29,5-7 29,6 29,7 36,5-7 38,4

22 24 23 23 22 6 7 19-22 24-28 24-25 25 27-28 20 25

Ezekiel 14,1-8

28

Daniel 8,10 10,6

55 262

Hosea 9,3-6

22

Amos 5,11 5,26 7,17

40 55 22

Haggai 1,6-12 2,18

31 50

Zechariah 1,12 4,9 8,9 9,14

37 50 50 262

Tobit 4,12

28

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

Sirach 39,1 43 43,1-12 43,13 44–50 44 44,16 47,13 48,17-25 48,17 48,18-22 49,12 49,14 49,16 50 50,1-24 50,1-7 50,1-4 50,1 50,4 50,5-10 50,5-7 50,6-7 50,6

23 55 55 262 49 45 46 49-50 51 51 69 50 46 49 52 55-56 59 7 45-46 46 46-48 7 43 49-51 53 51 55 54 51 56 55

1 Maccabees 1,1–7,50 1–2 2,42-48 2,42 2,60 3,1-9 3,3-6 3,4 3,8 3,38–4,25 3,43 3,46-54 4 4,5 4,8-11 4,16-18 4,36-61 4,36 5,61-62 6,28-63 6,43-46

61 65 63 66 76 73 68 79 73 68 70 70 70 92 70 70 70 70 70 101 75 64 92

7,1-26 7,13 8,1-32 9,19-21 10,20 14 14,47 41 59–61

77 76 92 96 92 96 79 70 70

2 Maccabees 1–7 1,10 2,14 2,19 2,19-22 2,19-21 2,21-22 2,21 2,22 2,23 3 3,4 4,4 4,40 4,44 5 5,12 5,19-20 5,20 5,27 6–7 6 6,1-11 7 7,9 7,11 7,14 7,21 7,23 7,29 7,36 8 8,1-7 8,1-4 8,1 8,2-4 8,3

63 76 63 63-64 66 69 64 64 71 65-66 65 64 71 77 44 77 76 71 67 61 67 63 65-66 78 62 66 78 61-62 66 75 75 75 74 75 75 75 63 66 68 66 63 66 69 67 73

317

318

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

8,5-7 8,5 8,6-7 8,8-36 8,12 8,13 8,14-15 8,15 8,16-20 8,16 8,2 8,21 8,22-23 8,22 8,23 8,24-25 8,24 8,26-29 8,27 8,29 8,30-33 8,30 9 10,1-9 10,1 10,2-8 10,10 10,16 10,19-23 10,19-20 10,20-22 10,24-38 10,25-26 10,27-28 10,29-30 10,29 10,31-32 10,33-38 11,1-12 11,6 11,7 11,8 11,9-11 11,10 11,11 11,13 11,15 11,16-21

63 66 80 67-69 73 67 68 70 69 69 69 69 69 69 67 69 64 69 63 69 76 69 69 71 73 69 73 70 73 70 80 76 70 173 70 80 80 71 71 73 64 71 63 64 71 80 71 71 71 72 77 71 72 71 80 71-72 71-72 72 72 73 73 73 73 73

11,27 11,34 12 12,1-9 12,5 12,6 12,8 12,9 12,10-12 12,11 12,12 12,13-16 12,13 12,15 12,16 12,18-26 12,20 12,22 12,23 12,27-28 12,28 12,29-31 12,32-37 12,36 12,38-39 12,38 12,40 12,41-42 12,42-45 12,42-44 12,42 12,43-45 12,45 13 13,1-2 13,3-8 13,9-17 13,10-11 13,12 13,13 13,14 13,15 13,17 13,18-22 13,20 13,21 13,23-26 13,24-25

76 76 73-74 80 73 74 74 80 74 74 73 74 74 73 74 74 80 74 73 74 74 74 73 74 73 73 73-74 74 74 74 74 74 79-80 80 74 79 62 75 75 75 75 75 75 80 76 76 64 64 76 76 75 75 64 75 75

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

14–15 14,1-14 14,1 14,6-10 14,6 14,10 14,12 14,13 14,14 14,15-26 14,16 14,17 14,18 14,20 14,22 14,26-36 14,27 14,28-29 14,30-31 14,33 14,37-46 14,37 14,38 14,43-46 15 15,1-5

76 79-80 76 76 76 76 77 77 77 77 76 77 63-64 77 77 77 76-77 77 78 78 78 62 75-76 78 76 66 291 63 76

15,6-25 15,6-11 15,11 15,12-16 15,12-14 15,16 15,18 15,22-24 15,25-36 15,25-27 15,27 15,28-29 15,30 15,32-33 15,35 15,37-39 22–26 24–25 27 33 34–38

80 78 80 78 78 80 81 78 78 78 76 78 78 78 78-79 79 79 79 73 77 73 73 73

3 Maccabees 2,1 6,5

53 69

319

NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 1,21 2,1-12 5 5,6 5,43-45 6,12 7,21-23 7,29 10,4 10,18 10,34 11,12 13,43 17,2 24 24,27 24,30

184 165 170 305 305 20 182 204 182 179 204 188 180-181 262 262 261 261 262

26,52 27,37 27,38 Mark 1,1 1,2 1,9-11 1,14 1,15 1,22 1,27 2,25 3,1-6 3,11 3,18 3,22-27

304 187 183

11 138 162 164-169 172 177 166 165 166 154 164 166 183 186 170 182 170 172 170 170 179 183

320

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

4,35-41 5 5,1-20 5,9 6,47-52 8,22-26 8,22 8,27 10,42-45 10,46-52 10,47 11,1-10 11,10 12,35-37 13,9 15,16-20 15,26 15,27 15,39

173-174 177 11 176 172 174 137 154 170-171 174 174 176 196 170-172 172 172 172 172 204 206 174-175 187 183 187 165

Luke 1,5 2,2 2,11 2,17 3,21-22 4,18 4,21 4,22 4,28-30 4,31-44 4,36 6,15 8,1-3 9–10 9,9 10,27 10,30-37 11,4 11,14-23 11,20 12,51 13,1-5 13,31 13,32 13,34-35 14,23 14,28-32

184 184 12 184 185 165 183 183 285 210 210 182 179 194 186 188 180 189 186 182 183 182 185 188 187 180 187 180 187 182 180

16,13 16,16 17,20-21 18,18-30 19,1-10 19,41-44 20,20-26 20,20 21,12 21,20-24 22,1 22,19 22,24-27 22,25 22,35-38 22,36 22,66 23,3 23,4 23,8-12 23,14 23,15 23,18 23,19 23,20 23,22 23,33 23,35 23,36 23,39 23,47 24,29

186 180 182 185 186 186 199 188 189 206 199 188 188 196 197 199 188 188 188 189 187 187 187 189 189 187 187 187 187 187 187 187 187 181

John 9,1-7 18,36 19,19

171 183 187

Acts of the Apostles 1,13 3,14 3,17-26 3,17 4–5 4,19 4,20 5 5,21-41

194 187 189 189 189 190 210 210 207 44

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

5,29 5,38 5,42 10,36 12 12,1 12,21 14,19 14,22 16,15 16,21 16,35-40 17,6 17,7 18,2 18,12-17 18,13 18,15 18,17 19,31 19,37 21–26 21,13 21,20–24,27 22,25 23,1 24,1-13 24,2 24,5 24,6 24,13 24,16 24,22 24,25 25,9-12 25,11 25,12 25,16 25,19 25,21 25,25 25,27 26 26,13 26,32 27,1 27,1–28,16 28,8

207 210 207 210 197 207 207 206 210 210 181 205 210 205 205 190 189 190 205 190 208 124 205 198 210 190 210 210 209 197 205 205 210 210 190 190 210 190 190 206 210 210 184 184 190 199 206 262 190 184 199 210

28,10 28,23-28

210 189

Romans 13

3

1 Corinthians 9,14

153

2 Corinthians 11,25

204

Philippians 2,6-11

292

1 Thessalonians 5,3

300

1 Timothy 2,2

191

Hebrews 2,7 2,9

262 262

Revelation 1,1 1,2 1,3 1,5 1,9-20 1,9 1,10 1,16 2–3 2,2 2,5 2,6 2,7 2,9 2,10 2,11 2,13 2,14 2,16 2,17 2,20 2,21

218 218 218 218 221 218 222 262 221 214 225 214 222 214 221 222 204 214 220 222 214 225

220 222-223

223

218 218

214 216 218 225

321

322

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

2,22 2,29 3,2 3,3 3,4 3,6 3,11 3,13 3,15 3,17 3,19 3,20 3,22 6,9 7,1 7,2 7,3 7,4-8 7,14 9,4 9,20 9,21 10,1 10,7 10,11 11,3-8 11,8 11,14 11,18

225 222 214 222 225 214 222 220 218 222 214 214 225 222 222 214 219 219 220 220 218 219 225 225 262 218 218 218 218 220 218

12-13 13,16 14,9 14,11 14,13 14,14-20 16,2 16,6 16,9 16,11 16,15 17-18 17,6 18,4 18,20 18,24 19,10 20,4 20,6 22,7 22,9 22,10 22,12 22,14 22,17 22,18 22,19 22,20

221 220 220 220 223 221 220 218 225 225 223 221 218 218 218 218 218 218 223 218 218 218 220 223 222 218 218 220

223

220 220 220

222

OTHER SOURCES Acts of John at Rome 3-4 249 3 250 4 249 5 249-250 7 250 8 250 11 250 12 250 13 250

Acts of Perpetua and Felicitas 2,2 255 5,2 255

Acts of Peter 1 8 11 17 22 23-28 33-34 34 36 40 41

234 232-233 233-234 232 232 232 235 255 235 232 233 236

Acts of Thekla / Acts of Paul 3,14 238 243 255

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

3,16 3,17 3,20 3,21 4,1-2 4,2 4,3 4,7 4,11 9 9,12 9,14 9,18 9,21 9,33 12–13 14 14,1 14,2 14,3 14,4

238 255 239 238-239 243 238 240 242 240 240 242 243 243 244 244 244 244 244 244 244 245 245 245-247 247

Ammonius of Alexandria Frgm. Act. PG 85:1569 B 208 PG 85:1592 B 209 PG 85:1593 D–1596 A 210 Apocalypse of Peter 1-6 259 1 261 7-13 259 Babylonian Talmud b.Gitt. 56b-57a 203 b.Shab. 33b 5 Barnabas 5,10 15,15 Cassius Dio Roman History 41,46,3 41,46,4 51,20,6-7 61–63 61,35,4

262 262

173 173 117 236 206

66,1,3 68,7,5

143 175 202

Chariton Chaereas and Callirhoe 3,1 240 Cicero For Flaccus 55

118

1 Clement 20,3 25,4

262 262

2 Clement 7,3

262

Dead Sea Scrolls / Qumran Damascus Document 4Q266 fg. 11 27 CD VII,18-19 56 CD-A VI,21 27 Thanksgiving Hymns 1QH 1,12 56 War Scroll 1QM XI,6 56 Didache 1,3

204

Diognetus 7,2

262

Euripides Bacchae 45 323 1255

207 207 207

Eusebius of Caesarea Church History 2,10,1 207 2,19,2 209 2,25,5 204 3,33,1-2 205 4,8,6–4,9,3 203 8 194

323

324

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

13,10,13 17

207 194

Gospel of Thomas 98 180 Hermas Mandates 1,2,5 Visions 2,2,2 3,2,1 Herodotus Histories 3,80-82 Ignatius Ephesians 19,2 Magnesians 13,1 Irenaeus Against Heresies 3,3,3

262 205 205

251

262 262

156

John Chrysostom Baptismal Instructions 3,6,28-30 208 Homilies on the Acts of the Apostles 39,2-3 208 49,2 194 50,1 197 209 51,1 209 51,2 209 51,3 210 Josephus Against Apion 1,187-189 44 2,165 104 Antiquities of the Jews 1,14-15 87 1,20 87 3,320 87 3,370 88 4,223 104

5,24 5,234 5,277 5,282 6–7 6,32-34 6,35-378 6,35-67 6,36-39 6,36 6,38 6,39 6,40-42 6,44 6,45 6,54 6,56 6,60-67 6,60-61 6,60 6,61 6,62 6,66-67 6,66 6,68-82 6,83-85 6,83 6,92 6,100-105 6,102 6,104 6,129-130 6,131-151 6,131 6,133-134 6,137 6,142 6,146-151 6,147-151 6,160 6,164-166 6,165 6,181-183 6,187 6,189 6,192 6,196 6,203

163 103 163 163 84 84 84 84 84 100 104 84 100 103 85 85 87 103 84 85 88 84-85 163 85 100 87 103 84 104 85 85 85 85 85 104 85 85 85 86 86 85 85 85 85 85-86 85 86 85 88 85 89 100 88 88 88 88 88 88

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

6,205 6,242-262 6,262-267 6,262 6,263 6,265 6,271 6,336 6,343-350 6,343 6,344 6,345 6,346-347 6,346 6,347 6,349 6,359-360 6,359 6,368-377 6,378 7,7 7,56 7,61-65 7,70 7,71-77 7,73-77 7,76-77 7,72 7,105 7,109 7,122 7,130-158 7,130 7,147 7,152 7,153-394 7,153 7,154-158 7,198 7,199 7,200 7,202-203 7,203 7,209 7,221 7,245 7,250 7,294-297

88 86 86 100 86-87 87 87-88 91 88 85 85 85 85 85 87 85 85 85 88 88 85 85 88 88 88 88 88 88 88 88 91 88 88 88 88 88-89 89 89 89 88-89 89 89 88 88 88 88 88-89 88 88 163 163 88

7,318-333 7,338 7,341 7,356 7,374 7,380 7,384-385 7,384 7,385 7,390-391 7,393-394 8,1–10,154 8,21 8,42-44 8,61-129 8,121 8,126 8,127-129 8,127 8,190 8,191 8,192-193 8,192 8,195 8,196 8,197-198 8,198 8,208 8,211 8,224–9,278 8,224 8,225 8,246 8,251 8,265 8,274-285 8,280 8,286-314 8,286-287 8,286 8,287 8,288-289 8,289 8,290-297 8,290 8,293-297 8,293 8,295

88 89 91 89 91 91 89 91 89 89 89 91 89 100 89 93 84 90 90 90 91 90 90 90 90 90 90 90 90 90 90 90 91 90 90 90 90 90 91 90 90 91 90 90 91 91 90 91 90 91 90 91 91

325

326

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

8,296-297 8,298-302 8,299-302 8,299-300 8,313-314 8,314 8,361-362 8,394 8,417-420 9,1 9,16 9,99-101 9,236 9,260 10,49-51 10,50 11,8 11,65 11,111-112 12,2,5 12,3,3 12,4,1 12,43 12,56 12,83 12,88 12,121 12,133 12,164 12,166 12,281 12,285-434 12,285 12,304 12,314 12,373-374 12,414 12,419 12,433-434 12,434 13,1-212 13,5 13,14 13,45-46 13,124 13,145 13,163 13,168

90 90 91 91 91 90-91 90 91 90 90 91 90 91 91 91 91 27 163 104 52 44 52 52 91 96 96 96 96 96 96 97 96 97 96 97 92 96 96 92 96 96 96 97 97 96 96 96 97 97

13,197-200 13,198-199 13,198 13,200 13,213 13,225-227 13,228-235 13,230-235 13,230 13,236-248 13,249 13,254-256 13,257-258 13,275-281 13,282-283 13,288-298 13,299-300 13,299 13,301-319 13,301-313 13,301 13,314-318 13,314 13,316-317 13,316 13,318-319 13,320-404 13,322 13,323 13,372-376 13,372-373 13,376 13,380-383 13,394 13,405-432 13,407 13,408 13,416-418 13,422-429 13,430-432 13,430 13,431 13,432 14,22-24 14,25-28 14,41 14,77 14,78

97 97 97 97 92 97 97 93 97 97 97 93 97 97 97 97 97 93 97-98 98 98 98 79 94 98 101 94 98 98 101 98 98 97 94 98 94 94 94 98 98 98 98 99 99 98 99 101 99 99 99 100-101 100 100

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

14,91 14,174 14,283 14,366 14,449 14,455 14,462-463 14,490 15,209 15,248 15,267-291 15,373-379 15,375-376 16,179-182 17,148-164 17,168-173 18,23 18,117 18,126 18,127-142 18,127 18,143–19,366 18,144 18,145 18,195-202 18,195 18,228 18,252 18,255 18,285 18,288 18,289 18,290 18,297 18,306 18,309 19,16 19,293 19,294-296 19,301-311 19,328-31 19,343-352 19,346 20,141-143 20,162-165 20,162 20,182-183 20,182

104 102 91 101 95 95 102 102 92 100 163 105 102 102 102 93 102 102 185 91 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 163 206 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 103 209 209 209 206 209

20,191-195 20,229 20,234 20,251 Jewish War 1,36-47 1,38 1,42-45 1,48-49 1,50 1,53 1,54-69 1,54-60 1,58-59 1,59 1,61 1,67 1,68-69 1,68 1,70-84 1,70 1,71-77 1,78-80 1,81-84 1,84 1,85-106 1,87-88 1,88-89 1,88 1,90 1,97-98 1,97 1,107-119 1,108 1,110-113 1,110 1,112 1,120-357 1,170 1,198 1,199 1,203 1,209 1,270 1,279 1,282-284 1,325 1,357

210 104 104 104 2 92 9 92 92 92 93 93 93 93 93 93 97 93 97-98 101 93 104 94 79 94 94 94 94 98 94 94 94 93 93 94 94 101 94 95 101 95 101 95 95 104 95 104 95 95 95 95 101 95 95 96

327

328

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

1,409-428 1,429-430 1,431-673 1,443 1,446 1,450-451 1,455 1,473 1,488-491 1,530 1,539 1,540 1,607 1,628 2,22 2,80 2,90-91 2,247 2,420 3,143 3,402 3,414-428 3,497-505 3,503 3,522-531 4,596 4,618 4,656 4,658 6,312-313 Life 1-12

102 101 102 102 102 102 102 102 102 102 102 102 163 102 104 104 104 209 163 163 175 173 174 163 174 103 162-163 163 162 168

Letter of Aristeas 188 210 281

211 211 211

Mishnah m.Avot 1,2

59

Martial Epigrams 5,8,1 10,72,1-4 10,72,3 12,6,3-4

201 202 201 202

Martyrdom of Polycarp 4 255 8,2 255 9,2–12,2 255 9,2 211 19,2 262 Origen Contra Celsum 2,4 164 Commentary on John 1,13 164 6,24 164 Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans 9,27 207

105

Justin Martyr First Apology 68,3-10 Second Apology 2

205 211

Lactantius Divine Institutes 7,15,11 7,15,18 17,11 18,5

143 143 143 143

203

Letter from Vienna and Lyons

255

Philo De Josepho 245 162 250 162 De Opificio Mundi 115 162 De praemiis et poenis et De exsecrationibus 161 163 De somniis 2,281 163 De virtutibus 41 163 Legatio ad Gaium 18-19 162 18 163

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

231 99

162-163 163

Philostratus Life of Apollonius 1,3 251 1,13 252 1,15 242 4,35-39 253 5,7–10,28 253 5,10 253 5,27-38 251 5,31-38 251 5,33 252 5,34 252 5,35 252 5,41 251 6,7 252 6,9 252 6,29-34 251 7,3-8 253 7,4 253 7,8 201 7,9 252 7,42 240 8,3 252 8,4 253 8,7 253 Lives of the Sophists 570 251 Phlegon FGrH 257 F 36 III 143 Pliny the Younger Letters 10,96 10,97 Panegyricus 1,3-4 52,6 89 Plutarch Life of Antony 87

211 202-203 263 267 263 267 201

236

Life of Lucullus 23,1

329

118

Pseudo-Oecumenius Acts PG 118:244 C 208 PG 118:284 AB 210 PG 118:285 A 210 PG 118:477 CD 208 Pseudo-Sophronius of Jerusalem De laboribus, certaminibus et peregrinationibus SS. Petri et Pauli 204 Seneca Apocolocyntosis 40,1,25-31 271 Quaestiones Naturales 4 praef. 10 206 Statius Silvae 2,7,32

206

Strabo Geography 14,1,42 14,2,24

124 124

Suetonius Life of Augustus 52 Life of Domitian 8,2 Life of Nero 23 Life of Vespasian 5,6 Tacitus Annals 3,25-28 4,37,3 12,54,1 13–16

117 201 236 143 175

239 117 209 236

330

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND LATE ANCIENT SOURCES

Histories 5,9

209

Tertullian Apology 5 5,7

236 203

30–34 39 On Baptism 17

251 251 237

Theodoret of Cyrus PG 81:649 19

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

ABEL, F.-M. 64 ABOLAFIA, J. 104 ADAK, M. 128 AHN, J.J. 28 ALAND, B. 181 ALAND, K. 181 ALBERTZ, R. 27 ALEXANDER, L. 197 213 ALFÖLDY, G. 115 123 ALKIER, S. 222 AMELING, W. 109 111 113 129-130 AMOROSO, C. 122 ANANIA, B.V. 49 ANDO, C. 110 135 ANNEN, F. 223 ARNAL, W. 282 ASSMANN, J. 154 272 ATKINSON, K. 95 AUFFAHRTH, C. 134 AUNE, D.E. 260 BALCH, D.L. 286 BALDWIN, M.C. 231 BALTRUSCH, E. 95 BARCLAY, J.M.G. 236 BARNES, T.D. 240 BARRIER, J.W. 248 BARTELMUS, R. 36 BAUCKHAM, R. 2 259 261-262 BAUER, W. 181 257 BEALE, G.K. 219-220 BEARD, M. 112-113 115 119 BECKER, E.M. 49 56-57 171 BECKING, B. 25 BEDENBENDER, A. 138 142 BEENTJES, P. 48-50 54 BEGG, C. 85 88-91 BENDEMANN, R. VON 139 153-154

BENHARD, A.E. 164 BENNETT, J. 202 BERGES, U. 29 30 35 37 39 BERGMANN, M. 271 BERLIN, A. 21-22 BERNETT, M. 121 BERNHARDT, J.C. 62 BETLYON, J.W. 57 BILDE, P. 83 BINDER, H. 298 BIRD, M.F. 280 BIRLEY, A.R. 203-204 BLASS, F. 49 BLATZ, H. 139-140 142 156 BLECKING, D. 148 BLENKINSOPP, J. 38 BLOOMQUIST, L.G. 224 BLUMENTHAL, C. 197 BOESAK, A.A. 213 BOLYKI, J. 248 BOND, H.K. 102 BORG, M.J. 290 BOSENIUS, B. 153 BOUCHON, R. 121 BOWIE, E.L. 252-253 BOYARIN, D. 278 BRAKKE, D. 257 BRAUN, M. 250 BREMMER, J.N. 241-242 259 BRENT, A. 197 BRENTON, L.CH.L. 47 BRINK, L. 195 BROCK, A.G. 235 247 BRUN, J.-P. 123 BRUNN, C. 215 BUCHHOLZ, D.D. 261 BURK, D. 133 BURRELL, B. 113

332

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

BUSCHE, J. 147 151 CALLON, C. 234-236 240 CAMIA, F. 121 CAMPANILE, M.D. 114 119 121-122 128 CARROLL, R.P. 20 22 CARROLL, S.T. 53 CARTER, M. 241 CARTER, W. 110 125 159 214 CASEY, M. 278-279 CASSIDY, R.J. 196 CHAE, Y.S. 172 CHANIOTIS, A. 114 119 121-122 CHAPMAN, H. 105 CHIAI, G.F. 129 CHOAT, M. 165 CHOMSKY, N. 278 291 CHRIST, K. 201-203 CLAUSS, M. 112-113 119 CLEMENTS, R.E. 55 COGGINS, R.J. 45 COHEN, S.J.D. 101 CONZELMANN, H. 190 194 208 CORSTEN, T. 115 135 CROSSAN, J.D. 288-289 291 CROSSLEY, J.G. 278-279 281-283 285 287 291 CUDDON, J.A. 219 CURRAN, J. 83 DAUBNER, F. 112 DE BOER, P.A.H. 38 DEBRUNNER, A. 49 DEININGER, J. 121 124 126 DEISSMANN, A. 109 114 134 DE JONG, A. 102 DE JONG, I.J.F. 63 DE JONG, J. 121 123 DELGADO, J.A. 123 DELPLACE, C. 113 DEL TON, G. 57 DEN HOLLANDER, W. 83 DESSAU, H. 271 DE TEMMERMAN, K.  87 DIBELIUS, M. 198 DIHLE, A. 196 DI LELLA, A.A. 45-46 49-50 DMITRIEV, S. 243

DONNER, H. 30-32 DORAN, R. 62 DREYER, B. 123 162 DUFF, P.B. 213 DUHM, B. 29 38 DUNN, J.D.G. 181 280 DZIELSKA, M. 252-253 EASTMAN, D.L. 236 EBNER, M. 5 110 138 142 155 160-161 169 171 175 238 ECK, W. 111 200-201 ECKSTEIN, H.-J. 171 ECO, U. 141-142 EDELMANN-SINGER, B. 113-114 117-119 121-122 127 129-130 EDER, J.S. 146-149 151 EGO, B. 59 EHRMAN, B.D. 164-165 257 ELLIOTT, J.H. 288 ELLIOTT, N. 110 159 289 ELSNER, J. 253 ENGEL, H. 61 80 ENGELMANN, H. 123 162 ESCH-WERMELING, E. 239-241 ESLER, P.F. 196 285 EVANS, C.A. 161 166 171 EVE, E. 137 FABRY, H.J. 49 FACTOR, R. 223 FARISH, M. 288 FEARS, J.R. 263 FEELEY, J.D. 89-90 103 FEIN, S. 200 203 FELDMAN, L.H. 85 87 92 101 104 FELL, M. 203 FERNOUX, H.-L. 122 FINKELSTEIN, N. 283 FINNERN, S. 218 FISCHER, G. 20 23-24 28 FISHER, M. 289 291 FISHWICK, D. 111 113 116 121 126 FITZMYER, J.A. 184 FLINTERMAN, J.-J. 240 251 253 FOERSTER, W. 57 FOHRER, G. 39 FRANCIS, J.A. 251-252

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

FRENSCHKOWSKI, M. 219 FREVEL, C. 53 57 FREY, J. 109 133 160 FRIESEN, S.J. 110 112 115 126 155 159160 FRIJA, G. 113 115 FRILINGOS, C.A. 216 FRÖHLICH, I. 56 FUJII, T. 113 122 FUKS, G. 91 94 FURLAN TAYLOR, D. 213 GAFNI, I.M. 91 97 101 GALINSKY, K. 109 111 134 GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ, F. 27 GASCOU, J. 123 GEISSEN, A. 271 GELARDINI, G. 139 GERBER, C. 104 GESENIUS, W. 38 GIBBON, E. 116 GIBSON, S. 58 GILBERT, G. 197 GOLDBERG, D.T. 281 GOLDSTEIN, J.A. 80 101 GOODMAN, M. 83 105 GRABBE, L.L. 25 44 52 GRADEL, I. 112-113 117 119 GRAUPNER, A. 20 22 GREGORY, A. 200 GROAG, E. 129-130 GRUEN, E.S. 79 92-93 96 98-101 GRÜNSTÄUDL, W. 259 261 GUSSMANN, O. 104 HAASE, W. 253 HABIB, M.A.R. 219 HABICHT, C. 64-65 80 118 HAEHLING, R. VON 235-236 HAENCHEN, E. 194 HAHN, F. 181 HALFMANN, H. 129-130 HARLAND, P.A. 129-130 HARTER-UIBOPUU, K. 113 121 HAYS, R. 166 HAYWARD, C. 127 HEAD, P. 278 HEEN, E.M. 125

333

HEILIG, C. 110 289 HEINE, R.E. 164 HEININGER, B. 5 142 153-154 161 163 168-173 177 HEINRICH, A. 146 HEMELRIJK, E.A. 115 122 126 131 HENGEL, M. 46 52 59 62 80 194 HERKLOTZ, F. 121 HERMAN, E.S. 278 HERRMANN, P. 117 HERMANN, W. 39 HERSCH, S. 287 HERZ, P. 117 122 134 HESCHEL, S. 278 HIEKE, T. 26 HILL, J. 22 24 HIMMELFARB, M. 259 HITZL, K. 122 HÖFFKEN, P. 29 HOFFMANN, P. 181 HOLLADAY, W.L. 22 HOLLER, B. 112 HOLMÉN, T. 186 HONIGMAN, S. 62 73 80 HORN, F.W. 195 HORSLEY, R.A. 5 110 159 161 HÖVER-JOHAG, I. 25 HUBER, K. 221 HÜBNER, R.M. 205 HUEBENTHAL, S. 5 148-149 153 HUITINK, L. 86 HUNTINGTON, S.P. 284 ILAN, T. 87 95 98 JACOBI, C. 153 JACOBS, A.S. 239 JAKOB-SONNABEND, W. 236 JEDIN, H. 43 JENSEN, A. 239 JERVELL, J. 190 JOHNSON, L.T. 209 JONES, C.P. 251 JOOSTEN, J. 27 JUNOD, E. 251 KAHNEMAN, D. 154 KANATSOULIS, D. 122

334

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

KANTIRÉA, M. 113 KAPLAN, K.J. 4 KARRER, M. 184 KÄSEMANN, E. 278 KASSER, R. 244 KASZA, P. 147-148 KATHO, B. 19 KEENER, C.S. 198 KEITH, C. 152 KELBER, W. 152 154 KELHOFFER, J.A. 250-251 KELLEY, S. 278 KESSLER, R. 26 KESSLER, W. 30 KILPP, N. 23 25 KIM, S. 110 159 289 KIRBIHLER, F. 119 122 KIRK, A. 152 KLEIN, H. 180 188-189 195 205 305-306 KLEIN, J. 35 36 KLOPPENBORG, J.S. 181 KOCH, D.-A. 191 KOENEN, K. 30 35 38-39 KOHN, D. 51 KOKKINOS, N. 103 KORNEMANN, E. 124 KÖTZEL, M. 241 KOWALSKI, B. 216 222 224 KRASCHENINNIKOFF, M. 126 KRATZ, R.G. 29-30 KRAUS, T.J. 259-260 KRINZINGER, F. 122 KUHOFF, W. 263 KUNDERT, L. 197 KUNST, C. 114 129 KUNZ, H. 121 KYRYCHENKO, A. 196 LABOUVIE, S. 29 30 32 38-39 LAMBERS-PETRY, D.  95 LAMPE, P. 143 LANGE, L. 63 LATTE, K. 120 LAU, M. 139-140 LAU, W. 33 39 LEE, D.H. 207 LEE, M.V. 216 LENTIN, A. 281

LEVINE, A.-J. 281 LIAMPI, K. 123 LIETAERT PEERBOLTE, B.J. 204 LINDEMANN, A. 205 LIPSIUS, R.A. 231 232 237 LOPEZ, D.C. 159 289 LORIOT, X. 113 123 LOUW, J.P. 218 LOZANO, F. 121 LUISIER, P. 244 LUMMEL, P. 263 LUZ, U. 181 303 308 MA, J. 73 MACDONALD, D.R.  239 248 MACMULLEN, R. 240 MAHALEL, D. 223 MALINA, B.J. 285 287 MANTEL, H. 44 MARBÖCK, J. 46 MARCH, W.E. 19 24 MARCHAL, J.A. 289 MARCUS, J. 157 172 MAREK, C. 122 MARSHAK, A.K. 93 MASON, S. 83 84 92 94 97-98 102 104 MAYORDOMO, M. 216 MCKENZIE, J.L. 38-40 MEEKS, W. 155 MEIER, J.P. 288 MEISER, M. 197 200 MELLOR, R. 134 METTE-DITTMANN, A. 239 MIDDLETON, P. 216 MILETA, C. 117 134 MILLAR, F. 120 235 MILLER, A.C. 197 MISSET-VAN DE WEG, M. 239-240 MITCHEL, S. 122 129-130 MITTELSTAEDT, A. 199 MOESSNER, D.P. 248 MOLLER, H.B. 279 MOLTHAGEN, J. 195 MOLTMANN, J. 303 MOMMSEN, T. 243 MORELAND, M.C. 181 MOSS, C.R. 160 249 MOYISE, S. 222

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

MULDER, O. 46 48-49 51 54-55 MÜLLER, H. 114 MÜLLER, M. 200 MUNTEANU, E. 49 MURAOKA, T. 50 MURPHY-O’CONNOR, J. 59 MYLES, R.J. 290 NEUMANN, N. 184 NEUSNER, J. 44 NICKLAS, T. 5 62 67 69 80 133 138 142 160 170 219 222 259-261 NIDA, E.A. 218 NIGDELIS, P.M. 123 NORDSIECK, R. 180 NORELLI, E. 259 NORTH, J. 112-113 115 119 NOVICK, P. 283 OAKES, P. 193 OBERMAYER, B. 29 ÖHLER, M. 115 135 OMERZU, H. 153 OSIEK, C. 286 OSWALD, W. 213 PANZRAM, S. 123 PASSOW, F. 181 PATAI, R. 287 PAURITSCH, K. 30 33 40 PENELLA, R.J. 252 PENNER, T. 277 PEPPARD, M. 116 PEPPEL, M. 119 263 270 PERKINS, J. 235-236 PERVO, R.I. 200 209 237 243 248 PESCH, R. 198 209 PETERS, N. 51 PFEIFFER, S. 113 123 131 202-203 263 269-272 PICK, B. 249 PIETERSMA, A. 47 PILCH, J.J. 285 PILHOFER, P. 194 PITTS, A.W. 258 PLĂMĂDEALĂ, A. 304 POHLMANN, K.-F. 20 PORTER, E. 258

335

POUPON, G. 231 PRICE, D. 288 PRICE, J. 83 PRICE, S.R.F. 112-115 119 234 241 RADL, W. 185 RAFAELI, A. 223 RAJAK, T. 83 104 REASONER, M. 135 REED, J.L. 289 REGEV, E. 80 REHKOPF, F. 49 REICHERT, A. 201 205 REITEMEYER, M. 49-51 55 REITZENSTEIN, D. 115 122 128 RENGSTORF, K.H. 88 99 183 RHEE, H. 235-236 240 248 RIEMER, U. 216 ROBBINS, V.K. 224 ROBINSON, J.M. 181 ROHRBAUGH, R.L. 285-286 ROLOFF, J. 196 RORDORF, W. 237 248 ROSENBAUM, J. 51 ROSSIGNOL, B. 123 ROUSSEAU, P. 257 RUDOLPH, W. 22 RÜGGEMEIER, J. 218 RUMSCHEID, J. 241 SAID, E.W. 284 SALLER, R.P. 235 SANDERS, E.P. 279 SANTA-MARÍA, X.A. 213 SASSE, M. 31 SAUER, G. 57 SAWAYA, Z. 121 SCHÄFER, P. 104 SCHECHTER, S. 51 SCHEID, J. 113 135 SCHELKLE, K.H. 184 SCHERER, H. 239 SCHERRER, P. 122 SCHIPP, O. 201-203 SCHMID, H.H. 25 SCHMIDT, C. 244 SCHMIDT, K.-M. 142-143 155 157 160 167 173-176

336

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

SCHMIDT, W.H. 22-23 SCHMITHALS, W. 183 SCHMITZ, B. 71 75 78 80 SCHNEEMELCHER, W. 231 237 SCHOLTISSEK, K. 169 SCHOWALTER, D.N.  263 SCHREIBER, S. 138 167 184-185 188 SCHRENK, G. 181-182 SCHUBART, W. 244 SCHUBERT, C. 200 206 SCHULER, C. 123 SCHULZ, S. 188 SCHWARTZ, D.R. 61-62 64-66 69 72 103104 SCHWARZ, M.B. 4 152 SCHWARTZ, S.C. 255 SCHWEIZER, A. 182 277 SCHWEIZER, E. 182 SCOTT, J.C. 5 198 SEIDL, T. 20 SEIDL, U. 201 SEKINE, S. 29-30 35 SHACKELTON BAILEY, D.R. 202 SHAW, B.D. 133 SHEPPARD, A.R.R. 129 SIEVERS, J. 96 SKEHAN, P.W. 45-46 49-50 SMALLWOOD, E.M. 129 SMELIK, K. 21 SMITH, D.L. 20-21 SMITH, G.S. 164 SNYDER, G.E. 244 SNYDER, J. 133 237 SØRENSEN, S.L. 122 SOUTHERN, P. 201 SPAETH, B.S. 115 121 SPANS, A. 29 38 40 SPEYER, W. 207 SPILSBURY, P. 90-91 104 STANTON, E.C. 277 STECK, O.H. 29-30 STEGEMANN, W. 205 STENGER, W. 181 STEPPER, R. 122 STERLING, G.E. 195 STERN, M. 59 98 STEWART, P. 234 STEYN, G.J. 214

STOCKING, G.W. 287 STOOPS, R.F. 231 STOWASSER, M. 214 222 STUHLMACHER, P. 295 SUGIRTHARAJAH, R.S.  285 SÜSS, J. 122 SWEET, J. 197 SWOBODA, S. 155 TAJRA, H.W. 248 TAYLOR, C. 51 TEDESCHE, S. 65 80 THATCHER, T. 152 THEISSEN, G. 138 THOMAS, C.M. 236 THONEMANN, P. 123 127 TIGCHELAAR, E.J.C. 27 TILLY, M. 61 TITLEY, G. 281 TOSATO, A. 26 TREBILCO, P.R. 129 TROIANI, L. 104 TUCKETT, C.M. 161 166 171 TÜTSCH, H.E. 287 TUVAL, M. 105 TVERSKY, A. 154 ULRICH, J. 201 BREMEN, R. 122 127 129 EMDE BOAS, E.  86-87 VAN HENTEN, J.W. 62 86 94 102 105 216 VAN TILBORG, S. 260 VAN UNNIK, W.C. 205 VAN UYTFANGHE, M. 253 VANDER STICHELE, C. 277 VANDERKAM, J.C. 96 VEH, O. 117 VELENIS, G. 123 VERHEYDEN, J. 115 135 VERMES, G. 279 VITALE, M. 122 241 VOGT, J. 269 VORSTER, J.N. 239 VAN VAN

WALASKAY, P.W. 196 199 WALTON, S. 193 WALZER, M. 3

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

WANDER, B. 129 194 WANKE, G. 19-21 23 WASSERMAN, T. 164-165 WEIPPERT, H. 22-23 WEISER, A. 20 WEISS, J. 181-182 185 WENGST, K. 195 199 WESTERMANN, C. 30 35 37 39 WHITE, L.M. 128 WHITMARSH, T. 251-252 WHYBRAY, R.N. 33 37 WIEFEL, W. 187 WILKER, J. 93 WILLI, R. 22-24 WILLIAMS, D.R. 223 WILLIAMS, M.H. 129-130 WILLI-PLEIN, I. 31 37 WILSON, J.C. 216 WINDISCH, H. 207 WINN, A. 161 168-169 173 WINTER, B.W. 125

337

WITHERINGTON, B. 195 WITULSKI, T. 110 126 160 213-214 WOLTER, M. 180 185-186 198-199 207 WRIGHT, B.G. 47 WRIGHT, N.T. 133 282 291-292 WRIGHT, W. 239 241 288 YANS-MCLAUGHLIN, V. 287 YARBRO COLLINS, A. 166 213 215 YODER, J. 193-194 197 235 240 YOUNG, S.L. 280 YUEN-COLLINGRIDGE, R. 165 ZAPF, B.M. 29 38 ZEITLIN, S. 65 80 ZIEGLER, J. 45 ZIEGLER, R. 123 ZILLING, H.M. 134 ZIMMERLI, W. 29-30 ŽIŽEK, S. 281 290

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

America, American, US 4 14-15 62 146 152 159 198 229 265-266 269-270 278 282-286 288-293 312 anti-gospel hypothesis, Anti-Evangelium 10-11 137-178 anti-imperial, anti-empire, see empire apocalyptic 13-14 55 110 115 159-160 199 213 215-216 219 222 224 248-249 257-263 269 272-274 281 apostle, apostles 13 110 133 155-156 159 195-196 204 207 209-210 214 227-256 289 313 Arab world 14 73 132 283-287 aristocracy 9 84 104-105 203 army, see military Asia Minor 12 109 112-114 116-119 122 124-130 132 191 197 204 213 215-218 220 223 234 243 268-269 Assyria, Assyrian 55 Babylon, Babylonian 3 5-7 19-28 31 43 90 94 221-222 Bar Kochba, Bar Kosiba 55 57-58 110 160 259-260 battle, see military capitalism, anti-capitalism 281 289-291 character, characterization 4 10-12 15-16 44 62-63 74-78 86-87 89-91 94 96 99 101-103 138 182-184 195 201-202 205206 209-210 217-218 220 222 228 231235 237-240 244-248 252 254-255 259 279 288 Claudius 103 122 126-127 131-132 191 194 206 214 coins, coinage, numismatic 7 14 44 57-58 123 202 260 262-274 communism 15 286 291 295-309

corruption, corrupt 12 86 91 100 103 202 207 crown, crowning, see monarchy crucifixion 12 183 186-187 190 232 291 cultural studies 137 144 146 148-151 democracy, democratic 3 4 104 145-146 152 206 228-229 251-252 284 287 290 dictatorship 15 292 295 297-298 300 307 Domitian 9 12 105 122 177 199-202 207 216 218 234 236 249-253 263 273 Egypt 43 45 50 121 123 132 164-165 203 257-260 262 269-271 273 elders 44 76 emperor cult, imperial cult, see empire emperor, Caesar 5 12-14 29 57 83 95 103 105 109-110 112-114 116-121 124-127 130-134 138-140 142 154 159-163 166169 171-173 175-178 184-185 188 190 195-203 205 210 213 215-216 219-221 229 232-236 241 243 245-256 258 261 263-271 273 289 290 292 300 See also Claudius, Domitian, empire, Hadrian, monarchy, Nero, Nerva, Rome, Trajan, Vespasian empire, imperial, imperialism 1 2 4-6 9-16 53 58 104 108-113 115-116 119-121 125 133-135 137-140 155 157 159-160 162-163 179 183-185 190 193-195 197 199 201 204 211-225 227-230 233-237 239-243 245-255 260-261 263-273 277 288-293 anti-imperial, anti-empire 4-6 9-10 12-15 107 110 133-134 139 227-230 233-238 242-243 245 247 249-251 253-256 278 288-289 291-293 emperor cult, imperial cult, ruler cult, Kaiserkult, Kaiserpriester(in), Herr-

340

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

scherkult 3 9 10 109-135 159-160 163 197 200 202 204 207 213 216 234-235 240 242 260-261 263 269 imperial images 16 234 241-242 See also emperor, monarchy, Rome epiphany 72-73 76-78 eschatology, end times 115 228-230 244245 247-248 255 296 303 execution 12 75 85 95 102 198 203 209 233 235-236 238 240 242 245 247 exile 6-7 19-28 43 55 218 222 German, Germany 5 10 103 127 137 141 144-149 151 162 227 231 237 278 282 287 297 311-313 government 2-4 9 13 44 84 94 95 100101 103-104 193 195-196 198-199 207 211 228 251-252 287 government official 227 230 232 235-238 242 254 governor 7 16 43-44 53 189 190 232 237-244 247 252 prefect 205 232 235 246 Hadrian 12 57 110 118 125-126 160 199200 203 205 211 263 Hasmonean(s) 8 9 52 61-62 79-81 84 91-92 94-97 99-101 Herod the Great 8 57 93 101 103 hidden transcript 5 198 230 254 high priest, high priesthood, see priest Historical Jesus 3 144 153 179 279 282 288 290-291 Holocaust 282-283 ideology, ideological 3-5 14-15 63 75 110 139 153-154 156 185 198-199 224 277278 284 287 290-291 293 297-298 303304 306-307 309 idol, idolatry 55 74 209 260 Idumeans 71 97 Israel, Israelites 7-8 24-28 31 40 43 45-46 55-58 68-69 84-85 90-91 100 103-104 150 167 195 220 259 262 273 282-284 302-303 313 Jerusalem 7 11 22 29 31 33 38-41 43 49-51 53 57-58 61-62 65 72 74-75

78-79 83 88 90 93 102 104-105 163 172 174-175 177 187 199 271 Jewish, Jewishness, Jews 1 2 4 6 8-9 11 14 16 20 28 45 52 53 55-57 59 65 71-72 74-76 78 80 83 90 92 94 96-99 102-105 139 141 143 150 153-155 157 183 187 189-191 195-196 198-199 201 203 205 207-211 214 222 250 257-260 269 274 277-284 288 292-293 Julia Severa 128-131 Julia Domna 251 justice, just, justice system 3 7 9 13 21 43 52-53 59 78 84 86-91 99 101 137 141 156-157 187 190 194 205 210 227 230 235-236 239 242 244-245 249 280 286 292 social justice 7 41 king, kingship, see monarchy Kingdom of God 11 179-183 185-186 190 law 3 26 59 65 67-69 74-75 79 88-91 93 95-97 102-103 181 187-188 190 195 198 205 208 210 238-240 281 287 legalism, legalistic 12-13 26 194 210 216-217 227 239 243 278-279 legitimacy 13 146 197 228-230 234 242 liberation theology, Theologie der Befreiung 15 289 291 303-304 loyalty 10 12-13 16 86 88-89 110 220 233-234 246 Luther, Martin 278 306 313 marriage, marry, mixed marriage, exogamy, endogamy 7 21 24-26 28 77 90 209 238-239 243 martyr, martyrdom 8 13 62 66 74 76 78 204 205-207 210-211 216 218-220 225 227 232 234-236 244 247-249 254 255 messiah, messianic 8 11 56 57-59 139 142 168 183-184 225 259 260 262 292 Middle East 14 43 283 284-287 military 8 9 20-22 63 66-72 74 76 79-80 83 85 92 95 97-98 101 139 196 201 229 246-249 264 268 287 army 51 68-72 74 76 80 85 95 196 199 202 245 246 261

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

341

soldiers 67-69 71 72 74 76 79 96 187 208 245-246 battle 53 56 68 69-74 76-80 85 88 92 97 139 142 237 239 246 257 284 miracle 137 139 142 144-151 153 154 169-172 177 182 185-186 250 monarchy 4 8 44 84 85 90 91 94 98 100 101 103-105 193 228 251-252 king, kingship, queen 3 8 9 11 43-45 48 50-52 55 59 61 66 68 71 75 76-80 83-95 97 99-102 104-105 187 189191 193 204-206 228 245-248 250 255 292 crown, crowning 14 146 240-242 255 261-271 273 See also emperor, empire Murashu 7 26

reception category, reception scenario 10 11 137 139-147 149-151 153-158 resistance 2 4 5 7-8 10 21 61 66-67 70 79 105 198 219 223 291 resurrection 8 61 74-75 78 198 223 291 revolution 16 63 95 134 183 189 224 284 290-291 301 Romania, Romanian 1 9 15 110 116 126 295-309 312 313 Rome, Roman, Roman Empire 3-5 8-14 16 26 44 57 76 83 92 95 102 104-105 116 117 126 129 134 137-143 155-158 175 179 183 185-187 189-191 193-211 213-221 223-225 227-229 231 232 234235 237 240 243-252 256 258 260-266 268-270 273 289 292 See also empire

Nero 13 130 156 191 204 206 209-210 233-234 236 245-249 252-255 271 Nerva 9 12 105 199-202 New Perspective on Paul 25 256 279-280

sabbath 65 69-70 74 76 281 Salome Alexandra 94-95 98-99 101 Samaria 97 186 Sanhedrin 44 191 207 Schwur 33-34 40 Second Temple period 44 58 Seleucid(s) 53 61 66 71 73 77 92-93 96-97 senate, senator 95 125 130 132 134 200202 232-234 236 Simon the High Priest 7 8 43 46-47 49 51-52 56 slaves 85 94 96 100 116 232 social memory 137 144 147 150-151 soldiers, see military star 8 51 54-57 59 272 stasis 99-102 statues 221 233-235 254-255 See also empire, imperial images subversive 11 16 183 229 235-236 248 289 sun 51 54-56 261-263 270-271 273

orientalism 285 287 peace 6 19-20 23-25 28 58 73 76-77 91-92 99 188 191 196 292 persecution 12-13 133 156 191 201 203205 215-216 218 244 246 259-260 Persian 7 26 43-44 52 283-284 Pharisees 95 97-98 180 185-187 191 Pompey 99 100 104 232 postcolonialism, postcolonial 278 289 292 prayer, pray 6 8 15 19-22 56 62 67-76 78 80 97 99 191 208 234 251 prefect, see government official  priest, priesthood, high priest, high priesthood 7-10 15 43-56 58 59 62 73 76-79 81 83 86 88 91-93 95-97 99-100 101 104-105 112-114 118-119 124-131 191 209 241 296 308 prophet, prophecy 3 7 11-13 15 19-20 22 24 30 37 39 41 55 57 86 88 91 93 97 100-102 142-143 166 169 175 176 181 213 214 216 217-223 296 302 308 312 queen, see monarchy

temple 7 8 22 24 26 30-32 34 40-41 43-44 47-51 53 57-59 61-62 64-65 70 73 75 77-79 92-93 97 99 102-103 105 117 130-131 141 176 198 200 203 205 210 267-268 270 281 Trajan 12 14 114 118 191 199-200 202205 257 259-260 262-273

342

INDEX OF SUBJECTS

Vespasian 5 10-11 83 138-140 142-143 154 157 159 161-162 167-177 206 251252 271

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