Religions and Education in Antiquity (Numen Book Series Studies in the History of Religions, 160) 900438443X, 9789004384439

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Religions and Education in Antiquity

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_001

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Numen Book Series Studies in the History of Religions

Series Editors Steven Engler (Mount Royal University, Calgary, Canada) Richard King (University of Kent, UK) Kocku von Stuckrad (University of Groningen, The Netherlands) Gerard Wiegers (University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands)

VOLUME 160

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/nus





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Michel Desjardins



Religions and Education in Antiquity Studies in Honour of Michel Desjardins Edited by

Alex Damm

LEIDEN | BOSTON

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Cover illustration: School complex in Trimithis, Roman Egypt, fourth century CE. Courtesy and copyright: 2007 NYU Excavations at Amheida (VII) (used with permission). Published by the Institute for the Study of the Ancient World as part of the Ancient World Image Bank (AWIB) [CC BY 2.0  ], via Wikimedia Commons. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Damm, Alex, editor. | Desjardins, Michel R. (Michel Robert), 1951 honoree. Title: Religions and education in antiquity : studies in honour of Michel Desjardins / edited by Alex Damm. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2019] | Series: Numen book series. Studies in the history of religions, ISSN 0169-8834 ; volume 160 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018033943 (print) | LCCN 2018039898 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004384613 (E-book) | ISBN 9789004384439 (hardback :¬alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Religious education--History. | Education, Ancient. | Desjardins, Michel R. (Michel Robert), 1951- | LCGFT: Festschriften. Classification: LCC BL42 (ebook) | LCC BL42 .R437 2018 (print) | DDC 207/.5093--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018033943

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0169-8834 isbn 978-90-04-38443-9 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-38461-3 (e-book) Copyright 2019 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Contents

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Contents Acknowledgements ix Abbreviations x Notes on Contributors xvi xviii Religions and Education in Antiquity: An Introduction 1 Alex Damm 1 Wisdom from the Wise: Pedagogical Principles from Proverbs 29 John L. McLaughlin 2 Education in the Sacrospace of Qumran Judaism 55 Wayne O. McCready 3 Late Second Temple Judaism: A Reconstruction and Re-description as a Religio-Cultural System 76 Jack N. Lightstone 4 Techne in Plato and the New Testament 107 Joseph A. Novak 5 Why Not to Pity Rome: Revelation 18:22-23a in its Ancient Educational Context 127 Alex Damm 6 Those Who Hear: The Power of Learners in 1 Timothy 147 Mona Tokarek LaFosse 7 Translation Matters: The Coptic Translation of Thomas 171 John Horman 8 Pedagogy, Text and the Solitary Self in the Gospel of Thomas 194 William Arnal 9 Praises and Rebukes in the Gnostic Revelation Dialogues 212 Michael Kaler

viii Index of Ancient Sources 225 Index of Modern Authors 236 Index of Names and Subjects 240 243

Contents

Acknowledgements Acknowledgements

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Acknowledgements I wish to thank the editorial board of Numen for its acceptance of this manuscript, and Tessa Schild of Brill for her expertise and gracious manner in facilitating the book’s creation. Also I would like to thank Professor J.S. Kloppenborg for his advice on various fronts, and Professor Tony Burke for his careful editorial eye. Drafts of some portions of this book have been presented as papers at conferences of the European Association of Biblical Studies and the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies. As always, my deepest gratitude is for the support and wisdom of my parents, Beverley and Alexis, and of my partner Priya.

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Abbreviations

Abbreviations

Abbreviations Wherever possible, abbreviations follow the conventions in Internationales Abkürzungsverzeichnis für Theologie und Grenzgebiete, 2nd ed., ed. Siegfried Schwertner (Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1994). Birth and death dates of ancient authors are taken from the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd ed., ed. Simon Hornblower / Antony Spawforth. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), and abbreviations for biblical texts follow the conventions in Patrick H. Alexander et al., ed., SBL Handbook of Style: For Ancient, Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1999). AAAG ABS AGNT AJEC AMS AncB AncBD AncBRL AncYB ASMB ASNU AW BAGD

BASOR.S BBR BBRSup BCAW BCNH BD

Annals of the Association of American Geographers T&T Clark Approaches to Biblical Studies Maximilian Zerwick / Mary Grosvenor, Analysis of the Greek New Testament, 2 vols. Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Ancient Monastic Sources Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman et al., 6 vols. Anchor Bible Reference Library Anchor Yale Bible Aux sources du monachisme bénédictin Acta Seminarii neotestamentici Upsaliensis The Ancient World A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, Edited and Revised by Frederick William Danker, Based on Walter Bauer’s Griechisch-Deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neu­en Testaments, sixth edition, edited by Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland, with Viktor Reichman, and on previous English editions by W.F. Arndt, F.W. Gingrich, and F.W. Danker. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Supplementary Studies Bulletin for Biblical Research Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplement Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi Bible in Dialogue

Abbreviations BDB

BEThL Bib. BibInt BibS BIS BNP BNTC BSGRT BT BTB BWANT BZAW CAF CB.NT CBR CBQ.MS CBW CC CCS CCWJCW CistS CJA CNEB CNT(N) ComB CQS CRI CSHJ CUFr DSD ECE EDNT EEC

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A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, Based on the Lexicon of William Gesenius, Edited by Francis Brown, with the co-operation of S.R. Driver and Charles A. Briggs Bibliotheca Ephemeridum theologicarum Lovaniensium Biblica Biblical Interpretation The Biblical Seminar Biblical Interpretation Series Brill’s New Pauly: Encyclopedia of the Ancient World, ed. Hubert Cancik et al., 20 vols. Black’s New Testament Commentaries Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana Bible in Technology Biblical Theology Bulletin Beiträge zur Wissenschaft zum Alten und Neuen Testament Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta, ed. Theodor Kock, 3 vols. Coniectanea biblica, New Testament Series Currents in Biblical Research Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Cities of the Biblical World Continental Commentaries Cambridge Classical Studies Cambridge Commentaries on the Writings of the Jewish and Christian World Cistercian Studies Series Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Cambridge Bible Commentary on the New English Bible Commentaire du Nouveau Testament A Comedia Book Companion to the Qumran Scrolls Compendium Rerum Iudicarum ad Novum Testamentum Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism Collection des Universités de France Dead Sea Discoveries Encyclopedia of Christian Education, ed. George T. Kurian / Mark Lamport, 2 vols. Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. Horst Robert Balz / Gerhard Schneider, 3 vols. Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, 2nd ed., ed. Everett Ferguson, 2 vols.

xii EEC EJL ESV EtB EvTh FCBSE FCNT FFRS FOTL FRLANT GBS GCS HAW Haym HBS HNT HR HUCA IACOP IAPRSSIS ICC IPO JBL JECS JNSL JSJHSS JSJ.S JSNT JSNT.S JSOT JSP JSSt JThS KEK LCL

Abbreviations Eerdmans Exegetical Commentary Early Judaism and its Literature English Standard Version Études bibliques Evangelische Theologie Fortress Commentary on the Bible Study Edition Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings Foundations and Facets Reference Series Forms of the Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Guides to Biblical Scholarship Griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft Haymarket Herder biblische Studien Handbuch zum Neuen Testament History of Religions Hebrew Union College Annual Institute for Antiquity and Christianity Occasional Papers International Archives of Photogrammetry Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences International Critical Commentary on the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments Il Pensiero Occidentale Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Journal for Studies in Judaism, Humanities and the Social Sciences Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, Supplements Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Judea & Samaria Publications Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament Loeb Classical Library

Abbreviations LEC LeDiv LEIR Lewis/Short LiBi LNTS LSJM LSOAS LSTS LTJ LXX MER MNTC MSSNTS MTSR NASB NCBC NEA Neotest. NHS NHMS NIC NIGTC NIV NRSV NT NTCon NTLi NTOA NTOASA NTR NTS NT.S NTT ÖBS

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Library of Early Christianity Lectio divina Library of Essays in International Relations Charlton T. Lewis / Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary, founded on Andrews’ Edition of Freund’s Latin Dictionary Lire la Bible Library of New Testament Studies A Greek-English Lexicon, comp. H.G. Liddell / R. Scott, 9th ed., With a Revised Supplement Lehrbücher für das Studium der orientalischen und afrikanischen Sprachen Library of Second Temple Studies Lutheran Theological Journal Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes, ed. Alfred Rahlfs, Editio Minor, 2 vols. in 1 Meridian: Crossing Aesthetics Moffatt New Testament Commentary Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Method and Theory in the Study of Religion New American Standard Bible New Cambridge Bible Commentary Near Eastern Archaeology Neotestamentica Nag Hammadi Studies Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies New International Commentary on the New Testament New International Greek Testament Commentary New International Version New Revised Standard Version Novum Testamentum The New Testament in Context New Testament Library Novum testamentum et orbis antiquus Novum testamentum et orbis antiquus. Series archaeologica New Testament Readings New Testament Studies Novum Testamentum, Supplements New Testament Theology Österreichische biblische Studien

xiv OCD

Abbreviations

The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd ed., ed. Simon Hornblower / Antony Spawforth OTL Old Testament Library PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly PTS Patristische Texte und Studien ProcCom Proclamation Commentaries PRSt Perspectives in Religious Studies RB Revue biblique RBL Review of Biblical Literature RdQ Revue de Qumrân Religion Religion. A Journal of Religion and Religions RFCC Religion in the First Christian Centuries RPD Research in Planning and Design SABH Studies in American Biblical Hermeneutics SAC Studies in Antiquity and Christianity SARAS School of American Research Advanced Seminar Series SBL Society of Biblical Literature SBL.DS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series SBL.MS Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series SBL.WGRW Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Greco-Roman World SBT Studies in Biblical Theology SCBO Scriptorum classicorum bibliotheca Oxoniensis SCJud Studies in Christianity and Judaism. Études sur le christianisme et le judaisme SDSSRL Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature SHR Studies in the History of Religions SPEP Studies in Phenomenology and Existential Philosophy STAC Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum StBL Studies in Biblical Literature StCT Studies in Continental Thought STLI Studies and Texts. Philip W. Lown Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies, Brandeis University StTDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah TBC Theological Bible Commentary TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. Gerhard Kittel, trans. / ed. Geoffrey W. Bromiley, 10 vols. TENTS Texts and Editions for New Testament Study TS Theological Studies TSAJ Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum TU Texte und Untersuchungen

Abbreviations TUMSR VC VT VT.S WBC WBUH WUNT ZAW ZNW

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Trinity University Monograph Series in Religion Vigiliae Christianae Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum, Supplements Word Bible Commentary Wissenschaftliche Beiträge der Universität Halle-Wittenberg, Reihe K Byzantinistische Beiträge Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde des nach­biblischen Judentums Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

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Notes on Contributors

Notes On Contributors

Notes on Contributors William Arnal is Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Regina in Saskatchewan, Canada. With interests that range from Christian origins and Gnosticism to methodological and theoretical issues in religious studies, Arnal has authored and edited a number of books, including Jesus and the Village Scribes: Galilean Conflicts and the Setting of Q (2001), The Symbolic Jesus: Historical Scholarship, Judaism and the Construction of Contemporary Identity (2005) and (co-edited with Willi Braun and Russell McCutcheon), Failure and Nerve in the Academic Study of Religion: Essays in Honor of Donald Wiebe (2014). Alex Damm is Instructor in Religion and Culture at Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo, Canada. His work focuses on biblical literature in its Greco-Roman context, as well as on biblical interpretation in Asian contexts. He is the author of Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem (2013), editor of Gandhi in a Canadian Context (2016), and currently is writing a monograph on Mahatma Gandhi’s interpretation of the New Testament. Currently he serves as Treasurer and Mem­bership Secretary of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies. John Horman is a private scholar who has researched gnostic Christian traditions in their Greek and Coptic contexts for many years. A longstanding member of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies, Horman is author most recently of the monograph A Common Greek Source for Mark and Thomas (2011), and his work has appeared in the journal Novum Testamentum. Jack N. Lightstone is Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Religions and Cultures at Concordia University in Montreal, Canada, and recently retired President of Brock University in St. Catherine’s (Ontario, Canada). Lightstone’s research has engaged the literary and historical dimensions of rabbinic literature, especially the Mishnah, and to this end he has published many books, including Yose the Galilean: Traditions in Mishnah-Tosefta (Brill, 1979), The Rhetoric of the Babylonian Talmud: Its Social Meaning and Context (1994), and The Commerce of the Sacred: Mediation of the Divine among Jews in the Greco-Roman World (2006).

Notes on Contributors

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Wayne O. McCready is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Classics and Religion at the University of Calgary, and a past President of the Calgary Institute for the Humanities. A past President also of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies, McCready has published numerous articles and essays in the fields of Second Temple Judaism and Christian origins, and is co-editor with Adele Reinhartz of the volume Common Judaism: Explorations in Second-Temple Judaism (2008). John L. McLaughlin is Professor of Old Testament/Hebrew Bible at the University of St. Michael’s College in Toronto, Canada. With research interests ranging from wisdom literature to apocalypticism, McLaughlin has published monographs including The Ancient Near East: An Essential Guide (2012) and The marzēaḥ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence (2001). He has served on the editorial boards of numerous academic journals including the Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Joseph A. Novak is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy and a former Associate Chair for Graduate Studies at the University of Waterloo in Waterloo, Canada. A specialist in ancient Greek and Roman as well as mediaeval philosophical traditions, Novak has contributed numerous essays and articles to the field; his work has appeared in journals including Ancient Philosophy, Apeiron, History of Philosophy Quarterly and The Review of Metaphysics. Mona Tokarek LaFosse is Assistant Professor of Christian Scriptures and Sacred Texts at Waterloo Lutheran Seminary in Waterloo, Canada. Her principal research interests are in the cultural settings of New Testament literature, including Greco-Roman attitudes towards age and aging. In 2020 her first monograph, Age Matters: Age, Aging and Intergenerational Relationships in Early Christian Communities, will be published by McGill-Queens University Press. Tokarek LaFosse is an active member of biblical studies societies in Canada and the United States. Michael Kaler is Assistant Professor at the University of Toronto at Mississauga, Mississauga, Canada. A specialist in gnostic literature and religion with doctoral work at Laval University in Quebec City, Kaler has contributed several articles and essays to the field, as well as a first monograph, Flora Tells a Story: The Apocalypse

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Notes On Contributors

of Paul and its Contexts (2008). Kaler has also published a commentary on this text (2005) in the Bibliothèque copte de Nag Hammadi (BCNH), and at the same time is a specialist in ethnomusicology and in academic writing.

An Introduction

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Religions and Education in Antiquity: An Introduction Alex Damm

Almost anybody who has taken a course from Michel Desjardins can sense something distinctive about him. Perhaps it is the gentleness and sensitivity with which he addresses each student in discussion, or the compliments he pays to students’ contributions; perhaps it is his abundance of constructive feedback; perhaps it is the sheer time given selflessly to helping individuals; or it might be the wit with which he offers an insight about New Testament literature. Desjardins has a remarkable concern for education, the art of expanding students’ social, moral or intellectual knowledge and capacities. Broadly conceived, education includes the theory and practice of teaching on the one hand, and considerations of student learning on the other. On both counts, Desjardins is a remarkable educator. This volume honours Desjardins’ sensitivity to education in the study of religion. Owing to his skill as a teacher of ancient religions, and to his efforts to foster better teaching and learning, it is fitting to celebrate his career with essays that examine the interface of religion and education in antiquity. About connections between Desjardins’ teaching and the study of ancient religions, we shall say more momentarily. There is a rich body of literature that elucidates relationships between ancient religions and education. Given the size of this literature, a thorough review is impossible; it would constitute a book in its own right. To contextualize the essays that follow, though, we can outline some contours of these relationships.1

Religion and Education in Antiquity

In contemporary usage, “religion” and “education” are broad terms that invite some clarification. Brent Nongbri reminds us that in antiquity, “religion” as we 1 When we speak of religion and education, we shall bracket theology and education; we shall not consider prescriptive studies of training in propagating a religion, on which see for instance, Joel Carpenter et al., ed., Christian Higher Education: A Global Renaissance (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2014).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_002

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often define it – as one dictionary puts it, “a system of communal beliefs and practices relative to superhuman beings” – did not exist.2 In the ancient Near East, ancient Israel and among Greeks and Romans, even among early Christians, people lacked synonyms for the word “religion.” They preferred a range of images more specific to their cultures, for instance in the Greco-Roman world, eusebeia and (the semantically narrow Latin term) religio, each of which captured some precise slice but by no means all of what today we count as religion.3 Important as this point is, this volume still will speak of religion in antiquity. It does so for the sake of conceptual convenience and clarity, and because this word still captures, if imprecisely, much of what ancient peoples were thinking and doing in matters that connected themselves to superhuman beings. À propos of this broad definition, a significant point which Nongbri raises about ancient religions (or the images now labelled religions), is that their presence was ubiquitous and their coverage or reach thoroughgoing. In other words religious ideas were “embedded” in ancient societies; there were few if any dimensions of life not associated with or affected by such ideas as eusebeia (pietas) or religio.4 This way of thinking was to be expected in an era that lacked concepts like secularism and convictions that impersonal laws govern the cosmos. In Western antiquity, we know that not only religion but also education mattered deeply. Teaching and learning were vital to social life.5 But at least some ancient civilizations lacked words corresponding precisely to modern definitions. Hellenistic culture, observes Everett Ferguson, tended to employ the Greek word paideia (παιδεία), a word that denoted as much the substance of education, essentially culture or the treasury of wisdom and approved behaviours which made a person Greek, as it did the techniques and institutions that trained people in acquiring such culture.6 Helpful and precise as these defini2

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Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven / London: Yale University Press, 2013), 1-2, 4, 7, 25, 45. The quoted definition of religion, one that “has received reasonable acceptance among scholars,” comes from the Britannica Encyclopedia of World Religions, ed. Michael Frassetto (Chicago: Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006), 915. Brittanica Encycopedia, 4, 7-8, 24, 25, 26-27, 28-30, 38, 45, 47-50, 152. Ibid., 151. On which see for instance Miguel Civil, “Education (Mesopotamia),” AncBD 2, 305; cf. André Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” AncBD 2, 305; cf. further (and for Greece and Rome), Henri I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. George Lamb (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1956), xv. Esp. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 83; Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 196; and Johannes Christes, “Education/ Culture,” BNP 4, 826. See further for delineation of these distinct meanings of παιδεία (that is, the training process on the one hand; the resulting culture on the other), Georg

An Introduction

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tions are, in concert with our definition of religion we shall opt for a wider definition that does justice to the range of practices which entailed bona fide teaching and learning, even if not labelled παιδεία. Indeed, each contributor to this collection has had liberty to work with their own definitions of education, which find a common canopy in the Oxford English Dictionary: education is “the process of receiving or giving systematic instruction”; the process indeed of “giv[ing] intellectual, moral, and social instruction,” not to mention religious instruction. Here I emphasize the term process, as education is not something static, but entails progression and growth. I also wish to draw out several corollaries of this definition that have deep ancient roots. For one, education includes modes of teaching and learning.7 For another, education is broad in scope, including the development of social, moral and/or intellectual capacities.8 It is not merely a process of training the mind, but can also be training for the heart and soul. Third, the substance – the knowledge, skills, values and so on – of teaching and learning characterize education too, even if in an auxiliary sense.9 While strictly speaking, knowledge and values are not the same as the process of teaching and learning, they certainly have an auxiliary place, for they are what people teach and learn. What is more, we should remember that in antiquity different communities – elite and non-elite – partook in different forms and subjects of learning.10

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Bertram, παιδεύω, TDNT 5, 596-597; LSJM, s.v.; Frederick C. Grant, Roman Hellenism and the New Testament (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1962), 32. On the distinct terminology in ancient Israel see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 305. For specification of these dimensions see for instance H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians, RFCC (London / New York: Routledge, 2000), 1. References variously to teaching and learning are common in the literature. For the scope of παιδεία, see for example Christes, “Education/Culture,” 826 (re: moral and intellectual); Everett Ferguson, “Education,” EEC, 362 (re: moral and intellectual); Ferguson, Backgrounds, 83 (“formation of the human person”). Related to this point, a German conference of 2003 concluded that ancient Jewish and Christian education were truly comprehensive in quality. The numerous facets of education included its “social dimension”; its “practical dimension” (for example, its morally transformative value); its “theological dimension” (for example, the belief that education was a product of divine mercy); and its strong orientation to memorization as a first step of learning. See Beate Ego / Helmut Merkel, “Vorwort,” in Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung, ed. Beate Ego / Helmut Merkel, WUNT 180 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), ix-x. Classical παιδεία includes the contents of education. For Israel see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 305-306. For Greco-Roman contexts see Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds, CCS (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 4, 19-23, 24, 33, 56-57, 71-72, 74, 82, 88, 230-234, 234-239, 266, 269-270, 271-272; Christes, “Education/Culture,” 833.

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This book contends that interfaces of ancient religion and education deserve more attention.11 In spite of a growing literature that is addressing relationships between these two facets of ancient life, such relationships have not received adequate treatment.12 While it is arguably anachronistic to imagine religion and education as discrete ancient entities, scholarship has worked hard to delineate connections between them, some of which the ancients themselves drew quite explicitly, and the connections reveal much about education in religious contexts. We may briefly illustrate with reference to Greek and Roman polytheistic traditions. Johan Thom has demonstrated that GrecoRoman religions contained a rich body of popular philosophy that students might learn in schools. According to Thom, popular philosophy, denoted philosophical knowledge that circulated beyond the borders of a specific philosophical tradition and that was also accessible to people without a formal philosophical training. It consisted of commonly used philosophical concepts, terminology, and topoi, as well as the literary forms and modes frequently used to convey such philosophical ideas.13 From school settings, then, youth learned moral philosophical traditions contained in such works as Hierocles’ Elements of Ethics and the Pythagorean Golden Verses. “Its aim,” says Thom, “was the moral formation of people.”14 In effect, he is observing that education could facilitate – could influence – religion. We see this influence also in Greek rhetorical training. In his manual of progymnasmata or pre-rhetorical literacy exercises, the teacher Theon (first century ce), claims that “the exercise [γυμνασία] in the form of the khreia (or anecdote) not only creates a certain faculty of speech but also good character while we are being exercised [ἐγγυμναζομένων] in the moral sayings of the wise.”15 For 11 12 13 14 15

The point already has been made by Robert Dutch, The Educated Elite in 1 Corinthians: Education and Community Conflict in Graeco-Roman Context, JSNT.S 271 (London / New York: T&T Clark, a Continuum Imprint, 2005), 6. I am not aware, for instance, of any monograph treatment in the last fifty years of ancient Christian education as a whole. Below we shall discuss Henri Marrou’s foundational work Education in Antiquity (1948). Johan C. Thom, “Paul and Popular Philosophy,” in Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach, BEThL 277 (Leuven / Paris / Bristol: Peeters, 2015), 49, 56 (and quotation), 57-58, 73-74. Thom, “Paul and Popular Philosophy,” 49, 51, 52. Theon, Progymnasmata (ed. Patillon, 2.60); Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Translated with Introductions and Notes by George A. Kennedy, SBL.WGRW 10 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003), 4. Cf. Theon, Progymnasmata (ed. Patillon, 2.103); Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 21. For setting of morality into ancient religious

An Introduction

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Theon, the moral dimension of religious life is conditioned by learning and practice. Education could shape religion.16 By the same token, religion shaped education.17 This observation emerges from scholarship on Greek and Roman mystery cults, in which the religious prospect of a blessed afterlife influenced what and how initiates to the cults of the deities Isis and Dionysus were educated.18 The Roman writer Apuleius (125170[?] CE) articulates this connection in his novel Metamorphoses, indicating how the prospect of salvation by Isis makes education in her cult imperative. After Apuleius learns that Isis can grant him a blessed afterlife, he describes the education needed to reach this state: [A]fter the morning sacrifice was ended, he [the priest] brought out of the secret place of the temple certain books written with unknown characters, partly painted with figures of beasts declaring briefly every sentence, partly with letters whose tops and tails turned round in fashion of a wheel, joined together above like unto the tendrils of a vine, whereby they were wholly strange and impossible to be read of the profane people; thence he interpreted to me [mihi praedicat] such things as were necessary to the use and preparation of mine order. … [A]fter this … he brought me back again to the temple and presented me before the feet of the goddess, giving me a charge of certain secret things unlawful to be uttered, and commanding [praecipit] me generally before all the rest to fast by the space of ten continual days (Apuleius, Metam. 11.22-23 [LCL, trans. Adlington / Gaselee]).19 Here Apuleius uses two verbs, praedico (to announce, declare) and praecipio (to advise, inform, instruct, teach), which essentially denote education, and

16 17

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contexts, see for instance Eckhart Otto, “Law and Ethics,” in Religions of the Ancient World: A Guide, ed. Sarah Iles Johnston (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004), 84-85. Theon, Progymnasmata (ed. Patillon, 2.60); Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 4. One might say tongue partly in cheek that ancient religions, and for that matter modern religions, are educational programs. Of course this is a hyperbole, but it points to the major role which education plays: the acts of teaching and learning, and the substance of teaching and learning, constitute a major part of any religion. See Robert Turcan, The Cults of the Roman Empire, trans. Antonia Nevill, AW (Oxford / Malden / Victoria: Blackwell, 1996), 22. For the role of education in Apuleius’ progress towards immortality, see Metam. 11, especially 11.5, 6, 7, 15, 19, 21-22, 24, 27-28 (LCL, trans. Adlington / Gaselee): Apuleius speaks of “one … [who] should receive glory for his virtuous studies (nam et illi studiorum gloriam).”

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significantly he describes how religion has determined his education.20 So while these statements about ancient religions and education are abstract and tentative – for instance, education could be mediated by other factors including gender, geography and socio-economic status – ,21 and while in some settings literate education was uncommon,22 the fact remains: ancient education and religion were interwoven. This volume and others hope to move education closer to the centre of our understanding of ancient religions.23 Since the focus of this book is Jewish and Christian traditions, we shall briefly outline education in its relationships to ancient Judaism; to Christian origins (the first century ce); and to late ancient Christianity, including gnostic traditions. This outline will help contextualize the essays that follow. Ancient Judaism and Education From the literature emerge several salient features of Jewish educational traditions, the first of which is their broad parallels with and indebtedness to, larger patterns of education in ancient Egypt and the ancient Near East.24 Of singular importance across the ancient world is that much education has a religious orientation: in Israel and the cultural worlds around it, teaching and learning were not, as in modern public education, oriented vaguely towards making a better world, but rather sought genuinely spiritual or religious development, and in Israel this came in forms ranging from ritual proficiency to understanding of texts to moral growth.25 In short: one of education’s aims was religious. 20 21 22

23

24 25

Even if the substance or material taught and learned was itself religious. For ancient Jewish education generally see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 305-306, 310, 311; for Greco-Roman Egypt, see Morgan, Literate Education, 3-4, 39, 45-46, 48, 56-57, 61, 62. See Catherine Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer: Jewish and Greco-Roman Education in Late Roman Palestine,” in Ancient Education and Early Christianity, LNTS 533, ed. Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 5; James L. Crenshaw, Education in Ancient Israel: Across the Deadening Silence, AncBRL (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 113, 280. For a recent survey of the field see Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther, ed., Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), selections from which appear in the notes below. For a collection of studies focused on biblical (Jewish and Christian) traditions, see Beate Ego / Helmut Merkel, ed., Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung, WUNT 180 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). Crenshaw, Education, 306. Ibid., 1-2, 14, 279, 283 (on Israel and the ancient Near East); Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 306, 311; emphatically, S. Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” in The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern in co-operation with D. Flusser and

An Introduction

7

The religious aims of ancient Jewish education, the closest Hebrew term for which appears to be mûsār, call to mind what we saw in Greco-Roman traditions.26 To be sure, there was widespread craft education that had more practical aims, ranging from masonry to animal husbandry to literacy in the service of government.27 But in a society broadly united by worldviews, rites and ethical traditions, religious education loomed large. The basic guide for this education was the Hebrew Bible, the Torah, at the heart of which were injunctions called law or instruction in monotheism and ethical behaviour.28 Such religious education, explains Lemaire, regarded the Bible as a teacher par excellence.29 And education itself was highly esteemed.30 The fact that Jews esteemed education should not hide the fact that modes of education varied. For instance, while there appears to be a general orientation towards literate and religious learning (at least reading) in Jewish contexts,31 Crenshaw cautions that aural-oral and vocational learning was more prevalent in an earlier period.32 Similarly, while purpose-built schools of varied kinds had put down roots by 800 bce, domestic settings for education (like the home) mattered too.33 What appears more certain, explains Cren-

26 27 28 29 30 31

32 33

W.C. van Unnik, CRI I.2 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976), 945: “The study of the Torah … was also an act of worship, which brought the student closer to God.” Cf. also for the later (Talmudic) period, Haim Z. Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” in Exploring the Talmud, ed. Haim Z. Dimitrovsky, vol. 1, Education (New York: Ktav, 1976), xiv-xv: “The study of Torah. … is a goal in and of itself.” Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 305. Crenshaw, Education, viii; Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 306-307 (for Jewish education through late antiquity). Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 311; Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 945; for the Talmudic period see similarly Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xiv, xv, xvi. Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 311. Ibid., 305, 306-307 (all forms of education); Crenshaw, Education, 283; Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xiv, xv. For biblical Israel see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 309-310; for the first century ce, Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 950, 951; for this period and late antiquity cf. Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xxii-xxiii. For opinions on the extent of training in writing, see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 310 and Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 952: “Education in reading and training for writing were not connected; the sources do not mention the teaching of writing in schools. Writing was a professional skill acquired separately. Yet the ability to write was fairly widespread. …” Crenshaw, Education, 86-87 with 113. Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 308; esp. Crenshaw, Education, 85-89, 112-113. For a confident view of numerous schools in the first century ce, see Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 946-947. For domestic settings see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 308; Crenshaw, Education, 86 and n. 4, citing Friedemann Golka, The Leopard’s Spots: Biblical and African Wisdom in Proverbs (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994), 10-11; for Israel generally see Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xxii. The synagogue could serve as a place of

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shaw, is that literate religious education reached an increasing proportion of the population during the Hellenistic period,34 perhaps in response to Hellenism’s incursion in the fourth century BCE and the tension which it inevitably created with indigenous Jewish traditions.35 As we said, biblical texts were long the basic source of Jewish education, but this fact might give the impression that Jewish education was uniform. Scholarship teaches us this was not the case. By the beginning of the first century ce,36 indicates Catherine Hezser, education had developed into at least two streams.37 The first of these was rabbinic education, which took into account not only the Written Torah (Hebrew Bible) but also the Oral Torah or Mishnah with its clarifications and elaborations of biblical teaching. Such education appears to have had a sequence of two to three stages, whereby in the first stage children focused on the Hebrew Bible (beginning in turn by learning the Hebrew alphabet, then language, following which they studied and memorized biblical texts), and then in a second stage focused on the Oral Torah, with a limited number of students passing to advanced study, namely biblical interpretation through the exegetical practice called midrash.38 A second, rather different stream of literate education was much closer to and shaped by Greek and Roman education: this was the so-called enkyklios paideia, which taught students at a “primary” level how to read and write, at a “secondary” level a blend of reading, grammar and interpretation, and at the highest or “tertiary” level, how to argue effectively following principles of rhetoric. While some Jews appear to have partaken in entirely such Greek education,39 there were others who retained Jewish sources (like the Bible), although in Greek and

34 35 36 37 38

39

religious education: Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xxii; cf. Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 953, who indicates that schools were set within synagogues. Crenshaw, Education, 5-7, 113. Indicated by Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer,” 5-6, 24. On the Jewish reassertion of traditional learning after the Maccabean War see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 309. For dates see Dimitrovsky, “Introductory Remarks,” xvii. For this characterization and the term rabbinic, see Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer,” 5-6, 8. Hezser speaks of a late Roman period, though what she describes seems in other studies to exist essentially by the beginning of the first century CE. Clearest discussion in Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” 950-953; cf. similarly Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer,” 10, 13-16; and with some differences, John T. Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” AncBD 2, 316; Judah Goldin, “Several Sidelights of a Torah Education in Tannaite and Early Amoraic Times,” in Exploring the Talmud, ed. Haim Z. Dimitrovsky, vol. 1, Education (New York: Ktav, 1976), 11-14, examines education during the first three to four centuries of the Common Era, opining three stages (“elementary,” “secondary” and “advanced”) and confining Torah study/memorization, as well as chreia study, to the elementary stage; for midrash see p. 14. Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 315-316; Crenshaw, Education, 11-12.

An Introduction

9

sometimes accompanied by an array of pagan texts.40 These streams of religious education also had some fluidity and overlap.41 In combination with the sectarian quality of education (schools for Essenes, Pharisees and Sadducees) through the first century CE, and with specialized Temple education for priests,42 we can easily see the variety that characterizes ancient Jewish learning. Lemaire reminds us that while our knowledge contains generalizations which invariably fail to capture the diversity of lived experience, dependent as it was on social and economic standing, changing political conditions, and region, Jewish education had an appreciable consistency in its religious aims and its orientation towards sacred texts. As he concludes, it is not surprising that it proved influential for earliest Christian education.43 Christian Origins and Education Since publication of Henri-Irénée Marrou’s landmark book A History of Education in Antiquity (1948), numerous critics have recognized it as the starting point on the subject, and accordingly it offers a matrix to help reconstruct education in the context of Christian origins, the period between the ministry of Jesus (the 20s and 30s of the first century ce) and late New Testament texts such as the Pastoral Letters.44 Given that ancient Jewish and Greek and Roman education in the Mediterranean world constitute a broad cultural field, includ40

41 42 43

44

For Jewish study of enkyklios paideia, see Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer,” 5-6, and Crenshaw, Education, 11-12; cf. Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 315-316, who speaks of Greek Jewish education using Greek language, but only Greek language. For details (stages) of Greco-Roman education see for instance Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 312, 313-315; Stanley F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977), 163, 165, 189, 212, 227, 250, 277, 288; Ronald F. Hock, “Homer in Greco-Roman Education,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity, ed. Dennis R. MacDonald, SAC (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001), 56, 59ff. Hezser and Crenshaw speak of Greco-Roman education as the province more of elite Jews. Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer,” 5-6, 24; Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 316. For sectarian and specialized Temple education, see Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” 309, 310. Ibid., 306, 310, 311. For a recent introduction to Jewish education in late antiquity, see Günter Stemberger, “Lebenslanges Lernen als Programm im rabbinischen Judentum,” in Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam, ed. Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 111-126. For instance, Hock, “Homer in Greco-Roman Education,” 56, 59ff.; Sean A. Adams, “Luke and Progymnasmata: Rhetorical Handbooks, Rhetorical Sophistication and Genre Selection,” in Ancient Education and Early Christianity, ed. Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts, LNTS 533 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 138. To my knowledge there has not appeared a survey of contributions on ancient education since Marrou.

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ing teachers and teaching, skills such as reading and listening, and contents that range from philosophy to poetry to rhetoric, we should not be surprised to learn that education is relevant in the New Testament. Indeed, recent work by Schnelle argues that education was an abiding and thoroughgoing part of ancient Christian life.45 In the Hellenistic world of the first Christians, a Greek term that characterized much of education, a term that we have already seen, is paideia.46 Paideia translates to both the English words “culture” and “education,” and in antiquity culture and education were two sides of the same coin: Education was the vehicle of culture, and culture was the substance of all education.47 As education, moreover, paideia denotes two specific things: One is the imparting of academic skills (such as reading and writing) along with moral values.48 The second is the outcome of this process. That is to say, paideia is the state of being educated, of possessing culture, an ancient Greek ideal.49 Marrou’s History of Education in Antiquity offers at least three insights into earliest Christian teaching and learning. The first concerns the Greco-Roman form of education largely adopted by the earliest Christians.50 As we indicated earlier, Greek and Roman literate education contained three stages: a primary stage of learning to read and write, a secondary stage in which pupils studied grammar and read longer extracts of Homeric poetry, and a highest or tertiary stage in which students pursued rhetoric (or less often, law or philosophy). These three key stages, with increasingly complex subjects, are essential for appreciating how early Christians learned.51 Indeed, Marrou’s second insight is 45 46

47 48 49 50 51

Udo Schnelle, “Das frühe Christentum und die Bildung,” NTS 61/2 (2015): 113. Various ancient Greek terms characterize education, including παιδεία and διδάχω: Bertram, παιδεύω, 597; Birger Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity, ASNU 22 (Uppsala: C.W.K. Gleerup; Lund / Copenhagen: Enjar Munksgaard, 1961), 326. Cf. also Ian Muirhead, Education in the New Testament (New York: Association Press, 1965), 21, 36-37. Christes, “Education/Culture,” 825 with Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 196 and Ferguson, Backgrounds, 83; Bertram, παιδεύω, 596; LSJM, s.v.; Grant, Roman Hellenism and the New Testament, 32. Ferguson, “Education,” 362. Christes, “Education/Culture,” 825 with Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 196. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 265-291; similarly, Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 312. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 317-319, 150, 160-161, 162, 163, 165-166, 170, 194; Morgan, Literate Education, 62; George A. Kennedy, “Introduction,” in Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Translated with Introductions and Notes by George A. Kennedy, SBL.WGRW 10 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003), ix. For alternatives to rhetorical study see Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” 314. Today we recognize limitations of Marrou’s outline of enkyklios paideia: It is something of an abstraction,

An Introduction

11

that at least some of the earliest Christians partook in Greco-Roman education. Christians required literate education to read their sacred texts (the Septuagint and increasingly the Gospels and letters), and the logical places to which they turned were Greek schools where the teachers and curriculum were pagan but where Christians could judiciously partake of that curriculum to acquire literacy.52 Marrou’s third insight is that in the centuries after Jesus, there developed specifically Christian education outside of Greco-Roman schools. Provided both by parents in the home, and by bishops and “teachers” or διδάσκαλοι (Acts 13:1; 1 Cor 12:28) in churches, Christian children and adults undertook education in faith and morals, indeed had to do so, outside of pagan schools.53 In all then, Marrou argues that the first Christians engaged a threestage model of Greek literate education, while also pursuing separate religious training. His arguments have become a base for further reconstructing early Christian education. During the 1950s and 1960s there appeared a number of significant studies examining New Testament education. In this period, Barclay (1959), Jaeger (1961), Bertram (1968) and Muirhead (1965) examined the contours of Christian education, and numerous studies have followed, asking such questions as: What were the sources of Christian education? Of what did an early Christian’s

52

53

it was never systematized or publicly funded, and it was limited to an elite minority who could afford the time and costs. See Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome, 328; Morgan, Literate Education, 51-52. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 315-316, 317-318, 319, esp. 321-322. According to some critics, by the later first century CE there were Christian writers including the evangelists and Clement the bishop of Rome, who had received a degree of formal literate education, though its extent is debated. See Kennedy, “Introduction,” ix; George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 9-10, 22; Werner Jaeger, Cristianesimo Primitivo e Paideia Greca/Early Christianity and Greek Paideia: Con Saggi Integrativi di Autori Vari, Testo inglese a fronte, ed. Alfredo Valvo, IPO (Milan: Bompiani, 2013), 20, 24, 26; Osvaldo Padilla, “Hellenistic παιδεία and Luke’s Education: A Critique of Recent Approaches,” NTS 55/4 (2009): 416. See also discussion with references in Alex Damm, Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem: Clarifying Markan Priority, BEThL 252 (Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 2013), 16-17. According to Johannes Christes, “[t]he Bible’s ‘language of fishers’ as well as the rusticitas and simplicitas of Christians – mostly simple people – was looked down upon for a long time. Only in the course of the 2nd cent. did persons with a higher education increasingly join Christianity.” See “Education/Culture,” 833. This implies, incorrectly, that all first-century Christians lacked literate training. The aforementioned literature demonstrates that this is not the case, though doubtless Christes is correct that not all Christians had a literate education. For an optimistic view of Jesus’s education, see David Leinweber, “Ancient World, Christian Education in the,” ECE, 42. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 314-315, 322; cf. Johannes Christes, “Education,” in BNP 4, 822; Ferguson, “Education,” 361.

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education consist? And how was education significant?54 Of these works’ numerous contributions, at least two stand out. The first concerns education’s sources or cultural contexts. Some early Christians were educated in Jewish contexts (namely, in reading and writing Hebrew and Aramaic, and memorization and exegesis of Torah verses),55 while other Christians received some measure of Greco-Roman education. Precisely who partook of education of each kind and to what extent is impossible fully to know, but the historical Jesus, his disciples and the apostle Paul, as Jews, possessed some Jewish literate education,56 while Paul and the evangelists had at least a moderate Greek education.57 In either case, literate education was necessary for Christians in order to read Scripture. While the literature tends to emphasize Christians’ debt to Greek educational traditions,58 the Jewish emphasis upon memorization of Scripture, as Gerhardsson (1961) reminds us, played a role in the early transmitting of Jesus traditions.59 A second point about Christian education concerns content. Of what did a Christian’s education consist? For one, Christians requiring literacy did attend pagan Greek schools and learn from a pagan curriculum. This meant reading 54

55 56

57 58 59

William Barclay, Educational Ideals in the Ancient World (London: Collins, 1961); Jaeger, Cristianesimo Primitivo/Early Christianity; Bertram, παιδεύω; Muirhead, Education in the New Testament. See also Hugh C.M. O’Donnell, Education in Wisdom: A Study in the New Testament Theology of the Pastoral Ministry (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1969). For an early introduction see Edwin Hatch, The Influences of Greek Ideas and Usages Upon the Christian Church (London: Williams and Norgate, 1891), esp. Lectures II, IV. For a skeptical view see Christes, “Education,” 824. For Jewish education, see Ferguson, Backgrounds, 85-86; Townsend, “Education (GrecoRoman),” 315-316; Leinweber, “Ancient World, Christian Education,” 42. For Jewish education of Jesus and the disciples, see Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, 326, 331-332; for Paul, Barclay, Educational Ideals, 37-38, Bertram, παιδεύω, 619, and E.P. Sanders, “Paul’s Jewishness,” in Paul’s Jewish Matrix, with an introductory essay by Karl P. Donfried, ed. Thomas G. Casey / Justin Taylor, BD 2 (Mahwah: Paulist Press; Rome; Gregorian and Biblical Press, 2011), 54, 56. Contrast Christes, “Education/Culture,” 833: “Jesus and his disciples were removed from education.” For Paul, see now R.F. Hock, “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in Paul in the GrecoRoman World: A Handbook, ed. J. Paul Sampley, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 244-251. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 316-317, 321; Townsend, “Education (GrecoRoman),” 312. Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, 325-326, 329-332. Gerhardsson (ibid., 326 and n. 1) also reminds us of the long scholarly tradition of understanding Jesus’s ministry pedagogically; cf. similarly T.W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of its Form and Content (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1931); Samuel Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community, CB.NT 24 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1994); Muirhead, Education in the New Testament, 65-76.

An Introduction

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and writing skills employing Homer and Euripides; moral commentary on their work; composition of literary forms like narrative, fable, speech-in-character and aphorisms (such as the chreia); and a small minority of Christians might have studied rhetoric, the art of persuasion through effective invention, arrangement and expression of speeches.60 We know that literate Greek training underlies the canonical Gospels, which regularly employ rhetorical units such as chreiai, narrative and speeches.61 But beyond literate training, the Christian’s education also entailed distinctively religious training, something that the letter to the Ephesians identifies as παιδεία Κυρίου (“education of the Lord”)62 and for which other texts use the related terms διδαχή (“teaching”), διδασκάλια (“teaching”) and περιπατέω (“walking”).63 As Muirhead elaborates, the contents of religious education centre on “walking worthy” of the grace of God: Walking worthy includes faith in the gospel, emulation of Christ’s love, and probably acquaintance with liturgy in form of hymns.64 Strikingly too, in some texts (Hebrews, 2 Timothy), παιδεία denotes “discipline.” As Bertram puts it, paideia includes “educative punishments” from God that “can kindle zeal for repentance.”65 Discipline, faith, morality and liturgy, then, are “walking worthy” which, alongside literate training, constitutes Christian paideia,66 was entrusted to teachers or διδάσκαλοι, and by the early second century was known as catechesis, set forth for instance in the manual called the Didache.67 This religious dimension of education has received a good deal of attention in the new millennium, most recently by Udo Schnelle, for whom the ancient matrix 60

61 62

63 64 65 66 67

For details see Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 150-157, 161-162, 163, 165-170, 172-175, 196, 197, 265, and cf. discussion in Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome (above). For a confident view of Paul’s rhetorical education see Hock, “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” 230, 244, 250-251. Kennedy, “Introduction,” 9. For the point and the Greek phrase, see Christes, “Education,” 822; cf. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 314-315 (en to Christo paideia); Ferguson, “Education,” 361. The phrase appears six times in the New Testament canon: Eph 6:4; 2 Tim 3:16; Heb 12:5, 7, 8, 11. For these terms see Muirhead, Education in the New Testament, 21, 36-37. Ibid., 23-29, 39-45, 49-50. Bertram, παιδεύω, 596, 622 n. 165, 623 (quotation), 625. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 314-315, 321. For teachers in New Testament texts see ibid., 315; cf. Samuel Byrskog, Story as History; History as Story: The Gospel Tradition in the Context of Ancient Oral History (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 157. Byrskog discusses among other things the significance of Jesus’s disciples for adaptation of his teachings (pp. 104-105). For the overseer Timothy as teacher see Muirhead, Education in the New Testament, 33-35. On development of catechesis see Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 315; Everett Ferguson, “Catechesis/Catechumenate,” EEC, 223; cf. Christes, “Education,” 823; Ferguson, “Education,” 361. On the Didache, see Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 316.

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of the philosophical school and its religious orientation contains so many parallels to the communities of Paul and John, that we must regard it as a plausible interpretive setting and influence.68 Significantly too, Christian education was integral to Christian mission in at least two ways. First, Jaeger reminds us education was a missionary strategy: Christians could facilitate conversion among polytheists by incorporating Greek education and culture into a larger, Christian curriculum.69 Second, education was the content, the very substance, of mission: the content of early mission is training in walking worthy.70 These facts begin to show how education, teachers and teaching are highly significant to Christian origins.71 Late Ancient Christianity The literature conveys that Christian education from the second through fourth centuries experiences, not surprisingly, both continuity and change. On the one hand there is continuity: as Marrou explains, a combination of GrecoRoman literate education in schools, with religious training in the home and church, generally defined late ancient Christian education,72 although to be sure “Christians … in the third and fourth centuries were increasingly filling

68

69 70

71 72

Udo Schnelle, “Denkender Glauben: Schulen im Neuen Testament,” in Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam, ed. Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 83, 85-86, 88-100 (esp. 88), 98, 102-106, 107-108. An important study to which Schnelle refers (p. 86 n. 13) is Thomas Schmeller, Schulen im Neuen Testament? Zur Stellung der Urchristentums in der Bildungswelt siner Zeit, mit einem Beirtrag von Christian Cebulj zur Johannischen Schule, HBS 30 (Freiburg: Herder, 2001). Further recent studies of education in the New Testament include Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts, ed., Ancient Education and Early Christianity, LNTS 533 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), reviewed by Alex Damm in RBL 4 (2017) (http://www.bookreviews.org); and Veronika Tropper, Jesus Didáskalos: Studien zu Jesus als Lehrer bei den Synoptikern und im Rahmen der antiken Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte, ÖBS 42 (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2012). Jaeger, Cristianesimo Primitivo/Early Christianity, 18-22. For the point made in reference to specific settings, see Gillian Cloke, “Women, Worship and Mission: The Church in the Household,” in The Early Christian World, ed. Philip F. Esler, vol. 1 (London / New York: Routledge, 2000), 429; Trevor Hart, “Creeds, Councils and Doctrinal Development,” in The Early Christian World, ed. Philip F. Esler, vol. 1 (London / New York: Routledge, 2000), 643; Muirhead, Education in the New Testament, 49-51, 61-62. For examination of relationships between ancient Christian teachers and their texts, see Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 321-322, 324-325; cf. Ferguson, “Education,” 361. For the continuing, strong Greco-Roman educational tradition in ancient Christianity, see Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 318-319.

An Introduction

15

the ranks of … teachers” of classical education too.73 Indeed, we meet one such teacher in St. Augustine of Hippo, who “in Doctr. Chr. [On Christian Doctrine] … explores the tricky question of how preachers can learn to take up … [rhetorical] expertise for their Christian message.”74 Indeed, the late ancient church and its monasteries preserved Greco-Roman education in and after the fourth century, absorbing it into its own educational program as classical education disintegrated with the Roman Empire itself.75 On the other hand, Christian education witnessed gradual changes. These we need to see within the context of a religion whose numerical growth, geographical spread and increasing institutionalization (for instance, the emergence of more centralizing authority in Rome and of scriptural canons), helped to define late antiquity.76 One major change seems to be growing complexity and refinement, of which at least three expressions stand out. The first concerns catechesis or education for new Christians. While the Didache played an ongoing catechetical role, the increasingly organized and systematic quality of catechesis characteristic of such teachers as Clement of Alexandria and Hippolytus is well-described by Ferguson: The first evidence of an organized catechumenate is furnished by Hippolytus, Apostolic Tradition, 16-20. It was clearly a well-developed institution at Rome in the early third century. Three years of instruction is called for before baptism. … The treatise does not describe the content of instruction but implies a scriptural … doctrinal … and moral … teaching. About the same time there is evidence of a catechetical school at Alexandria, whose most famous teacher [and pupil of Clement] was Origen. … The word “catechumen” emerged also at this period as a technical term for the person undergoing preparation for baptism. 77

73 74 75 76 77

Ferguson, “Education,” 361. Carolyn J.-B. Hammond, “Introduction,” in Augustine, Confessions I: Books 1-8, ed. / trans. Carolyn J.-B. Hammond, LCL 26 (Cambridge / London: Harvard University Press, 2014), xxxiii-xxxiv. Christes, “Education,” 824; esp. Ferguson, “Education,” 362. Cf. Christes, “Education,” 823: Christian tradition had to “administer a growing body of traditional rules and regulations regarding moral discipline, spiritual literature, apologetics, polemics … and dogmatics.” Ferguson, “Catechesis, Catechumenate,” 224 (on pp. 223-224 he also describes evolution of catechesis in the second century in the work of Irenaeus). For varied Christian opinions about Greco-Roman education, see Ferguson, “Education,” 361; Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 319-320; Barclay, Educational Ideals, 192-193, 195, 197-198, 200-201, 202, 205, 209, 210, 226-227.

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A second expression of emerging complexity and refinement concerns exegesis, the interpretation of texts in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament. Exegesis was educational in that it taught people how to understand a text. While exegesis had long characterized Jewish and New Testament texts, the growing variety and complexity of exegesis from the second century ce is a well-documented fact.78 The best known schools are the exegetical school of Alexandria, represented by Origen and his fascination with the allegorical “sense”; and the exegetical school of Antioch, which emphasized themes such as the texts’ moral significance and was practiced by scholars including Diodore of Tarsus (died ca. 392 ce).79 A third development is growth of Christian philosophy.80 Such philosophy with its dedicated reflection on the nature of existence, emerged in places including Alexandria, home of Clement and his pupil Origen, with its longstanding tradition of neo-Platonist reflection.81 For our purposes, what matters is that for some of the most highly educated Christian thinkers philosophy becomes a new kind of curriculum; it supplants and supports knowledge of Jesus, the Bible and sacraments with cosmology, anthropology and ethics. As for the majority of Christians, there appears to be some debate as to the reach of literate education in this early period. On the one hand K. Haines-Eitzen contends with respect to Alexandria that most Christians’ education was minimal: apart from a minority of elite writers like Clement and Origen and their students, the majority of Christians learned in at most informal, “unstructured,” largely aural and domestic settings; evidence for more than such basic catechetical learning does not exist.82 On the other hand, work by Schnelle on first-century Christians posits a “relatively high intellectual level,” with “more than 50 per cent of … members [of urban churches, who] could read and write at an acceptable 78 79 80

81 82

See Frances Young, “Alexandrian and Antiochene Exegesis,” in A History of Biblical Interpretation, ed. A.J. Hauser / D.F. Watson, vol. 1, The Ancient Period (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003), 334. Ibid., 335-338, 343-344, 347-348, 351. For Diodore’s life and dates see Robert C. Hill, “Introduction,” in Diodore of Tarsus, Commentary on Psalms 1-51, Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Robert C. Hill, SBL.WGRW 9 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2005), xi-xii. So Leinweber, “Ancient World, Christian Education,” 44: “By the second and third centuries, Christianity had developed intellectually sophisticated elites … trained in the Greek traditions of philosophy and reason.” See similarly Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 326-327 (but cf. pp. 328-329), and Ferguson, “Education,” 361. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 327. Kim Haines-Eitzen, “Imagining the Alexandrian Library and a ‘Bookish’ Christianity,” in Reading New Testament Papyri in Context; Lire les Papyrus du Nouveau Testament dans Leur Contexte, ed. C. Clivaz / J. Zumstein, BEThL 242 (Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 2011), 211, 213, 213-215 (esp.), 217-218.

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level.”83 Perhaps the most realistic answer lies in between these estimations, but it suffices to say that literate education was established and increasingly sophisticated. In the literature, the trend to such increasing sophistication tends to characterize normative or catholic Christianity.84 We recognize, though, that catholic Christianity with its councils and creeds was but one Christian tradition. Late antiquity nourished numerous and diverse expressions of Christianity. Adherents of various loosely defined Christian traditions, whether Nestorians in the east or Jewish Christians in Palestine, vied understandably for influence and recognition in the period before catholic Christianity experienced its triumph in the fourth and fifth centuries. And significant among these varieties of Christianity was gnostic Christianity, to the study of which Michel Desjardins has given much of his career. While we cannot engage the debate over Gnosticism’s proximity to or distance from Jesus and the first Christians,85 we know that during the first four Christian centuries gnostic Christians debated catholic Christians in Greek, Latin and Coptic settings. Significantly, gnostic Christianity, including Manichaeism, shows an interest in education. At its core, Gnosticism teaches that a person can experience redemption through divine award of a knowledge (gnosis) of their interior holiness or divinity.86 Such knowledge is a special, experiential wisdom; it is not the fact and memory-oriented knowledge with which we associate schools.87 It remains, however, a bona fide knowledge that matters deeply to the gnostic. Significantly too, Gnosticism is an eminently educational tradition. In the course of receiving knowledge of one’s inner holiness there is a “process,” a

83 84 85 86

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Schnelle, “Das frühe Christentum,” 113, 119, 120. There are not many references to Gnosticism in the literature: See Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 326; Ferguson, “Education,” 361; Christes, “Education,” 832-824. For something of this debate and the Gospel of Thomas’ place in it, see Stephen J. Patterson, “Introduction: A Polarizing Artifact,” in The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Origins: Essays on the Fifth Gospel, NHMS 84 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2013), 1-2, 6-8. Literature on Gnosticism often refers to its teachings and teachers. For such references and for core gnostic teachings see Majella Franzmann, Jesus in the Nag Hammadi Writings (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 102, 113, 114, 167; Kurt Rudolph, Gnosis: The Nature and History of Gnosticism, trans. Robert McLachlan Wilson (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983), 55; cf. Iain Gardiner, “Introduction,” in The Kephalaia of the Teacher: The Edited Coptic Manichaean Texts in Translation with Commentary, NHMS 37 (Leiden / New York / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1995), xxiv, xx, xxv, xxxii. Rudolph, Gnosis, 119, 55: “They [Gnostics] were not aiming at any ideal philosophical knowledge nor any knowledge of an intellectual or theoretical kind, but a knowledge which had at the same time a liberating and redeeming effect.”

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development that requires intellectual and moral transformation,88 and this process amounts to education, as is evident in the title of the third-century Manichaean text The Kephalaia of the Teacher and in gnostic portrayals of Jesus as not only saviour but also teacher.89 Education matters in Gnosticism, and so it is not surprising there were gnostic teachers who imparted wisdom and philosophical knowledge to their students.90 As we close this outline, it is worth mention that literature about ancient religions and education has not only offered a fuller insight into their relationships; it has also more and less consciously applied this insight to address historical, literary and social science questions.91 Here, religion and education are not the end but rather a means to an end, a tool for pursuing other lines of inquiry. One such inquiry is historical, an excellent illustration of which is the work of John Dominic Crossan. In his book The Historical Jesus, Crossan finds Jesus’s influential setting to be the philosophical school of Cynicism, which thrived in the first-century Hellenized Galilee. Significantly, in Galilean cities like Sepphoris, Cynic teachers helped inform Jesus’s moral concern for “free healing and common eating, a religious and economic egalitarianism that negated alike and at once the hierarchical and patronal normalcies of Jewish religion and Roman power.”92 Here then, it is fascinating to see how awareness of Greek philosophical education functions to help reconstruct the historical Jesus. Education has also afforded a tool to understand texts’ literary qualities. One example from New Testament studies is work by Dennis MacDonald, who employs ancient education to determine the Gospels’ genre. According to 88

89 90 91 92

For this process, see Franzmann, Jesus in the Nag Hammadi Writings, 168, 169-170; Rudolph, Gnosis, 113, 117-118 (esp.), 119-121, 172, 218-221, 225, 252ff., 257, 261-267. Cf. for Manichaeism, Gardiner, “Introduction,” xxiv, xxxiii-xxxv. For the term, see Franzmann, Jesus in the Nag Hammadi Writings, 167. As Franzmann’s words suggest at times (p. 167), the gnostic student needs do little by way of actual education or development: “the revelation given to Gnostics is generally speaking not so much an imparting of knowledge but a process of reminding them of, or waking them up to, what they already know.” Cf. Rudolph, Gnosis, 55: “It rests not upon one’s own investigation but on heavenly mediation. It is a knowledge given by revelation.” But at the same time, the aforementioned literature characterizes Gnosticism as making demands on its adherents to learn and grow; to engage in an educational, formative process. Rudolph, Gnosis, 117, refers to a gnostic process of education. For which see Franzmann, Jesus in the Nag Hammadi Writings, 113-115. Rudolph, Gnosis, 213-214; for teaching of gnostic philosophy by Valentinus, see Ferguson, “Education,” 361. Here and there, the literature hints at recognition of these two subjects (that is, education in itself, and applications of education to address other problems); see for instance Snyder, Teachers and Texts, 4; Barclay, Educational Ideals, 9, 209. John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 421-422.

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MacDonald, Mark’s and Luke’s education in mimesis, in literary emulation of Homer, suggests that in their Gospels they have tried to emulate Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. On this view, the Gospels’ genre appears to approximate epic poetry.93 Strikingly we shall see in the following essays further analysis of ancient education as a tool to address historical, literary and theological questions. To summarize, literature on education and religion has taught us much. On the one hand, the phenomena are intimately interrelated, each exercising an influence on the other. In particular, education sought to serve religious goals, and hence we may speak of ancient religious education.94 Intended to draw the devotee more fully into their tradition, religious education tended among other things (i) to reflect and draw upon its larger culture; (ii) to embrace both literate skill as well as moral and dogmatic knowledge, the former sometimes facilitating comprehension of the latter; and (iii) to exhibit variety in its substance, levels and/or reach; and sometimes to develop in complexity. On the other hand, studies of religion and education in antiquity have great potential for addressing other scholarly avenues of inquiry, from the historical to the literary. It seems then that an awareness of education in the context of religion is proving to be not a provincial topic, but a highly relevant one.

New Contributions

Why offer studies of education and ancient religions to Michel Desjardins? The reason is clear: he has forged an admirable synthesis between sound teaching on the one hand, and research of ancient religions on the other. Desjardins reminds us that teaching and research are more deeply connected than we tend to assume. Excellent pedagogy informs excellent research and writing, and we see precisely this dynamic in at least three of Desjardins’ major works. We begin with his published dissertation, Sin in Valentinianism (1990). Desjardins’ first book reflects his concern in the classroom to problematize students’ inherited images of Christianity. As a teacher, Desjardins has long emphasized 93

94

Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven / London: Yale University Press, 2001), 3-4, 7, 88-89; Dennis R. MacDonald, “Luke’s Antetextuality in Light of Ancient Rhetorical Education,” in Ancient Education and Early Christianity, ed. Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts, LNTS 533 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 156, 159-161, 163. Numerous other studies that examine the first-century literary context of Christian texts belong in this category. See for instance Damm, Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem, 9-17. For application of education to address social history, see Dutch, The Educated Elite, 3-6. For the term, see for example Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 314, 315, 316.

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that in antiquity, normative/catholic Christianity was not simply there “from the beginning,” but rather that there were “Christianities” – each as historically normative and legitimate as the other – that sought genuinely to put forward their distinctive understandings of Jesus. Desjardins’ effort impartially to characterize Christian origins, to show the honest, human diversity of earliest Christianity, is a powerful pedagogical lesson: inherited knowledge about Christian origins that comes to us by way of church traditions requires critical examination. Precisely this lesson emerges in Sin in Valentinianism, where in examining gnostic images of sin, Desjardins seeks to get behind layers of  polemical characterizations of Gnosticism and its alleged disavowal of sin, characterizations which typify Patristic authors like Irenaeus in the second century ce.95 In his classroom teaching, Desjardins has encouraged students not only to regard tradition critically but also to discuss primary sources carefully and clearly by engaging in exegesis, especially of “what” a text argues, “how” it argues and “why” it argues – three questions that make an author’s work intelligible. Significantly, Desjardins practices this careful exegesis in his 1996 introduction to the critical edition of the gnostic Apocalypse of Peter. As he walks readers through this text, he pays attention to the text’s recurring arguments (for instance, that Jesus remains spiritually alive despite his bodily death); its literary modus operandi (a chiastic form which highlights Jesus’s words); and the context that informed its composition (including conflict over legitimacy between gnostic and catholic Christian communities).96 This introduction affords not only a model of thorough scholarship but also a window into Desjardins’ pedagogical concerns for comprehensiveness and clarity. In addition to modelling a critical and thorough approach, Desjardins has also graced the classroom with a singular ability to listen to students; he takes their reflections seriously, kindling their enthusiasm and giving them the confidence that their thinking matters. This eminently collegial classroom virtue emerges also in his second book, Peace and Violence in the New Testament (1996), where he shows that student reflections have informed his writing. In his introduction, for instance, he makes clear that his understanding of the terms “peace” and “violence” are broader than they might appear in Aramaic or Greek lexica, for contemporary students’ images of violence (for instance, misogynistic violence), while perhaps not so labelled in antiquity, exist in ancient 95 96

Michel R. Desjardins, Sin in Valentinianism, SBL.DS 108 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 1, 16, 19. Michel Desjardins, “Introduction to VII,3: Apocalypse of Peter,” in Nag Hammadi Codex VII, ed. Birger A. Pierson, NHMS 30 (Leiden / New York / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1996), 201-202, 206, 210, 214.

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texts that have so long influenced Western thought. Desjardins recognizes that we ought therefore to take account of these concepts in their fuller sense.97 While in later years, Desjardins shifted his scholarly centre of gravity away from religious antiquity, publishing essays oriented to effective teaching and learning, there is no mistaking the fact that his concern for good teaching has informed his research in Christian origins. In appreciation for Desjardins’ scholarship and pedagogy, the following nine essays take up relationships between ancient religions and education. All of the essays focus on texts, and most examine ancient educational ideals or theory expressed within them. To be sure, this focus on texts and ideals is limiting, for these do not always point directly to the lived realities of education. But examination of texts and of educational theory is a necessary first step if we are more fully to understand ancient education in its richness. The first three essays address education in ancient Judaism. Educational techniques are the subject of John L. McLaughlin’s “Wisdom from the Wise: Pedagogical Principles from Proverbs.” McLaughlin heightens our sensitivity to pedagogical techniques in the Book of Proverbs, showing how the proverbs “present[…] … material in such a way as to engage the listener or the reader in the learning process itself.” McLaughlin argues that it is not only the substance of forms such as proverb that teach readers, it is also Proverbs’ literary techniques, for instance repetition, paradoxes, omissions, and forms like the riddle, which matter. By awakening pupils’ interest and forcing them to deploy good judgement, literary techniques in Proverbs play a clear teaching role. Attention to Jewish education continues in the second essay. In “Education in the Sacrospace of Qumran Judaism,” Wayne McCready examines interfaces between concepts of place, in particular Thomas Tweed’s concept of sacrospace, and the Qumran tradition, highlighting how the former illuminates the latter. According to McCready, the word “place” is deceptively simple, for a place need not be, or be merely, a concrete locale. Using the concept of sacrospace or “intellectual landscape,” McCready shows among other things that an eminently eduational landscape characterizes Qumran Judaism. The third essay, by Jack Lightstone, shifts focus slightly from education itself to educational texts as sources for historical reconstruction. In “Late Second Temple Judaism: A Reconstruction and Re-description as a Religio-Cultural System,” Lightstone draws on classic and contemporary social science theory to argue for an overarching or homogeneous nature of Judaism in Judea during the first century ce: this nature he characterizes as a system, one oriented towards reciprocity, 97

Michel Desjardins, Peace, Violence and the New Testament, BibS 46 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 7, 12-14.

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drawing purity from people to God and Temple (for instance, through offerings), and sending it from God to people (for instance, through blessings and forgiveness). Significantly, some of the best evidence that points to Judaism’s systemic quality comes from the texts of the Mishnah (ca. 200 ce), which in its concern to interpret the Torah and to teach it to Jews, is eminently educational. The next three essays address education mainly in New Testament literature, beginning with Joseph A. Novak’s “Techne in Plato and the New Testament.” For Novak, a contrast emerges between Platonic and New Testament thought regarding the method for developing ethical people. While Plato emphasizes an ethics-oriented techne – an ethical “art” or “craft” built of wisdom and transmitted to a student – New Testament texts substitute for it the divine deed of Jesus’s death and resurrection, obviating the need for an ethical techne by justifying and refashioning the baptized Christian into an ethical person. The next essay, by Alex Damm, applies educational conventions to help resolve an exegetical debate. In “Why Not to Pity Rome: Revelation 18:22-23a in its Ancient Educational Context,” Damm argues that conventions in Greco-Roman and Jewish education help us to interpret Revelation 18 more accurately. While some interpreters regard Rev 18:22-23a as connoting pity for Roman citizens, an awareness of literate education corrects this view. In the text, for example, the author’s use of the Greek rhetorical convention of propriety makes vv. 2223a appear much more an appeal to anger than to pity. Damm’s essay is followed by Mona Tokarek LaFosse’s study “Those who Hear: Aurality and Power in 1 Timothy.” In this piece, Tokarek LaFosse articulates the leverage that learners – the audience of 1 Timothy – exercise vis-à-vis teachers. To this end she first establishes the thoroughly oral-aural medium of teaching that characterizes 1 Timothy, observing that the letter’s audience is primarily hearers. Second, she observes how the letter’s author takes pains to dissuade these hearers from socially irresponsible conduct that jeopardizes the image of teacher and church alike. Critically, this evidence implies that the hearers exercise a measure of power over the author. Learners, in other words, are not necessarily quiet repositories; they can be a dynamic complement to teachers. In the transition to three essays examining ancient Christian Gnosticism – a special focus in Desjardins’ work – we discover how the presence and ab­sence of education might influence religion. The latter point is central to John Horman’s essay, “Translation Matters: The Coptic Translation of Thomas.” According to Horman, we are too accustomed to regarding the Coptic translation of the Gospel of Thomas as an accurate representation of its Greek source. In fact, the Coptic translator of Thomas makes several errors in translating his Greek text. Whether we consider the translator’s artificial division of sayings

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36-37 or his mistaken fusion of sayings 26-27, we find translation errors to the Greek Vorlage. According to Horman, a plausible reason for these desiderata is that resources for learning Greek and Coptic fully and with adequate finesse were absent in fourth century Egypt. In short, the translator’s lack of a thorough Greek and Coptic education helps account for errors in Coptic Thomas. William Arnal’s essay “Pedagogy, Text, and The Solitary Self in the Gospel of Thomas” examines the pedagogical program of this Gospel. According to Arnal the Gospel of Thomas seeks primarily that readers learn from Jesus by and for themselves, irrespective of the community to which they belong. Individual change, not community change, is its centre of gravity, and for good historical reasons: On the one hand, the community behind the original Greek Thomas was likely aspiring to an elite social status, one defined by literacy and the individual orientation that such literacy and its invitation to reading entails. On the other hand, the period of Thomas’ composition in the later first century was one of great social change, including urbanization and the breaking apart of culturally specific community identities of migrants as they mixed into these cities’ cosmopolitan milieu. In this historical context, it makes sense that Thomas adapt to such loss of community identities by speaking, not to a particular community, but to the individual. In an echo of McLaughlin’s essay on Proverbs, Michael Kaler (“Praises and Rebukes in the Gnostic Revelation Dialogues”), argues that the gnostic revelation dialogues seek morally to educate their readers, to make them better followers of Jesus. In the dialogues, a key teaching technique to which Kaler points is portrayal of Jesus praising and rebuking his disciples for their attentiveness, humility, trust and tenacity. While scholarship has characterized the dialogues as imparting salvific knowledge over moral instruction, Kaler shows that the frequency of praises and rebukes indicate an aim of moral formation. From this survey of ancient religions and education emerge recurring themes. At the most general level, processes of education, of teaching and learning that range from the literate to the vocational, and that are manifest in teachers, in texts and in real communities, matter to religion. On the one hand, education is a method of religious development that conditions and enables religious life. On the other hand, goals and exigencies of religions determine the education that their adherents receive. We are, therefore, fully justified in speaking of ancient religious education. This summary affords a frame into which we may set the studies that follow.

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Reference List

Adams, Sean A. “Luke and Progymnasmata: Rhetorical Handbooks, Rhetorical Sophis­ tication and Genre Selection.” In Ancient Education and Early Christianity. Edited by Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts. LNTS 533. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 137-154. Ancient Education and Early Christianity. Edited by Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts. LNTS 533. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016. Apuleius. The Golden Ass Being the Metamorphoses of Lucian. Translated by William Adlington and Stephen Gaselee. LCL 44. London: W. Heinemann; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1965. Barclay, William. Educational Ideals in the Ancient World. London: Collins, 1961. Bertram, Georg. Παιδεύω. TDNT 5, 596-625. Bonner, Stanley F. Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny. Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977. Britannica Encyclopedia of World Religions. Edited by Michael Frassetto. Chicago: Encyclopedia Britannica, 2006. “Religion,” 915-916. Byrskog, Samuel. Jesus the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community. CB.NT 24. Stockholm: Alm­ qvist & Wiksell, 1994. Byrskog, Samuel. Story as History; History as Story: The Gospel Tradition in the Context of Ancient Oral History. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Christes, Johannes. “Education.” BNP 4, 815-825. Christes, Johannes. “Education/Culture.” BNP 4, 825-835. Christian Higher Education: A Global Renaissance. Edited by Joel Carpenter, et al. Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2014. Civil, Miguel. “Education (Mesopotamia).” AncBD 2, 301-305. Cloke, Gillian. “Women, Worship and Mission: The Church in the Household.” In The Early Christian World. Edited by Philip F. Esler. Volume 1. London / New York: Routledge, 2000, 422-451. Crenshaw, James L. Education in Ancient Israel: Across the Deadening Silence. AncBRL. New York: Doubleday, 1998. Crossan, John Dominic. The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991. Damm, Alex. Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem: Clarifying Markan Priority. BEThL 252. Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 2013. Damm, Alex. Review of Matthew Ryan Hauge and Andrew W. Pitts, ed., Ancient Education and Early Christianity. RBL 4 (2017) (http://www.bookreviews.org).

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Desjardins, Michel. “Introduction to VII,3: Apocalypse of Peter.” In Nag Hammadi Codex VII. Edited by Birger A. Pearson. NHMS 30. Leiden / New York / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1996, 201-216. Desjardins, Michel. Peace, Violence and the New Testament. BibS 46. Sheffield: Shef­field Academic Press, 1997. Desjardins, Michel R. Sin in Valentinianism, SBL.DS 108. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990. Dimitrovsky, Haim Z. “Introductory Remarks.” In Exploring the Talmud. Edited by Haim Z. Dimitrovsky. Volume 1, Education. New York: Ktav, 1976, xiii-xxvii. Dutch, Robert. The Educated Elite in 1 Corinthians: Education and Community Conflict in Graeco-Roman Context. JSNT.S 271. London / New York: T&T Clark, a Continuum Imprint, 2005. Ego, Beate / Helmut Merkel. “Vorwort.” In Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung. WUNT 180. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005, vii-xi. Ferguson, Everett. Backgrounds of Early Christianity. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987. Ferguson, Everett. “Catechesis/Catechumenate.” EEC 1, 223-225. Ferguson, Everett. “Education.” EEC 1, 361-362. Franzmann, Majella. Jesus in the Nag Hammadi Writings. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996. Gardiner, Iain. “Introduction.” In The Kephalaia of the Teacher: The Edited Coptic Mani­ chaean Texts in Translation with Commentary. NHMS 37. Leiden / New York / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1995, xi-xxxvi. Gerhardsson, Birger. Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. ASNU 22. Uppsala: C.W.K. Gleerup; Lund / Copenhagen: Enjar Munksgaard, 1961. Goldin, Judah. “Several Sidelights of a Torah Education in Tannaite and Early Amoraic Times.” In Exploring the Talmud. Edited by Haim Z. Dimitrovsky. Volume 1, Education. New York: Ktav, 1976, 3-18. Golka, Friedemann. The Leopard’s Spots: Biblical and African Wisdom in Proverbs. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994. Grant, Frederick C. Roman Hellenism and the New Testament. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1962. A Greek-English Lexicon. Compiled by H.G. Liddell / R. Scott. 9th edition. With Revised Supplement. Revised and augmented throughout by Sir Henry Stuart Jones, with the assistance of Roderick McKenzie, Supplement edited by P.G.W. Glare, and with the assistance of A.A. Thompson. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Haines-Eitzen, Kim. “Imagining the Alexandrian Library and a ‘Bookish’ Christianity.” In Reading New Testament Papyri in Context; Lire les Papyrus du Nouveau Testament dans Leur Contexte. Edited by C. Clivaz / J. Zumstein. BEThL 242. Leuven / Paris / Walpole: Peeters, 2011, 207-218.

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Hammond, Carolyn J.-B. “Introduction.” In Augustine, Confessions I: Books 1-8. Edited and Translated by Carolyn J.-B. Hammond. LCL 26. Cambridge / London: Harvard University Press, 2014, xiii-xl. Hart, Trevor. “Creeds, Councils and Doctrinal Development.” In The Early Christian World. Edited by Philip F. Esler. Volume 1. London / New York: Routledge, 2000, 636-659. Hatch, Edwin. The Influences of Greek Ideas and Usages Upon the Christian Church. London: Williams and Norgate, 1891. Hezser, Catherine. “The Torah Versus Homer: Jewish and Greco-Roman Education in Late Roman Palestine.” In Ancient Education and Early Christianity. Edited by Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts. LNTS 533. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 5-24. Hill, Robert C. “Introduction.” In Diodore of Tarsus. Commentary on Psalms 1-51. Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Robert C. Hill. SBL.WGRW 9. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2005, xi-xxxvii. Hock, Ronald F. “Homer in Greco-Roman Education.” In Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity. Edited by Dennis R. MacDonald. SAC. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001, 56-77. Hock, R.F. “Paul and Greco-Roman Education.” In Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook. Edited by J. Paul Sampley. Volume 1. 2nd edition. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 198-227. Jaeger, Werner. Cristianesimo Primitivo e Paideia Greca/Early Christianity and Greek Paideia: Con Saggi Integrativi di Autori Vari. Testo inglese a fronte. Edited by Alfredo Valvo. IPO. Milan: Bompiani, 2013. Kennedy, George A. New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984. Leinweber, David. “Ancient World, Christian Education in the.” ECE 1, 40-48. Lemaire, André. “Education (Israel).” AncBD 2, 305-312. MacDonald, Dennis R. The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark. New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2001. MacDonald, Dennis R. “Luke’s Antetextuality in Light of Ancient Rhetorical Education.” In Ancient Education and Early Christianity. Edited by Matthew Ryan Hauge / Andrew W. Pitts. LNTS 533. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 155-163. Manson, T.W. The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of its Form and Content. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1931. Marrou, Henri I. A History of Education in Antiquity. Translated by George Lamb. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1956. Morgan, Teresa. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds. CCS. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Muirhead, Ian A. Education in the New Testament. New York: Association Press, 1965.

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Nongbri, Brent. Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept. New Haven / London: Yale University Press, 2013. O’Donnell, Hugh C.M. Education in Wisdom: A Study in the New Testament Theology of the Pastoral Ministry. Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1969. Otto, Eckhart. “Law and Ethics.” In Religions of the Ancient World: A Guide. Edited by Sarah Iles Johnston. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004, 84-97. Padilla, Osvaldo. “Hellenistic παιδεία and Luke’s Education: A Critique of Recent Approaches.” NTS 55/4 (2009): 416-437. Patillon, Michel. Aelius Théon: Progymnasmata. Texte établit et traduit par Michel Patillon avec l’assistance, pour l’Armenien, de Giancarlo Bolognesi. CUFr. Paris : Les Belles Lettres, 1997. Patterson, Stephen J. “Introduction: A Polarizing Artifact.” In The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Origins: Essays on the Fifth Gospel. NHMS 84. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2013, 1-8. Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric. Translated with Introductions and Notes by George A. Kennedy. SBL.WGRW 10. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003. Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung. Edited by Beate Ego / Helmut Merkel. WUNT 180. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005. Rudolph, Kurt. Gnosis: The Nature and History of Gnosticism. Translated by Robert McLachlan Wilson. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983. Safrai, S. “Education and the Study of the Torah.” In The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions. Edited by S. Safrai and M. Stern in co-operation with D. Flusser and W.C. van Unnik. CRI I.2. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976, 945-970. Sanders, E.P. “Paul’s Jewishness.” In Paul’s Jewish Matrix. With an introductory essay by Karl P. Donfried. Edited by Thomas G. Casey / Justin Taylor. BD 2. Mahwah: Paulist Press; Rome; Gregorian and Biblical Press, 2011, 51-74. Schmeller, Thomas. Schulen im Neuen Testament? Zur Stellung der Urchristentums in der Bildungswelt seiner Zeit. Mit einem Beitrag von Christian Cebulj zur Johannischen Schule. HBS 30. Freiburg: Herder, 2001. Schnelle, Udo. “Denkender Glauben: Schulen im Neuen Testament.” In Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam. Edited by Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013, 81-110. Schnelle, Udo. “Das frühe Christentum und die Bildung.” NTS 61/2 (2015): 113-143. Snyder, H. Gregory. Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians. RFCC. London / New York: Routledge, 2000.

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Stemberger, Günter. “Lebenslanges Lernen als Programm im rabbinischen Judentum.” In Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam. Edited by Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013, 111-126. Thom, Johan C. “Paul and Popular Philosophy.” In Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context. Edited by Cilliers Breytenbach. BEThL 277. Leuven / Paris / Bristol: Peeters, 2015, 47-74. Townsend, John T. “Education (Greco-Roman).” AncBD 2, 312-317. Tropper, Veronika. Jesus Didáskalos: Studien zu Jesus als Lehrer bei den Synoptikern und im Rahmen der antiken Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte. ÖBS 42. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2012. Turcan, Robert. The Cults of the Roman Empire. Translated by Antonia Nevill. AW. Oxford / Malden / Victoria: Blackwell, 1996. Von Rom nach Bagdad: Bildung und Religion von der römischer Kaiserzeit bis zum klassischen Islam. Edited by Peter Gemeinhardt / Sebastian Günther. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013. von Spengel, Leonhard. Rhetores Graeci. Volume 2. BSGRT. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1854. Young, Frances. “Alexandrian and Antiochene Exegesis.” In A History of Biblical Interpretation. Edited by A.J. Hauser / Duane F. Watson. Volume 1, The Ancient Period. Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003, 334-354.

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Wisdom from the Wise: Pedagogical Principles from Proverbs John L. McLaughlin

The wisdom literature stands out from the rest of the First Testament in terms of both its content and its approach.* With respect to the content, one reads through the books of Proverbs, Job and Qoheleth in vain looking for references to the heroes of Israelite tradition, such as Sarah and Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Deborah, David and so on. Nor is there any mention of the great divine interventions in Israelite history such as the Exodus or the entrance into the Land, nor major religious motifs such as the Covenant with Yahweh. On the other hand, while the distinctively Israelite aspects of the First Testament are absent from the wisdom books, the latter do share both formal and thematic similarities with the wisdom traditions of the surrounding nations. In Mesopotamia the Sumerians, Akkadians, Assyrians and Babylonians all produced multiple proverb collections like those in the book of Proverbs and portions of Qohel­ eth. So too did the ancient Egyptians, who also developed the Instruction genre that is paralleled in Prov 1-7. Both regions also produced a number of works that questioned divine justice in the case of innocent suffering, just as the book of Job does. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the scholarly response to this unique content was largely to ignore the wisdom books. A brief period of interest came in the 1920s with the discovery of some of the ancient international wisdom literature, especially the Egyptian Instruction of Amenemope, which was quickly recognized as the literary basis for Prov 22:17-24:22. However, in the middle of the last century scholarly attention to the wisdom literature waned again, sometimes taking the form of opposition. Harmut Gese called it a “foreign body [Fremdkörper] in the Old Testament’s world”1 and this view is reflected, however benignly, in the Old Testament theologies written in this

* The following is a revised version of the 2016 Canadian Society of Biblical Studies (CSBS) Presidential Address presented at the University of Calgary on May 28, 2016. I first met Michel Desjardins at a CSBS meeting and later served with him on the CSBS Executive for a number of years. In light of that shared history I am pleased to offer this paper in his honour. 1 Hartmut Gese, Lehre und Wirklichkeit in der alten Weisheit: Studien zu den Spruchen Solomons und zu dem Buche Hiob (Tübingen: Mohr, 1958), 2.

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period.2 To give just one example, in his two-volume work Gerhard von Rad relegated the wisdom literature to portions of the appendix in the first volume, labelled “ISRAEL BEFORE YAHWEH (Israel’s Answer).”3 Horst Preuss went further than Gese, characterizing the wisdom literature as heathen thinking that should be excluded from Old Testament theology.4 Although the scholarly estimation of the wisdom books’ value has improved significantly since then, reflected in the wide-ranging publications in the area, even a major promoter like James Crenshaw could refer to the wisdom literature in 1976 as “an orphan in the biblical household” and thirty-four years later still attribute to it “a different world of thought.”5 Crenshaw’s second phrase points to the other area where the wisdom literature diverges from the rest of the First Testament. The wisdom literature’s approach, and especially the underlying justification for the content in the book of Proverbs, Job and Qoheleth, is drastically different. The basis for wisdom teachings is reflection upon human experience, collected over the years and passed on from one generation to the next until codified in the books that we have. The majority of the book of Proverbs consists of observations about human behaviour and human nature, plus analogies with the surrounding world. The book of Qoheleth makes this approach explicit: running through the book are the author’s claims that he is reporting on what he has “seen,” “observed,” “considered,” “experienced” and so on. This foundation in common human experience has implications for how the wisdom writers convey their insights, and especially how they seek to persuade their audience concerning what they have to say. Unlike the narrative portions of the Pentateuch and the Historical Books, the wisdom literature does not support its claims by asserting divine 2 See the survey, with the low relative percentages of treatment given to the wisdom literature, in Charles H.H. Scobie, “The Place of Wisdom in Biblical Theology,” BTB 14/2 (1984): 43. 3 Gerhard von Rad, Old Testament Theology I: The Theology of Israel’s Historical Traditions, trans. D.M.G. Stalker, Introduction by Walter Brueggemann (New York: Harper & Row, 1962; repr., Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 408-453, 455-459. He subsequently published a separate volume on the wisdom literature, but did not integrate it with the rest of the First Testament; in fact, he characterized the wisdom literature as being in “theological tension with traditional Yahwism: a harsher one could hardly be imagined” (Gerhard von Rad, Wisdom in Israel, trans. James D. Martin [London: SCM, 1971; repr., Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1988], 314). 4 Horst Dietrich Preuss, “Erwägungen zum theologischen Ort alttestamentlicher Weisheitsliteratur,” EvTh 30 (1970): 393-417. See also Horst Dietrich Preuss, Old Testament Theology, trans. Leo G. Perdue, OTL (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1995-1996) and earlier, G. Ernest Wright, God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital, SBT 8 (London: SCM Press, 1952), 104. 5 James L. Crenshaw, “Prolegomenon,” in Studies in Ancient Israelite Wisdom, ed. James L. Crenshaw (New York: Ktav, 1976), 1; James L. Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom: An Introduction, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 24-25, italics in the original.

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intervention in Israel’s affairs. Unlike the prophets, the sages do not claim that their message was received directly from God via oracles and visions. And although they share some of the ethical concerns found in the Pentateuch’s legal material, the wisdom books do not present them as “Torah from Sinai.” Instead, they seek to persuade not by appeals to external authorities but through internal assent on the part of the hearer. They do so by presenting their material in such a way as to engage the listener or reader in the learning process itself. In what follows I will reflect on this learning process within the book of Proverbs, with an occasional foray beyond. I will focus on the main forms in the book of Proverbs, with the aim of identifying how they function pedagogically, that is, the ways that different forms are used to convey teachings to the reader. More significantly, at the same time I will attend to the educational methodology in the book of Proverbs, clarifying the underlying presuppositions concerning how one acquires wisdom and the attendant ways the sages accomplish this. The opening verses of Proverbs emphasize that the book’s purpose is education. Verses 1-6 constitute a single sentence, starting with the title: “The proverbs of Solomon, son of David, king of Israel.”6 This is followed by a series of consequential clauses in verses 2-3 that elaborate the purpose of those “proverbs”: they are for “learning,” “understanding” and “gaining instruction.” The book is meant to teach the young and the simple (v. 4) but the mature wise person can and should profit from it as well (v. 5). Verse 6 concludes that this collection will enable one to understand four different forms: (1) “a proverb”; (2) “a figure”; (3) “the words of the wise”; and (4) “their riddles.” This list is neither exhaustive nor indicative of the order in which they occur, since the first wisdom form one encounters in the book of Proverbs is the Instruction.

Instructions (Proverbs 1-7)

The Instruction genre is well-known from Egyptian literature spanning two millennia, from the period of the “Old Kingdom” (ca. 2800-2200 bce) to the Instruction of Onkhsheshonqy in the fifth century bce. These Instructions share a number of characteristic features. The earliest ones are presented as a father’s instruction to his son, and later these terms took on the technical nuance of a teacher to a pupil. They contain three main elements:

6 Except where noted, biblical quotations are from the NRSV.

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i.

A direct address to “my son,” reflecting the scribal tradition for a student, and containing a command that he “hear,” “listen” and so forth (rather than the indicative that is found in the majority of shorter sayings). ii. Motive clause(s) giving the reasons for listening and obeying. These reasons are usually the benefits that derive from the teaching. They are often introduced by kî (“for”) although final clauses stating the consequence may also be used. There is little appeal to anything beyond the presumably self-evident value of the teaching itself. iii. The teaching itself usually takes the form of conditional and result clauses, that is, “if … then,” although straightforward commands are also used. The focus is on exhortation and argumentation in support of the teaching, distinguishing it from the tendency in shorter wisdom sayings simply to make an observation and leave the moral up to the reader or listener. The focus in the Egyptian Instructions is usually on how one should function at the royal court, and this motif is often assisted by attributing the instruction to a Pharaoh or to one of his advisors. But even without such an explicit connection, the purpose remains the same, as seen by the nature of the advice that is given. Topics include how to deal with one’s inferiors and superiors, proper table manners, the importance of truthfulness and courtesy, and warnings about and against women. The goal was to ensure that one did not offend the king or members of the royal court in either words or actions, and the Instructions reflected the contemporary societal norms of proper behaviour, with its biases and prejudices. Symptomatic of this is the negative view of women: the instructions tended to paint women as temptresses who would try to seduce the young pupil and lead him astray. The dangers involved when such women were related to the Pharaoh or influential members of the court would be obvious to all, and so students training to serve there were frequently warned against becoming involved with women, however innocently that relationship might begin. There are ten instances of the Instruction genre in Prov 1-7, with many of the same concerns as the Egyptian versions. The longest is Prov 2. It opens with an address to “my child,” followed by four verses encouraging him to listen to the teaching. Verses 5-19 present various reasons why he should do so, followed by three verses containing the actual teaching, namely, describing the “two paths” of the good and the wicked, a common theme in the wisdom literature. But the chapter is more artfully constructed than this basic outline suggests. Prov 2 consists of a single sentence comprising twenty-two verses (twenty-two lines in the Hebrew), corresponding to the number of letters in the Hebrew alphabet. While it is not an acrostic, in which each successive line starts with the

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next letter of the alphabet, by matching the length of the Hebrew alphabet, the poem suggests that it is not a random collection of thoughts but rather a comprehensive composition that expresses all one needs to know. This is reinforced through formal features of the poem that create a well-structured discourse consisting of two evenly balanced halves with eleven verses each, which are themselves arranged into three sections consisting of 4 + 4 + 3 verses.7 If we bracket the opening address to “my child” we have the following: Part I consists of vv. 1-11 (eleven lines) in which the word “wisdom” or a synonym occurs nine times: i. vv. 1-4 ii. vv. 5-8 iii. vv. 9-11

begins with aleph (ʾ/‫א‬, the 1st Hebrew letter) in the word ʾim (“if”) begins with aleph in the words ʾāz tābîn (“then you will understand”) begins with aleph in the words ʾāz tābîn (“then you will understand”)

Part II consists of vv. 12-22 (eleven lines) in which the word derek (“path/way”) occurs nine times: iv. vv. 12-15 begins with lamed (l/‫ל‬, the 12th Hebrew letter) in the word lĕhaṣṣîlkâ (“to save you”) v. vv. 16-19 begins with lamed in the word lĕhaṣṣîlkâ (“to save you”) vi. vv. 20-22 begins with lamed in the word lĕmaʿan (“therefore”) Each of these sections deal with separate but related topics in a single sentence. An extended conditional clause (vv. 1-4) introduces (i) wisdom as the object of the reader’s desire, through which one gains (ii) religious understanding (vv. 5-8) leading to (iii) ethical understanding (vv. 9-11) that will (iv) “deliver” one from evil men (vv. 12-15) and (v) adulterous women (vv. 16-19); “therefore” (vi) follow the path of the good, who will live in the land, rather than the path of the wicked, who will not (vv. 20-22). These six topics are reflected in the other nine Instructions in the book:8 i. Achieving wisdom: Prov 4:1-9 ii. Religious understanding: Prov 3:1-12 7 Patrick W. Skehan, Studies in Israelite Poetry and Wisdom, CBQ.MS 1 (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1971), 9. 8 This following is based on, but also goes beyond, the analysis of Skehan, Studies, 9-10.

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Ethical understanding: Prov 4:20-27 Avoid evil/wicked men: Prov 1:8-19, 4:10-19 Avoid adulterous women: Prov 5:1-23, 6:20-35, 7:1-27 The “two paths”: Prov 3:21-35

These additional nine Instructions use the same approach as Prov 2, urging a “child” to conform to the teaching in each Instruction on the basis of the inherent value of the teaching itself, without appeal to any external authority. In addition, the three passages dealing with adulterous women (Topic v) show how instructions can be adapted and developed, using additional forms as part of larger instructions to reinforce their lessons: Prov 5:15-18 includes an allegory of one’s wife as a cistern of water that is sufficient for one’s thirst but not to be shared with others; 6:27-29 uses the effects of fire as a metaphor for adultery; and 7:6-23 employs a didactic story about a young man being seduced. In sum, Prov 2 is programmatic for the other nine Instructions in the book of Proverbs. But it is only after the reader has worked through the first seven chapters, perhaps many times, that she would become wise enough to discern the overarching structure of Prov 2, and from there the connections with the other nine Instructions.

Proverbs

The majority of the book of Proverbs consists of proverbs, wisdom sayings, two-line (or occasionally more) aphoristic sentences. The headings to Prov 10:1-22:16 and Prov 25-29 identify them as “proverbs” (mĕšālîm), Prov 22:17-24:22 introduces “the words of the wise” and the opening verse of Prov 24:23-34 simply states that “these also are from the wise.” The common translation of māšāl into English as “proverb” is not exhaustive, since the word is also used of parables (Ezek 17:2), prophetic utterances (Num 23:7), taunts (Isa 14:4), speeches (Job 27:1, 29:1), bywords (Jer 24:9) and so on. However, “proverb” does reflect the contents of these portions of the book far better than any of the other renderings, and corresponds to one of the forms named in Prov 1:6. Nevertheless, the material in these sections can be subdivided into two categories: the admonition or prohibition on the one hand, and the sentence on the other. The sentence is by far more common.9

9

By Walther Zimmerli’s count, the admonition occurs only twenty-five times out of 402 sayings in the two main collections, i.e., Prov 10:1-22:16 and Prov 25-29: Walther Zimmerli,

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The two types of sayings can be distinguished from each other by virtue of their mode of address. The admonition, as one would expect, uses the imperative, and its counterpart, the prohibition, negates the command either with “do not” or “you shall not.”10 In either case, as we can see from the following examples, the command (the first two) or prohibition (the second two) is followed by a motivational clause indicating what will result from doing or not doing what the preceding line urges:11 Prov 19:20

Listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom for the future

Prov 22:6

Train children in the right way, and when old, they will not stray

Prov 23:9

Do not speak in the hearing of a fool, who will only despise the wisdom of your words.

Prov 27:1

Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.

At times, the admonition or prohibition plus the motivation can span more than one verse. For example, in these examples each element consists of an entire verse:

10 11

Prov 27:23-24

Know well the condition of your flocks, and give attention to your herds; for riches do not last forever, nor a crown for all generations.

Prov 25:6-7

Do not put yourself forward in the king’s presence or stand in the place of the great; for it is better to be told, “Come up here,” than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.

“Concerning the Structure of Old Testament Wisdom,” in Studies in Ancient Israelite Wisdom, ed. James L. Crenshaw (New York: Ktav, 1976), 182. On the admonition see Philip Johannes Nel, The Structure and Ethos of the Wisdom Admonitions in Proverbs, BZAW 158 (Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1982). The sequence is reversed in Prov 17:14; 20:18, 19. This infrequence reinforces a command/ prohibition plus motivation as the normal order.

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A single admonition or prohibition can be even longer. In Prov 23:6-8, the first verse contains a prohibition while the motivation occupies the next two verses. Prov 23:22-23 present an extended admonition, followed by an equal twoverse motivation in vv. 24-25. The longest single prohibition is Prov 23:31-35, where the initial verse advises against wine, and the next four verses seek to motivate the reader through an extensive catalogue of its negative effects: Do not look at wine when it is red,    when it sparkles in the cup    and goes down smoothly. At the last it bites like a serpent,    and stings like an adder. Your eyes will see strange things,    and your mind utter perverse things. You will be like one who lies down in the midst of the sea,    like one who lies on the top of a mast. “They struck me,” you will say, “but I was not hurt;    they beat me, but I did not feel it.    When shall I awake?    I will seek another drink.” These longer motivations, especially the last one, are similar in length to the motive section of the Instruction genre, with which the admonition and prohibition have obvious structural similarities, namely a teaching followed by a motive for following it. They also share pedagogical approaches: like the Instruction, the admonition/prohibition does not appeal to external authorities such as rulers, laws or divine revelation. Rather, its authority resides in the motivation, which is rooted in observations about the consequences of one’s actions that the reader is expected to recognize from her own experience and accept as valid.12 In contrast to the admonition/prohibition, the sentence is always in the indicative, as a simple statement about the way things are. As such, the sentence does not include any motivational arguments, but rather appeals to universal human experience. Sometimes this entails observations about human nature. Such sayings do not explicitly urge a particular course of action, and in some cases none is envisioned. For instance, Prov 13:7 and 14:20 simply describe different financial states, although most would opt to be rich if possible: 12

Philip Johannes Nel, “Authority in the Wisdom Admonitions,” ZAW 93/3 (1981): 418-426; Nel, Structure and Ethos, 83-115.

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Prov 13:7

Some pretend to be rich, yet have nothing; others pretend to be poor, yet have great wealth.

Prov 14:20

The poor are disliked even by their neighbors, but the rich have many friends.

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The first example also raises the question of how an observer can know whether people are what they claim to be while the second one forces one to consider who are true friends. Similarly, a preferred mode of speech might be implicit in Prov 15:1, but it is left to the reader to discern what that is and then decide whether or not to act accordingly: Prov 15:1

A soft tongue turns away wrath but a harsh word stirs up anger.

In contrast, Prov 20:14 summarizes without comment the attitudes of a successful haggler before and after a purchase: Prov 20:14

“Bad, bad,” says the buyer, then goes away and boasts.

All these sayings provoke insight into human affairs and thus promote greater understanding of how society functions. Other wisdom sentences rely on analogies between nature and human affairs. Sometimes the comparison is stated explicitly through a comparative kaph: Prov 26:1

Like snow in summer or rain in harvest, so honor is not fitting for a fool.

Prov 26:11

Like a dog that returns to its vomit is a fool who reverts to his folly.

Other times two statements are simply juxtaposed, without a kaph: Prov 26:14

A door turns on its hinges, a lazy person turns in bed.

Prov 26:17

One who takes a passing dog by the ears, one who meddles in the quarrel of another.

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Once again, these analogies do not directly promote a particular way of behaving, although the preferred option is usually obvious. However, the second type, where two things are simply stated side by side, does require us to identify the common element, thereby involving the reader in the learning process. This is often lost in modern translations because they usually make the comparison explicit by adding comparative words; the NRSV, for instance, adds “so” at the beginning of the second line in Prov 26:14 and “like” at the beginning of 26:17. Unfortunately, this undermines the distinctive pedagogical effect of juxtaposing statements without explicitly comparing them. Even if the point of comparison seems obvious, when the sages do not state it explicitly this requires that the reader supply it, thereby entering into the learning process rather than passively absorbing information. In order further to elucidate the proverbs’ sensitivity to the learning process, let us consider their purpose. A major purpose of the sayings in Proverbs is to categorize human experience into understandable areas in order to assist one in living one’s life. In the words of R.B.Y. Scott, the book contains, the idea of order, of norms, rules, right values, and due proportions. This is expressed in proverbs which bring to light the identity or equivalence of some things and the non-identity of others, the distinction of the appearance from the reality, common factors and characteristics, cause and consequence; and also what is contrary to right order: the irregular, absurd, paradoxical, and impossible.13 Scott categorized proverbs into seven patterns that reflect the sages’ efforts to bring order and structure to their experience.14 The first pattern is “identity, equivalence, or invariable association,” which expresses things that appear different but are actually the same. Scott offers modern examples such as “A friend in need is a friend indeed” or “A penny saved is a penny earned” alongside biblical instances such as “Where there are no oxen, there is no grain” (Prov 14:4a) and “Whoever flatters a neighbor is spreading a net for the neighbor’s feet” (29:5).15

13 14 15

R.B.Y. Scott, Proverbs. Ecclesiastes: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 2nd ed., AncB 18 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1965), 4-5 (italics in the original). Scott, Proverbs. Ecclesiastes, 5-8; R.B.Y. Scott, The Way of Wisdom in the Old Testament (New York: Collier Books, 1971), 59-63. While his proposal is now fifty years old, it remains helpful for understanding the overall goal of the sayings collections in Proverbs. For each category Scott offers examples from beyond the book of Proverbs and even beyond the wisdom literature in order to illustrate the breadth of such proverbs in the

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The second category is “non-identity, contrast, or paradox,” that is, things that at first glance seem the same but on further consideration are not. Today we repeat Shakespeare’s “All that glitters is not gold” (although the correct formulation would be “Not all that glitters is gold”) or Robert Frost’s “Good fences make good neighbors.”16 The book of Proverbs expresses this category through aphorisms such as “A soft tongue can break bones” (Prov 25:15b) and “To a ravenous appetite even the bitter is sweet” (27:7b). Scott’s next proverb pattern is that of “similarity, analogy, or type,” comprising things that are like one another either in nature or in action. We can compare “A chip off the old block” and “Time and tide wait for no one” to the following sayings: “Like the cold of snow in the time of harvest // are faithful messengers to those who send them” (Prov 25:13a-b); one would think that snow in winter would be a bad thing, but the point is clarified through a third line: “They refresh the spirit of their masters.” Two examples without an explicit comparison are: “A bad tooth or a lame foot // trust in a faithless person in time of trouble” (25:19); and “Cold water to a thirsty soul // good news from a far country” (25:25), which echoes the thought of 25:13.17 A fourth proverb idiom deals with “what is contrary to right order, and so is futile or absurd,” such as “Don’t count your chickens before they are hatch­ ed” and “What’s the use of running when you are on the wrong road?” Examples from Proverbs include “Why should fools have a price in hand to buy wis­­dom // when they have no mind to learn?” (Prov 17:16) or, once again, “A door turns on its hinges // a lazy person in bed” (26:14).18 A fifth proverb type “classifies and characterizes persons, actions, or situations,” such as “Children and fools speak the truth” and “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Similarly, the book of Proverbs offers characterizations, among others, of the insolent (“A scoffer does not listen to rebuke” [Prov 13:1b]), the fool (“The simple believe everything” [14:15a]), a contentious partner (“A wife’s quarreling is a continual dripping of rain” [19:13b]) and the sluggard (“The lazy person buries a hand in the dish // and is too tired to bring it back to the mouth” [26:15]).19

16 17 18 19

biblical literature, but in keeping with the focus of this study I only cite examples from within Proverbs. William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, 1596; Robert Frost, “Mending Wall,” in North of Boston (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1917). The NRSV inserts “like” at the beginning of these proverbs and “is” at the beginning of the second line of each. The NRSV adds “as” and “so” at the beginning of the successive lines in Prov 26:14. Scott includes the numerical saying in this group, but it has its own distinctive features and will be considered separately below.

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Scott’s sixth proverb pattern is “value, relative value or priority, proportion or degree”; most of us are familiar with such modern sayings as “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” or “Better late than never.” Examples of this kind of proverb include “It is better to be poor than a liar” (Prov 19:22b), “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches” (22:1a) or the more elaborate “The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination; // how much more when brought with evil intent” (21:27). The seventh proverb pattern focuses on “consequences of human character and behavior.” Just as we might say “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” “Give an inch and they’ll take a mile” or “Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” the book of Proverbs makes observations like, “A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance” (Prov 15:13a) and “Whoever digs a pit will fall into it // and a stone will come back on the one who starts it rolling” (26:27). I want to make three additional observations related to Scott’s categories, observations that have pedagogical significance. The first is that the categories are not mutually exclusive. Rather, they may overlap, such that a saying exhibits more than one of these characteristics at a time. For instance, Scott’s sixth pattern is “value, relative value or priority, proportion or degree.” Sometimes this takes the form of a simple statement that something is good: Prov 15:23 To make an apt answer is a joy to anyone, and a word in season, how good it is! Prov 17:22 A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones. Conversely, this can take the form of “x is not good.” For instance, Prov 19:2 tells us “Desire without knowledge is not good” while the advice to eat honey in Prov 24:13 is relativized in 25:27, which uses its initial statement as the basis for a comparative lesson about life: Prov 24:13 My child, eat honey, for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste. Prov 25:27 It is not good to eat much honey, or to seek honor on top of honor. At times, however, a statement of relative value also moves into the realm of what is contrary to right order, which is Scott’s fourth category:

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Prov 17:7 Fine speech is not becoming to a fool; still less is false speech to a ruler. Prov 17:26 To impose a fine on the innocent is not right, or to flog the noble for their integrity. Prov 19:10 It is not fitting for a fool to live in luxury, much less for a slave to rule over princes. This blurring is relevant to the learning process. Anyone who studied the book of Proverbs would eventually realize that these different proverb patterns that are meant to organize and structure one’s experience of the world sometimes overlap. This transfer across categories leads to the realization that human existence is not, in fact, always neatly categorized, and requires additional reflection in order to determine how to apply such proverbs in one’s own life. The second thing to say about these categories also falls into the realm of relative value, specifically the “Better Saying.” Significantly, this type of saying fosters the learning process: the Hebrew syntax of these statements has a bearing on how the saying itself works to promote, or provoke, insight and understanding. The word order in Hebrew is almost always “good is x, more than y.” Often this still amounts to a simple statement about proportional worth:20 Prov 16:16 How good it is to get wisdom, more than gold! To get understanding is to be chosen, more than silver. Prov 16:32 Good is one who is slow to anger, more than the mighty, and one whose temper is controlled, more than one who  captures a city. At times, the first element is less than desirable, but it is qualified by a positive attribute, and therefore is deemed acceptable even without the secondary point of comparison. In these cases the second line merely serves to reinforce the first: Prov 12:9 It is good to be despised and have a servant, more than to be self-important and lack food.

20

Translations of the following better sayings are my own fairly literal renderings in order to highlight the syntax.

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Prov 15:17 Good is a meal of herbs and love is there more than a fatted ox and hatred with it. Prov 16:8 Good is a little with righteousness more than a large income with injustice. At the other extreme is a purely negative first part, without a positive qualifier and therefore with no immediately obvious redeeming value: Prov 21:19 It is good to live in a desert land more than a contentious and fretful wife. Prov 27:5 Good is open rebuke more than hidden love. It is only with the addition of the second part that the value of the first is brought into view. The apparent paradox of the initial statement is resolved through the perspective provided by its comparison with another thing, action, possession and so on. Qoheleth takes this latter approach further by presenting purely negative aspects as positive. In so doing he calls into question the traditional wisdom concerning what is good and what is not. He may do this by following a positive comparison with a negative one: Qoh 7:1

Good is a name, more than good ointment, and the day of death, more than the day of birth.

Alternatively, the author sometimes places the negative element first in the statement: Qoh 7:2a-b It is good to go to the house of mourning more than to go to the house of feasting for this is the end of everyone, and the living will lay it to heart. Qoh 7:3

Good is sorrow more than laughter, for by sadness of countenance the heart is made glad.

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In the last two examples Qoheleth expands the basic better saying to add an explanation, which in the case of 7:3 at least is counter-intuitive (contrast Prov 15:13a: “A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance”), provoking the reader to evaluate the author’s gloomy advice even more deeply. My third point about Scott’s categories is that running through them is the literary repetition of specific sayings; in other words, the creation of doublets, either within a single collection (for example, Prov 10:1 // 15:20, 28:12 // 28:28) or in distinct collections (for example, 12:11 // 28:19, 24:23 // 28:21).21 The degree of repetition varies: There may be verbatim duplication of an entire saying; the same sentiment could be expressed in different words; or either the first or second line might be identical. Let us briefly take up each kind of repetition. An example of the first is Prov 16:25, which repeats verbatim 14:12 (“There is a way that seems right to a person // but its end is the way to death”). Related to such verbatim duplication is the restatement of an idea with different words, a sort of long-distance parallelism: Prov 16:2 All one’s ways may be pure in one’s own eyes, but the LORD weighs the spirit. Prov 21:2 All deeds are right in the sight of the doer, but the LORD weighs the heart. Similarly, two sayings can express similar ideas in different words: Prov 14:16 The wise are cautious and turn away from evil, but the fool throws off restraint and is careless. Prov 22:3 The clever see danger and hide; but the simple go on, and suffer for it. Finally in some doublets either the first or second line is identical. These doublets show a fair amount of diversity. Often, the first line is identical while the second differs. Sometimes this divergence is minimal: Prov 19:5 A false witness will not go unpunished, and a liar will not escape. 21

For a complete listing of doublets in the book of Proverbs and discussions see Daniel C. Snell, Twice-Told Proverbs and the Composition of the Book of Proverbs (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1993); Knut Martin Heim, Poetic Imagination in Proverbs: Variant Repetitions and the Nature of Poetry, BBRSup 4 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2012).

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Prov 19:9 A false witness will not go unpunished, and the liar will perish. Prov 10:1

A wise child makes a glad father, but a foolish child is a mother’s grief.

Prov 15:20 A wise child makes a glad father, but the foolish despise their mothers. Other times the second line is completely different, resulting in an entirely new conclusion: Prov 10:15 The wealth of the rich is their fortress; the poverty of the poor is their ruin. Prov 18:11 The wealth of the rich is their strong city; in their imagination it is like a high wall. The first of the preceding proverbs contrasts the rich and the poor whereas the second one questions the validity of the rich believing that their wealth will protect them. The following pair also differ: Prov 16:18 Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Prov 18:12 Before destruction one’s heart is haughty, but humility goes before honor. In this case the first example makes two statements about the proud and haughty whereas the second one contrasts the fate of the haughty and the humble. The divergence in the second line can even change an indicative sentence into a prohibition: Prov 11:13 A gossip goes about telling secrets, but one who is trustworthy in spirit keeps a confidence. Prov 20:19 A gossip reveals secrets; therefore do not associate with a babbler. Alternatively, the first line might differ while the second remains the same:

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Prov 13:14 The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life, so that one may avoid the snares of death. Prov 14:27 The fear of the LORD is a fountain of life so that one may avoid the snares of death. Prov 15:33 The fear of the LORD is instruction in wisdom, and humility goes before honor. Prov 18:12 Before destruction one’s heart is haughty, but humility goes before honor. From a diachronic perspective, such doublets constitute evidence of a lengthy compositional process in which sayings circulated in more than one context and were gradually incorporated into different collections that were eventually united to form the book of Proverbs as we now have it.22 More significantly, on a synchronic level, doublets have implications for the reader’s involvement in the learning process. Verbatim repetition and the restatement of ideas in similar words, especially alongside less complete repetition elsewhere, highlights the duplication and calls for an explanation that the reader has to provide. Why are these sayings reproduced completely when others are not? What in their content is worth such treatment? How and why is their teaching more significant than other sayings? At the same time, readers must take into account repetition with divergence. Why the divergence? Since different opening or closing lines relativize those sayings in their different literary locations, why is a saying appropriate in one context but not another? Clearly, if the content can be altered then it is not universally applicable – its applicability is ambiguous – and the ambiguity forces the reader to determine which version is applicable in concrete situations.23 Finally, à propos of the pedagogical value of ambiguity, such learning-oriented ambiguity is also present in Prov 26:4-5, although it is not a case of proverbial duplication. Here a prohibition is immediately followed by a contradictory admonition: Do not answer fools according to their folly, or you will be a fool yourself. 22 23

Cf. Snell, Twice-Told Proverbs, 10-14, 30-62; Heim, Poetic Imagination in Proverbs, 610-633. In other words, the sayings themselves do not provide any answers; they merely provoke the questions.

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Answer fools according to their folly, or they will be wise in their own eyes. This calls to mind modern aphorisms like “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” alongside “Out of sight out of mind” or “Look before you leap” while bearing in mind that “The one who hesitates is lost.” Which content, which wisdom, is intended? Obviously the situation determines the appropriate wisdom, and being able to determine the proper response to any situation is what characterizes an individual as wise. And the key to making that determination is experience, both one’s own and that of society, mutually interpreting each other, complementing and supplementing individual insights with collective experience and vice versa. In short, readers of Proverbs have to decide when and when not to “answer fools according to their folly,” and the juxtaposition of the two sayings in Proverbs 26 requires that they make that judgement. Yet another pedagogically significant type of ambiguity is created when the two lines of a proverb do not fully match each other as either synonymous or antithetical parallelism. These deviations from the norm should not simply be lumped together as “synthetic parallelism,” to use Bishop Lowth’s catchall term for whatever did not fit into his other two categories.24 Since the two lines of many proverbs are semantically balanced, the reader expects that to be the norm, and the exceptions stand out as intentional and call for an explanation. Michael V. Fox has already examined the phenomenon of what he calls “disjointed proverbs,” and I shall simply present two of his examples to illustrate the matter.25 Prov 13:5 The righteous man hates a deceitful word, but the wicked will be ashamed and disgraced. 24

25

See Robert Lowth, De sacra poesi Hebraeorum [Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews], Praelectiones academicae Oxonii habitae a Roberto Lowth A.M. Colegii Novi Nuper Socio, Et Poeticae Publico Praelectore. Subjicitur Metricae Harianae Brevis Confutatio: Et Oratio Crewiana (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1753); Robert Lowth, Isaiah. A New Translation: With a Preliminary Dissertation, and Notes Critical, Philological, and Explanatory (London: Printed by J. Nichols; for J. Dodsley, and T. Cadell, 1778). A critique of his taxonomy is found in James L. Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). Michael V. Fox, “The Rhetoric of Disjointed Proverbs,” JSOT 29/2 (2004): 165-177; Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 10-31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AncYB 18B (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 494-498. See also the discussions of “elliptical sayings” in Richard J. Clifford, “Your Attention Please! Heeding the Proverbs,” JSOT 29/2 (2004): 158159, and “imprecise parallelism” in Heim, Poetic Imagination in Proverbs, passim. The proverbs are cited according to Fox’s translation.

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The two halves of Prov 13:5 do not fully correspond to each other. While the righteous and wicked are standard polar opposites in the wisdom literature, the second part of each line is not antithetical. The first line presents an emotion directed against an abstract object while the second describes the negative consequence of some unspecified action. Fox solves the problem by providing a consequence in the first line that is the opposite of the consequence in the second line, plus an action in the second line in contrast to the emotional one in the first. The result is: The righteous man hates a deceitful word and will gain honor, but the wicked one loves a deceitful word and will be ashamed and disgraced. Another example is Prov 27:6: Prov 27:6 Faithful are the wounds (inflicted by) a friend, but profuse are the kisses of an enemy. Once again we have imprecise parallelism between the two halves of the saying. “Friend” and “enemy” are clearly opposite while “wounds” and “kisses” are approximately so. However, there is no apparent correlation between “faithful” and “profuse,” to say nothing of why numerous kisses are, in themselves, undesirable. But the problem is removed by elaborating the divergent nature of the wounds and kisses in keeping with the expected attitudes of a friend or an enemy: Faithful but few are the wounds (inflicted by) a friend, but profuse and treacherous are the kisses of an enemy. In both examples, the imprecise parallelism provokes a reader, in this case Fox, to consider why the two lines of each proverb do not cohere more precisely, and then supply additional material in order to produce a more satisfactory result. As Fox notes, by not making the two lines match more explicitly, the text challenges the reader do so, thereby engaging in the learning process itself and ultimately adding to the wisdom contained in the book of Proverbs.26 26

While Fox’s solutions to these and other examples are persuasive, they should not be considered definitive. Instead, subsequent readers should look for additional ways to come to terms with these and other “disjointed proverbs,” thereby continuing the learning process for themselves.

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Figures

According to Prov 1:6, the book will also help one understand “figures.”27 Three forms of figure can be included under this heading, two of which occur only once and twice respectively in Proverbs. The first is allegory, an extended metaphor in which there is a one-to-one correspondence between elements in the text and things outside of the text.28 In Prov 5:15-18a the cistern corresponds to a wife, as vv. 18b-20 makes clear (cf. Song 4:12, 15) while the water refers to sexual activity, which the addressee should draw from his own cistern (wife) while preventing others from enjoying it from that same source. A second form of “figure” in Proverbs is a didactic story that provides the basis for a moral.29 This form occurs in Prov 7:6-23 and 24:30-34. The first narrates the seduction of a young man and the second describes the decrepit property of a lazy person. Neither appeals to the speaker’s own experience but rather to what he has observed, followed by the lesson to be drawn from the story. A third, more frequent form of figure in Proverbs is the numerical saying, which involves a numerical progression, introduced with the formula x/x + 1.30 With one exception, this form is clustered in Prov 30 (vv. 5-16, 18-19, 21-23, 24-28, 29-31, plus Prov 6:16-19). The x/x + 1 sequence is also found in a number of other biblical books and elsewhere in the ancient Near East.31 Often they simply list incremental numbers in successive lines, without using the x/x + 1 formula. For example, Mic 5:4 (English v. 5) asserts that “seven shepherds” and “eight rulers” will defend against the invading Assyrians and Hos 6:2 hopes that “After two days he will revive us // on the third day he will raise us up.” Amos 1-2 does employ the x/x + 1 formula, castigating different nations “for three transgressions … and for four,” but with the exception of Israel he only mentions one 27

28 29 30

31

Thus the NRSV. The root lyṣ means “to scoff” and BDB, s.v., defines mĕlîṣâ as “satire, mocking poem,” with an alternative meaning of “figure, enigma.” The former does not fit the context of Prov 1:6. For the latter, cf. the hiphil participle mēlîṣ with the meaning “interpreter.” Philip Johannes Nel, “The Genres of Biblical Wisdom Literature,” JNSL 9 (1981): 132-133; Roland E. Murphy, Wisdom Literature: Job, Proverbs, Ruth, Canticles, Ecclesiastes, Esther, FOTL 13 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981), 172; Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom, 31. James L. Crenshaw, “Wisdom,” in Old Testament Form Criticism, ed. John Haralson Hayes, TUMSR 2 (San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1974), 261-262; Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom, 32; Murphy, Wisdom Literature, 176. On the form in general see Wolfgang M.W. Roth, “The Numerical Sequence x/x+1 in the Old Testament,” VT 12 (1962): 300-311; Wolfgang M.W. Roth, Numerical Sayings in the Old Testament, VT.S 13 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1965), passim; Georg Sauer, Die Sprüche Agurs: Untersuchungen zur Herkunft, Verbreitung und Bedeutungeiner biblishen Stilformunter besonderer Berücksichtugung von Proverbia c. 30, BWANT 5.4 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1963). See the lists (and discussion) in the works by Roth in the preceding note.

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transgression. The wisdom usage, however, enumerates individual elements up to the higher number. Moreover, the point is not just to list a number of things but to lead up to and emphasize the final element in the series, which often presents a surprising twist.32 Prov 30:18-19 exemplifies this: Three things are too wonderful for me Four I do not understand: the way of a bird in the sky the way of a serpent on a rock the way of a ship upon the sea the way of a man with a woman. The final line requires the reader to make a connection between the previously listed “way” of a bird, a serpent and a ship, and the “way” of a man and a woman. This reflects the didactic nature of the form, namely to correlate the items listed and make connections among apparently disparate things.33 Also, the unexpectedness of the last line shakes our presuppositions and forces us to think, but by leaving the conclusion to the reader the wisdom writers acknowledge the limitations of human wisdom.

Riddles34

Prov 1:6 promises assistance in understanding riddles, so it is surprising that there are none in the book.35 In fact, the only example of a riddle in the First Testament is Samson’s challenge to his Philistine wedding guests in Judg 14:14 (“Out of the eater came something to eat // Out of the strong came something sweet”). Scholars have sought to account for the lack of riddles in Proverbs by 32

33

34 35

The full form is found in other wisdom books at Job 5:17-27; Sir 25:7-11; 26:5-6, 28-29; 50:2526. The emphatic aspect of the final item is present to various degrees, most explicitly in Prov 6:19; 30:18-19, 29-31; Sir 25:7-11; 26:6-9, 28-29; 50:26. The Sirach texts in particular expound on the final item to varying lengths. Amos has adapted the climactic element of a wisdom form, but by naming only one transgression he does not use it as a wisdom form: John L. McLaughlin, “Is Amos (Still) Among the Wise?” JBL 133/2 (2014): 284-286. Scott, Proverbs. Ecclesiastes, 7 includes the numerical saying in his fifth proverb type, which “classifies and characterizes persons, actions, or situations,” although in keeping with the occasional crossover of categories noted earlier it also has affinities with his third category of “similarity, analogy, or type.” Murphy, Wisdom Literature, 181; Nel, “The Genres of Biblical Wisdom Literature,” 133-134; James L. Crenshaw, “Riddles,” AncBD 5, 721-723. Cf. Sir 39:3, which lists riddles as one of the characteristic concerns of the sage.

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explaining various texts as reconstructed riddles. One possibility is that riddles underlie numerical sayings, with the items corresponding to the x number constituting a question as to what else is like them, with the final x + 1 item providing the answer to the riddle.36 Thus our earlier example would be formulated instead as “What is like the way of a bird … a serpent … a ship …,” with the answer being “a man with a woman.” Another option is to formulate the opening lines as a question, for example, “What are three or four things that move but leave no trace?” with the next four lines providing the answer.37 If so, the numerical saying clearly has been developed by the sages, in that it does not just point out paradox in language but attempts to classify and categorize. In addition, there are a number of comparative sayings in Proverbs that present a shocking image that draws the reader or listener up short.38 The first part initially looks like a statement of what is contrary to right order, but closer examination indicates that it goes beyond this to raise a question: the absurdity of the image makes us ask, “What is this about?” Such sayings are often instances of directly juxtaposed lines without an explicit statement of comparison: Prov 11:22 A gold ring in a pig’s snout a beautiful woman without good sense. Prov 25:14 Clouds and wind without rain one who boasts of a gift never given. Intriguingly, if the first part of the saying is formulated as a riddle question, then the answer lies in the second part: Prov 11:22 What is like a gold ring in a pig’s snout? A beautiful woman without good sense. Prov 25:14 What is like clouds and wind without rain? One who boasts of a gift never given. This point is reinforced by the following examples, a straightforward sentence and a less explicit comparison of measurements: 36 37 38

Crenshaw, “Riddles,” 721. Contrast Hans-Peter Müller, “Der Begriff ‘Rätsel’ im Alten Testament,” VT 20 (1970): 465-469. Thus Harry Torcszyner, “The Riddle in the Bible,” HUCA 1 (1924): 135-136. See Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985), 175-179.

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A false balance is an abomination to the LORD, but an accurate weight is his delight.

Prov 20:10 Diverse weights and diverse measures both are an abomination to the LORD. But if the first line of the latter is cast as a question, it could serve as a riddle: Prov 20:10 How are diverse weights and diverse measures alike? both are an abomination to the LORD. Granted, the recasting of specific numerical sayings or proverbs as riddles is speculative, but at the very least the preceding examples do engage the reader or listener with the text in order to puzzle out the answer to the questions.

Summary

The basic data upon which the wisdom tradition reflects is human experience. Thus, the premise behind most of the sayings in Proverbs is that “this is the way things are, and this is the way the world works.” The reason the wisdom teachers can make such assertions is that they are transmitting the cumulative wisdom of the culture, built upon the collective experience of the larger society. This is the result of trial and error, such that “Good judgement comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgement.”39 Even when the sages do add motive clauses to support an explicit command to follow a certain course of action, that very line of argumentation is itself based on experience: “If you do x, y will happen” or “Do this so that you will reap this reward.” But more often it is a simple statement of cause and effect and the reader is left to draw a conclusion as to the proper course of action. The attitude of the wise, therefore, is that the truth of what they say is self-evident. But at the same time, if the basic principle of wisdom instruction is that insight is drawn from human experience then one must always be open to new insights coming from that source, including insights that are directly opposite to the “conventional wisdom.” This happens within the larger wisdom tradition itself. The Book of Job is a vehement protest against the standard wisdom doctrine of retribution that the good are always blessed and the wicked always 39

This saying has been attributed to numerous individuals, including Mark Twain and Will Rogers, but it goes back at least to Nasreddin, a thirteenth-century CE Seljuq Sufi.

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punished. Similarly, Qoheleth takes a rather cynical stance toward previous wisdom traditions, frequently turning established proverbial wisdom on its head. There is a secondary effect of this critical or engaging approach to wisdom, as well. It implicitly involves the reader or listener. It challenges us to reflect upon what has been said in order to decide whether or not it is correct, forcing us to examine individual sayings in order to determine whether or not they are consistent with our own experience. This draws us into the teaching process and transforms it into a learning process. The corollary to this is that we also check our experience against the saying. Does our own experience of a particular situation match the experience that underlies the saying? If it does not, why not? Perhaps there is something in my personal experience that makes it incompatible with a particular saying. If I compare the wisdom tradition with my own life experiences, I can either conclude that a specific saying is incorrect, at least in some cases such as my own, or it may be that my experience is inadequate and needs to be supplemented by the wisdom presented in a given saying. In one sense it doesn’t matter what conclusion I draw; what is far more important is that I have drawn it. I have entered into the process and in so doing I have integrated it into my own experience. I have done what the sages intended: I have learned wisdom.

Reference List

Alter, Robert. The Art of Biblical Poetry. New York: Basic Books, 1985. Clifford, Richard J. “Your Attention Please! Heeding the Proverbs.” JSOT 29/2 (2004): 55-163. Crenshaw, James L. Old Testament Wisdom: An Introduction. 3rd edition. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010. Crenshaw, James L. “Prolegomenon.” In Studies in Ancient Israelite Wisdom. Edited by James L. Crenshaw. New York: Ktav, 1976, 1-60. Crenshaw, James L. “Riddles.” AncBD 5, 721-723. Crenshaw, James L. “Wisdom.” In Old Testament Form Criticism. Edited by John Haralson Hayes. TUMSR 2. San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1974, 225-264. Fox, Michael V. Proverbs 10-31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. AncYB 18B. New York: Doubleday, 2000. Fox, Michael V. “The Rhetoric of Disjointed Proverbs.” JSOT 29/2 (2004): 165-177. Frost, Robert. “Mending Wall.” In North of Boston. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1917.

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Gese, Hartmut. Lehre und Wirklichkeit in der alten Weisheit: Studien zu den Spruchen Solomons und zu dem Buche Hiob. Tübingen: Mohr, 1958. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, Based on the Lexicon of William Gesenius as translated by Edward Robinson, Edited with constant reference to the Thesaurus of Gesenius as completed by E. Rodiger, and with authorized use of the latest German editions of Gesenius’ “Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament,” by Francis Brown, with the co-operation of S.R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979. Heim, Knut Martin. Poetic Imagination in Proverbs: Variant Repetitions and the Nature of Poetry. BBRSup 4. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2012. Kugel, James L. The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981. Lowth, Robert. De sacra poesi Hebraeorum [Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the He­ brews]. Praelectiones academicae Oxonii habitae a Roberto Lowth A.M. Colegii Novi Nuper Socio, Et Poeticae Publico Praelectore. Subjicitur Metricae Harianae Brevis Con­ futatio: Et Oratio Crewiana. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1753. Lowth, Robert. Isaiah. A New Translation: With a Preliminary Dissertation, and Notes Critical, Philological, and Explanatory. London: Printed by J. Nichols; for J. Dodsley, and T. Cadell, 1778. McLaughlin, John L. “Is Amos (Still) Among the Wise?” JBL 133/2 (2014): 281-303. Murphy, Roland E. Wisdom Literature: Job, Proverbs, Ruth, Canticles, Ecclesiastes, Esther. FOTL 13. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981. Müller, Hans-Peter. “Der Begriff ‘Rätsel’ im Alten Testament.” VT 20 (1970): 465-489. Nel, Philip Johannes. “Authority in the Wisdom Admonitions.” ZAW 93/3 (1981): 418- 426. Nel, Philip Johannes. “The Genres of Biblical Wisdom Literature.” JNSL 9 (1981): 129- 142. Nel, Philip Johannes. The Structure and Ethos of the Wisdom Admonitions in Proverbs. BZAW 158. Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1982. Preuss, Horst Dietrich. “Erwägungen zum theologischen Ort alttestamentlicher Weis­ heitsliteratur.” EvTh 30 (1970): 393-417. Preuss, Horst Dietrich. Old Testament Theology. Translated by Leo G. Perdue. OTL. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995-1996. Rad, Gerhard von. Old Testament Theology I: The Theology of Israel’s Historical Tradi­ tions. Translated by D.M.G. Stalker, with an introduction by Walter Brueggemann. New York: Harper & Row, 1962. Reprint, Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001. Rad, Gerhard von. Wisdom in Israel. Translated by James D. Martin. London: SCM, 1971. Reprint, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1988.

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Roth, Wolfgang M.W. Numerical Sayings in the Old Testament. VT.S 13. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1965. Roth, Wolfgang M.W. “The Numerical Sequence x/x+1 in the Old Testament.” VT 12 (1962): 300-311. Sauer, Georg. Die Sprüche Agurs: Untersuchungen zur Herkunft, Verbreitung und Bedeu­ tung einer biblishen Stilform unter besonderer Berücksichtugung von Proverbia c. 30. BWANT 5.4. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1963. Scobie, Charles H.H. “The Place of Wisdom in Biblical Theology.” BTB 14/2 (1984): 43-48. Scott, R.B.Y. Proverbs. Ecclesiastes: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. 2nd edition. AncB 18. Garden City: Doubleday, 1965. Scott, R.B.Y. The Way of Wisdom in the Old Testament. New York: Collier Books, 1971. Shakespeare, William. The Merchant of Venice, 1596. Skehan, Patrick W. Studies in Israelite Poetry and Wisdom. CBQ.MS 1. Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1971. Snell, Daniel C. Twice-Told Proverbs and the Composition of the Book of Proverbs. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1993. Torcszyner, Harry. “The Riddle in the Bible.” HUCA 1 (1924): 125-149. Wright, G. Ernest. God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital. SBT 8. London: SCM Press, 1952. Zimmerli, Walther. “Concerning the Structure of Old Testament Wisdom.” In Studies in Ancient Israelite Wisdom. Edited by James L. Crenshaw. New York: Ktav, 1976, 175- 199.

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Education in the Sacrospace of Qumran Judaism Wayne O. McCready

Place Studies and Qumran

In his book Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion, Thomas A. Tweed suggests that a theoretical critique of religions productively includes understanding religions as “organic-cultural flows” that cross boundaries and make homes.1 By framing religions through the metaphors of crossing boundaries and dwelling, Tweed proposes that this research strategy provides insight into certain features of religion as well as identifying how religions are studied. The insights include: (i) consideration of the movement of religions across time and space; (ii) the relationship of religions to each other; and (iii) engagement of sub-divisions within a religion. This research strategy also provides opportunity to identify the “positionality” of researchers who critique and study religions. That is, it identifies their methodological and theoretical frames of reference or “position” for investigating matters of religion. Tweed refers to a study of Western Apaches, entitled Wisdom Sits in Places that underscores how wisdom – religious, scholarly and otherwise – resides not only in a trajectory of authority and consensus but also in intellectual landscapes.2 Further, Tweed’s strategy of investigation argues that religions are essentially “sacrospaces,” that is, intellectual landscapes that move across time and space while leaving traces, transforming people and making places. He states the following: Sacrospaces, as I understand these religious confluences, are not static. They are not fixed, built environments – as the allusion to landscape might imply – although religions do transform the built environment.  Whatever else religions do, they move across time and space. They are not static. And they have effects. They leave traces. They leave trails. So this term, sacrospaces, invites scholars to attend to the multiple ways that 1 Thomas A. Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion (Cambridge / London: Harvard University Press, 2006), 26. See pp. 180-183 for comments regarding how theoretical strategies provide for “purposeful wandering” and “positioned sightings” by students of religions. 2 Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling, 54. He notes that an acceptable scholarly interpretation is always contested and contestable. It involves offering a plausible account within an accepted categorical scheme and within a particular professional setting with its scholarly idiom and role-specific obligations.

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religious flows have left traces, transforming people and places, the social arena and the natural terrain.3 One of Tweed’s strengths is to call attention to the inherent and dynamic tension between religions being fixed expressions of beliefs and practices that move across time and space, and being things that are fluid. The term “sacrospaces” is an attempt to frame an investigative context for dealing with religion or a specific religion. It accommodates fixity and fluidity with emphasis on the latter. A thesis of this study is that sacrospace is a productive research directive for characterizing Second Temple Judaism, as well as its specific expressions such as Qumran Judaism.4 Further still, Tweed calls attention to key metaphors that orient and help organize understandings of religions. He observes that “confluence” captures the dynamic of religion since it engages matters of network, systems, movement, migrancy and travel. As he puts it, “if this aquatic metaphor [flow] avoids essentializing religious tradition as static, isolated, and immutable substances, and so moves toward more satisfying answers to questions about how religions relate to one another and transform each other through contact, it also allows a preliminary answer to the question about how religion relates to economy, society and politics.”5 Tweed contends that religions involve spatial practices; they map symbolic landscapes and construct symbolic dwellings. While there is substantial strength in his metaphorical emphasis, I am inclined to understand that place is more than a useful orienting metaphor. I follow Jeff Malpas, Edward Casey, Robert Sack and Tim Cresswell, among others, in believing that humans cannot construct meaning and communities of consequence without first being quite literally “in place.”6 Place is an experiential fact, a deeply metaphysical factor with conceptual and practice-based consequences. In his essay, “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Stretch of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” Edward Casey makes an essential observation about the primacy of place as an experiential fact of human existence: 3 Ibid., 61-62. 4 Tweed’s Crossing and Dwelling (see pp. 16-19) has to do with locating theory and theorists of religion with a particular emphasis that all theorists are “situated.” 5 Ibid., 60. 6 See Jeff E. Malpas, Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography (Cambridge / New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Robert David Sack, Homo Geographicus: A Framework for Action, Awareness and Moral Concern (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997); Edward S. Casey, The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997); and Tim Cresswell, Place: A Short Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004).

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Given that we are never without perception, the existence of this dialectic [the dialectic of perception and place: place is sensed and senses are placed] means that we are never without emplaced experiences. It sig­ nifies as well that we are not only in places but also of them. Human beings – along with other entities on earth – are ineluctably place-bound. More even than earthlings, we are placelings, and our very perceptual apparatus, our sensing body, reflects the kinds of places we inhabit.7 Tweed’s idea of religion as a sacrospace underscores the fluidity of Second Temple Judaism, as laypersons (for example, Pharisees and the Jesus movement) challenged priestly authorities, priests challenged priests (Hasmonean versus Zadokite), new and engaging religious expressions were given a wide range of application and experimentation in the spirit of Graeco-Roman Hellenism,8 innovative biblical interpretations gained currency among cohorts of Jews like the Qumranites, and traditional religious centres were recast through patron ventures such as the Herodian expansion of the Jerusalem Temple. Sacrospace also acknowledges the traditional, fixed expressions of Second Temple Judaism located in sacrificial rituals, the primacy of inherited Scriptures, as well as the central role of the home and the emerging synagogue as the educational and mentoring base of Judaism.9 Characterizing religions as not being fixed or static is consistent with place studies research. Located in such disciplinary contexts as cultural geography, anthropology, sociology, philosophy and religious studies, place studies research provides opportunity to affirm that place is a useful directive for understanding turn-of-the-Common Era Judaism with particular reference to movement, relationships and “positionality” of research.10 7

8 9

10

Edward S. Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Period of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” in Senses of Place, ed. Steven Feld / Keith H. Basso, SARAS (Santa Fe: School of American Research, 1996), 14-51, esp. 19. The square brackets highlight my qualification. See Ian W. Scott, “Epistemology and Social Conflict in Jubilees and Aristeas,” in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second-Temple Judaism, ed. Wayne O. McCready / Adele Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 195-213. See E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 bce-66 ce (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992), and E.P. Sanders, “Common Judaism Explored,” in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second-Temple Judaism, ed. Wayne O. McCready / Adele Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 11-23. For studies on space and place by humanistic geographers and philosophers, see Yi-Fu Tuan, Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes, and Values (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1974); Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977); Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991); Edward Relph, Place and

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Doreen Massey in her book For Space suggests three “propositions” that provide insight into a deeper understanding of place. The first proposition is that place is the product of relationships. The second proposition is that place is the sphere of multiplicity or plurality that is mutually creative and dynamic. Lastly, she proposes that place is always under construction. That is to say, because place is a product of relations, it is never finished.11 Massey’s three propositions regarding place provide helpful insight into an understanding of religion that emphasizes the primacy of relationship, the capacity to accommodate multiplicity as well as plurality, and certainly religious traditions and practices that are “under construction.” Characterizing religions as sacrospaces is especially productive for understanding turn-of-the-Common Era Judaism.12 This essay, with a particular and limited focus on the Community Rule, will address ways in which training or education at Qumran demonstrates a spatial awareness; it will show how spatial awareness was embedded in the study routine and regime outlined in the Community Rule (1QS). Let us begin by considering how 1QS illustrates Massey’s three propositions. First, the Qumran community was built upon interpersonal relationships.13 Devotees

11 12 13

Placeness, RPD 1 (London: Pion, 1976); Edward W. Soja, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory, Haym (London: Verso, 1988); and J. Nicholas Entriken, The Betweenness of Place: Towards a Geography of Modernity (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991). Consider also Mike Crang / Nigel Thrift, ed., Thinking Space (London: Routledge, 2000); Eleanor Kaufman / Kevin Jon Heller, ed., Deleuze and Guattari: New Mappings in Politics, Philosophy and Culture (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998); Iain Chambers, Migrancy, Culture, Identity, ComB (London / New York: Routledge, 1994); Sam Gill, “Territory,” in Critical Terms for Religious Studies, ed. Mark C. Taylor (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 298-313; Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual, CSHJ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); and Ronald L. Grimes, “Jonathan Z. Smith’s Theory of Ritual Space,” Religion 29/3 (1999): 261273. Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), 9. See also Doreen Massey, Space, Place and Gender (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994). See Wayne O. McCready, “The Practice of Place by the Qumran Community,” in Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection, ed. Peter W. Flint / Jean Duhaime / Kyung S. Baek, EJL 30 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 287-302. While this study works from the understanding that the yahad need not be confined to one particular locale, it believes there was an identifiable cohort of Jews, practicing a common expression of religion and holding common views, that constitutes a “covenant community.” See the introductory sections of columns 1, 5, and 8 of 1QS. Regarding the view that Qumranites lived in multiple settings see Robert Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time: A Virtual Reconstruction of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls, BT 1 (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2009); John J. Collins, “The Yahad and ‘The Qumran Community’,” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb, ed. Charlotte Hempel / Judith M. Lieu, JSJ.S 111 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 81-96; John J. Collins, “Forms of Community in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and

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fostered a “covenant of friendship”14 that was definitive for establishing community. Consider 1QS 1:7b-9a: All who dedicate themselves to do God’s ordinances shall be brought into the covenant of friendship, to be united [or, to become a community] in God’s counsel, and to walk before Him perfectly [in] all things that are revealed according to their appointed seasons (1QS 1:7b-9a, trans. Brownlee).15 Second, in Qumran, religious education involved engaging diversity, as people from different backgrounds dealt with a range of new perspectives (Massey’s second proposition of multiplicity). Third, a serious student at Qumran quick-

14

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Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov, ed. Shalom M. Paul et al., VT.S 94 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003), 97-111; Eyal Regev, “The ‘Yahad’ and the ‘Damascus Covenant’: Structure, Organization, and Relationship,” RdQ 21 (2003): 233-262; Alison Schofield, From Qumran to the Yahad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for the Community Rule, StTDJ 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Florentino García Martínez, “The Great Battles over Qumran,” NEA 63/3 (2000): 124-130; Yizhar Hirschfeld, Qumran in Context: Reassessing the Archaeological Evidence (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2004). Also, see Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community, CCWJCW 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Concerning Identity and Community at Qumran, StTDJ 52 (Lei­ den / Boston: Brill, 2004); Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation, JSJ.S 55 (Leiden / New York: Brill, 1997); Charlotte Hempel, “Community Structures in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Admission, Organization, Disciplinary Procedures,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, ed. Peter Flint / James C. VanderKam, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 67-92; Moshe Weinfeld, The Organizational Pattern and the Penal Code of the Qumran Sect: A Comparison with Guilds and Religious Associations of the Hellenistic-Roman Period, NTOA 2 (Göttingen: Van­ denhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986); Sarianna Metso, “Qumran Community Structure and Ter­ minology as Theological Statement,” RdQ 20 (2002): 429-444; Shemaryahu Talmon, “The Com­munity of the Renewed Covenant: Between Judaism and Christianity,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Eugene Ulrich / James C. VanderKam, CJA 10 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1996), 3-24. See Wayne O. McCready, “Friendship and Second Temple Jewish Sectarianism,” in Text and Artifact in the Religions of Mediterranean Antiquity: Essays in Honour of Peter Richardson, ed. Stephen G. Wilson / Michel Desjardins, SCJud 9 (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2000), 402-422; see also McCready, “The Practice of Place,” 297-300. This translation follows William H. Brownlee, The Dead Sea Manual of Discipline, BASOR.S 10-12 (New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1951), with particular reference to Appendix B (“The Meaning of Hesed and Its Importance for DSD,” 48-49). The primary textual reference for this study is the Community Rule (1QS), that is, a composite document reflecting a series of modifications and variant readings from Caves 4 and 5. For the sake of convenience, translations follow Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English, 4th ed. (London: Penguin, 1995), unless indicated otherwise.

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ly understood that being a part of the community was “under construction” or ongoing (Massey’s third proposition). Strikingly, the Community Rule confirms Massey’s second and third propositions: Every man, born of Israel, who freely pledges himself to join the Council of the Community shall be examined by the Guardian at the head of the Congregation concerning his understanding and his deeds. If he is fitted to the discipline, he shall admit him into the Covenant that he may be converted to the truth and depart from all injustice; and he shall instruct him in all the rules of the Community. And later, when he comes to stand before the Congregation, they shall all deliberate his case, and according to the decision of the Council of the Congregation he shall either enter or depart (1QS 6:13b-16a [trans. Vermes]). Religious learning at Qumran hence illustrates the dynamics of place. But it does more: Significantly, physical or material place is a key component of religious education. And at Qumran, the community’s physical separation from the larger society, with deliberate boundaries of distinction, was a primary requirement.16 As 1QS puts it: They shall separate from the congregation of the men of injustice and shall unite, with respect to the Law and possessions, under the authority of the sons of Zadok, the Priests who keep the Covenant, and of the multitude of the men of the Community who hold fast to the Covenant. Every decision concerning doctrine, property, and justice shall be determined by them (1QS 5:1b-4a [trans. Vermes]). A “place” based principle of separation from the larger society encouraged Qumranites to construct spatial and imagined “crossing and dwelling” points that influenced their religious views and practices. To put it another way, religious study of the Law, and Qumranite covenantal interpretations of the Law, separated those viewed to be righteous from the unrighteous.17 Finally, to 16

17

See Knibb, The Qumran Community, 109, for comments on how separation from outsiders had to do with appropriating, at a community level, ritual-biblical expectations for priests and levites. Also see Sarianna Metso, “Creating Community Halakah,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint: Presented to Eugene Ulrich, ed. Peter W. Flint / Emanuel Tov / James C. VanderKam, VT.S 101 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2006), 279-301. The point is further illustrated by 1QS’ statement, “And he shall undertake by the Covenant to separate from all the men of injustice who walk in the way of wickedness (1QS 5:10b-11a [trans. Vermes]).”

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return to place as the sphere of multiplicity: The Qumran community encompassed a great range of exegetical literature. At Qumran the texts of the ancestors were multivalent. As Shaye Cohen observes, both Jews and Greeks of the Hellenistic period realized that they were living in a postclassical age, and that the greatest expressions of their national literatures had already been written; accordingly they collected and treasured the works of early generations. But Cohen also makes the important observation that even as Second Temple Jews declared their loyalty to Scripture, they also “liberated themselves from it” and engaged in creative interpretation. For these Jews, Scripture conveyed various meanings, and this understanding gave Second Temple Judaism a prolonged burst of religiously creative energy that was formative for Western religions.18 According to the Community Rule, He [the initiate] shall undertake by a binding oath to return with all his heart and soul to every commandment of the Law of Moses in accordance with all that has been revealed of it to the sons of Zadok, the Priests, Keepers of the Covenant and Seekers of His will (1QS 5:8b-9a [trans. Vermes]). The sheer volume of biblical interpretations evident in the Qumran scrolls is solid evidence of this creative and innovative circumstance that largely was a product of the scribal, study and educational regime of the community that sustained itself over multiple decades.19 In all, there is an emerging consensus that the Qumran scrolls demonstrate a significant degree of multiplicity and 18

19

Shaye J.D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, LEC 7 (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1987), 178-213, esp. 193. Morton Smith, “The Dead Sea Sect in Relation to Ancient Judaism,” NTS 7 (1960-1961): 347-360, esp. 353, pointed out that one of the features of a Scripture-based religion is that texts deemed “Scripture” cannot be the property of the religious elite only. In Second Temple Judaism, Scripture was accessible to laypeople who studied it regularly in the synagogue. Ordinary people were responsible for knowing and observing the law in their private lives. Smith notes, for example, that in the Second Temple period, laypeople claimed to be better informed about purity laws than the Temple priesthood, on the basis of both knowledge and interpretation of Scripture. See the essays in Texts, Thought, and Practice in Qumran and Early Christianity: Proceedings of Ninth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, Jointly Sponsored by the Hebrew University Centre for the Study of Christianity, 11-13 January, 2004, ed. Ruth A. Clements / Daniel R. Schwartz, StTDJ 84 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2009), as well as Sarianna Metso, “Biblical Quotations in the Community Rule,” in The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries, ed. Edward D. Herbert / Emanuel Tov (London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2002), 81-92; and Sarianna Metso, The Serekh Texts, CQS 9/LSTS 7 (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 41-50. Also see Charlotte Hempel, “Interpretative Authority in the Commu-

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plurality of practice. Such characteristics are constitutive of places, and have left traces for scholarship to investigate.20

Materiality, Meaning and Practice

Just as history was a highly influential intellectual force of the nineteenth century that left a theoretical legacy into the twentieth century, the contemporary intellectual period is increasingly interested in place studies, and this interest will have its own impact on the twenty-first-century academy. In the literature, place is understood as a primary basis for human experience, a deeply metaphysical factor with practiced and expressive consequences. That is, people cannot construct a society without first being “in place.” It is how they know the world about them, and it frames their understanding of how best to engage that world.21 Tim Cresswell says it well in his book Place: A Short Introduction: Place is a kind of ‘necessary social construction’ – something we have to construct in order to be human. It [place] is a construction of humanity but a necessary one – one that human life is impossible to conceive of without.22 Place is a basic, experiential fact of human existence. It is a way of seeing, knowing and understanding the world. This observation is insightful for understanding turn-of-the-Common Era Judaism. Place was formative for Temple worship, as a frame of reference for political and social engagement, and certainly for those involved with religious parties and sects.23

20

21 22 23

nity Rule Tradition,” DSD 10/1 (2003): 59-80, and Geza Vermes, “Biblical Proof-Texts in Qumran Literature,” JSSt 34/2 (1989): 493-508. Also, as Massey suggests about place, the Qumran scrolls reflect a religiosity in Second Temple Judaism that was “under construction.” The richness of contemporary Qumran scholarship is reflected in its capacity to acknowledge, accept and work with the fluidity principle from the turn of the Common Era. See Jeff E. Malpas, Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Sack, Homo Geographicus; and Casey, The Fate of Place. Cresswell, Place, 33. See Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, 104-123; Shemaryahu Talmon, “The ‘Desert Motif’ in the Bible and in Qumran Literature,” in Biblical Motifs: Origins and Transformations, ed. Alexander Altmann, STLI (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), 31-63; and Jacques van Ruiten / J. Cornelis de Vos, ed., The Land of Israel in Bible, History, and Theology: Studies in Honour of Ed Noort, VT.S 124 (Leiden: Brill, 2009).

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Echoing Cresswell’s insight, Edward Casey in his publications on the primacy of place notes that humans are never without “emplaced experiences.”24 Humans are not only in places but also of places. For Casey, humans along with other species are profoundly place-bound. More even than earthlings, they are what he calls “placelings.” Place is the most influential form of embodied experience – the focal point for matters of self, space and time. Highly important for our study is a nuanced essay by Cresswell and Gareth Hoskins, in which they examine the erstwhile United States immigration station of Angel Island.25 Located in San Francisco Bay, Angel Island was successfully determined by the government to be historic while another former immigration station, on Maxwell Street in Chicago, was not.26 Significantly, Cresswell and Hoskins idenfity three principles that affirm place as worthy of historical preservation: materiality, meaning and practice.27 Place typically has a certain materiality (tangible features that give place its form) as well as a less concrete aspect which invites making meaning. These two factors, materiality and meaning, always merge to define a particular location. Additionally, place is usually defined by a range of practices and performances. If we think of Qumran from this perspective then khirbet Qumran’s various material, built and natural environments have meaning that for some researchers is accessible in the Qumran scrolls.28 Moreover, David Seamon 24

25

26

27 28

Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place,” 14-51, esp. 19. Also see Edward Casey, Getting Back into Place: Toward a Renewed Understanding of the Place-World, StCT (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), and John A. Agnew / James S. Duncan, The Power of Place: Bringing Together Geographical and Sociological Imaginations (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1989). Cresswell and Hoskins published an insightful journal article in the 2008 edition of the Annals of the Association of American Geographers that had to do with how each of those historic sites were reviewed by the National Register of Historic Places (the government body that determines historic places or National Landmarks in the United States). Tim Cresswell / Gareth Hoskins, “Place, Persistence, and Practice: Evaluating Historical Significance at Angel Island, San Francisco, and Maxwell Street, Chicago,” AAAG 98/2 (2008): 392-413. An immigration station was built on Angel Island in 1908 and operated during 1910-1940. Maxwell Street and the surrounding area in Chicago have played an important role for new immigrants from the 1870s to the 1990s. In its heyday, it was the largest outdoor market in the United States. Cresswell / Hoskins, “Place, Persistence and Practice,” 394. In ibid., 394, Cresswell and Hoskins suggest that the dynamic of materiality and meaning are expressed in practice and performance. That is, place needs to be experienced. Place and place-making are lived matters. This study works from the position that there is a middle ground between understanding khirbet Qumran as an ancient fort or some variant that is non-sectarian, and understanding it as a settlement with some connection to the scrolls found in the nearly caves. See Cargill, Qumran through (Real) Time. See also Jean-

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proposes that when time-space routines are combined with a particular location, this circumstance evokes a “place-ballet” that creates a particularly strong sense of attachment, communal commitment and allegiance.29 Significantly, Seamon’s place-ballet idea provides solid insight into segments of the Community Rule, especially 1:11b-12; 5:1-7; 6:8b-23; 7:19b-25; and 8:10b-16a, where the initiate’s training in a particular place – the Community of God – had covanental implications: These are the ways in which all of them shall walk, each man with his companion, wherever they dwell. The man of lesser rank shall obey the greater in matters of work and money. They shall eat in common and bless in common and deliberate in common. Wherever there are ten men of the Council of the Community there shall not lack a Priest among them. And they shall all sit before him according to their rank and shall be asked their counsel in all things in that order. And when the table has been prepared for eating, and the new wine for drinking, the Priest shall be the first to stretch out his hand to bless the firstfruits of the bread and new wine. And where the ten are, there shall never lack a man among

29

Baptiste Humbert / Alain Chambon, The Excavations of Khirbet Qumran and Ain Feshkha: Synthesis of Roland de Vaux’s Field Notes, trans. Stephen J. Pfann, NTOASA 1B (Fribourg: University Press; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003). Consider also Roland de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973); Philip R. Davies, Qumran, CBW (Guildford: Lutterworth Press, 1982); Jean-Baptiste Humbert, “L’espace sacré à Qumrân: Propositions pour l’archéologie (Planches I-III),” RB 101/2 (1994): 161-214; Kenneth Lönnqvist / Minna Lönnqvist, “Spatial Approach to the Ruins of Khirbet Qumran at the Dead Sea,” IAPRSSIS 35/5 (2004): 558-563; and Joan Taylor, “Khirbet Qumran in the Nineteenth Century and the Name of the Site,” PEQ 134/2 (2002): 144164. Also, see Izchak Magen / Yuval Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993-2004: Preliminary Report, JSP 6 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2007); Norman Golb, Who Wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls? The Search for the Secret of Qumran (New York: Scribner, 1995); and Hirschfeld, Qumran in Context. Magen and Peleg believe that the settlement eventually became a pottery-making centre after functioning as a military post during the Hasmonean era. For counter views regarding a fortress, see García Martínez, “The Great Battles over Qumran,” 124-130; Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls, SDSSRL (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002); and Jodi Magness, “Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Review Article,” RdQ 23 (2007): 641-664. See David Seamon, “Body-Subject, Time-Space Routines, and Place Ballets,” in The Human Experience of Space and Place, ed. Anne Buttimer / David Seamon (London: Croom Helm, 1980), 148-165. Consider also Allan Pred, “Place as Historically Contingent Process: Structuration and the Time-Geography of Becoming Places,” AAAG 74/2 (1984): 279-297, and Allan Pred, “Geographies of Identity and Difference: Marking Boundaries,” in Human Geography Today, ed. Doreen Massey / John Allen / Phillip Sarre (Cambridge: Polity, 1999), 151-168.

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them who shall study the Law continually, day and night, concerning the right conduct of a man with his companion. And the Congregation shall watch in community for a third of every night of the year, to read the Book and to study the Law and to bless together (1QS 6:3-8a [trans. Vermes]). Seamon’s idea of the profound linkage of attachment, communal commitment and communal allegiance in a kind of place-ballet is well demonstrated by this text, and is confirmed in 1QS 2:19-25 and 6:8b-23, having to do with rank ordered activities among the Qumranites, each one “sitting in their own place” (6:8b). Social movement theory suggests there are two primary characteristics in emerging social movements, namely (i) a network of interactions involving a plurality of individuals and groups deliberately engaged in the network to effect a consequence, and (ii) a collective identity that springs from the connectivity of the network.30 These two features are well demonstrated in segments of the Community Rule cited above (5:1-4a and 6:8b-10a). The point to be underscored is the role of place for seeing, knowing and understanding the world conceived by the Qumranites: place was the essential factor for meaning- making. There is a creative tension between the fixed materiality of place and the experiential fluidity of place that in religion frequently is expressed in what Tweed refers to as “organic-cultural flows” that cross boundaries and find dwellings. Edward Casey argues that the ways in which place links material objects to immaterial feelings and experiences makes it an ideal context for inspiring imagination, memory and insightful reflection. He states the following regarding memory: It is the stabilizing persistence of place as a container of experiences that contributes so powerfully to its intrinsic memorability [capacity to cultivate memory]. An alert and alive memory connects spontaneously with place, finding in it features that favor and parallel its own activities. We might even say that memory is naturally place-oriented or at least placesupported.31 30 31

Mario Diani, “The Concept of Social Movement,” in Civil Societies and Social Movements: Domestic, Transnational, Global, ed. Ronnie D. Lipschutz, LEIR (Aldershot / Burlington: Ashgate, 2006), 129-153. Edward S. Casey, Remembering: A Phenomenological Study, SPEP (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987). Bracketed material reflects my emphasis.

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The “stabilizing persistence” of place, as Casey understands it, refers to the fact that places are characterized by both fluidity and fixation.32 And it is this “multiplicity proposition,” a term coined by Doreen Massey, which is constitutive and creative for placeness. Consider an airport as a “place.” On the one hand, this place is fixed. But on the other hand, its meaning and consequence also involves the ebb and flow of arriving and departing aircraft, passengers, staff and support services. In short, places are a complicated mixture of fixity and flow, stability and change. Significantly, 1QS 6 and 7:19b-25 indicates this complex nature of a place and its consequences. Now this is the procedure for a session of the Many, each in his assigned position: the priests shall sit down first; and the elders, second; then the rest of all the people shall sit down, each in his own position. And in that order they shall be asked with regard to judgement and any counsel or matter which concerns the Many, each presenting on request his knowledge at the Council of the Community (1QS 6:8b-10a [trans. Brownlee]). The roles of materiality, meaning and practice emerge here together in the place of the session of the Many. On the one hand, the session contains several places that are rigidly fixed; members are asked for their wisdom in a structured hierarchy. But on the other hand, these very places are also defined by the offering of opinion and by consensus (likely a consequence of study-shifts throughout the night that frame admission for new initiates); the places are defined, that is, by evolving and fluid processes of community judgement, counsel and meaning-making.33

32 33

Cresswell / Hoskins, “Place, Persistence and Practice,” 395. The power of place seems to be found in its capacity to invite and compel engagement; see Casey, Remembering: A Phenomenological Study, and Dolores Hayden, The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes as Public History (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995). One way that place compels engagement is through the interaction of material structure, representation and practice. Places are not simply things to look at. They provide a context for living. This interaction between place and practice makes them particularly powerful ideological tools as they link the things that are represented by the material structure of place to the often less conscious realm of practice. This also makes them powerful repositories of memories that can be reactivated through embodied practice.

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Education in the Sacrospace of Qumran Judaism

Edward Casey’s thesis that humans are never without “emplaced experiences” – that they are not only in places but also of places – was never more true than for those ancient Jews who wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls. Essential to this essay is that such emplaced experiences were primarily educational experiences. In the case of Qumran, the sacrospace or intellectual landscape that shaped people consisted largely of education: of a pledge to study Scripture, to interpret Scripture within a certain sectarian tradition, and deliberately and consciously to perfect a particular lifestyle. Consider 1QS 8:12b-16a, in which educational commitment involving a full-time life style of study had positive moral consequences not only for the individual but also for the larger society. And when these exist as a community in Israel in compliance with these arrangements they are to be segregated from within the dwelling of men of sin to walk to the desert in order to open there His path. As it is written: «In the desert, prepare the way of ****, straighten in the steppe a roadway for our God». This is the study of the law which he commanded through the hand of Moses, in order to act in compliance with all that has been revealed from age to age, and according to what the prophets have revealed through his holy spirit (1QS 8:12b-16a [trans. Martínez]).34 Education at the turn of the Common Era, in Judaism and in the larger GrecoRoman world, entailed character development based on the ways of the ancestors and inherited traditions. The Latin educatio referred less to intellectual development and more to what the modern would understand as character development and behaviour formation. A person who was bene educatus was not necessarily one who was “well-educated” – that person would be understood as eruditus – but one who was “well-brought up.”35 The education of the 34

35

Florentino García Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated: The Qumran Texts in English (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994), 12. See George J. Brooke, “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community,” in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992, ed. George J. Brooke, StTDJ 15 (Leiden / New York / Köln: Brill, 1994), 117-132. Also, see George J. Brooke, Isaiah at Qumran: Updating W.H. Brownlee’s The Meaning of the Qumrân Scrolls for the Bible, IACOP 46 (Claremont: Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, 2004), and James H. Charlesworth, “Intertextuality: Isaiah 40:3 and the Serek ha-Yahad,” in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders, ed. Craig A. Evans / Shemaryahu Talmon, BIS 28 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 197-224. Stanley F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977), xi; see also Henri I. Marrou,

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Qumranites was very much in the vein of character development and behaviour formation, although of course one cannot discount the scribal techniques and text copying skills that were part of this education. I believe that the strong emphasis on moral outcomes is an essential part of the Qumran sacrospace or landscape. A regular statement in the Community Rule is that study and skilled interpretation of Scripture will result in the “perfection of the ways” that involved character development to be reviewed and examined on a regular basis. As we see in 1QS 1:1-6a, members of Qumran who dedicated themselves to the community covenant are “to do what is good and right” before God. Striving to do what is good and right resulted in “the practice” of truth, righteousness and justice (1QS 1:5). Qumran devotees formed a “covenant of friendship” (1:8) that cultivated love and a spiritual bond between fellow devotees. Make no mistake, Qumran moral development had harsh reviews toward those outside of the community (they were to hate all that was rejected by God [1:4-5]). However, their moral development internal to the community included “the practice” of truth, humility, justice, uprightness, charity and modesty (5:3-5). Membership at Qumran meant adhering to and practicing a code of behaviour (5:7-8), understood as a covenant of God unique to the Qumran community. This code of behaviour distinguished Qumranites from those outside of the community. Critically, it also emerged from the sacrospace of sectarian education. It cautioned against anger expressed toward fellow members that could result in penance and in exclusion from the common meal of the community (7:3-4). It cautioned against deliberately lying and deceiving, as well as against not caring for one’s companion or the common property of the community (1QS 5-10). Lastly, the moral and character development of the Qumranites looked forward to atoning for the limitations of the larger society through the sacrospace of education. Moreover, in Qumran, a sacrospace – in this case the very study regime – now replaced the material place of sacrificial worship in Jerusalem. To be sure, Qumran’s educational regime did not afford an easy lifestyle. Devotees were expected to aspire toward perfection (1QS 1:8b-9a), the two-year initiation rights were demanding both in regard to intellectual rigour and lifestyle commitments (6:14-23), and people were examined regularly and so experienced either promotion or demotion, validated in seating assignments for communal meals and communal deliberations (5:23-25, 6:2-4). Devotees read and expounded on Scripture and sectarian interpretation of Scripture in nightly A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. George Lamb (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1956); Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds, CCS (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); M.L. Clarke, Higher Education in the Ancient World (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1971).

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eight-hour shifts (6:7b-8a) and they were deliberately and consciously to separate from the larger society (5:8-10). Indeed, they were expected to bring all their knowledge, powers and possessions into the collective good of their sectarian community (1:11-14). Given the seriousness of education and its moral consequences, the educational commitment of the Qumranite community was understood as co-equal to the physical place of the Jerusalem Temple. 1QS well expresses the seriousness of education: The men of the Community shall be set apart as a house of holiness for Aaron, being united [so as to constitute] a holy of holies and a house of Community for the Israel(ites) who walk in perfection. Only the sons of Aaron shall have authority in matters of law and property, and according to their judgement the decision shall be reached in regard to every rule of the men of the Community and [in regard to all] the property of the holy men who walk in perfection. Their property shall not be intermingled with the property of the men of deceit who have not cleansed their way by separating themselves from perversity and by walking in perfection of way (1QS 9:6-9 [trans. Brownlee]). Crossing over and dwelling (to cite Tweed’s metaphors) involved deliberate separation from the larger society that was not an end unto itself. Rather, separating from the larger society opened a new religious direction for Qumran devotees that was understood to be co-equal, if not to exceed, the Jerusalem Temple as a holy of holies. Recall Shaye Cohen’s observation that dissent groups from the priestly regime at Jerusalem claimed to be better informed about purity laws than the Temple priesthood on the basis of their knowledge and interpretation of Scripture. In other words, the dissenters asserted an intellectual superiority to the Jerusalem elites in charge of the Jerusalem sacrificial system. Indeed, the educational regime of the Qumranites was understood as a form of religious perfection that was held to high standards through a rigorous initiation period; regular as well as constant examination in a hierarchical structured network that had consequence for the individual devotee (perfect and scrupulous obedience to liturgical observances and scriptural interpretations, as well as proficiency in the knowledge of “two spirits” in which all people “walk” [1QS 3:13-4:26]); and consequence for the Qumran community (love toward one another; shared knowledge, power and possessions), while the structured network atoned for the land (8:6). Here I underscore that the alternative offered by the dissenting priests to the sacrificial system in

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Jerusalem was not a different physical or material place of sacrifices.36 Rather, they sought to challenge the Jerusalem sacrificial system with its impressive Herodian architecture with a regime of an educational or study sacrospace.37 Note how below, the Community Rule emphasizes the practice of truth, righteousness and justice as a consequence of training – of a sacrospace – and underscores how that sacrospace moves humanity toward moral consequences. [These are the ordinances] for [the whole assembly, including children and women to live in the ord]er of the Community; to seek God [in His ordinances, dedicating themselves in Community to do what is good and right before Him as He commanded through Moses and through all his servants, the prophets; and to love everything that He has chosen, and to hate everything that He has rejected; to keep far from every evil and to cling to every good deed; and to practice truth and righteousness and justice in the land (1QS 1:1-6a [trans. Brownlee]). To conclude, “place” is not merely physical; physicality is but one component of place. Certain places involve meaning-making and practice that create an intellectual landscape, a sacrospace. In the sacrospace that constituted Qumran Judaism, education was an essential and morally transformative component.

Reference List

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See Wayne O. McCready, “Pilgrimage, Place and Meaning Making by Jews in Greco-Roman Egypt,” in Travel and Religion in Antiquity, ed. Philip A. Harland, SCJud 21 (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011), 69-81, for a discussion on Elephantine as an alternative “place” of pilgrimage and sacrificial worship for ancient Judaism. See Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 47-140, for a comprehensive discussion of the vitality of the Jerusalem Temple systems and the role of Temple officials at the turn of the Common Era.

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Brooke, George J. “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community.” In New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992. Edited by George J. Brooke. StTDJ 15. Leiden / New York / Köln: Brill, 1994, 117-132. Brooke, George J. Isaiah at Qumran: Updating W.H. Brownlee’s The Meaning of the Qumrân Scrolls for the Bible. IACOP 46. Claremont: Institute for Antiquity and Chris­ tianity, 2004. Brownlee, William H. The Dead Sea Manual of Discipline. BASOR.S 10-12. New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1951. Cargill, Robert. Qumran through (Real) Time: A Virtual Reconstruction of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. BT 1. Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2009. Casey, Edward S. The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Casey, Edward S. Getting Back into Place: Toward a Renewed Understanding of the PlaceWorld. StCT. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993. Casey, Edward S. “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Period of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena.” In Senses of Place. Edited by Steven Feld / Keith H. Basso. SARAS. Santa Fe: School of American Research, 1996, 14-51. Casey, Edward S. Remembering: A Phenomenological Study, SPEP. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987. Chambers, Iain. Migrancy, Culture, Identity. ComB. London / New York: Routledge, 1994. Charlesworth, James H. “Intertextuality: Isaiah 40:3 and the Serek ha-Yahad.” In The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders. Edited by Craig A. Evans / Shemaryahu Talmon. BIS 28. Leiden: Brill, 1997, 197-224. Clarke, M.L. Higher Education in the Ancient World. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1971. Cohen, Shaye J.D. From the Maccabees to the Mishnah. LEC 7. Philadelphia: The West­ minster Press, 1987. Collins, John J. “Forms of Community in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” In Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov. Edited by Shalom M. Paul et al. VT.S 94. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003, 97-111. Collins, John J. “The Yahad and ‘The Qumran Community.’” In Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb. Edited by Charlotte Hem­pel / Judith M. Lieu. JSJ.S 111. Leiden: Brill, 2006, 81-96. Cresswell, Tim. Place: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. Cresswell, Tim / Gareth Hoskins. “Place, Persistence, and Practice: Evaluating Historical Significance at Angel Island, San Francisco, and Maxwell Street, Chicago.” AAAG 98/2 (2008): 392-413.

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Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991. Lönnqvist, Kenneth / Minna Lönnqvist. “Spatial Approach to the Ruins of Khirbet Qumran at the Dead Sea.” IAPRSSIS 35/5 (2004): 558-563. Magen, Izchak / Yuval Peleg. The Qumran Excavations 1993-2004: Preliminary Report. JSP 6. Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2007. Magness, Jodi. The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. SDSSRL. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002. Magness, Jodi. “Qumran: The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Review Article.” RdQ 23 (2007): 641-664. Malpas, Jeff E. Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography. Cambridge: Cam­ bridge University Press, 1999. Marrou, Henri I. A History of Education in Antiquity. Translated by George Lamb. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1956. Massey, Doreen. For Space. London: Sage, 2005. Massey, Doreen. Space, Place and Gender. Cambridge: Polity, 1994. McCready, Wayne O. “Friendship and Second Temple Jewish Sectarianism.” In Text and Artifact in the Religions of Mediterranean Antiquity: Essays in Honour of Peter Richardson. Edited by Stephen G. Wilson / Michel Desjardins. SCJud 9. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2000, 402-422. McCready, Wayne O. “Pilgrimage, Place and Meaning Making by Jews in Greco-Roman Egypt.” In Travel and Religion in Antiquity. Edited by Philip A. Harland. SCJud 21. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011, 69-81. McCready, Wayne O. “The Practice of Place by the Qumran Community.” In Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection. Edited by Peter W. Flint / Jean Duhaime / Kyung S. Baek. EJL 30. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011, 287-302. Metso, Sarianna. “Biblical Quotations in the Community Rule.” In The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries. Edited by Edward D. Herbert / Emanuel Tov. London: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 2002, 81-92. Metso, Sarianna. “Creating Community Halakah.” In Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint: Presented to Eugene Ulrich. Edited by Peter W. Flint / Emanuel Tov / James C. VanderKam. VT.S 101. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2006, 279-301. Metso, Sarianna. “Qumran Community Structure and Terminology as Theological Statement.” RdQ 20 (2002): 429-444. Metso, Sarianna. The Serekh Texts. CQS 9/LSTS 7. London: T&T Clark, 2007. Morgan, Teresa. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds. CCS. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Newsom, Carol A. The Self as Symbolic Space: Concerning Identity and Community at Qumran. StTDJ 52. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2004.

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Associated Literature, Jointly Sponsored by the Hebrew University Centre for the Study of Christianity, 11-13 January, 2004. Edited by Ruth A. Clements / Daniel R. Schwartz. StTDJ 84. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2009. Thinking Space. Edited by Mike Crang / Nigel Thrift. London: Routledge, 2000. Tweed, Thomas A. Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion. Cambridge / London: Harvard University Press, 2006. Tuan, Yi-Fu. Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes, and Values. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1974. Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977. Vermes, Geza. “Biblical Proof-Texts in Qumran Literature.” JSSt 34/2 (1989): 493-508. Vermes, Geza. The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English. 4th edition. London: Penguin, 1995. Weinfeld, Moshe. The Organizational Pattern and the Penal Code of the Qumran Sect: A Comparison with Guilds and Religious Associations of the Hellenistic-Roman Period. NTOA 2. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986.

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Late Second Temple Judaism: A Reconstruction and Re-description as a Religio-Cultural System Jack N. Lightstone



Introduction

By the turn of the 1990s, when E.P. Sanders outlined the principal elements of what he called the “Common Judaism” of the late Second Temple era, it had become an implausible scholarly exercise to posit the existence of, and to seek to describe, an overarching, shared religion of the Jewish people in the time of Jesus.1 One reason why Sanders’ work was significant is that it went against the grain of emerging caution in use of ancient Judaic and Christian sources, which had become much more highly problematized by the 1970s and 1980s, in the decades preceding Sanders’ publications on this theme. Indeed, this state of affairs was likely one motive for Sanders’ exercise. A number of factors led to that problematization. Scholars increasingly recognized the cacophony of ancient textual voices, particularly with the study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Nag Hammadi documents; these voices, including Philo’s,2 could no longer be easily harmonized with notions of a “normative” Judaism. In tandem, serious challenges had been proffered about the once-assumed authority of rabbinic and proto-rabbinic (assumed-to-be-Pharisaic) teachings among first-century Jews. So, much of a previous scholarly genera-

1 E.P. Sanders, Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishnah (London: SCM, 1990); E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 bce-66 ce (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992); see the review essay by Martin Hengel / Roland Deines, “E.P. Sanders’ ‘Common Judaism’, Jesus, and the Pharisees,” JThS 46/1 (1995): 1-70. Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz, “Common Judaism and Diversity within Judaism,” in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism, ed. Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 1-10. See also E.P. Sanders, “Common Judaism Explored,” in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism, ed. Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 11-23. Other essays in this volume are also useful. 2 Erwin R. Goodenough’s reading of Philo’s work as representing a philosophical-mystical Judaism is a case in point; see Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935), as well as his Introduction to Philo Judaeus (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1940). Goodenough then went on to use his “mystic Philo” as a key to interpreting the symbols of Jewish material culture in Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period, 13 vols. (New York: Pantheon Press, 1953-1968).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_005

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tion’s work, such as that of George Foote Moore,3 seemed increasingly untenable. Moreover, material evidence about Jews and Judaism in the Greco-Roman world, especially in the aftermath of scholarly debates about E.R. Goodenough’s interpretations of Jewish symbols,4 could no longer be squared with a supposed rabbinic or proto-rabbinic “normative” Judaism. Even the growing appreciation of the diversity of the early Christian movements and their longer-than-previously-surmised entanglement with an equally diverse set of contemporary Judaic groups served to mitigate against any easily achievable reconstruction of a normative Judaism in the first several centuries ce. All of the foregoing factors made work like Sanders’ fraught, even questionable and ill-conceived, and certainly daring. With such a cacophony of voices, for whom and to whom did each source speak? Which ancient audience could be shown to be listening to what traditions and their purveyors? To what extent did their depictions of Judaic life, belief and religious practice represent those of historical communities, rather than those of some authors’ ideal Judaic polity? These questions drove, and continue to drive, a plethora of scholarship. Moreover, the use of early rabbinic literature, especially Mishnah and Tosefta, to fill in the details of such a religion had been highly seductive, as demonstrated by the classic work of George Foote Moore, among others. Only the Pentateuch, produced approximately half a millennium before Jesus, proffered detailed descriptions of religious rites, institutions and religiously legitimated law for a “Second Temple Judaism” that approximated the apparent comprehensiveness of the tractates of Mishnah and Tosefta, produced near the end of the second century ce and sometime after (perhaps well after) the second half of the third century, respectively. Other than these, one must turn to the Qumran documents, which are decidedly sectarian. Because of the nature of the early rabbinic corpus as he understood it, on the one hand, and on the other, because of the diversity reflected in non-rabbinic, late Second Temple documents and the material evidence, Jacob Neusner vociferously critiqued Moore’s use of early rabbinic sources and argued against Sanders’ attempt to define one “Common Judaism.”5 3 George Foote Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era, 3 vols. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927-1930). 4 Goodenough, Jewish Symbols. 5 See Jacob Neusner, “Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 b.c.e. – 66 c.e. A Review of Recent Work by E.P. Sanders,” BBR 6 (1996): 167-178; Jacob Neusner, Rabbinic Literature & the New Testament: What We Cannot Show, We Do Not Know (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994); Jacob Neusner, Rabbinic Judaism: Structure and System (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), especially the introduction; Jacob Neusner, “Mr. Sanders’s Pharisees and Mine,” BBR 2 (1992): 143-169. For Neusner’s assessment of the work of George Foote Moore, see for instance, Jacob Neusner, Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 1-15. Neusner

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A second, closely related reason why Sanders’ exercise was significant was its assertion going back to Moore that within Judaism’s diversity was a historically meaningful, common core substantial enough to unite the “Jewish People” under a shared religion. This was an increasingly bold assertion, because no one source or corpus, containing sufficient detail to outline a coherent “Judaism,” and dated to the last century or so of the Second Temple period, could be shown to speak for, or to, the vast majority of Jews, even in the Land of Israel, in the middle of the first century ce. Neusner and others chose to talk about Judaisms (in the plural) of the Greco-Roman period precisely to emphasize divergence and the multiplicity of constructs that seem to emerge from the varieties of evidence at hand. What Jews had in common was an allegiance to the authority of a set of Scriptures – and even here what was included or excluded from the set was a matter of dispute – and particularly to the halfmillennium-old Pentateuch, understood to be the Torah of Moses, the interpretation of which differed, more or less, from community to community, and the capacity of which to fully implement varied greatly with distance from Jerusalem. Today, given the work of Sanders and the critical response to it, we are left at somewhat of a divide. The divide lies between scholars who continue to support the notion of a Common Judaism extant in the last decades of the Second Temple period, and scholars who continue to talk of Judaisms (in the plural) of this era.6 It is into this fraught arena that this essay makes a cautious entry, but from a different theoretical and methodological take than is usually adopted, resulting in an admittedly qualified, but I hope defensible and useful outcome. That take involves bringing to bear upon the issue three elements. First, what follows adopts a specific theoretical perspective on the study of religion, recognizing that theory always focusses attention on some types of acknowledges a major debt to Moore, on one hand, but raises methodological problems with what Moore claims to be describing as the “normative” Judaism during the first several centuries of the Christian era. Neusner’s response to the methods of those whom he critiqued was to formulate a “documentary” approach to his own work. That is, he advocated taking each major document of early Judaism on its own terms to be treated prima facie as making its own statement about Judaism, each in its own historical times, place and setting. Only after that work is done can one look across documents for evidence of continuities and discontinuities or for some significant overarching religious constructs. 6 And of the subsequent one. One attempt to bridge that gap is evinced in the adoption of the term “Common Complex Judaism,” expressing a diversity within a unity, by such scholars as Stuart Miller; see Stuart S. Miller, Sages and Commoners in Late Antique ‘Erez Israel: A Philo­ logical Inquiry into Local Tradition in Talmud Yerushalmi, TSAJ 111 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 21-30.

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evidence at the expense of others. But in a pursuit plagued by a cacophony of divergent evidentiary voices, some focus may help ground the discussion again. Second, this paper looks to an avowedly diverse set of sources for evidence, not least of which is Mishnah, authored, admittedly, some 130 years after the Second Temple’s destruction. Significantly, the Mishnah serves in my view as a pedagogical tool and privileged object of study within the early rabbinic movement, not as either a law code or as a faithful repository of late Second Temple tradition.7 Third, what follows limits its attention to the basic shape and character of the shared Judaism of a specific time and place, that is, Jerusalem and its hinterland in approximately the last century of the Second Temple’s operation before its destruction in 70 ce. By so limiting the geographical scope of this inquiry, I obviate many problems and associated criticisms that works like Sanders’ must confront. It is not my concern here to determine to what degree that which this paper reconstructs holds for the religion of Jews elsewhere in the Land of Israel or beyond in the mid-first century ce. That said, however, choosing to focus on some shared Judaism of inhabitants of and near Jerusalem has a general utility and historical purchase that focusing on the Galilee or nearby Syria cannot have. Why? Because it is reasonable to assert that as long as the Jerusalem Temple and its associated institutions operated, any shared Judaic religion that can be surmised to have characterized Jerusalem will, at the very least, have had some standing with others, either positively (as in the case of Diaspora Jews’ yearly levy to support the Temple) or negatively (as in the case of the Qumran community’s rejection of the Temple and its overseers as polluted and iniquitous respectively). What went on in Jerusalem until 70 ce mattered in special ways. And, similarly, what ceased to happen in Jerusalem after 70 especially mattered too. The adoption of these three elements simultaneously provides a basis to proffer a reconstruction of the general shape and character of a Judaic religious system that Jews in Jerusalem and its immediate hinterland likely shared. But I must state an important caveat at the outset. This exercise is, as the reader will see, a construct, perhaps in part an “ideal” one in itself, because I do not claim that the construct was consciously or explicitly avowed by Jews in late Second Temple period Jerusalem. But for reasons that will be clearer as the paper progresses, that construct is useful as a basis to which other types of religious phenomena in evidence among Jews in the Greco-Roman period may 7 Jack N. Lightstone, “Textual Study and Social Formation: The Case of Mishnah,” JSJHSS 1/1 (2017): 21-44.

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be meaningfully compared and contrasted. Its utility, I shall argue, is partially related to the fact that it describes a religion of a particular type, one that is a “religion of exchange,” to use Stanley Stowers’ recently articulated theoretical categorization of religions, to which I shall return near the end of this essay.8 In essence it is another, perhaps “ideal,” Common Judaism, even if it is not that posited by Sanders.

Religions as part of Cultural Systems and the Reconstruction of Late Second Temple Judaism

The theoretical perspectives of social anthropologists and sociologists of religion such as Berger and Luckmann,9 E.E. Evans-Pritchard, Clifford Geertz, and Mary Douglas, and of History of Religions scholars like Jonathan Z. Smith, 10 each in their own ways, support the value of examining religions as, or as substantial parts of, socio-cultural systems. Let me briefly describe each of these key terms. First, by culture I mean a “reasonably coherent” set of shared views 8

9 10

As articulated by Stanley Stowers in several, as yet unpublished or soon to be published, papers, one of which was presented at the meetings of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies (CSBS), Toronto, May 2017, at which meetings an earlier version of this essay was also presented. My thanks go to Stowers and to my colleagues at the CSBS for their comments and constructive criticism. My special thanks to Professor Stephen Wilson for his organization of the seminar at the CSBS and for his invitation to participate. Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (London: Allen Lane, The Penguin Press, 1967). E.E. Evans-Pritchard, Social Anthropology (London: Cohen and West, 1951); Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966); Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (London: Barrie and Rockcliff, 1970); Mary Douglas, Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology (London: Routledge, 1975), esp. the essay entitled “Self-Evidence” (pp. 252-283); Mary Douglas, Rules and Meanings: The Anthropology of Everyday Knowledge (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1973); Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973), esp. the essays entitled “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture” (pp. 3-32); “Religion as a Cultural System” (pp. 87-125), and “Ethos, World View, and the Analysis of Sacred Symbols” (pp. 126-141); Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown, CSHJ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), esp. the essays entitled “Fences and Neighbors: Some Contours of Early Judaism” (pp. 1-18); “In Comparison a Magic Dwells” (pp. 19-35); “Sacred Persistence: Toward a Redescription of Canon” (pp. 36-52); and “The Bare Facts of Ritual” (pp. 53-65); Jonathan Z. Smith, Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), especially essays entitled, “When the Chips are Down” (pp. 1-50); “Topography of the Sacred” (pp. 101-116); “The Domestication of Sacrifice” (pp. 145-159); “A Matter of Class: Taxonomies of Religion” (pp. 160-178); and “What a Difference a Difference Makes” (pp. 251-302).

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about how “the world” works, together with the shared norms, social institutions and critical infrastructure that makes it work both in the minds of people and in their lives lived together within some social order. It includes as well shared accounts of why their world is as it is, and the symbols and rituals that encode or point to the saliency of what they share.11 Second, systems approaches allow scholars to ascribe meaning and significance to the observed, individual elements of an historical, practised religion in light of these elements’ place within a greater, integrated and coherent whole that constitutes the socially constructed world of the community of adherents. These conceptual frameworks also provide a basis for meaningful comparison across religious systems that move beyond the tracing of historical influences or the documentation of parallels at the level of this or that element. Notwithstanding the prima facie appeal of such approaches, their application to the study of the evidence for early Judaism or early Christianity is fraught with methodological and historiographical challenges. Our evidence is often episodic and fragmented, not easy to understand, difficult to date, hard to ascribe to specific historical communities, about which we often know too little, and sometimes in service of setting themselves apart from other closely related groups, about which we often know even less. Consequently, many have understandably spent careers devoted to these latter, “first-order” historical issues, in the hope of providing a firmer basis for future scholars to attend to matters of the next order. No one should dispute the necessity of sound historical-critical work as a foundation for other forms of inquiry. But we should recognize that it comes at a cost. We may be bypassing valuable opportunities along the way, where some understanding of what the whole might have been and how the whole might have worked systemically would otherwise direct our scholarly attention or bid us look differently at the (somewhat disjointed) parts that our episodic and incomplete sources reveal to us. Perhaps our work would have been, and would still be, facilitated by at least heuristic, explicit reconstructions or re-descriptions of early Judaism or early Christianity as socio-cultural systems, however tentative and qualified our claims. These would provide valuable interpretive lenses or hypotheses for our first-order work. As intimated earlier, this paper attempts heuristically to describe a late Second Temple Judaism in Jerusalem and its immediate Judean hinterland, and to describe this construct as (or as part of) a coherent religio-cultural system. The previous section has spelled out that in so doing, the essay both is reminiscent of, and differs from, the work of E.P. Sanders, W. McCready, A. Reinhartz and 11

See for instance, the above-listed essays by Clifford Geertz.

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others in defining a first-century Common Judaism.12 Like their work, this paper must proceed by collating, admittedly sometimes selectively, evidence from a wide variety of quarters and from a period spanning several centuries, always with an eye to questions of historical plausibility and practice by what may reasonably be surmised to be a wide swath of this geographically-delimited, Judean population, notwithstanding their differences on what they deemed significant matters. Unlike their work, this paper aspires to focus on and to interpret evidence that may be viewed in a culturally systemic manner. What I mean by this will become clearer shortly.13 I have already expressed my admission that the religio-cultural system so reconstructed will constitute an “ideal” one to some extent; that is, one that in its totality does not describe any particular, historical community’s religious culture. Again, the latter parts of this essay will make this matter clear, when we are faced with using the varied sources at hand. Nevertheless, as I shall argue, it is an “ideal” system that sheds light on the meaning and significance of much of the evidence from early Judaic (and Christian) sources, including evi12

13

See Sanders, Jewish Law; Sanders, Judaism, Practice and Belief; and the review essay by Hengel / Deines, “E.P. Sanders’ ‘Common Judaism’,” 1-70. See also McCready / Reinhartz, “Common Judaism and Diversity within Judaism,” 1-10; E.P. Sanders, “Common Judaism Explored,” 11-23. Where this essay stands in relation to Sanders’ “Common Judaism” will become evident as the essay progresses. But at this juncture, one major methodological matter distinguishes what this paper will (re)describe from Sanders’ work. I have deliberately restricted my exercise to a restricted, even if highly salient, geographical community: Jerusalem and its environs. By so doing, I have bracketed what Judaism or Judaisms may have been practiced in, let us say, the Galilee, let alone in the near Diaspora in locales such as Damascus or Alexandria. It is far more likely that a Judaism centred on the rites of the Jerusalem Temple cult dominated the daily religious life of Jerusalemites than it did the life of Galileans. That historical likelihood makes this a different exercise than Sanders’ exercise. At this juncture, it is worth mentioning work by Markus Cromhout. His approach to similar challenges is to describe not some shared late Second Temple Common Judaism, but to focus on Judaic or Judean “ethnicity” at the time of Jesus and Paul. There is an obvious overlap between viewing late Second Temple Judaism as a cultural system, which is the conceptual frame that I shall shortly spell out for this essay’s exercise, and an approach that focuses on the markers of a shared ethnicity. But I maintain that describing a shared Judaic religious cultural system of a particular place and time, as I shall attempt in this essay, leads to plausible and defensible conclusions. Cromhout’s approach tends to lead to lists of markers that in some sense may be usefully compared to Sanders’ lists, on the one hand, and to this essay’s results, on the other. See Markus Cromhout, Walking in their Sandals: A Guide to First-Century Israelite Ethnic Identity (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2010); see also his Jesus and Identity: Reconstructing Judean Ethnicity in Q (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2007), in which his theoretical touchstones overlap considerably with those of this essay, namely work by Berger and Luckmann, Evans-Pritchard, Geertz, and Smith, in the notes above.

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dence from communities defining their identity over against, at a distance from or after the demise of, Jerusalem Temple-centred Judaism.

Methodological and Theoretical Frames

Describing a religion is a complex and comprehensive affair, for many of the same reasons that defining religion has been a challenge.14 Our definitions often appeal to an array of different traits and components, from use of sacred texts to beliefs about supernatural beings, from behavioural norms and social institutions to symbols and rituals. Few modern scholars of religion or analytic philosophers of religion would maintain that all the components of such lists are both necessary and sufficient. And a serious discussion could be had about whether any of the items on such lists are, strictly speaking, necessary.15 Furthermore, if one were to compare lists of phenomena that may constitute a “religion” to those that would be brought to bear to categorize something as a “culture,” a “philosophy,” an “ideology” or a “social movement,” one would likely find commonalities across the lists. The upshot is that it seems unhelpful to view “religion” as a sui generis phenomenon distinct from and unconnected with other aspects of society and culture, since what are usually listed as characteristic elements of a religion overlap considerably with, or would be subsumed entirely within, elements of culture and of social formations.16 In fact, to take on the task of describing and interpreting, in whole or in part, the religion of any group requires one to 14

15 16

Literature on the definition of religion is extensive. I offer just one reference as indicative of the issues and complexities: see, for example, André Droogers, “Defining Religion: A Social Science Approach,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, ed. Peter B. Clarke (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 263-279. I still find the 1967 essay by William P. Alston, “Religion,” in the Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2nd ed., ed. Donald M. Borchert (Farmington Hills: Gale, 2006), 366-373, to be a good, thumbnail introduction to the complexities. See also William P. Alston, Perceiving God (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991). On the difficulty of specifying necessary and sufficient traits of religion, see Brian C. Wilson, “From the Lexical to the Polythetic: A Brief History of the Definition of Religion,” in What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations, ed. Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson, SHR 81 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 141-162. See also E. Thomas Lawson, “Defining Religion … Going the Theoretical Way,” in What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations, ed. Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson, SHR 81 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 43-50. See Wilson, “From the Lexical to the Polythetic.” See for example, Russell C. McCutcheon, “Redescribing ‘Religion’ as a Social Formation: Toward a Social Theory of Religion,” in What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations, ed. Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson, SHR 81 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 51-72.

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adduce a wide and dense array of traits that have a meaningful context only within an equally “thick” description of social and cultural norms, institutions and shared perceptions of reality, of which the allegedly strictly “religious” elements form a part.17 Significantly, the evidence required to elaborate such a “thick” description is extensive. Hence those of us who study religions of antiquity face challenges, derived from the nature of our evidence, that make our work very different from that of our colleagues who study contemporary religion. An autobiographical excursus will aptly illustrate this point. During the late 1980s and early 1990s, Frederick Bird and I, together with some half a dozen graduate students, set out to study just a few dimensions of the religion of contemporary Montreal Jews. We wished better to understand how ritual played a role in constructing family and synagogue-based community identities.18 In both family and synagogue settings, we observed how both the practice of traditional, “reformed” and reworked rituals of Judaism, at home and in the synagogue, were combined with newly invented ones, and how all of these were interwoven within sets of social relations and stories about the family’s or congregation’s history, values, allegiances and alliances within and outside of the family or congregational circle. The richness of the array of information that we could bring to bear in understanding the roles and meanings of ritual and ritual innovation in their lives together as Jews was mindboggling. We could see how such rituals, old and new, helped give expression to, forge and reinforce the group identity of the family or synagogue, nested within a larger Jewish community and within encompassing Canadian society in Quebec, within all of which the family or congregation had to define its place. The reports of the researchers constituted an immense body of evidence of various levels of specificity, as one might expect. In the end, we decided to focus on congregational Sabbath ritual as an important component of the forging of a distinctive congregational identity 17

18

Perhaps a culture without a serious religious component is both a theoretical and an empirical possibility. But I suspect that it would be rare indeed to find a religion that is not embedded in a cultural context in a manner that is mutually upholding. This is true even for religious groups that one would view as countercultural movements. See earlier references to works of Clifford Geertz. Armed with the required informed consent, our graduate students spent many hours as participant observers both in family settings and in a number of quite different types of Jewish congregations. People let our researchers into their homes, graciously invited them to spend the weekend at their cottages, welcomed us into their synagogues on Sabbaths and Festivals, and answered questions like the following: What are you doing? Why? Where did this ritual come from? How does it make you feel? What do you think it means?

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against a backdrop of competing forms of Judaism and types of Jewish congregations in Montreal.19 Consequently, we could plainly see, for example, how the “members” of a very small-scale congregation (a shtibl), that had fashioned itself as a housescale rabbinic academy and synagogue, had succeeded in defining their distinctive version of a Jewish identity in relation to the larger classical rabbinic academy several kilometers away, on the one hand, and to the even larger modern Orthodox synagogue not two hundred metres away, on the other. We could discern how the members of the shtibl, some of whom were the students of the small rabbinic academy’s “head” (rosh yeshiva) and only teacher, and others among whom were the benefactors and underwriters of the academy, sought to express greater participation and integration into secular society in Montreal than their counterparts in the (more-self-segregationist) major rabbinic academy, but more highly valued the study of traditional rabbinic texts as the central element of their shared Jewish identity than did members of the nearby modern Orthodox synagogue. Their participation in their shtibl’s Sabbath services served to help position them exactly where they wished to be within a larger social and cultural matrix.20 I am recounting this academic collaboration because it contrasts so starkly with what I have dealt with for the lion’s share of my academic research to better understand the formations of early Judaism in context. The work with Fred Bird and our students was certainly not without its methodological and conceptual challenges, but it was eye-opening not to have had to face the particular difficulties of studying the religion and culture of people and communities living eighteen to twenty centuries ago, the evidence for which is episodic, incomplete and fragmentary, usually tendentious, and highly filtered through the sieves of later orthodoxies that determined which documents survived and which did not – excepting those texts which by extraordinary fortune archaeologists have dug up. And as valuable as the material remains of these ancient communities are, they are but a few pieces of a much larger material puzzle. Our energy as scholars of religion, society and culture in antiquity is nearly 19 20

Jack N. Lightstone / Frederick B. Bird, with Simcha Fishbane et al., Ritual and Ethnic Identity: A Comparative Study of the Social Meaning of Liturgical Ritual in Synagogues (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1995). Simcha Fishbane conducted the field research as a participant observer in this congregational setting. See Simcha Fishbane, “Back to the Yeshiva: The Social Dynamics of an Orthodox Sabbath Morning Service,” in The Shtiebelization of Modern Jewry: Studies in Custom and Ritual in the Judaic Tradition: Social-Anthropological Approaches (Brighton: Academic Studies Press, 2011), 251-263. See my own commentary on Fishbane’s data in Lightstone / Bird, Ritual and Ethnic Identity, 8-16.

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consumed with strictly historical-critical challenges. We are constantly struggling to get to the starting line of the endeavour to describe and understand in context the Jewish and Christian communities of the ancient world. Describing an ancient Jewish group’s religion, at a given time and place in antiquity, as an integrated, lived and practised whole in context, as one would be able to do for a contemporary religious group, seems almost an impossibility. If, however, one is prepared for the sake of the exercise to suspend, even if only temporarily, many serious and critical historiographical problems, and indulge in an informed and cautious act of scholarly imagination, the result would be an “imagined” or “ideal” religion. But it would serve a purpose: It would allow us to proffer heuristic meanings and significance to much of the evidence we do have in hand in a way that might otherwise not be possible. I have given some thought to what it means for such an activity of academic imagination to be “informed.” As stated in the introduction, a number of elements come into play. One I would call “filling in blanks,” often from somewhere else. By this I mean fashioning some of the missing pieces from cognate evidence or from evidence that is somewhat removed in time and/or in place from the religious culture one is attempting to describe. A second element is selectively bracketing some of the pieces that one does have, because they seem, without far more information than we have at hand, to be aberrational elements. I realize this “cooks the books” to some extent, but it does sometimes allow one to get beyond hurdles to a useful end, allowing a subsequent return to the bracketed pieces with new and helpful perspective. A third element is a somewhat greater dependence on theoretical models to provide the framework and latticework for fitting pieces together than would be the case for scholarship of contemporary religious groups. Of course, all scholarship of social and cultural phenomena relies upon conceptual or theoretical models. But when the evidence is sparser and contains more gaps, or is drawn from various sources, one must accept that the reliance is heightened.21 A fourth and final element is that the religion in question is of a very particular group, time and place: that of Jews living in the late Second Temple period in Jerusalem and in very nearby Judean territory. I did not say “all Jews” or “the Jews,” since that would be patently unverifiable. I am reluctant even to say “most Jews,” for when I imagine that geographically and temporally delimited religion in sufficient detail, I must cull data from disparate sources, times and places, thus

21

I shall have more to say about this essay’s conceptual and theoretical foundations momentarily.

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running roughshod over a number of historiographical issues.22 The disparate provenance and perspectives of these bodies of evidence, for example, is problematic and has led to much of the criticism leveled at Sanders. What is more, the relevant sections of the Hebrew Bible were produced more than four centuries earlier than the last decades of the Second Temple. Mishnah was composed about 130 years after the demise of the Second Temple and is engaged in its own exercise of “ideal” reconstruction, when it proffers rulings about a Judaic cult and religious practice centred in the Temple, its institutions and its personnel. Tosefta is later still. Much of early Christian literature is attempting to define itself over against the Temple cult and the Judaism associated with it – after its demise, when it is defunct.23 Its accounts of them are tendentious, at times anachronistic, and sometimes vilifications of what it knows or thinks it knows of that Judaism. The list of methodological difficulties and caveats goes on. Nonetheless, I mix and match elements from these sources, with all the caveats in mind. The process and the result are, admittedly, eclectic, and of course still leave blanks that must be finessed in some manner. Does that mean that what I imagine as a perhaps “ideal” reconstruction is a fiction? Not at all; it is more like a best guess, much as a reconstructed text would be, based on fragments of a number of manuscripts from various eras, containing different recensions, and having many lacunae. The resulting text would be eclectic, with many letters and words interpolated in square brackets, and we would then, nonetheless, proceed to interpret the meaning of such a text – an apt analogy or metaphor for the endeavour at hand. The conceptual and theoretical frameworks and latticeworks for the imaginative reconstruction of this Judaism have now been outlined, and the chief framework is this: I view the elements of religion as part of a cultural system. In the case of late Second Temple Judaism I seek to describe an imagined, 22

23

This essay (explicitly or implicitly) selectively collates evidence from the Hebrew Bible and the Mishnah in particular, and makes passing reference as well to early Christian literature, Josephus and some of the Dead Sea Scrolls – all this against a backdrop of elements of the material remains of the Land of Israel in Hasmonean and especially Roman times. This is commonplace in the Gospels and Acts, written relatively soon after the Temple’s destruction, and in Paul’s epistles. But consider the Epistle to Diognetus, which in chapters three and four rants against a Judaism that to a significant extent is gone by the time the epistle is composed in the second century ce. See, for example, Diogn. 3:5 (trans. Lightfoot): “But those who think to perform sacrifices to Him with blood and fat and whole burnt offerings, and to honour Him with such honours, seem to me in no way different from those who show the same respect towards deaf images; for the one class think fit to make offerings to things unable to participate in the honour, the other class to One Who is in need of nothing.”

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religiously-informed, shared cultural system. I refer to culture – that is, shared views, norms and institutions – as a “system,” because when enough elements complement and reinforce one another, in other words “fit” together, they give to the whole a sense of self-evident plausibility for that group’s members. This shared sense of self-evident plausibility is, in my view, related to the “strong sentiments” engendered in religions’ adherents that Glifford Geertz refers to in his well-known essay, “Religion as a Cultural System.”24

Imagining Late Second Temple, Jerusalemite Judaism as a Cultural System

This, then, is the conceptual frame that I have applied to my imaginative description of major aspects of late Second Temple Judaism in and around Jerusalem. Late Second Temple Judaism contains a mutually reinforcing fit of elements that operate as an encompassing, reasonably coherent cultural system. The historical origins of these elements are of no consequence to me for this exercise. Each element may have disparate historical origins in different systems. I shall also admit at the outset that the thickest descriptions we have for these elements are in the Hebrew Bible on the one hand, and in the educational text called the Mishnah (and in the Tosefta) on the other. But, of course, neither source purports to offer thick descriptions of observed practice. They are, if anything, thickly fashioned injunctions, Mishnah especially so, that 24

See the references to essays by Clifford Geertz above. Since cultural systems, and religions as part of them, have complex histories, they do not spontaneously develop and appear as a system. Their elements emerge over extended periods of time, often in different antecedent systems. Therefore, the “fit” at any one time among their elements is necessarily imperfect. The parts were not socially or culturally designed and engineered to work with one another. If there is, however, too little “fit,” the system will increasingly lack plausibility, and the perceived legitimacy of its elements will diminish. There is another state of affairs that would seriously undermine the legitimacy of any religiously informed cultural system: the realization that major elements that comprise it are mere convention, that is to say, that the elements become understood as social constructs that just as easily could have been otherwise (and, in fact, might even be observed to be otherwise in the group next door). Some of the work of Mary Douglas on “implicit meaning” in cultural systems suggests that cultural systems are experienced as most “natural” when members of the group are less self-conscious about, or are less able or inclined to explicitly articulate discursively, the “fit” that entails across major elements of the system. What is experienced as simply in the nature of things (even though it is patently not) is less likely to be perceived as mutable. Consequently, change in religiously-informed cultural systems often occurs by “stealth” over time, lest it occur by tumultuous rupture, as in the case of the Protestant Reformation.

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proffer an episodic and incomplete blueprint for a religiously informed cultural system. Moreover, as already noted, in so far as we are imagining a state of affairs in the last decades of the Second Temple period in Jerusalem and nearby, both sources are problematic. At least the biblical Scriptures were of undisputed authority in the first century ce, even if the compositions of its legal texts, which are of special importance to us, took place almost half a millennium earlier. Mishnah was composed some 130 years after the Jerusalem Temple’s destruction. Mishnah’s own dependence on the legal sections of the Hebrew Bible is undisputable. But it is difficult to know whether and when Mishnah is (i) directly (or simply?) elaborating biblical law; (ii) elaborating historically valuable reminiscences of late Second Temple period practice; or (iii) just making it up to fill in the blanks of its ideal, imagined system. Some elements of each of the five broadly conceived, heuristic, thematic categories that I shall use in what follows are referenced, at least in passing, in the Gospels, in Acts and/or the epistles of Paul, in Josephus and in the Dead Sea Scrolls. But the evidence from none of the latter matches the specificity of either the Hebrew Bible or Mishnah (and Tosefta). What then are my general thematic categories? I propose an imaginative reconstruction of late Second Temple Judaism as a religious cultural system founded on a number of subsystems that interact with, and mutually reinforce, one another. They are: The social differentiation of people in distinctive castes; The rules of purity; The system of agricultural gifts; The system of sacrifices, festival days and pilgrimage; A taxonomy of geographical space.25

• • • • •

In the remainder of this essay, I shall frequently refer to these five subsystems, without delving too deeply into descriptions of each. My reticence to commit to specificities is based on two utilitarian reasons and a third, dominant, methodological consideration. First, a fully elaborated account of each is impossible in the confines of this paper. Second, most readers of this essay are likely already familiar with enough of the elements of each to grasp the argument that follows; simply put, a more complete description here is unnecessary. Third, I believe it is an error to claim, implicitly or explicitly, that one can do more than provide a construct that is anything more than a historically plausible outline of the skeleton of a shared, late Second Temple, Jerusalemite Judaic 25

One may legitimately ask whether the third and fourth subsets are distinct, or whether the fourth itself should be subdivided. Given the level of analysis required in this essay to fulfill its objectives, we should delay further refinement of this taxonomy of subsystems.

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cultural system. The specificities of Mishnah relate to Mishnah’s system, and those of the Pentateuch to its system. It is the shape and outline of Scripture’s system and especially of Mishnah’s that I have used as guidance in my own imaginative reconstruction for mid-first-century, Jerusalemite, Judaic culture. My focus, then, is not so much on detail, but on how these subsystems, broadly conceived, work together, even if they did not originate in whole or in part together, to function as a religious cultural system – one that plausibly could have functioned among the late Second Temple Jewish population of the greater Jerusalem area. In proposing this reconstruction of Judaism, I point to something that, ab initio, is not obvious, that may seem odd at first glance, yet that may be significant. Some of the most explicitly well attested and particularistic traits of Jews and Judaism in Greco-Roman antiquity, traits which often appear on lists of the Common Judaism of the first century – dietary laws; circumcision of infant males; refraining from work on the Sabbath and Festivals; fast days; ablutions in immersion pools (miqva’ot); public reading of biblical Scriptures; in-group marriage; monotheistic allegiance to YHWH alone – are either sub-elements of one or another of these interacting sub-systems (for instance, endogamy), or incidental to the functioning of the system, no matter how pervasive they may be among Jews of antiquity. If it sounds odd to say this, recall my earlier remarks about the distinction between “implicit” meanings and “explicit” recognition. Mary Douglas reminds us of the powerful role of the former in rendering a cultural system self-evidently appropriate to the members of the groups; of giving the system an air of “self-evidence,”26 as if matters of social construct were in the nature of things. The mutually reinforcing interplay across these sub-systems in a larger, culturally systemic whole operates mostly at an “implicit” level. Ancient sources generally do not speak, and perhaps are not conscious, of the operations of the whole as a system. Yet, as 1, 2, 3 and 4 Maccabees aptly illustrate, at least some Jews of the Second Temple period would view strict, imageless monotheism, male circumcision, Sabbath observance or refraining from eating the meat of unclean animals as so central to their individual and collective identity that wars should be fought and martyrdom should be risked over them.27 Would these texts have argued the same 26 27

See the article by Mary Douglas above, of the same name. This list of the explicit attestations to these as Judaic “markers” at the end of the Second Temple period is indeed prodigious and from multiple fronts. For example, refraining from work on the Sabbath and dietary restrictions figure prominently in Josephus’ account of the privileges and dispensations granted to Jewish communities in the Empire (Josephus, A.J. 14.223-267 [LCL, trans. Marcus]). In the Gospels, Jesus criticizes over-scrupulousness of Sabbath observance; criticizes refraining from eating with those unclean; and criticizes refraining from eating that which is unclean. To the intended audience,

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had a priest been forced to marry a Jewish woman who was divorced, or were a high priest to seek to marry a Jewish widow, or if one were forced to eat produce from which terumah (heaving offering) had not yet been designated, or if second tithe in alternate years was not consumed in a state of cleanness within the walls of Jerusalem? Discrete elements of Judaic practice, the transgression of which may have been “explicitly” understood as “red lines” – as grounds for war, martyrdom, or sectarian schism – by many Jews of the era in question, may not necessarily, in and of themselves, have been systemically important at the “implicit,” systemic level. To begin to shine a light on the sub-systems’ operation as a “system,” let me cite a passage of Mishnah (m. Kelim 1:6-9a) which aptly attests to the interplay of the five thematic categories in some whole. It is here, not incidentally, that some of the most valuable information comes to us from a text whose exegetical character and whose role as a teacher of Torah make it truly an educational text. 1:6 1. There are ten [levels] of holy [territory]: 2. The Land of Israel is more holy than all of the [other] Lands. 3. And what is [the nature of] its holiness? 4. [In] that they bring from it[s produce the offerings of] the omer, the first fruits, and the two loaves, 5. which they do not thusly bring from [the produce of] the other lands. 1:7 7. Cities [in the Land of Israel] surrounded by a wall are more holy than it [the rest of Land of Israel]. 8. [In] that they send forth the leprous, 9. And they parade [in cortege] around within [the city the bier of] a dead person as they wish. these passages are effective rhetorically because of what would have been recognized as pervasive traits of Jews and Judaic practice. A half a century or so later, Diogn. 4:1 (trans. Lightfoot) provides a list of Jewish superstitions: “But again their scruples concerning meats, and their superstition relating to the sabbath and the vanity of their circumcision and the dissimulation of their fasting and new moons, I do [not] suppose you need to learn from me, are ridiculous and unworthy of any consideration.”

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10. [But once] it [the dead person’s body] leaves [the city], they do not return it [back within the city walls]. 1:8 11. [The territory] within the walls [of Jerusalem] is more holy than them [the territory within the walls of other walled cities in the Land of Israel]. 12. [In] that there they eat lesser holy things and second tithe. 13. The Temple Mount is more holy than it. 14. [In] that men with a flux, and women with a flux, and menstruants, and women who have recently given birth do not enter there. 15. [Within] the rampart is more holy than it. 16. [In] that Gentiles and one unclean with corpse uncleanness do not enter there. 17. The Women’s Court [of the Temple] is more holy than it. 18. [In] that one who has immersed that self-same day [and is waiting until the next to bring a purification offering] does not enter there. 19. And they [who unwittingly transgress this interdiction] are not liable on account of it for a sin offering. 20. The Court of [male] Israel[ites of the Temple] is more holy than it. 21. [In] that one [who has completed all other rites of purification but] that lacks [that is, has not yet had] his atonement sacrifice [brought of his behalf] may not enter there. 22. And they [who unwittingly transgress this interdiction] are liable on account of it for a sin offering. 23. The Court of Priests is more holy than it. 24. [In] that [clean] Israelites enter there only at the moment [required to fulfill] their sacrificial needs, 25. [That is,] for the laying on of hands [upon the sacrifice to confess one’s sins], for slaughtering [of the sacrifice], for the waiving [of portions of the sacrificial meat before the altar].

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1:9a 26. [The Area] from the Vestibule [of the Sanctuary] to the Altar is more holy than it. 27. [In] that [temporarily] blemished [priests or Levites] whose heads are uncovered do not enter there. 28. The Sanctuary is more holy than it. 29. [In] that only those [unblemished priests] whose hands and feet are [first] washed may enter there. 30. The Holy of Holies is more holy than it. 31. [In] that only the High Priest enters there [and only] on the Day of Atonement at the moment of the avodah [sacrifices] (m. Kelim 1:6-9a [trans. Lightstone]).28 This Mishnah passage makes differentiation of geography in terms of levels of holiness one side of a classificatory matrix. Holy territory begins at the outer boundaries of the Land of Israel (at least where the authorship of Mishnah believes the biblical boundaries are). And the passage defines concentric circles of increased holiness as one moves inward from those boundaries to a central point: the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple. There are other sides of the matrix which serve to establish and define the levels of geographical holiness. Agricultural gifts are due from territory within the boundaries of the Land of Israel. Access to more holy territory is a function of caste (the High Priest, [unblemished] Priests, [unblemished] Levites, male Israelites, women Israelites, Gentiles), as well as levels of uncleanness. As regards sacrifices and other offerings, lesser holy things (for example, the Passover offering, and second tithe in alternate years) are eaten within the walls of Jerusalem. Most holy things (such as burnt offerings, peace offerings, purification offerings, guilt offerings) are brought within the Court of the Priests of the Temple, by clean male Israelites who bring their offerings to officiating priests fit for service in the Temple. Additionally, on the altar in the Vestibule, the daily (tamid), Sabbath, New Moon, and Festival Day sacrifices, among other offerings, are offered. Next in holiness is the Sanctuary itself, in which stand the incense altar, the menorah, and the shew-bred table, and access to which requires further ablutions by the officiants. Finally, the passage references the inner-sanctum of 28

Based on my translation in Jack N. Lightstone, “Roman Diaspora Judaism,” in A Companion to Roman Religion, ed. Jörg Rüpke, BCAW (Malden: Blackwell, 2007), 358.

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the Sanctuary; the blood of the purification offerings of the Day of Atonement is taken into the Holy of Holies, and only on that day, by the presiding High Priest alone. As stated, each of the five subsystems is at least given “honorable mention” (or more) in m. Kelim 1:6-9a. Permit me to reference them: Territory (lands beyond the borders of the Land of Israel; the Land of Israel; walled cities in the Land of Israel; Jerusalem; Temple Mount; Rampart; Court of Israelite Women; Court of Israelite Men; Court of the Priests; Vestibule; Sanctuary; Holy of Holies); Caste (Gentiles; Israelite Women; Israelite Men; Blemished Priests; Blemished Levites; Unblemished Priests; Unblemished Levites; High Priest); Agricultural gifts (omer [of first barley harvest]; first fruits; two loaves; “lesser holy things”; second tithe); Sacrifices/Festival Days/Pilgrimage (the omer [first barley harvest] triggered annually by the Passover; first fruits, which are brought on the Pentecost pilgrimage festival; lesser holy things include the Passover sacrifice; disposition of second tithe in alternate years requires pilgrimage to Jerusalem; purification offerings on the Day of Atonement); Purity (lepers; dead bodies; men or women with flux; menstruants; women who have recently given birth; persons who have counted their days of “cleanness” and have undergone immersion but wait to bring their purification or atonement offering after sunset; clean Israelite men; clean Israelite women; clean Priests and Levites who have washed their hands and feet). This categorized list may be directly cross-referenced topically with the detailed, elaborated content of at least seventeen other Mishnah tractates (and indirectly with a number of others), and with scores of scriptural verses from Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. 29 This Mishnah passage implicitly, and unselfconsciously, demonstrates another important point. Each subsystem has meaning only in relation to at least

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29

At the very least, directly referenced are topics central to: m. Ma’aś. (see Num 18:21-24); m. Ma’aś. S. (see Deut 14:21-27, 26:12-15; Lev 27:30-31, 19:23-25); m. Hal. (see Num 15:17-21); m. Bik. (see Exod 23:19, 34:26; Num 18:13; Deut 26:1-11); m. Pesah. (see Exod 12:1-28, 43-50; 23:18, 25; Num 9:1-14; Deut. 17:1-8); m. Yoma (see Lev 17:1-34; Num 29:7-11; Exod 30:10); m. Qidd. (cf. 3:12-4:8; see Exod 34:16; Lev 21:13-15; Deut 7:3-4; Ezek 44:22; Ezra 9:1-2, 15; Neh 13:23-27); m. Zebah. (see Lev 1:1-9, 14-17; 3:1-5; 4:27-31; 7:1-8); m. Mid.; m. Kelim (see Lev 11:29-35; 15:46, 9-11, 19-27; Num 19: 14-15); m. Neg. (see Lev 13:1-14:53; Deut 24:8); m. Tehar.; m. Miqw. (see Lev 11:31-32, 36; 15:13, 16; Num 31:23); m. Nid. (see Lev 12:1-8, 15:19-30, 18:19, 20:18); m. Zabim (see Lev 15:1-15); m. T. Yom (see Lev 12:32, 22:6-7); m. Yad. References to relevant Scriptures for each Mishnah tractate are conveniently presented as a part of the preface to each tractate in Shishah Sidre Mishnah, ed. Hanoch Albeck (Jerusalem / Tel-Aviv: Dvir and Mosad Bialik, 1959).

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one, and often more than one, of the other subsystems. For example, geographical place and space is defined in relation to what can, must, or must not happen in it. One must take agricultural gifts from the produce of the Land of Israel only. One is free from uncleanness (see for instance, m. Kelim 1:1-530) so 30

For convenience, the following is Blackman’s translation of m. Kelim 1:1-5 (Mishnayoth: Order Taharoth, ed. / trans. Philip Blackman [London: Mishna Press, 1955], 27-31):  1:1 These primary sources of uncleanness – a [dead] unclean reptile, and semen and one that has become unclean from a corpse, and a leper in the days of his reckoning, and the water of the [red-heifer] sin-offering [even though] insufficient for sprinkling – communicate uncleanness to man and vessels by contact and to earthenware utensils [if they be present, whether touching the wall or not] within the air-space, but they do not communicate uncleanness by carrying.  1:2 They are surpassed [in their potency to effect uncleanness] by carrion and by the water of the [red-heifer] sin-offering when sufficient in quantity for sprinkling, since these communicate uncleanness to the person by carrying: and he also confers uncleanness to garments by contact, but his garments [that he wears while touching the carrion] do not acquire uncleanness by [mere] contact [without the carrying at the same time].  1:3 They are exceeded [in their power to confer uncleanness] by one who copulates with a menstruant, since he communicates uncleanness to whatsoever lies beneath [him] in the same degree as [one suffering from an issue confers uncleanness to what covers him] above. They are surpassed by the discharge from one that has an issue, and by his saliva, and by his semen, and by his urine, and by the blood of a menstruant, since they cause uncleanness both by contact and by carrying. They are exceeded [by the uncleanness of] what [one with an issue] rides upon, since it imparts uncleanness [even to what is] beneath a large stone. [The uncleanness of] what [one suffering with a flux] rides upon is exceeded [by what he] lies upon, for [the uncleanness contracted by] contact therewith equals [that caused by] the carrying thereof. [The uncleanness of] what [the suffering from a flux] lies upon is surpassed by [the uncleanness of] him that suffers a flux, since one with a flux communicates uncleanness to what he lies upon, but what he lies upon does not transfer uncleanness to the like degree to whatsoever it lies upon.  1:4 [The potency of uncleanness of] a woman with a discharge transcends [that of] a man with a discharge, since she communicates uncleanness to the man that copulates with her. [The potency of the uncleanness of] a leper transcends [that of] a woman with a discharge, for he conveys uncleanness [to a dwelling] on entering. [The potency of the uncleanness of] a leper is transcended by [that of] a barleycorn’s bulk of bone [of a corpse] since it imparts seven-day uncleanness. More stringent [in potency of uncleanness] than all of them is [that of] the corpse, since it imports uncleanness by a overshadowing, an uncleanness that is not conveyed by [any of] all the others.  1:5 There are ten grades of uncleanness that emanate from man – one whose atonement is [yet] incomplete is prohibited [to consume of] holy sacrifices, but is permitted [to eat of] priest’s-due and tithe; one that had immersed himself [in the ritual bath] the selfsame day [but sundown has not yet arrived] is forbidden [to eat of] holy sacrifices and priest’s due, but is permitted [to eat of tithe]; one that has suffered an issue of semen [and has not yet had the ritual immersion] is forbidden [to eat of] the three of them; one who has copulated with a menstruant communicates uncleanness to aught lying under [him] to the same degree as [one with a discharge imparts uncleanness] to aught lying above [him]; one with a discharge that has suffered two fluxes conveys uncleanness to what­

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that one may go up to the Temple Mount and participate in certain rites, and so that one does not contaminate foodstuffs that are destined for Jerusalem, its Temple, its altar, or for Levitical-priestly consumption. The laws of permitted and prohibited marriage, so as to maintain the caste system, serve especially to provide fit priests and Levites of appropriate lineage for the Temple (see for example, m. Qidd. 4:1-8)31 and to receive designated agricultural gifts. One is a “fit” member of the priestly caste, who is unblemished and free from uncleanness, so that one may enter to officiate at sacrifices in the Vestibule and Sanctuary of the Temple, and so that one may eat holy things that are God’s dues, paid to God by being consumed by his Levitical-priestly caste. Others within the Jewish caste system are obligated to provide from the produce of the Land of

31

soever he lies upon and to whatever he sits upon, and he must bathe in running water, but he is exempt from the [sin] offering, [but] if he experience three [fixes], he must bring the [sin] offering; he that is a leper in quarantines communicates uncleanness [to a house] on entrance, but he is exempt from [the obligations of] letting the hair grow in neglect and from the rending of garments, and from cutting the hair, and from the bird offerings, but if he were certified completely healed from leprosy, he is liable to all of them; if a member were severed from one but does not bear [its] proper flesh, it affects uncleanness by contact and by carrying but does not communicate uncleanness by overshadowing, but if it have [its] proper flesh, it conveys uncleanness by contact and by carrying and by overshadowing. The quantity of proper flesh is such as to effect repairment. R. Judah says, If in one place there be sufficient [flesh, if cut into thread-like strips] to surround it [namely, the torn part] with [the thickness of] the thread of the weft, it has the possibility of reparability. Referring to the lineages in Neh 7:5, m. Qidd. 4:1 articulates ten castes, showing Mishnah’s propensity to list-making as a form of taxonomy (my own translation):  4:1  i. Ten castes (yohasin) immigrated (‘alu) from Babylonia [to the Land of Israel]:  a) Priests,  b) Levites,  c) Israelites,  d) profaned [priests, whose fathers married women whom priests may not marry],  e) converts,  f) freedmen [and freedwomen],  g) mamzerim [those born of adulterous or consanguineous relations],  h) netinim [descendents of Canaanite Gibeonites who assimilated to Israelites (see Josh 9:26)],  i) ignoti (shtukim) [whose biological fathers are not known, see m. Qidd. 4:2],  j) foundlings [neither of whose biological parents are known].  iii. Priests, Levites and Israelites are permitted to have sexual relations among one another.  iv. Levites, Israelites, profaned [priests], converts and freedmen [and freedwomen] are permitted to have sexual relations among one another.  v. Converts, freedmen [and freedwomen], mamzerim, netinim, ignoti, and foundlings are permitted to have sexual relations among one another.

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Israel those agricultural gifts and sacrifices that are due to the Temple and its Levitical-priestly personnel. And all castes must at key times be free from uncleanness so as to not contaminate YHWH’s Temple, personnel or dues. But only Israelite (in the sense used in m. Qidd. 4:1) women are fit marriage partners for members of the priestly caste, if their male offspring are to be Priests officiating in the Temple. The boundaries of the Land of Israel are significant by reason of the fact that within its frontiers the produce must be tithed, and within those boundaries there is a population observing purity laws that serve to protect the Jerusalem Sanctuary within concentric circles of ever increasing purity maintenance. Jewish sovereignty over the Land is not a formal systemic requisite, no matter how much it is an abiding ancient historical aspiration, as long as the elements of the system can be adequately implemented in it.32 That is to say, the details of any sub-system matter, have meaning, only in relation to detailed aspects of one or more of the other subsystems. As a corollary, each on their own is either devoid, or much devalued, of meaning and purpose. That is one of the key senses in which one may assert that the sub-parts implicitly work together as a whole system, a kind of set of gears that engage one another. Ironically, I have just made the point that knowledge of the “details” of the sub-systems is important to perceive how they engage one another – this after having earlier demurred about getting into such details in the confines of this essay. Earlier, my stated reticence was partly justified as a matter of mere practicality, not of principle. But my third reason for reticence was methodological; and it is appropriate, at this particular juncture, to say more about these methodological constraints. Put most briefly, to enter into the details as they are likely to have been in the last decades of the Second Temple period requires that we arbitrate among ancient sources (and ancient groups) that not only 32

Thus, 1 and 2 Maccabees do not justify the Hasmonean Revolt in terms of the need to exercise Jewish sovereignty over the Land simply for the sake of exercising that sovereignty. Indeed, that self-sovereignty had ceased centuries earlier, and the early Persian monarchs are heroes in the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah. Rather, the apologies of 1 and 2 Maccabees for the Hasmonean family are grounded in the narrative that the Land’s foreign sovereigns, the Seleucids, had begun to make it difficult to operate what I am calling “the system” in the Land, unlike the Ptolemaic and the Persian rulers who preceded them. Under these conditions, the Hasmonean-led revolt was necessary, and their assumption of power was deemed a guarantee of sorts. This squares well with Josephus’ stance in Wars and in Antiquities; if you let the Jews operate their “system” in the Land, all but the most militant among the Jews would have continued to accept Roman rule. For Josephus, the Hasmonean revolt was the exception that proves the rule, and should have been a lesson for Jews and Romans alike in the first century. Josephus goes to considerable lengths in A.J. 14 (LCL, trans. Marcus) to show that Rome, especially with Julius Caesar, got off on a good foot in the Land of Israel and with respect to Jewish communities outside the Land.

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cannot be shown to stem from and speak for the swath of mid-first-century Jerusalemites, but that also do not agree about the particulars. Let me provide several examples. The Mishnah’s laws of agricultural gifts already assume that not everyone shares the rabbis’ particular views about when to tithe produce, what needs to be tithed, or what may be done with produce before it has been tithed. The rabbis’ stance is this: one may not use produce for any purpose, until certain specific tithes and gifts have been at least designated, even if they have not yet been given to the appropriate recipient. Once these specific agricultural gifts have been designated, then the remainder has been de-sanctified (is hullin) and may be used. Because the early rabbis assume that Jews disagree about such details concerning tithing and agricultural gifts, or hold positions that in the early rabbis’ view make these Jews less fastidious about these matters (as the Gospels portray Jesus), Mishnah must posit a category that sits between tithed and un-tithed produce, namely, “doubtfully tithed produce” (demai). Mishnah then articulates procedures for dealing with demai. It is the subject (and title) of an entire Mishnah tractate. Mishnah’s views on these matters are often taken to be those of the Pharisees, although the detailed evidence for this stands on a very narrow evidentiary base. The weight of the identification is too heavily borne on a stem provided by the passages of the Gospels that condemn the Pharisees’ obsession with tithing dill and cumin. Biblical law is of course the source for tithing and agricultural gifts, but is mute on so much of the detail that consumes Mishnah. The same difficult arbitration among the sources about the details of proper practice in agricultural law is required for the other four sub-systems. Let me take just one illustration: purity. Mishnah takes biblical purity law and refashions it into well-defined hierarchies of purity and uncleanness that go far beyond the plain sense of Scripture. But in turning Scripture’s purity laws into a completely articulated and coherent system (the subject of m. Kelim 1:1-5, the passage immediately preceding our own33), Mishnah may or may not reflect the norms in force in the latter decades of the Second Temple period. Again, the Gospels portray the Pharisees as perturbed by Jesus’s relative lack of concern with purity, and ridicule the Pharisees for their over-concern with matters of uncleanness. But that is not a sound basis for saying that Mishnah’s purity laws, in all their detail, were the Pharisees’ purity laws. Nor is it a firm basis for saying that other groups in late Second Temple Jerusalem and its hinterlands, 33

See the list of Scriptural verses from Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, above.

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such as the Sadducees, were any less concerned with purity than the Pharisees or than the Mishnah. Josephus at several junctures sets out to enlighten his intended audience about the differences between Sadducean and Pharisaic positions on matters; none of these differences intersect with the topics of the few passages where Mishnah explicitly contrasts Pharisees and Sadducees. Mishnah (m. Yad. 4) explicitly contrasts Pharisaic and Sadducean positions with respect to differences concerning certain details of purity law, for example, whether the stream of liquid produced when one pours from one vessel to another connects the vessels for the purposes of transmitting uncleanness. And on this issue, the Qumran text 4QMMT a takes a position as well (the one that accords with what Mishnah attributes to the Sadducees). So even if we were not confined by the parameters of an essay such as this, we would still be faced with a serious methodological impasse, or at least a serious limitation. Mishnah provides us with the most details about these subsystems because of Mishnah’s agenda. So, turning to Mishnah for details about our five sub-systems for the late Second Temple period often becomes an easy default, in effect making the Mishnah the prevailing force in these arbitrations. But we simply cannot know how much of Mishnah’s detailed positions and systematization of these matters reflects the normative practice of Jews in and around Jerusalem some 130 to 160 years earlier. And no other sources provide enough detail to anchor matters. What we do know and what is clear, however, is that the details mattered a lot; otherwise the conflicts about them would not have registered as prominently as they do in our sources. The early Christian stance as reflected in the Gospels, for example, is unique in that its message is: do not take these details or the disputes about them so seriously. But the Gospels are in their essence justifying opting out of the system, are they not? It is all the more convenient for them that the Temple and what hinged on its operation are gone. It is a stubbornly persistent shadow of that system that seems to hang over them. But what if something like Mishnah’s detailed legal systems generally speaking had defined the praxis of most of the Jewish population of first-century Jerusalem and its hinterland? That is not an indefensible position – indeed it is a plausible one – considering the other sources at hand, ranging from the Hebrew Bible and Josephus to early Christian literature (most notably the Gospels and Acts) and the Qumran documents. Putting the Hebrew Bible aside for the moment, at a general level several aspects of one or more of our five subsystems are referenced in each of these bodies of literature. And archaeological evidence for late Second Temple Jerusalem is generally consistent with such a position. As to the evidence of the Hebrew Bible, it is the authoritative source book for many particulars out of which Mishnah forged its halakhic

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systems, notwithstanding that another group could have (and may in fact have) done the same and produced systems that in detail differed substantially from Mishnah’s. Having now posited Judaism in the late Second Temple period as a system built of sub-systems, what would be the meaning and significance, perhaps “implicit” only, of the whole as a functioning cultural system, if we were to use something like the sub-systems as detailed in Mishnah – which is all that I need heuristically to posit for my argument – in conjunction with the Hebrew Scriptures, as a model? I propose that for some cultural systems, their (implicit) meaning is bound up with what appears to be their implicit outcomes or ends. In the case at hand, that outcome patently has something to do with the expected or desired results of YHWH’s beneficent presence on earth, a presence that is in some fashion centered in the Holy of Holies. For YHWH to be both present and beneficent, a number of requisites must be met. Of course, His will must be done (a point endlessly stressed in Deuteronomy), as defined in the way of life (the halakha) that accords with Torah (His Teaching). Yes, that will enjoins acts of social justice and the like. But it also entails sacrifices to YHWH (alone), support for His one and only Temple, for the officiant castes of His Temple, and support for the disaffected who are YHWH’s special wards. The sacrifices to YHWH, the heaving offerings and tithes given to priests and Levites, and the mandated gifts to the poor are their due, to be provided by other Jews, so that the latter may experience YHWH’s beneficence. What of YHWH’s presence in his sanctuary? In the system at hand, that presence is directly affected by protecting it from forces of uncleanness, which are many (see m. Kelim 1:1-5), because YHWH’s presence (seemingly) cannot dwell where there is uncleanness. Caste, geography, rules of uncleanness, differentiation of animal species and rites of purification – all of these work together to create bounded areas of ever-increasing realms of purity that protect the centre, the Sanctuary and the Holy of Holies, served by a special caste, so that YHWH’s presence will remain. The Pentateuch is quite explicit about this: rules of uncleanness and rites of purification must be observed lest YHWH depart from His Sanctuary and the people “die in their uncleanness” (Lev 15:31). That is to say, YHWH’s presence is life-giving. Uncleanness mitigates against that presence, and so brings disintegration, degradation and ultimately untimely death and social disruption. Just as uncleanness is treated as an invisible, potent material, so too God’s life-giving beneficence also seems an almost physically present substance in the world. It is an invisible, intangible material of another sort, a force for growth and order, as opposed to degradation and disorder. It is that which is

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holy. And this positive force is most intensively present in the Land of Israel. Why? Because that is where the forces of uncleanness are systematically controlled and circumscribed by rules of avoidance and purification. But excessive holiness, despite its life-giving effects, is also so intense that it must be corralled, lest the livestock, produce and even newborn, firstborn, male children of the land remain “taboo,” that is, beyond use. It is in this sense that agricultural gifts from produce and domesticated animals, and even of humankind, must be “given” to YHWH, or His officiating castes, or His special wards, the poor, in order for the remainder to become sufficiently profane and fit for daily consumption and purposes. We might compare this holiness to uncleanness in Mishnah (and to some extent in Scripture) which seems to be some sort of invisible “goo” that flows and adheres to things and people. Just as the “goo” of uncleanness is less virulent as it spreads from its primary sources (avot tum‘ah), just as it may be contained, diluted and dissipated to the point of harmlessness, so too the life-giving power of YHWH that inheres most powerfully in the people, produce and livestock of the Land of Israel must be gathered and concentrated in designated tithes and other offerings and returned to its source, YHWH, rendering what remains sufficiently de-sanctified for common daily use. In summary, if something like Mishnah’s subsystems generally entailed in late Second Temple Jerusalem and its hinterland, this would seem to be the systemic significance of their interrelationships. The system was a machine to manage the flow of life-giving holy power, to gather it and return it to its divine sources so it can be re-distributed through the cycle of things, and to contain its opposite, the forces of uncleanness. It would have been virtually impossible for Jews living in and near Jerusalem to escape participating in some manner in this machine’s workings as long as the Temple functioned and the Temple system’s operational needs significantly governed Jerusalem’s social, political and cultural life.34 34

Our discussion newly problematizes what the destruction of the Temple would have meant to those who had lived close enough to be in its shadow. Since the parts of the subsystems of the whole really had meaning only in relation to one another, as if they were mutually engaging gears, imparting new meaning to what might continue to be practiced after the Temple’s demise posed a formidable challenge. Mishnah, composed about 130 years after the destruction, really did not much rise to that challenge; Mishnah defined an “ideal” world in which the Temple still stood and operated – indeed, operated even better than it had before its destruction. This runs counter to the mythology that after 70 ce, the early rabbis somehow transformed Judaism for the exigencies of a post-Temple world. Clearly Mishnah does little of the sort; it is still stuck in the time before 70 ce. And clearly the elements of “Common Judaism” that may have existed before 70, after 70 are also cut loose from their moorings in a cultural system of which the elements are incidental

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Ought one be surprised that adopting the conceptual lens that this essay has adopted – focusing attention on identifying and reconstructing elements that, in their general shape and character, function systemically to produce a religious cultural system in and around Jerusalem – points to a plausible, shared, late Second Temple, Jerusalemite Judaism that differs from the elements of a Common Judaism proposed by Sanders and others? Not really. Stanley Stowers, in particular, might have predicted just this outcome. Leaving the critiques of Sanders aside, I am struck by the correspondence of the system that this paper has reconstructed with the type of religion that Stowers, in his current exercises of theorizing religion, has called “religions of exchange.”35 Stowers has just begun to articulate his theory of types of religion, and as I write this essay he has several publications in preparation and in press on the topic. In short, as I understand it from conversations with him, his theory broadly categorizes religion, religious practice and belief into two subcategories. The first comprises religions in which some type of structured exchange is effected between humans and supernatural forces to the benefit of both, but particularly to humans as the more vulnerable partner. The second subcategory comprises other forms of religious practice, belief and thought. He maintains that historically and socially the former subcategory tends to precede the latter, and the latter rides piggyback on the former in a dependent manner. I look forward to Stowers’ soon to be published work on religion. There is no doubt that what I have articulated above as a plausible reconstruction of the general shape of a late Second Temple, shared, Jerusalemite religious culture falls into Stowers’ first subcategory. Moreover, based upon my argument about the systemic character of even the broad outline of this Jerusalemite Judaic culture, I would predict that Stowers’ “religions of exchange” will tend to be more culturally “systemic” in character than phenomena falling into his second subcategory, precisely because, in his theory, the latter tend to be dependent, secondary developments.36

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details. What is usually adduced as the elements of “Common Judaism” could never in themselves have constituted a cultural system before 70 in the manner that we have demonstrated, and could no more do so after 70. See above. I am grateful to Stanley Stowers for his recent theorizing about religion, as it has provided me with an invaluable tool for interpreting my results, at which I arrived before I was exposed to Stowers’ work. Sanders’ conceptual frame and methods, by contrast, would not tend to direct attention to systemically functioning religious cultures, that is, to phenomena that fall into Stowers’ subcategory of “religions of exchange.”

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Summary

We have argued, first, for the religion of late Second Temple Judaism in and near Jerusalem as a religio-cultural system, using evidence from the Mishnah, whose educational orientation shows the usefulness of such literature for historical reconstruction. Second, we have argued that the meaning or significance of the system is its ability to direct holiness to and from the Temple to the benefit respectively of the Temple and of the Jews who lived close to it. This study has helped us to glimpse the meaning of parts in a whole in a way that is more difficult to otherwise discern. By admittedly so delimiting the geography of our focus, we may reasonably propose that the practice of this Judaism plausibly occupied to a significant degree the lives of Jews within the geographical bounds that we have set. Our exercise can also be taken as a base comparison point for three further, far more difficult exercises, namely (i) to discern the religio-cultural systems of Jews at incrementally increased distances from the Temple before 70 ce; (ii) to discern the religio-cultural systems for serious dissenters (such as Qumran and the early Jesus movement); and (iii) to discern the religio-cultural systems for those Jewish groups and early Christian communities living in the aftermath of 70 ce (and of 135 ce).

Reference List

Alston, William P. Perceiving God. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991. Alston, William P. “Religion.” In Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2nd edition. Edited by Donald M. Borchert. Farmington Hills: Gale, 2006, 366-373. Berger, Peter L. / Thomas Luckmann. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. London: Allen Lane, The Penguin Press, 1967. Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism. Edited by Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008. Cromhout, Markus. Jesus and Identity: Reconstructing Judean Ethnicity in Q. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2007. Cromhout, Markus. Walking in their Sandals: A Guide to First-Century Israelite Ethnic Identity. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2010. Douglas, Mary. “Self-Evidence.” In Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology. London: Routledge, 1975, 252-283. Douglas, Mary. Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology. London: Barrie and Rockcliff, 1970. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Purity and Taboo. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966.

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Douglas, Mary. Rules and Meanings: The Anthropology of Everyday Knowledge. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1973. Droogers, André. “Defining Religion: A Social Science Approach.” In The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. Edited by Peter B. Clarke. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009, 263-279. “The Epistle to Diognetus.” In Apostolic Fathers. Translated and edited by J.B. Lightfoot / J.R. Harmer. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1986. Evans-Pritchard, E.E. Social Anthropology. London: Cohen and West, 1951. Fishbane, Simcha. “Back to the Yeshiva: The Social Dynamics of an Orthodox Sabbath Morning Service.” In The Shtiebelization of Modern Jewry: Studies in Custom and Ritual in the Judaic Tradition: Social-Anthropological Approaches. Brighton: Aca­ demic Studies Press, 2011, 251-263. Geertz, Clifford. “Ethos, World View, and the Analysis of Sacred Symbols.” In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books, 1973, 126-141. Geertz, Clifford. “Religion as a Cultural System.” In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books, 1973, 87-125. Geertz, Clifford. “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.” In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books, 1973, 3-32. Goodenough, Erwin Ramsdell. By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935. Goodenough, Erwin Ramsdell. Introduction to Philo Judaeus. New Haven: Yale Uni­ versity Press, 1940. Goodenough, Erwin Ramsdell. Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period. 13 volumes. New York: Pantheon Press, 1953-1968. Hengel, Martin / Roland Deines. “E.P. Sanders’ ‘Common Judaism’, Jesus, and the Pharisees.” JThS 46/1 (1995): 1-70. Josephus, Flavius. Jewish Antiquities. Volume 6, Books 14-15. Translated by Ralph Marcus. LCL 489. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1943. Lawson, E. Thomas. “Defining Religion … Going the Theoretical Way.” In What is Reli­ gion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations. Edited by Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson. SHR 81. Leiden: Brill, 1998, 43-50. Lightstone, Jack N. “Roman Diaspora Judaism.” In A Companion to Roman Religion. Edited by Jörg Rüpke. BCAW. Malden: Blackwell, 2007, 345-377. Lightstone, Jack N. “Textual Study and Social Formation: The Case of Mishnah.” JSJHSS 1/1 (2017): 21-44. Lightstone, Jack N. / Frederick B. Bird, with Simcha Fishbane et al. Ritual and Ethnic Identity: A Comparative Study of the Social Meaning of Liturgical Ritual in Synagogues. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1995.

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McCready, Wayne / Adele Reinhartz. “Common Judaism and Diversity within Judaism.” In Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism. Edited by Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz, 1-10. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008, 1-10. McCutcheon, Russell C. “Redescribing ‘Religion’ as a Social Formation: Toward a Social Theory of Religion.” In What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations. Edited by Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson. SHR 81. Leiden: Brill, 1998, 51-72. Miller, Stuart S. Sages and Commoners in Late Antique ‘Erez Israel: A Philological Inquiry into Local Tradition in Talmud Yerushalmi. TSAJ 111. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006. Mishnayoth: Order Taharoth. Edited and Translated by Philip Blackman. London: Mishna Press, 1955. Moore, George Foote. Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era. 3 volumes. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927-1930. Neusner, Jacob. Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981. Neusner, Jacob. “Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 b.c.e. – 66 c.e. A Review of Recent Works by E.P. Sanders.” BBR 6 (1996): 167-178. Neusner, Jacob. “Mr. Sanders’s Pharisees and Mine.” BBR 2 (1992): 143-169. Neusner, Jacob. Rabbinic Judaism: Structure and System. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996. Neusner, Jacob. Rabbinic Literature & the New Testament: What We Cannot Show, We Do Not Know. Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994. Sanders, E.P. “Common Judaism Explored.” In Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism. Edited by Wayne McCready / Adele Reinhartz. Minneapolis: Fort­ ress Press, 2008, 11-23. Sanders, E.P. Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishnah. London: SCM, 1990. Sanders, E.P. Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 bce-66 ce. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992. Shishah Sidre Mishnah. Edited by Hanoch Albeck. Jerusalem / Tel-Aviv: Dvir and Mosad Bialik, 1959. Smith, Jonathan Z. “The Bare Facts of Ritual.” In Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown. CSHJ. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 53-65. Smith, Jonathan Z. “The Domestication of Sacrifice.” In Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, 145-159. Smith, Jonathan Z. “Fences and Neighbors: Some Contours of Early Judaism.” In Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown. CSHJ. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 1-18. Smith, Jonathan Z. “In Comparison a Magic Dwells.” In Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown. CSHJ. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 19-35. Smith, Jonathan Z. “A Matter of Class: Taxonomies of Religion.” In Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, 160-178.

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Smith, Jonathan Z. “Sacred Persistence: Toward a Re-description of Canon.” In Imagin­ ing Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown. CSHJ. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 36-52. Smith, Jonathan Z. “Topography of the Sacred.” In Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, 101-116. Smith, Jonathan Z. “What a Difference a Difference Makes.” In Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, 251-302. Smith, Jonathan Z. “When the Chips are Down.” In Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, 1-50. Wilson, Brian C. “From the Lexical to the Polythetic: A Brief History of the Definition of Religion.” In What is Religion? Origins, Definitions, and Explanations. Edited by Thomas A. Idinopulos / Brian C. Wilson. SHR 81. Leiden: Brill, 1998, 141-162.

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Techne in Plato and the New Testament Joseph A. Novak The perfecting of the human being continues to be as central a topic in human thought in the modern world as it was in antiquity. This perfecting, an educational process, operates at many levels: physical, intellectual and moral. If this is seen a desirable goal, then any means or expertise – craft, if you will – for achieving this goal would also be of importance. In this paper I wish to compare two different approaches in antiquity to this issue of the perfecting of people by focusing on the notion of τέχνη (techne: art or craft) as it occurs in the Platonic dialogues and, by contrast, the veritable absence of that idea in the writings of the New Testament. The reflections in this paper cover a broad sweep of intellectual terrain and I shall, no doubt, be stretching readers’ patience in the course of my exposition. So perhaps it is wise that I state here the paper’s broad design. In the first section I note the frequency in appearance of the term in two respective texts: the Corpus Platonicum and the New Testament. The second section studies Plato in more detail, arguing that general rules of a craft and their application will have an impact on moral behaviour. The third and core section of the paper will consider why Plato’s understanding of techne is absent in New Testament traditions, even though it managed to resurface in early Christian monastic tradition.

Usage of the Term Techne

A comparison of the usage of techne in the New Testament and in the body of Plato’s work reveals a marked difference in the frequency of occurrences. The Logos search engine, which functions in connection with the comprehensive Logos biblical computer program, reveals only three occurrences of the term in the entire New Testament canon. All three instances refer to crafts that are of a manual sort; the term has no theological overtones and plays no theological role in the exposition of the Gospel message.1 By contrast, an examination of all the occurrences of the term in passages of the Platonic corpus and the 1 As in Acts 17:29, 18:3, Rev 18:22. These passages all refer to human trade skills. There are also four occurrences of the term τεχνίτης (technites: craftsman) at Acts 19:24, 38; Rev 18:22; Heb 11:10. The first three refer to human metalworkers (idol manufacturers) and the last refers to God metaphorically as the craftsman and demiurge of the heavenly city. In the Septuagint there are five occurrences of techne and five of technites. All refer to human craftsmanship.

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nuances in its usage would require a small monograph. It seems, then, that its repeated use is a sure sign that it is a term of key significance in Plato’s thought. How does Plato employ techne? One can be aided in surveying usage of the term in the Platonic dialogues by consulting some indices which have collated its instances. The older Lexicon Platonicum of Fridrich Ast provides a number of Latin usages: “ars [art]; peritia [expertise]; cognitio [knowledge]; etiam ratio [reason].”2 Near the end Ast also mentions its use as “fraus, dolus,” that is, fraud and deceit. There are, of course, other entries based on terms with the same root, such as τέχνημα (technema), τεχνικός (technikos), τεχνικῶς (technikoos), τέχνιον (technion) and τεχνίτης (technites). Some assistance in determining what sense occurs in each passage is provided by the two-volume Lexique of Plato’s works edited by Édouard des Places. This not only includes a subdivision of the meanings of techne already indicated above by Ast, but also refers to some of the associated terms as well as its antonyms.3 As the editor himself notes, Plato insists that a knowledge of something requires the knowledge of its opposite.4 Accordingly, des Places lists the following senses expressive of techne: a) art, science; b) knowledge, method; and c) fraud.5 He also cites μέθοδος (methodos) as a word to be linked with techne. Associated with it he finds the words δημιουργία (demiourgia), ἐπιστήμη (episteme), χειρουργία (cheirourgia) and ἐμπειρία (empeiria). Opposed to it he finds the terms empeiria (obviously it swings both ways), θεῖα μοῖρα (theia moira: divine fate), παιδεία (paideia: culture), τριβή (tribe: knack), φύσις (physis: nature) and τύχη (tyche: chance). Among these he also appends the term ἀτεχνία (atechnia). There are also some cross-references that he notes which would also be worth pursuing, although it would be impossible to follow through in detail on them all. This organization does provide some guidance for pursuing the meaning of the usage in individual passages in Plato even if one disagrees about their placement under a given division. Now it should be noted that des Places’ work was completed in 1964 and was an advancement over the work of Ast compiled in the

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There are three of τεχνίτις (technitis), one of which may be referring to God as the chief Artificer. Fridericus Astius, Lexicon Platonicum: sive, Vocum Platonicarum Index (Leipzig: Weidmann, 1836), 3:379. English insertions in brackets are mine. Édouard des Places, Platon: Lexique, 1re Partie (A-L), 2e Partie (M-O), Oeuvres complètes vol. 14, CUFr (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1964). The author is citing Leg. VII, 816e where Plato writes, “if one wants to be a wise man, it is impossible to understand the serious without the comical and the opposites without all their opposites.” The edition of Plato from which I shall quote is Platonis Opera, ed. John Burnet, 5 vols., SCBO (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1900); unless otherwise indicated, translations are my own. des Places, Platon: Lexique, 503.

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nineteenth century. However, it antedates the exhaustive accuracy of current electronic searches. The Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG) shows more than five hundred occurrences merely with regard to the singular forms of the term. The number increases if the dual and plural forms are included; the instances also increase if associated nominal, adjectival and verbal forms are added.6 One also needs to highlight here the very useful assortment of terms provided by David Roochnik’s book.7 In using any passage with regard to the meaning or application of the term, however, one does need to be alert to Plato’s dialectic style. Assertions made in the course of a dialogic exchange are sometimes merely provisional; they are often of a hypothetical nature to be discharged in the course of, or at the end of, the particular dialogue. Thus, when Plato seems to assert that something is a techne, one often finds that later such an assertion is rejected. As can be ascertained from these lists, Plato’s use of techne is widespread throughout the dialogues. This is not surprising if one reads about the position that Plato assigns to it in Leg. 892b where he notes that, “Opinion, diligence, reason, art [techne] and law will be prior to roughness and smoothness, heaviness and lightness. … Natural things, and nature itself – to use the mistaken terminology of our opponents – will be secondary products from art [techne] and reason.”8 The contrast between art and nature, the artificial and the natural, or the technical and the natural is something that is quite explicit and still remains up to the present. Significantly, in Plato techne or art is associated with reason and mind. To sample what is mentioned in the dialogues as a techne, consider a few cases. Mention is made in the Euthyphro of the merchandizing art (14e); in the Cratylus of the onomastic, musical and painting arts (423d); in the Theaetetus of midwifery (210b); in the Sophist of the acquisitive and mimetic arts (219c, 265a); in the Statesman of the calculative, supervisory, nourishing and regal arts (259e, 260c, 267b, 300e); in the Symposium of the mantic art (202e); in the Phaedrus of the rhetorical art (261a); in Alcibiades I of the musical, piloting and shoemaking arts (108d, 125d, 128b); in the Euthydemus of the general’s, hunting and farming arts (290b, 291e); in the Protagoras of the metric art (357b); in the 6 More precisely it shows the following number of occurrences of the singular and its morphological variations: τέχνη (106 occurrences); τέχνῃ (118 occurrences); τέχνην (185 occurrences); τέχνης (130 occurrences). 7 David Roochnik, Of Art and Wisdom: Plato’s Understanding of Techne (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996), Appendix 1: The Appearances of ‘Techne.’ 8 Δόξα δὴ καὶ ἐπιμέλεια καὶ νοῦς καὶ τέχνη καὶ νόμος σκληρῶν καὶ μαλακῶν καὶ βαρέων καὶ κούφων πρότερα ἂν εἴη. … τὰ δὲ φύσει καὶ φύσις, ἣν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἐπονομάζουσιν αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ὕστερα καὶ ἀρχόμενα ἂν ἐκ τέχνης εἴη καὶ νοῦ.

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Gorgias of the pastry-making, medical and gymnastic arts (500e, 501a, 517e); and the list goes on.

Techne, Rules, and Moral Behaviour in Plato

All of these illustrations lead us to ask: “How are we best to translate the word techne?” This question was raised notably by Roochnik in criticism of the position taken by Terence Irwin. On the one hand, Irwin translated techne as “craft.”9 In the early dialogues Plato is not only searching to ground ethics over against moral theories proposed by some sophists but also to establish ethics against uncritical beliefs of the many. For Socrates, then, the case of a skilled craftsman applying his techne – his craft – on a subject to make it excellent, becomes the model for applying knowledge of morality to a student and rendering him morally excellent, or virtuous. Since ἀρετή (arete) – the excellence of something – is sought in both cases (one physical, the other moral), it appears that a techne yields a product – something tangible and practical. In an example from Socrates, one would possess the equine techne or craft if one were able to raise good horses.10 While on the other hand, Roochnik argues that “craft” is not a means to moral knowledge but rather functions dialectically to exhort and refute in the dialogues,11 I believe that Plato does intend techne as a craft – a means to pro9 10

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David L. Roochnik, “Socrates’s Use of the Techne-Analogy,” JHP 24/3 (1986): 295-310; Terence Irwin, Plato’s Moral Theory: The Early and Middle Dialogues (Oxford / New York: Clarendon Press, 1977). Apol. 20b (ed. Burnet). Moral virtue, then, is instrumentally valuable in producing εὐδαιμονία (eudaimonia) or happiness. Irwin, Plato’s Moral Theory, 95: “virtue is the knowledge of what is instrumental to happiness, and is therefore itself instrumental to hap­ piness.” Cf. the following statements: “for crafts are his [Socrates’] only examples of teachable disciplines and they offer no rational method for choosing ends” (p. 109); “Socrates’ earlier view of the status of virtue, that it is itself only an instrumental means to happiness” (p. 109); “virtue both prescribes instrumental means and is itself instrumental to happiness; there is no reason to treat it as a good in itself (p. 109).” Roochnik, however, correctly notes that Plato includes under techne disciplines that have no productive value but merely theoretical value, such as mathematics. Such a discipline, although it can be used to achieve a certain end, cannot be seen as directed to making a certain product. In the Aristotelian division of the sciences, one thinks of the so-called subordinate sciences that utilize principles of the higher sciences. However, even here the sciences remain theoretical and are not productive. The frequency of occurrence in the dialogues as a refutation technique is examined in a numerical table provided by Roochnik as an appendix to his article. For Roochnik, Plato’s use is to stress that interlocutors should not accept any δόξαι (doxai: opinions) that are currently widely endorsed on an issue, but rather should seek out someone who has

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duce a product. It should be noted that use of techne persists throughout the Platonic corpus, and it is difficult to claim that in all these instances Plato uses it in refutational contexts. Techne as craft appears even in the late dialogues, the Sophist and the Statesman, in the context of the Collection and Division schemes, which – if one takes them seriously and not just as jests, as did Shorey – are seen to incorporate the final and most sophisticated of Platonic techniques to uncover the formal nature of things.12 Even though in the Sophist Plato is seeking to define the nature of the sophist, we should see this is simply a cover for more important issues that he is seeking to resolve, like the method of Collection and Division. In this connection, the notion of techne as craft emerges as important. Plato uses the concept to set up his exemplary definition, that of the angler. It is the basic type under which particular types of expertise are divided, the primary subdivision being into the acquisitive (κτητική: ktetike) and the productive (ποιητική: poietike).13 Near the end of the dialogue, after Plato uses techne numerous times, he recalls the initial division but adds a subdivision under the productive subclass, splitting it into two places: divine and human (265e). In his final and seemingly definitive summation of the nature of the sophist, Plato includes him under the human productive side of the division, including in his description the unsavoury descriptive qualities he so often tied to the sophist in more dramatic ways in the earlier dialogues (268cd). The twin dialogue of the Sophist, also attributable to Plato’s late period, is the Statesman. This piece makes clear that Plato has a similar aim: to provide an account of the nature of the thing under examination, that is, the statesman. Perhaps anticipatory of his final statement, Plato dwells extensively on the metaphor of weaving and utilizes aspects of that craft throughout the work. His definition of the statesman is inclusive of factors that cause a society

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knowledge, a relevant craft, and consider his doxa to be of greater worth. It is not clear that Roochnik has successfully argued that there is an incompatibility between using techne or craft in a substantive way and using it as a refutation technique. The dismissal is in Paul Shorey, What Plato Said (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1933), 294-295. In antiquity, Epicrates can be seen as spoofing this method; see CAF 2.287 (ed. Kock). The Platonic insistence on the importance of the role of definition in philosophy is mocked by Diogenes the Cynic in the famous anecdote found in Diogenes Laertius, Lives 6.40 (LCL, trans. Hicks). For a detailed look at the diagrams of Collection and Division in the Sophist and in the Statesman see Kenneth M. Sayre’s two books respectively, Plato’s Analytical Method (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969) and Metaphysics and Method in Plato’s Statesman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), passim. More recently diagrams are included in Ryan Middleton, “Weaving the Statesman: The Unity of Plato’s Politicus” (PhD diss., University of Western Ontario, 2015), 122-126, http:// ir.lib.uwo.ca/etd/2760. Soph. 219a-d (ed. Burnet).

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to be interwoven into a polity of peace. Note that Plato’s identification of the statesman follows upon the definition of the “art of statesmanship” (ἡ βασιλική τέχνη: he basilike techne [311c]); the art enables the statesman to be who he is and function in the way he does. While art refers immediately not to a “product” as would be the case in one of the productive sciences, the “fabric” of the state can justifiably be referred to as its “product.” It is also to be noted that the terms techne and episteme seem to be used without much distinction in this dialogue.14 In all this, it seems significantly that in any techne, a certain set pattern – a set of rules, if you will – governs the activity of the technician or artist or expert (more broadly the epistemon: ἐπιστήμων) and directs his/her activity in the achievement of a product.15 Against this background, it seems appropriate to turn to the New Testament and to a small segment of early Christian tradition to examine the stark contrast between two different traditions.

Techne and the New Testament

The Absence of Techne in the New Testament While it is hard to deny that many of the Church Fathers looked very kindly on Plato as opposed to other Greek philosophical thinkers, there were important elements over which the two traditions would divide, such as the Trinity, the Incarnation, salvation history, resurrection and so on. As mentioned earlier in the paper, another divide arises in the use of techne. Earlier I mentioned the contrast between the frequency of occurrences of techne in Plato and in the New Testament. In the latter, the veritable absence of the moral usage of this term could perhaps be attributed to happenstance. However, much of the key moral vocabulary of Greek philosophical writers is

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At Pol. 264d (trans. Cooper), reference is made to “expert knowledge of collective rearing” (ten koinotrophiken epistemen) and then immediately thereafter to this as applied to land animals by the word techne, or as Cooper translates “of expertise” (tes technes). The initial and more comprehensive version was made at the beginning of the dialogue by Plato at 258 where he speaks of two sciences (epistemai). On the same Stephanus page, however, he will list mathematics and related pursuits as something devoid of action, limited to knowing yet still referred to as technai. See the tables in Platon: Le Politique, Oeuvres Complètes 9.1, ed. / trans. Auguste Diès, CUFr (Paris: Société d’Édition Les Belles Lettres, 1960), xvi-xvii. If one is engaging in an expertise that does not necessarily terminate in a product, such as mathematics, one still seems to be working or active within a set of rules.

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also missing in the New Testament.16 Here I would like to argue the reason for this, and then discuss the more specific, surprising role played by techne in early Christian tradition after the New Testament. Why do New Testament traditions lack vocabulary of Greek moral philosophy, vocabulary like techne? For any moral speculation the notions of justice and of justification (δίκαιον: dikaion; δικαιοσύνη: dikaiosune)17 play an important role. Without arguing this generally, the Platonic discussion of justice is scattered throughout the dialogues and its pivotal importance is without doubt quite obvious in the Republic. While Plato attempts, across his dialogues, to establish definitions of the natures or essences of the realities corresponding to abstract or general terms such as these and to establish transcendent paradigmatic instances as references of these,18 the New Testament proceeds in quite a different way. In the case of Plato, the articulation of a rule or standard should provide the base for an expertise, a knowledge, to regulate human behaviour. Moreover, Plato seems to seek an absolute standard over the contingent events that will be seen as realizing or failing to realize the standard. In the New Testament, on the other hand, the understanding of justice is presented not in terms of an absolute standard but rather via a set of dramatic personal and historic interactions. This is best illustrated by two New Testament traditions, the Johannine tradition and the Letter to the Hebrews, which present the notion of justice or righteousness as a key to the Gospel message. Let me present first the case of the evangelist John. Although the heart of John’s gospel is widely touted to be contained in the famous passage at 3:16, one can miss the deeper articulation of the message which is presented by a legal metaphor that runs through the whole gospel and other Johannine works.19 This metaphor or motif has been extensively commented upon in a relatively recent book but suffice it to say we may summarize it as follows.20 There is a divine activity of judging (κρίνειν) taking place over the universe with an 16 17 18 19 20

This has been argued in greater detail in Joseph A. Novak, “Ancient Greek Ethical Theories and the New Testament,” in Ethics and Justification, ed. Douglas Odegard (Edmonton: Academic Printing & Publishing, 1988), 117-146. These two terms can be used interchangeably in Plato; see des Places, Platon: Lexique, 140. Clearly Plato realizes the problems that this project creates regarding the relationships of the Forms and particulars. His attempts to resolve these can be found especially in the Parmenides and other late dialogues. Donald Knuth, the famed mathematician and computer scientist, wrote a book entitled 3:16. Bible Texts Illuminated (Madison: A-R Editions, 1991) in which all verses designated 3:16 in the Bible are considered for comment and graphic illustration. See Andrew T. Lincoln, Truth on Trial: The Lawsuit Motif in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2000). This motif can also be seen in the epistles traditionally attributed to John or the Johannine school. With regard to the Old Testament, Walter Brueggemann

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intended judgement (κρίσις: krisis [John 3:17-19]); people are under accusation (κατηγορεῖν: kategorein [5:45]) or judgement (κρίμα: krima [9:39]); Satan functions as the accuser (κατήγωρ: kategor [Rev 12:10]) by bringing false (ψευδής: pseudes) testimony (μαρτυρία: marturia) and is essentially a father of lies (John 8:44). People are under the judgement of sin and unbelief and therefore under judgement. There is one who stands as the attorney or advocate (παράκλητος: parakleitos) for people, Jesus Christ or in His physical absence the Holy Spirit (“another advocate” [14:16, 26; 15:26; 1 John 2:1]). This advocate is one who knows and bears witness (μαρτυρεῖν: marturein) to the truth (ἀλήθεια: truth [John 8:40, 18:37]). He himself bears the testimony of God (5:31-40). His successful defense of humans occurs by His substituting of Himself for erring humans, thereby releasing theme from condemnation.21 People can, then, due to the identification of them with this advocate, also employ the name (ὄνομα: name) of Christ as their own, that is, can exercise the power of attorney, to obtain whatever they desire of God (14:13-14, 15:16, 16:23-26). People, having been justified by this one time sacrificial death, have access to a new identity, a new self. One receives justification not through one’s deeds but through trusting (πιστεύειν) in the attorney (advocate) for the defense whose own integrity becomes the true witness that effects the vindication of the accused (1 John 3:23). Another metaphor which contains the message of justification by faith and not by works, can be found in the Letter to the Hebrews.22 As in the previous metaphor, here the person of Christ is the chief agent but acting as High Priest (ἀρχιερεύς: archiereus) rather than as attorney (Heb 3:1, 4:14, 5:10, 6:20, 7:24, 8:1, 10:21, for instance). Since the High Priest functions as the one mediator (μεσίτης: mesites [9:15, 24; 12:24]) who effects reconciliation between God and people, who makes intercession on behalf of people (7:25), who effectively renders them righteous through a sacrificial atonement, an atonement effected by his own self-sacrifice (7:27, 9:14, 26, 28; 13:12), then the same identification between Christ and people occurs in this imagery as in the previous imagery. People are once again vindicated, freed from sin and freed from the power of Satan (2:14).

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perceives a legal motif dominating that work. See his Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997). Immanuel Kant found this substitutionary activity conceptually unacceptable for ethics. There is, and always has been (even in the Patristic period), dispute whether the letter was written by Paul himself. However, it remains in the canon of the New Testament. For an older discussion of authorship see James Moffatt, An Introduction to the Literature of the New Testament, 3rd ed. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1918), 435-443; for a more recent and extensive evaluation see Paul Ellingworth, The Epistle to the Hebrews, NIGTC 19 (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1993), 3-21.

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Here people achieve justice or virtue, not by following a techne, but by the intervention of Christ. Yet another factor distinguishes the New Testament and Platonic worldviews.23 This is the role of a linear historical perspective, dominant in the New Testament (and the Old Testament) but absent in Plato. According to the New Testament, human history has a clear endpoint which involves the judgement and resurrection of all people and the ultimate and final restoration of the whole creation – indeed, this necessitates a “new creation (καινὴ κτίσις).”24 Given that the endpoint is fixed, there is a possibility of a synoptic view of the whole process of history. Knowledge of this is secured by acceptance through faith of revelation of the divine plan. Thus, it becomes clear that faith here means more than mere assent to articles of a given creed. Since humans must make decisions about contingent and ever-changing historical situations, there must be, beyond any general revelation, direction provided to them to make the right choices as they are acting within time. Hence, the right actions in those circumstances cannot be determined from a list of rules, a skilled habit of acting, or from some “art” (techne). Nor can virtues be an adequate or sufficient standard for living the type of life that will lead to happiness or salvation.25 The worldview so often attributed to Plato, wherein knowledge, that is, exact definition or intuition, of transcendent Forms (inclusive of “moral” Forms such as justice, temperance and courage), enables right behaviour and action, does not seem sufficient to deal with the radical shifts in events and circumstances of an ever-changing historical situation. Whether one considers the Demiurge’s directed contemplation of the Forms (Timaeus’ creation account), the gods’ enraptured speculation on the Forms (Phaedrus’ heavenly chariot tale), or the philosopher’s attentive observation of the Sun and Forms (the Republic’s cave analogy), or even the upward gaze upon the Beautiful (in the Symposium), the objects of knowing are not themselves historical nor can they provide directive for concrete decision making. 23 24

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This in addition to specific supernatural facets found only in the New Testament (for example, belief in a transcendent personal deity, incarnation, existence of demons, resurrection and miracles). As in Rev 21:5: “Behold I make all things new.” This is not meant to be hyperbolic. All the books of the Christian Bible came to be called the New Testament. Believers were those who were “born anew (again)”; their minds were being “renewed”; man was a “new creature.” The word translated as “happiness” (eudaimonia) occurs nowhere in the New Testament. The word arete occurs only three times and never carries the moral weight it does in philosophical writings. The terms “ethics” and “ethical” (ta ethika) – widespread in Classical and Hellenistic philosophy – never occur in the New Testament.

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To summarize, the importance of the aforementioned New Testament images shows that a Greek moralistic reading of the New Testament, for instance viewing the Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount as a behavioural code that ensures salvation and the Kingdom of God, is inaccurate. Justice does not become present in an individual or group by following rules of a techne. Rather, it is a transformation effected in individuals and indeed in the whole cosmos by the action of a single personality, the God-Man.26 26

The opposition between Plato and the New Testament can perhaps be mollified somewhat. As already mentioned, Plato gives some indication in his later work, especially in the Statesman, that seems to allow for accommodation to the historical dimension of human affairs and governance. Whatever difficulties there are in the interpretation of the myth of the great reversal (on which see Stanley Rosen, Plato’s Statesman: The Web of Politics [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995], chap. 3), the narrative shows a deity, presumably one beyond the Olympian gods, intervening at appropriate times in the history of the cosmos and of men, to cause a radical reversal in the unfolding of events. Given the proximity of meaning between techne and episteme, and given the overall sapiential and regulatory role played by techne, consider briefly Plato’s myth (μύθος: mythos) in Pol. (268e – [ed. Burnet]) about times in which the universe undergoes periodic reversal in its motion involving both spatial and temporal aspects of it and its inhabitants. God himself (αὐτὸς ὁ θεός) who is the one who gave birth (γεννήσας) to many qualities of the universe and is its craftsman (δημιουργός), allows the universe to go backwards (τὸ ἀνάπαλιν ἰέναι). This great turning (τροπή), one that is opposed to its present revolution (ἡ τῆς νῦν καθεστηκυίας ἐναντία τροπή), is an unrolling or reversal of everything (ἀνειλίξις). Even human aging would be reversed and old people would become young again and gradually turn to infants and fade away. This process would also have as a consequence the rising of the dead. For those who had been buried the process of dying would be reversed and they would be born from the earth. Admittedly, a myth is a myth and not dialectic. However, in considering other myths present in Plato one is not alerted to any deep conflict of principles with his basic philosophical tenets. Rather than time as a “moving image of eternity” wherein eternal perdurance seems to constitute the base of the material cosmos, Plato now has a trajectory where the cycles of life and change may be interrupted. Further, it is a divine force (notice in the passage the multiple and varied references to God) that intervenes in the movements of the world; the deity is hardly the clockmaker god of Deism. The question may be posed: “What rule(s) is God following regarding the termination of the retrograde motion of the universe?” It is hard to see any rules at work. Instead the degenerative cosmic process seems to be interrupted at an arbitrary point by God; his will enters as the definitive factor to precipitate the reversal process, obviating and overriding any established pattern or rules. (Other, mortal, craftsmen would seem to have to follow a more settled process in imposing on their subject matter the form of expertise present in their minds.) As is already obvious from the self-criticism found in the Parmenides, there is a prominent role given to the Form (Genus) Motion in the Sophist and there is a veritable praise of change given by Plato therein. Plato’s framework of what constitutes intelligibility has been altered. This shift allows one to see a sensibility in Plato’s thinking that parallels the perspective in the New Testament. Although with considerable effort one might argue that this is a repeated phenomenon and hence might be situated within a larger context of a predictable pattern or some set

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The Presence of Techne (Ars Sancta) in Early Christian Monasticism While the term techne is used in the New Testament only in connection with craft, literally or metaphorically, that bears on productive activity modeled on the creative manual skills such as carpentry or building, the concept of techne (Latin: ars) comes to play an influential role in the monastic tradition to describe the mode of life of monks who are seeking for a detailed regimen that will enable them to live a holy, or morally exemplary, life.27 Although conceptually equivalent to the Greek term techne, ars is thought to be related etymologically to the Greek verb ἀρτίζω which means “to perform/arrange.” George’s Latin-German dictionary points to a relationship with the fourth declension noun artus which has the meaning of a “(bodily) joint.”28 It is no doubt this sense that allowed Lewis and Short to note how ars as a “skill in joining something, combining, working it, etc., with the advancement of Roman culture, carried entirely beyond the sphere of the common pursuits of life, into that of artistic and scientific action, just as, on the other hand, in mental cultivation, skill is applied to morals, designating character, manner of thinking, so far as it is made known by external actions (syn.: doctrina, sollertia, calliditas, prudentia, virtus, industria, ratio, via, dolus).” Thus it becomes clear how the regimen regulating the monastic life came to be known as the ars sancta. We find this concept occurring in the Regula Magistri (RM) which became the model for the very important Rule of St. Benedict (RB), probably the paradigm for the Western monastic lifestyle.29 The end of

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of universal laws, there does seem to be indeterminacy in the process. Moreover, it is at least something that is not captured by a techne. There is little doubt that the term ars is the counterpart of the Greek techne. The first lexical listing for “ars, artis, f” in Lewis/Short is a literal one and it reads as follows: “Skill in producing any material form, handicraft, trade, occupation, employment (τέχνη). Lit.: Zeno censet artis proprium esse creare et gignere, Cic. N. D. 2, 22, 57: quarum (artium) omne opus est in faciendo atque agendo, id. Ac. 2, 7, 22; id. Off. 2, 3, 12 sq.” The second listing elaborates, “With the idea extended, any physical or mental activity, so far as it is practically exhibited; a profession, art (music, poetry, medicine, etc.); acc. to Roman notions, the arts were either liberales or ingenuae artes, arts of freemen, the liberal arts; or artes illiberales or sordidae, the arts, employments, of slaves or the lower classes.” Lewis/ Short, s.v. Der neue Georges: ausführliches Lateinisch-Deutsches Handwörterbuch. Auf der Grundlage der 8., verbesserten und vermehrten Auflage von Heinrich Georges, Hannover und Leipzig 1913, neu bearbeitet 2013, aus den Quellen zusammengetragen und mit besonderer Bezugnahme auf Synonymik und Antiquitäten unter Berücksichtigung der besten Hilfsmittel ausgearbeitet von Karl-Ernst Georges, ed. Thomas Baier, 2 vols. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2013), s.v. The critical text is Le Règle du Maître: Édition diplomatique des manuscrits latins 12205 et 12634 de Paris, par Hubert Vanderhoven & François Masai, avec la collaboration de P.B. Corbett, ASMB (Brussels / Paris: Éditions Erasme, 1953). Hereafter abbreviated RM.

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c. 2 of RM, after having listed a number of prescriptions by which the monks were to regulate their relationships with one another, concludes with the following: And no one determines or does anything of his own choosing but everyone spends his life under the rule of the abbot who, therefore, as abbot is the artificer [artifex] of this holy art [sanctae huius artis] not assigning to himself the application [ministerium] of this art [artis] but attributing it to God whose grace builds up [fabricator] in us whatever of the holy {art} is realized by us. This art ought to be taught and learned in the workshop [officina] of the monastery and it can be exercised with spiritual instruments [ferramentis] (RM p. 158 [ed. Vanderhoven / Masai]).30 What is significant here is the vocabulary that bears on a techne. There is not simply mention of the techne or art (ars) but also of the artist (artifex), the activity (ministerium), construction (fabricatur), workshop (officina) and even the instrument of the art (ferramentis). This seems to go unnoticed in the one translation where the use of the term fabricatur loses its connection to the techne metaphor.31 Another quite striking term used is ferramentum. The dictionary entry for this is revealing for it points to implements that are used by various crafts or skills, whether agricultural, military, or other: ferrāmentum, i, n. ferrum, an implement or tool of iron, or shod, pointed, etc., with iron, esp. agricultural implements (a hatchet, axe, sickle, etc.): puteum periclo et ferramentis fodimus, Plaut. Rud 2, 4, 19: de ferramentorum varietate scribit (Cato) permulta ... ut falces, palas, rastros, etc., Varr. R. R. 1, 22, 5; Col. 2, 18, 4; 3, 18, 6; 4, 24, 21; 4, 29, 15; Plin. 18, 26, 64, § 236: agrestia, Liv. 1, 40, 5: peditem super arma ferramentis quoque et copiis onerare, axes, etc., Tac. G. 30: bonorum ferramentorum studiosus, swords or daggers, Cic. Cat. 3, 5, 10; id. Sull. 19, 55; id. N. D. 1, 8, 19; cf. id. Top. 15, 59; Hor. Ep. 1, 1, 86: nulla ferramentorum copia, * Caes. B. G. 5, 42, 3: tonsoria, 30

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Et nullus suo aliquid constituit aut facit arbitrio sed omnes sub imperio degunt abbatis qui ergo abbas sanctae huius artis sit artifex non sibi sed domino adsignans ministerium cuius in nobis gratia fabricatur quidquid a nobis sanctae perficitur quae ars doceri et disci debet in monasterii officina et exerceri potest cum spiritalibus ferramentis. The translation in The Rule of the Master, trans. Luke Eberle, AMS/CistS 6 (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1977), 114, renders the phrase containing fabricatur as “whose grace achieves in us.” This seems to miss the technological side of the verb which includes the notion of construction.

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razors, Mart. 14, 36: pugnantium, i. e. swords, Suet. Tit. 9: instrumento medici legato ... ferramenta legato cedunt, Paul. Sent. 3, 6, 62.32 This list includes such instruments as spades, rakes, sickles, swords and razors. Striking in this list of citations is the one in Cicero’s De natura deorum at 1.19, which occurs famously in part five of Hume’s Dialogues on Natural Religion where he is criticizing the teleological arguments for God’s existence. Citing Cicero – left untranslated by Hume whose reading public would provide their own – the text reads: Quibus enim oculis animi intueri potuit vester Plato fabricam illam tanti operis, qua construi a deo atque aedificari mundum facit; quae molitio quae ferramenta qui vectes quae machinae qui ministri tanti muneris fuerunt; quem ad modum autem oboedire et parere voluntati architecti aer ignis aqua terra potuerunt; For by what eyes of the mind was your Plato able to see that workshop of so great a labor, in which he makes the world to be constructed and built by God? What laborious undertaking, what tools, what levers, what machines, who were the servants in so vast a work? How were the air, fire, water, and earth able to obey and submit to the will of the architect?33 Significantly, here the extended imagery of the mechanics of design on a cosmic scale are echoed in the techne or ars of monastic living. Also of interest here is that Cicero uses the plural form of the possessive adjective with respect to Plato, that is, vester rather than tuus because both the Stoic Balbus in the dialogue as well as the later Academics are recognized as inheritors of the Platonic tradition.34 After this consideration the RM then undertakes in the next chapter to examine what constitutes this holy art and what rules are constitutive of it.35 The third chapter bears in its title the questions: “What is the holy art? How the abbot ought to teach his disciples in the monastery?” The response is: “This is the holy art” which is followed first by the general rules to “believe, confess, and 32 33 34 35

Lewis/Short, s.v. David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, reprinted with an introduction by Bruce M’Ewen (Edinburgh / London: William Blackwood and Sons, 1907), 73. Nat. de. 1.19 (ed. Pease). A list of the chapter titles of the entire rule is provided in Rule of the Master (trans. Eberle), 87-91. This list does provide insight into how this mode of spiritual communal living is rule-governed and how this constitutes its technical nature.

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fear the Triune God and love Him and then love your neighbour as yourself.” Immediately there follows a long list of injunctions rephrasing the Ten Commandments followed by numerous other more concrete moral rules. The fourth chapter begins with a question posed by the student: “What are the spiritual instruments [ferramenta spiritalia] with which we are able to exercise [operari] the divine art [artem divinam]?”36 The sixth chapter enhances the technical metaphor by opening with the question: “What is the workshop [officina] of the divine art [divinae artis] or the operation of the spiritual instruments [spiritalium ferramentorum]?” The response is: “The workshop [officina] is the monastery in which the instruments of the heart are placed in the enclosure of the body; the work [opus] of the divine art is able to be effected [operari] by persevering with diligent care.” Thereupon follows a lengthy description of the conduct to be observed by the monks presumably so that the factory of the monastery, governed by such conduct, will produce characters of a certain sort. The RM became the basis for the Rule of St. Benedict, and one finds the same mentality present in it, as the enumeration of its injunctions will show. Historically it also seems striking that the motto of the Benedictine Order ora et labora (pray and work) seems also to reflect the same factory mentality. Moreover, there is the fact that, as a matter of historical record, monasteries became hubs of applied activity, not only in terms of scriptoria which preserved much of ancient wisdom by the scribal copy activity of many of the monks, but also with regard to the production of food and seemingly even a liqueur.37 A quick overview of the rules shows St. Benedict’s familiarity with the RM and historians believe that unquestionably he was influenced by it. Although St. Benedict does not use the expression ars divina (sancta) in his own rule, at the end he does use the expression ars spiritualis as is clear from his summary statement: Behold these are the tools or instruments of our spiritual profession [instrumenta artis spiritualis]; if they are performed [adimpleta] by us day and night, and are signed with approval in the day of judgement, that reward [merces] shall be given us by our Lord as a recompense [recompensabitur] as He promised, “Which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive what God hath pre36 37

In Rule of the Master (trans. Eberle), 118, “practice” is used to render operari. The English word hides the technical labour metaphor so often attached to the Latin expression. Some claims have been made that the famous liqueur Bénédictine was really invented by a Frenchman in the nineteenth century and that its monastic origin is mythical. However, it appears that the nineteenth-century recipe was based on the recipe of a monk in sixteenth-century Venice.

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pared for those that love Him.” The workshop [officina] where all these things are to be done is the cloister of the monastery, and steadfast abiding in the Congregation.38 A review of these rules and these passages indicate that in the moral arena the good life and the metaphor of the techne remain intertwined. The importance and centrality of the role of techne articulated by Plato seems to have persisted. One finds that the concept of an art as displayed in the RM and the RB becomes very important.39 Since the monastic traditions had enormous impact on the pastoral spirituality and theological speculation of the Middle Ages, the religious life of Western Christianity has also been affected by it. However, the question of the coherence of this “rule-governed techne version” of Christianity with the revelation of the New Testament now emerges centre stage. In this regard the lack in the New Testament of the very ethical terminology (like techne) which had enjoyed widespread employment among the ancient philosophical writers now stands out all the more and is explicable: The New Testament is not engaged in cultivating a moral techne because it is the revelation of Christ which instills the virtue of moral excellence, that is, justice, in believers. A close consideration of the Platonic and New Testament traditions shows that the appearance of similarity between them is – if one remains faithful to a Platonic principle – a mere appearance but not a genuine reality. It is appropriate here briefly to consider two objections to my analysis of the absence of techne in the New Testament.40 The first objection is that, if the proposed interpretation of the New Testament’s core message is taken seriously, the danger of antinomianism emerges. One of the advantages of the Platonic craft analogy, whether it is taken in the very rigid way as does Irwin or in 38

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Ecce haec sunt instrumenta artis spiritualis: quae cum fuerint a nobis die noctuque incessabiliter adimpleta, et in die judicii reconsignata. Illa merces nobis a Domino recompensabitur, quam ipse promisit: “Quod oculus non vidit, nec auris audivit nec in cor hominis ascendit, quae preparavit Deus his qui diligunt eum.” Officina vero, ubi haec Officina vero, ubi haec omnia, diligenter operemur, claustra sunt monasterii, et stabilitas in Congregatione. See Saint Benedict, The Rule of Our Most Holy Father Benedict, Patriarch of Monks. From the Old English Edition of 1638, edited in Latin and English by one of the Benedictine Fathers of St. Michael’s, near Hereford (London: R. Washbourne, 1875), 44-45. As Giorgio Agamben writes in The Highest Poverty: Monastic Rules and Form-of-Life, trans. Adam Kotsko, MER (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013), 33: “In this sense, the monastery is perhaps the first place in which life itself – and not only the ascetic techniques that form and regulate it – was presented as an art.” These are weighty objections and deserve lengthy responses. While a full exploration of the problems raised cannot be undertaken here, the trajectory of their solution can be sketched.

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the broader way as does Roochnik, is that the right mode of human acting lies under the supervision of the articulated knowledge or developed skill of an expert craftsman whose accurate direction leads always, ceteris partibus, to successful outcomes. This skill is comprised of rules that certify this success. The brief sketch of the New Testament message as given above seems to jettison the role of rules or a code of law and leaves the measurement of an act as good and evil, or of an individual as innocent or guilty, or of a life as praiseworthy or reprehensible, entirely to decisions of individuals who are supernatural or functioning beyond the natural order. In response to this objection one must first clarify that the antinomianism is not one arising from a mere rejection of certain Jewish ritual laws and modes of behaviour that were inherited from Jewish tradition. In 2 Cor 3 Paul speaks of living according to the message of the Gospels as opposed to engaging in a “service of death.” This service of death (diakonia tou thanatou) is understood unmistakably as the observance of the Decalogue, for these are the commandments written on stone (en grammasin lithinais [2 Cor 3:7]). Thus, against the backdrop of the numerous court cases in the United States brought against the display of the Ten Commandments on public property, one might wonder whether Paul might be amused by the increasing number of rulings against their exhibition. Also very interesting is the reaction of Jesus to the rich young man who, although observant of all the commandments, refuses to follow Jesus. After the man turns away, the remarks of Jesus to his disciples make it clear that the man is damned (Matt 19:16-26). However, as strong as this seeming rejection of exterior restraints appears, there remains the abiding direction coming from the Divine Shepherd whose voice is obeyed by all his sheep. Thus, two feared consequences need not ensue: Neither do humans become autonomous (a law unto themselves), nor does behavioural chaos arise for all of humankind. A second objection to my analysis of techne is that it runs counter to the apparently numerous instances of commands and injunctions in New Testament texts themselves. One thinks of the Sermon on the Mount and the famous socalled Haustafeln or household codes. The impression left on some readers of the New Testament is that Jesus spends his ministry preaching a new morality in which one is to love one’s enemies, turn the other cheek, practice meekness and so on. The text appears to present him as a radical rabbinic figure who is interpreting or even interpreting away parts of the older Jewish Torah. Further, in looking at the other books of the New Testament the reader is again seemingly confronted with numerous moral rules or guidelines that suggest the entire book be labeled as a moral vade-mecum. Even the Pauline writings contain

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lists of seeming moral “dos and don’ts,” as a simple perusal of some passages reveals, the longer two being in Ephesians (5:33-6:9) and Colossians (3:18-4:1). (5:33) However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. (6:1) Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. (2) “Honor your father and mother” (this is the first commandment with a promise) (3) “that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.” (4) Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. (5) Bondservants, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling, with a sincere heart, as you would Christ, (6) not by the way of eyeservice, as people-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, (7) rendering service with a good will as to the Lord and not to man (8) knowing that whatever good anyone does, this he will receive back from the Lord, whether he is a bondservant or is free. (9) Masters, do the same to them, and stop your threatening, knowing that he who is both their Master and yours is in heaven, and that there is no partiality with him (Eph 5:33-6:9).41 These passages certainly have the appearance of lists of rules which, much like the rules of an artistic expert, when followed will guarantee an outcome. Among other epistles with such lists are the first letter of Peter (1 Pet 3:1-7 and beyond) as well as the letter to the Galatians (Gal 5-6). With regard to this objection, some theological interpreters find that these lists do indeed appear at first to be a concession of Paul and other New Testament writers to the dominant mores of the Hellenistic period. However, a closer inspection, in my opinion, reveals that the surface resemblance is dispelled by the actual nature and motivation behind each of the injunctions. In other words, spiritual transformation of individuals has effected a transformation of the individual acts which they perform. Hence, for instance, one might think that enkrateia, as mentioned by Paul, is a quality recognized as admirable even among the pagans. Consequently, the New Testament believers would be at least integrating some of the “virtues” practiced by respectable pagans. Yet, it is clear that this is a fruit of the Spirit and hence really a supernatural quality inaccessible to the unbeliever (Gal 5:22-23). Moreover, one needs to recall that even for someone like Aristotle, ἐγκράτεια (enkrateia) is not a desirable virtue

41

The ESV Bible within the Logos software program translates the Greek term douloi as “bondservants.” The ESV print Bible, however, translates douloi as “slaves.”

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– indeed it is an unhappy state for someone who lacks σωφροσύνη (sophrosune).42 A similar response is possible in the case of an important quality such as justice (dikaiosune) recognized as one the “cardinal virtues.” In the New Testament one’s own acquired justice not only does not suffice for a happy state but actually it contravenes a gracious state of blessedness. In the end, a careful analysis of each particular virtue of classical ethics would display a similar difference and show that the radical spiritual transformation of the believer makes the normal ethical life something no longer relevant to her or him.43

Summary

This essay has attempted to explain the contrast between the abundant moral use of techne in Plato, and its absence in the New Testament canon. The chief reason is that in the latter tradition, it is the revelation of Christ – not an educational method or craft (techne, ars) – which creates the state of ‘moral’ excellence or justice in believers. In a sense then, Christ’s revelation is the Christian’s moral training or education. Both traditions focus on knowing and on achieving goodness. But if we telescope down to a level of detail, the traditions differ. On the one hand, the knowing differs: In Plato knowing is an intellectual activity expressible and accessible, it seems, ultimately in terms of techne or craft. In the New Testament, knowing is a personal acquaintance and consequent interaction. On the other hand, the image of goodness differs in each tradition. In Plato it is expressible in terms of ends realizable by the application of skill, manual or intellectual, practical or speculative, and hence captured neatly under the notion of techne. In the New Testament, goodness transcends utility and resides in and is manifested in the abiding, loving relationships of persons.

Reference List

Agamben, Giorgio. The Highest Poverty: Monastic Rules and Form-of-Life. Translated by Adam Kotsko. MER. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013.

42 43

See Eth. Nic. 7 (LCL, trans. Rackham). A good discussion of this issue as treated by Paul can be found in Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1994), 420-471.

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Aristotle. Nichomachean Ethics. Translated by H. Rackham. LCL 73. Cambridge: Har­ vard University Press, 1934. Astius, Fridericus. Lexicon Platonicum: sive, Vocum Platonicarum Index. 3 volumes. Leipzig: Weidmann, 1836. Benedict, Saint. The Rule of Our Most Holy Father Benedict, Patriarch of Monks. From the Old English Edition of 1638. Edited in Latin and English by one of the Benedictine Fathers of St. Michael’s, near Hereford. London: R. Washbourne, 1875. Brueggemann, Walter. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997. Cicero, Marcus Tullius. De natura deorum. Volume 1. Edited by Arthur Stanley Pease. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1955. Reprint, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968. Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta. 3 volumes. Edited by Theodor Kock. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1880-1888. des Places, Édouard. Platon: Lexique, 1re Partie (A-L), 2e Partie (M-O). Oeuvres Complètes Volume 14. CUFr. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1964. Ellingworth, Paul. The Epistle to the Hebrews. NIGTC 19. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1993. Fee, Gordon D. God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul. Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1994. The Holy Bible. English Standard Version. Wheaton: Crossway Bibles, 2001. The Holy Bible. English Standard Version. Wheaton: Crossway Bibles, 2016. Logos software version. https://www.logos.com/. Irwin, Terence. Plato’s Moral Theory: The Early and Middle Dialogues. Oxford / New York: Clarendon Press, 1977. Hume, David. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. Reprinted with an introduction by Bruce M’Ewen. Edinburgh / London: William Blackwood and Sons, 1907. Knuth, Donald. 3:16. Bible Texts Illuminated. Madison: A-R Editions, 1991. Laertius, Diogenes. Lives of Eminent Philosophers. 2 volumes. Translated by R.D. Hicks. LCL 184-185. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1925. Lewis, Charlton T. / Charles Short. A Latin Dictionary, founded on Andrews’ Edition of Freund’s Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1879. Lincoln, Andrew T. Truth on Trial: The Lawsuit Motif in the Fourth Gospel. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2000. Middleton, Ryan. “Weaving the Statesman: The Unity of Plato’s Politicus.” PhD dissertation, University of Western Ontario, 2015. http://ir.lib.uwo.ca/etd/2760. Moffatt, James. An Introduction to the Literature of the New Testament. 3rd edition. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1918. Der neue Georges: ausführliches lateinisch-Deutsches Handwörterbuch. Auf der Grund­ lage der 8., verbesserten und vermehrten Auflage von Heinrich Georges, Hannover und Leipzig 1913, neu bearbeitet 2013, aus den Quellen zusammengetragen und mit n author: we have not capitalized the German title, as asked for, as this is the German notation

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besonderer Bezugnahme auf Synonymik und Antiquitäten unter Berücksichtigung der besten Hilfsmittel ausgearbeitet von Karl-Ernst Georges. Edited by Thomas Baier. 2 volumes. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2013. Novak, Joseph A. “Ancient Greek Ethical Theories and the New Testament.” In Ethics and Justification. Edited by Douglas Odegard. Edmonton: Academic Printing & Publishing, 1988, 117-146. Plato: Complete Works. Edited by John C. Cooper. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997. Platon: Le Politique. Oeuvres complètes Volume 9.1. Edited and Translated by Auguste Diès. CUFr. Paris: Société d’Édition Les Belles Lettres, 1960. Platonis Opera. Edited by John Burnet. 5 volumes. SCBO. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1900. Le Règle du Maître: Édition diplomatique des manuscrits latins 12205 et 12634 de Paris, par Hubert Vanderhoven & François Masai, avec la collaboration de P.B. Corbett. ASMB. Brussels / Paris: Éditions Erasme, 1953. The Rule of the Master. Translated by Luke Eberle. AMS/CistS 6. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1977. Roochnik, David L. “Socrates’s Use of the Techne-Analogy.” JHP 24/3 (1986): 295-310. Roochnik, David. Of Art and Wisdom: Plato’s Understanding of Techne. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996. Rosen, Stanley. Plato’s Statesman: The Web of Politics. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995. Sayre, Kenneth M. Metaphysics and Method in Plato’s Statesman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Sayre, Kenneth M. Plato’s Analytical Method. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969. Shorey, Paul. What Plato Said. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1933. Thesaurus Linguae Graece (TLG). http://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu.

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Why Not to Pity Rome: Revelation 18:22-23a in its Ancient Educational Context Alex Damm

This essay will argue that the Book of Revelation 18 neither expresses nor seeks that readers feel pity for Romans whose lives are to end in God’s judgement of the city. This case is not new. For this case, however, I offer two new pieces of evidence that emerge from insights into ancient Greco-Roman and Jewish education. This evidence concerns training in Greek and Hebrew contexts that the author of Revelation almost certainly possessed. For one, in Rev 18:22-23a the Greco-Roman rhetorical concern for propriety (Greek: πρέπον; Latin: aptum) plausibly suggests that the author, the prophet John, expresses anger but not pity. For another, John’s Jewish education in prophetic traditions likewise indicates his interest in evoking anger, not pity. In his study of Rev 18:22-23a in the context of the larger vision expressing judgement over Rome (Rev 18:1-24), David deSilva argues that in spite of this judgement, the latter section of the unit, 18:22-23a, aims for readers to feel a measure of sympathy and sadness – a measure of pity (Greek: ἔλεος) – for Rome, or more precisely for common or plebeian Romans who have not partaken directly or consciously in the oppression of Imperial subjects including Christians.1 For the prophet John, these “ordinary” Romans will be destroyed along with their city (18:21-24), yet they also merit pity.2 The issue whether or not John feels pity for ordinary Romans, explains deSilva, should be of genuine interest for study of the Book of Revelation. For while it has long been clear that Revelation condemns the Roman state for its mistreatment of Christians, Revelation’s expression of pity would imply a more nuanced stance, indicating that however much the Roman state merits condemnation, such condemnation is not principally of ordinary plebs, but of the larger state apparatus in which they operate.3 From a perspective informed by ancient education, particularly a combination of Greek and Jewish education which John’s facility 1 David A. deSilva, Seeing Things John’s Way: The Rhetoric of the Book of Revelation (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 203-213, esp. 203, 205, 211, 212-213. Following deSilva (pp. 203-204ff., 209-211, 211-213), we speak of pity and anger as emotions that the author attributes to God in the text, and that he seeks to arouse in readers. 2 DeSilva, Seeing, 213. 3 Ibid. English translations of biblical texts are from the NRSV (Catholic Edition), unless otherwise indicated.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_007

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with Greek and Hebrew indicates acquaintance, I shall challenge this thesis. I shall argue that John directs sheer anger, untainted by pity, at these Romans. Several studies have clarified that Rev 18 presents a vision of Rome’s destruction and of morose reflection by people whose livelihoods depended on the Roman Empire’s hegemony over the Mediterranean world.4 Usually divided into three or four sections, including an opening vision of Rome’s ruin (Rev 18:1-3), a speech of judgement and laments by Rome’s erstwhile benefactors (18:4-20), and a concluding image of Rome’s impotence and disgrace (18:2124),5 Rev 18 portrays God’s punishment on a city that for too long has politically and economically exploited its subject peoples. ­ The verses of Rev 18 on which we shall focus are 22-23a: (22) καὶ φωνὴ κιθαρῳδῶν καὶ μουσικῶν καὶ αὐλητῶν καὶ σαλπιστῶν οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ πᾶς τεχνίτης πάσης τέχνης οὐ μὴ εὐρεθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ φωνὴ μύλου οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, (23a) καὶ φῶς λύχνου οὐ μὴ φάνῃ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ φωνὴ νυμφίου καὶ νύμφης οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι• (22) and the sound of harpists and minstrels and of flutists and trumpeters will be heard in you no more; and an artisan of any trade will be found in you no more; and the sound of the millstone will be heard in you no more; (23a) and the light of a lamp will shine in you no more; and the voice of the bridegroom and bride will be heard in you no more (Rev 18:22-23a).6 A key debate about these verses, to which deSilva draws our attention, concerns pity: Do John’s words express sheer anger at Rome? Or do they also 4 See for example Jürgen Roloff, The Revelation of John, trans. John E. Alsup, CC (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 204; deSilva, Seeing, 203-209; esp. Robert M. Royalty, Jr., The Streets of Heaven: The Ideology of Wealth in the Apocalypse of John (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1998), 194, 197-209, and Adela Yarbro Collins, Crisis & Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1984), 116. For literary demarcation of the chapter, see following note. 5 Heinrich Kraft, Offenbarung des Johannes, HNT 16.1 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1974), 225-226, 228, 231, 237-238; R.H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John, vol. 2, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1920), 87; similarly Roloff, Revelation, 204; Royalty, Streets, 197; David E. Aune, Revelation 17-22, WBC 52C (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 973-974; Collins, Crisis, 116-120. The specific outline above comes from Royalty, Aune and Collins. 6 Greek text from Novum Testamentum Graece, ed. Eberhart Nestle / Kurt Aland. 28th Revised ed., ed. Barbara Aland et al. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012), repr. in Nuovo Testamento Interlineare: Greco, Latino, Italiano, ed. Marco Zappella (Milan: San Paolo, 2014). Most studies of Rev 18 delineate this text as vv. 22-23a; Aune, Revelation, 975, 1009, delineates it as vv. 22-23b, but he refers to precisely the same text.

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simultaneously convey pity? There appears little doubt that vv. 22-23a express anger; deSilva makes this point clear, reminding us that anger and condemnation pervade the entire chapter.7 The real debate is whether Rev 18 tempers its condemnation with appeals to pity (Greek: ἔλεος; Latin: misericordia).8 As deSilva summarizes: John’s indictment of Rome and narration of her doom have led some critics to surmise that John has no sense of the tragedy, the human loss, connected with the events he describes: “There is nothing in Revelation 18 to conceal John’s glee over the catastrophe.”9 But there are cues in the text that suggest that we ought not to hear unmitigated glee in John’s narrative voice. Indeed several noteworthy critics have suggested that Revelation 18 is more expressive of pity and regret over Babylon’s fall.10 The positions are two. On the one hand, deSilva himself believes that while Rev 18 condemns Rome and discourages collusion with its political and economic institutions (see for example, Rev 18:23b-24), it expresses remorse for the many “ordinary” Romans whose lives will fall with the city, particularly in 18:22-23a.11 DeSilva points to numerous critics who similarly perceive pity here, including Lilje, Glasson and Caird. In our review of commentaries there emerge similar opinions.12 Kraft for example refers to lament (Klage), while 7 8

9

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DeSilva, Seeing, 203, 211-212, 213. Ibid., 203, 205, 211. For the Greek term see Aristotle, Rhet. 3.19.3 (LCL, trans. Freese), and for the Latin, Heinrich Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Study, ed. D.E. Orton / R.D. Anderson, trans. Matthew T. Bliss / Annemiek Jansen / David E. Orton (Leiden / Boston / Cologne: Brill, 1998) § 439, quoting Cicero, Inv. 1.106. Here deSilva cites Greg Carey, Elusive Apocalypse: Reading Authority in the Revelation to John, SABH 15 (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1999), 156-157 (Carey speaks only of 18:920). See further Charles, Revelation, 87-113, esp. 87-88, 93, 100, 111; Roloff, Revelation, 204, 206-208; Frederick J. Murphy, Fallen is Babylon: The Revelation to John, NTCon (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998), 365-378 (esp. 375); and Adela Y. Collins, “Revelation 18: Taunt Song or Dirge?,” in L’Apocalypse johannique et l’apocalyptique dans le Nouveau Testament, ed. Jan Lambrecht, BEThL 53 (Gembloux: Duculot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1980), 185-186 and n. 3. As deSilva recognizes, the studies do not necessarily speak specifically of, or strictly of, vv. 22-23a. DeSilva, Seeing, 211. He lists several studies in n. 67: Caird (1966); Beckwith (1919); Lilje (1957); Glasson (1965); and Kiddle / Ross (1946), several of which we shall have occasion to cite in the notes below. DeSilva, Seeing, 211 and n. 67; 211-213; 213; 203-207. For the former point cf. Royalty, Streets, 202-209. DeSilva, Seeing, 211 n. 67. Tacit is Akira Satake, Die Offenbarung des Johannes, ed. Thomas Witulski, KEK 16 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2008), 365-367, although he detects kein Mitleid (no pity) in 18:9-19. Similarly tacit is Aune, Revelation, 976, 978-979, 982-983, 1011-1012, who does not speak of pity in 18:21-23, though he comments (p. 976)

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Prigent speaks of lament and pity.13 Witherington and Collins too identify pity as an emotion at play.14 But on the other hand, there are critics who doubt that 18:22-23a express pity at all. On this view, the verses express sheer outrage against Rome in its entirety.15 With this view I agree from a perspective informed by two considerations in ancient education. The first consideration, from Greco-Roman rhetorical education, is the principle of propriety (πρέπον/ aptum). This principle renders John’s alleged evocation of pity implausible in that pity fits poorly in the conclusion to a speech of attack. The second consideration emerges from Jewish education in prophetic traditions. In the Hebrew Bible, prophetic texts do not express pity and anger simultaneously. If John knew this convention, his alleged evocation of pity appears implausible.

Greco-Roman (Rhetorical) Education

DeSilva has rightly argued for John’s rhetorical skill throughout Revelation.16 He maintains that the text is a rhetorical work par excellence, which in spite of sometimes rhetorically unconventional forms such as visions, engages in argumentation originally developed for oratory or speech-making.17 In other words, Revelation employs Greco-Roman rhetorical conventions (for instance, logi-

13

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15 16 17

that earlier in the chapter (18:1-3, 9-20), John uses pity sarcastically in the form of a “taunt song.” Here Aune cites Otto Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction, trans. P.R. Ackroyd (New York / Evanston: Harper & Row, 1965), 91. A term quite close to pity (Mitleid): Kraft, Offenbarung, 225. Pierre Prigent applies the title “lamentation” to the chapter and identifies expression of pity in 18:21-23, though he does not comment on rhetorical strategies that convey it: Pierre Prigent, l’Apocalypse, LiBi (Paris: Cerf, 1998), 174, 176; Pierre Prigent, l’Apocalypse de Saint Jean, 2nd ed., CNT(N) 2.14 (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1989), 264, 274. For further observations of pity, see the studies below. Ben Witherington III, Revelation, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 225-226, 231. Collins, Crisis, 122-123, says equivocally that earlier in chapter 18, “[n]either pity nor malicious joy is prominent,” but she adds that in vv. 9-19, “if … pathos were intended by the author, it was primarily for dramatic effect.” Cf. Royalty, Streets, 201-202, who detects expression of pity in the speech as a whole but “delivered with considerable irony” (p. 202). See remarks by deSilva, Seeing, 211 and nn. 65, 67 and literature there; cf. Collins, Crisis, 116. DeSilva, Seeing, 14-15 and n. 41; 17-18. He recognizes that argumentation entails activities of invention or developing material, arrangement and expression. Ibid., 15, 18, 9-14, reminding us that “the study of rhetoric is … the study of available means of persuasion (p. 14).” See also Burton L. Mack, Rhetoric and the New Testament, GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 16, 19-21. Mack introduces Greco-Roman rhetoric, describing developments in argumentation (pp. 28-29), and how argumentation entails invention, arrangement and expression (pp. 31-34); he also discusses the genera of speeches, that is, judicial, deliberative and epideictic (pp. 34-35, 36) and kinds of proof

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cal, ethical and emotional proofs; topoi; figures of speech), even though John modifies these conventions in places.18 DeSilva also gives good grounds to suppose John had a rhetorical education; he reminds us that Revelation emerged in a Hellenistic environment where rhetorical influence was inescapable.19 Owing to the stylistic modesty of the Greek text, deSilva doubts that John had formal training.20 But he argues that John still absorbed rhetorical skills in a culture in which speech-making permeated daily life. Whether through hearing declamations by philosophers and advocates in assemblies, associations, in the marketplace, theatre or court, or through exposure to rhetorical forms and techniques in handbooks called progymnasmata (which introduce students to reading and writing forms such as the chreia and narrative, forms which deSilva has shown influence Revelation), rhetoric has shaped John’s composition.21 Some rhetorical education on John’s part then, was invariable.22

18

19 20 21

22

(pp. 36, 39-40). Cf. George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 13-30. DeSilva, Seeing, 15 and n. 41; 16-17 and nn. 48-49; 17-18, 25-27. “The classical rhetorical critic uses the ancient handbooks on rhetorical practice … as ‘tools for analyzing the persuasive power of a text,’ while seeking to avoid the trap of viewing them as ‘definitive prescriptive structures’”: Seeing, 14, quoting E.S. Fiorenza, Revelation: Vision of a Just World, ProcCom (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 44. Cf. Mack, Rhetoric, 49. In his study Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977), 288, Stanley F. Bonner notes the essential similarity between Greek and Latin rhetorical teaching, the former of which greatly influenced the latter. DeSilva, Seeing, 14-18, esp. 15 n. 41; 16-17; and 17 n. 49; cf. Kennedy, New Testament, 9-10. DeSilva, Seeing, 17 and nn. 48-49. Ibid., 15 and n. 41; 17 nn. 48-49; Kennedy, New Testament, 9-10; F. Gerald Downing, “A bas les Aristos: The Relevance of Higher Literature for the Understanding of the Earliest Christian Writings,” NT 30/3 (1988): 217. For early Christians possibly having had formal education, see George A. Kennedy, “Introduction,” in Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Translated with Introductions and Notes by George A. Kennedy, SBL.WGRW 10 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003), ix, and Richard A. Burridge, “The Gospels and Acts,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period, 330 B.C. – A.D. 400, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden / New York / Cologne: Brill, 1997), 510, 530. For introduction to the progymnasmata, see Michel Patillon, “Introduction,” in Michel Patillon, Aelius Théon: Progymnasmata, Texte établit et traduit par Michel Patillon avec l’assistance, pour l’Armenien, de Giancarlo Bolognesi, CUFr (Paris : Les Belles Lettres, 1997), vii-viii, xvi, viiclvi. See also Kennedy, “Introduction,” ix-xiii. I am not suggesting that John learned from one of the extant progymnasmata, but from progymnastic traditions generally. I do not believe that John’s alleged simplicity of style rules out his indebtedness to substantive conventions in the progymnasmata, a point similar to that made by Downing, “A bas les Aristos,” 217. Extant progymnastic exercises from Roman Egypt are “ungrammatical, awkward, assertive, formulaic, occasionally florid and almost always internally inconsistent” and “rarely if ever display the sophistication of style which we associate with ‘rhetoric.’” Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds, CCS (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 199, and see pp. 198-226. On John’s

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On grounds of rhetorical education, deSilva and others contend that John deploys at least two rhetorical conventions to evoke pity. First, deSilva observes topics (τόποι)23 or “ideas” that arouse pity, especially the “topic of separation from relationships and the pleasures they bring.”24 In Rev 18:22-23a, [The topic of separation] … is … sensitively evoked in John’s narration of the joys that would no longer be experienced in Babylon (18:22-23a): the “sound of harpists and musicians and flutists and trumpeters [18:22],” “craftsmen of every art [18:22],” “the sound of the mill [18:22],” “the light of a lamp [18:23],” and especially “the sound of bridegroom and bride [18:23],” which are all unobjectionable facets of Babylon’s civic life. This elaboration of the deserted-city topos first invoked in 18:2 calls attention to these wholesome facets of society that will be lost. … John thus adds a more fully tragic dimension to the scene, a more “human” dimension to what is otherwise a caricature of Roman society. … It is this segment of the lament that would most potentially arouse pity for the people in Babylon, who are caught up in her fall, and John does nothing to mitigate pity at this juncture. … [I]ndignation is allowed to have its full force, reinforcing a sense of incompatibility and separation (and the return to the topic of Rome’s crimes in 18:23b-24 reinforces this, assuring that pity will not be misdirected toward the “system”), while the topics evocative of compassion help the audience remain sensitive toward the ordinary people who exist within and under that system.25 The substance then, of 18:22-23a with its τόπος of separation – the characterization of darkness and silence, of lost family and lost opportunities – intends to arouse readers’ sympathy. Second, there are critics who see in 18:22-23a’s Greek style, namely figures of speech, a similar effort to arouse pity.26 While these

23 24

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Greek style, see G.K. Beale, The Book of Revelation, NIGTC 21 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 100. For the Greek, LSJM, s.v. For τόποι see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 260, 373, 439; Kennedy, New Testament, 20. For topics in Rev 18, deSilva, Seeing, 211-213, esp. 212-213. Cf. for rhetorical bases for expressing pathos, David A. deSilva, “What has Athens to do with Patmos? Rhetorical Criticism of the Revelation of John (1980-2005),” CBR 6/2 (2008): 273. DeSilva, Seeing, 212-213. Three studies listed by deSilva, Seeing, 211 n. 67, speak of pity specifically in 18:21-24: Thomas F. Glasson, The Revelation of John, CNEB (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), 105; Hans Lilje, The Last Book of the Bible (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957), 237; and Martin Kiddle / M.K. Ross, The Revelation of St. John, MNTC (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1946), 370-373.

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critics do not appear to ground their observations explicitly in rhetoric, they do highlight the verses’ stylistic orientation towards pity. They include Lilje (1957), who observes the repetitious οὐ μὴ εὐρεθῇ [ἀκουσθῇ] ἐν σοὶ ἔτι.27 Along similar lines Blount (2009) and Boxall (2006) suggest stylistic cues for pity in 18:21-24 (such as the double negative οὐ μή), as do Delorme and Donegani (2010).28 These scholars are clear: Rev 18:22-23a stylistically encourages readers to express pity for the Romans’ suffering. But does Rev 18:22-23a really appeal to pity? A major rhetorical principle that John almost certainly knew, discourages reading vv. 22-23a as an appeal to pity. This principle is called propriety (πρέπον; Latin: aptum) or “appropriateness”: the principle of fitting components of a speech together well.29 On grounds of propriety, John does not appear to have pity in view in 18:22-23a.30 To appreciate John’s sensitivity to propriety, we must first be clear about the rhetorical form in which it operates and which shapes Rev 18:22-23a. I believe with Royalty that in 18:21-24, John imagines an ancient Greek or Roman speech’s peroratio – its conclusion.31 I say this for two reasons. First, the literature yields some consensus on this issue: vv. 21-24 are the essential conclusion to their larger unit (18:1-24).32 The similarity among commentaries is remarkable: Kraft, like Charles before him, discerns a four-part form ending in 18:2124,33 while Royalty, Satake and others similarly regard 18:21-24 as the vision’s 27 28

29 30 31 32 33

Lilje, Last Book, 237; cf. Kiddle / Ross, Revelation, 373. Blount detects clues in the Greek language (for instance, the double negative οὐ μή), while Boxall notes the stark dualism in portrayal of the old and the new Rome: Brian Blount, Revelation, NTLi (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 337; Ian Boxall, The Revelation of Saint John, BNTC 19 (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2006), 263. Delorme and Donegani identify emphatic and poetic speech, as well as personification, contributing to pity in vv. 22-23a: Jean Delorme / Isabelle Donegani, L’Apocalypse de Jean: Révélation pour le temps de la violence et du désir, Postscript by Jean Calloud, vol. 2, Chapters 12-22, LeDiv (Paris: Cerf, 2010), 98 and n. 3. For style cf. further Satake, Offenbarung, 366, and Kraft, Offenbarung, 238. Royalty identifies the unit’s rhetorical genre of lament or monody (μονώδια), as perhaps inducing pity: Royalty, Streets, 201-202. For the genre of Rev 18:1-24 as lament cf. similarly Kraft, Offenbarung, 225; Witherington, Revelation, 217, 225-226 and n. 408; Collins, Crisis, 120 (pp. 116-121); Collins, Revelation 18, 203-204; deSilva, Seeing, 211, 212. For genre as a rhetorical concern, see Kennedy, New Testament, 30-33. See Lausberg, Handbook §§ 1055-1062. DeSilva, Seeing, 212-213, grounds some of Revelation’s rhetorical conventions in handbook discussions of the peroratio (for instance, Quintlian, Inst. 6; Cicero, Inv. 1.55). But deSilva does not discuss propriety (the suitableness of these conventions) for a peroratio. Royalty, Streets, 197, 203. Even without appealing to rhetoric. For characterization of 18:21-24 as a peroratio see Royalty, Streets, 197, 203. Kraft, Offenbarung, 225-226 (“Schlussteil”), 228, 231, 237-238; Charles, Revelation, 87; Roloff, Revelation, 204.

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conclusion.34 Second, given that John writes in Greek, there is likely at least some influence of Greek rhetoric on his composition of the conclusion.35 In arguing for such rhetorical influence, I am not assuming that 18:21-24 mimics a Greco-Roman judicial speech conclusion.36 I am not claiming that Rev 18 is a judicial speech at all. I simply claim that in a rhetorical culture in which discourse was invariably influenced by rhetorical patterns, it would be plausible to conclude a unit with appeals to a peroratio in mind. Rhetorical conventions for a peroratio then, are one place to assess John’s alleged appeal to pity.37 Propriety commends arrangement of proof appropriately into each of the five sections of a judicial speech.38 Significantly, the conclusion (ἐπίλογος, peroratio) should prove one’s case through fostering pathos or emotion,39 more 34

35 36

37

38 39

Royalty, Streets, 197-198, 200, 203; Satake, Offenbarung, 356; Boxall, Revelation, 254. For characterization of 18:21-24 simply as the third and implicitly last section of the speech, see Aune, Revelation, 975-976; Collins, Crisis, 116-120; Delorme / Donegani, l’Apocalypse, 87. About Rev 18 in its larger literary context, see Witherington, Revelation, 216-217, 225226, 231; Royalty, Streets, 177; 187 and n. 28; 188 and n. 31; 194; 197; 198 and n. 56; 201-202; 211-212; Aune, Revelation, 959, 1019. For rhetorical influence see deSilva, Seeing, 211-213. For the influence of rhetoric upon literary genres, see Mack, Rhetoric, 28, 30; Kennedy, New Testament, 10. To the extent that Rev 18 looks to Greek speech models, one possibility is the monody, on which see Royalty, Streets, 201-202. Rhetoric was applicable chiefly to the genre of oratory (speeches), of which there were three major genera or “species” (judicial, deliberative and epideictic). Each genus invited particular conventions. But conventions for the judicial speech tended to be more common and in some measure to influence deliberative and epideictic speeches: Mack, Rhetoric, 34, 36, 47-48; cf. Kennedy, New Testament, 13, 19-20, 23-24; James M. May / Jakob Wisse, “Introduction,” in Cicero, On the Ideal Orator, Translated, with Introduction, Notes, Appendixes, Glossary and Indexes by James M. May and Jakob Wisse (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 28-29. Scholars might have overlooked πρέπον because they believe arrangement techniques are not relevant in Revelation: See deSilva, Seeing, 24-25, 27; cf. deSilva, “What has Athens to do with Patmos?” 256, 281. While deSilva sees little potential in discussing Revelation’s rhetorical arrangement, recognizing that Revelation is a narrative (not a judicial or deliberative speech), he does acknowledge that individual units might be rhetorically shaped: deSilva, Seeing, 24 n. 71 (there citing Ben Witherington III, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthinans [Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1995]); cf. deSilva, “What has Athens to do with Patmos?” 281-282. For an overview see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 1055-1062 (esp. 1056.3), 1079. I have not seen discussion of πρέπον in Rev 18; Witherington discusses πρέπον in Revelation as a whole: See Revelation, 74, cited in deSilva, “What has Athens to do with Patmos?” 281. Similarly, the first section of a speech (its introduction or προοίμιον/exordium), should offer proof on the basis of one’s good character; that is, it should offer ethos. The next section of the speech should take up logical proofs (πίστεις/argumentatio), that is to say proof on the basis of reason; it should offer logos. For outlines, see Mack, Rhetoric, 36, 38, 41; Kennedy, New Testament, 15, 23-24; Lausberg, Handbook §§ 257 (esp. 257.3), 262, 263264, 266, 273-275, 289, 293, 348-350, 431, esp. 436, 437, 438, 439; Bonner, Education in

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precisely one of two emotions: anger (indignatio) against the opponent; or pity (conquestio) for oneself.40 Critically here, the emotion that one should evoke depends on whether one’s speech aims to attack the opponent, in which case anger is the rule; or whether one’s larger speech is made on behalf of oneself, in which case one needs to foster pity.41 The rhetorical tradition is clear: Arousal of anger characterizes speeches of attack. Arousal of pity characterizes speeches of defense.42 Given that Rev 18:21-24 likely shows influences of a Greek peroratio, which of the aforementioned two emotions more plausibly characterizes it? We must bear in mind two points here. First, the literature is clear that 18:1-24 as a whole

40

41

42

Ancient Rome, 289, 295, 303. Not every teacher held that authors should arrange or place ethos in an introduction, logos into the proofs section, and pathos in the conclusion. For example, Cicero in his treatise De Oratore found this pattern artificial, on which see May / Wisse, “Introduction,” 10, 28-30, 31-32. But as Bonner points out, Cicero is a sort of exception which proves the rule: His frustration with the conventional arrangement points to how popular and pervasive the pattern was in practice: Education, 288 (pp. 288295, 303). Even Cicero admits that “everything both in the preceding sections of the speech and particularly in the last, should be aimed at stirring the jurors’ emotions.” Cicero, De or. 2.332 (trans. May and Wisse), emphasis added. On anger see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 436, 437, 438. For pity, ibid. §§ 436, 437, 439. For the occasions or contexts for anger and for pity, see also Bonner, Education, 303, and Quintilian, Inst. 6.1.9-10 (esp.); 12-20; 21-35; and (for allowance of some goodwill to the opponent), 50 (LCL, trans. Butler). For further discussion of pity in conclusions see Josef Martin, Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode, HAW 2.3 (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1974), 148-149, 158-159, 160-161, 162-163. Lausberg, Handbook §§ 436, 437, 438, 439. Methods for developing anger and pity include topics on the one hand and ornate style (figures of speech) on the other hand. See Lausberg, Handbook §§ 438-439 (topics); 1056.2 (style); 436; 1078; 1079.3; 257.3 (esp. c); 538; and 604-664 (style), for example; Kennedy, New Testament, 25 (style). This is Lausberg’s understanding in the Handbook (see notes above); I appreciate a colleague drawing my attention to this point. For the general point that a speech focuses on making a case and sustaining support for that case throughout, see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 63, 1056, 1060, 1062; and George A. Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric: An Extensive Revision and Abridgment of The Art of Persuasion in Greece, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World and Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors, with Additional Discussion of Late Latin Rhetoric (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), 4-6. In rhetorical education manuals entitled progymnasmata, composed by Theon and Hermogenes, I cannot find a single allusion to evocation of pity for an individual whom one attacks; the speaker must support – not qualify or hedge – his attack. Theon, Progymnasmata (ed. Spengel, 2.65, 2.76-78, 2.93-94, 2.106-109, 2.109-112, 2.116-118, 2.120-128, 2.128-130, 111P-112P); Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 8, 26-28, 40-41, 42-45, 48-49, 50-52, 55-61, 62-64, 72; Hermogenes, Progymnasmata (ed. Rabe, 7-8, 9-10, 11, esp. 11-14, 14-18, 26-27); Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 77, 78, 79, esp. 79-81, 81-83, 88. For brief mention of acknowledging an opponent’s position even while attacking it, see 2.113 (p.53), 100P-101P (p. 65), 19-20 (p. 84). For a nuanced discussion of propriety see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 1055-1062, 1078-1082.

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undoubtedly attacks Rome.43 Second, Beale reminds us that our concluding verses (22-23a) partake in this attack, condemning not only Rome but also its ordinary people; vengeance and hatred are woven deeply into these verses’ fabric. As he puts it, Babylon’s [Rome’s] economic system persecuted Christian communities by ostracizing from the various trade guilds those who did not conform to worship of the guilds’ patron deities. This usually resulted in loss of economic standing and poverty for those ostracized (so 2:9). In a real sense, this meant the removal of Christian artisans from the marketplace and a removal of the common pleasures of life enjoyed in normal economic times.  Just as Babylon thus removed Christian workers from the marketplace and persecuted them, so God will remove Babylon’s own loyal workers: “by no means will any artisan of any craft be found in you again.”44 From a rhetorical perspective, an attack-oriented speech whose conclusion sustains the attack, should close with material that arouses anger, not pity. It seems far-fetched in rhetorical terms, to imagine John arouse pity for Rome and/or ordinary Romans at the end of a speech that attacks Rome and its people alike. To do so is counterintuitive, undermining the text’s otherwise pronounced hostility to the state and its workings. On rhetorical grounds of propriety, then, the thesis that John expresses pity is over-interpretation. It does not appear plausible.45

Jewish Education

Awareness of Jewish education similarly militates against the thesis that Rev 18:22-23a expresses pity for Rome or the Romans. It is natural that we look to Jewish education, for John evidently knew Hebrew and so almost certainly had

43 44 45

See for instance deSilva, Seeing, 203-205; Collins, Crisis, 121-123 (esp. 123); Witherington, Revelation, 216-217; Murphy, Fallen is Babylon, 365-367. Beale, Revelation, 919. If Witherington, Revelation, 217, is correct that Rev 18 contains epideictic rhetoric (that is, it draws primarily on the genre of speech that “praises” or “blames”), it seems similarly counter-intuitive to imagine a speech whose overall thrust is anger, simultaneously evoking pity. For epideictic speeches see Lausberg, Handbook §§ 61.3, 239-241.

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such an education.46 In a Jewish educational context that included, at least in theory, studying the entire Bible with its vast theological diversity, we shall confine our discussion of education to literary conventions in the Prophets, for it is well known that John uses prophetic texts in 18:22-23a.47 What must John have learned and understood about these prophetic texts?48 To answer this question, we need first recall which prophetic traditions John employs and what he does with them. Perhaps the most thorough analysis of Rev 18:22-23a in its biblical context comes from G.K. Beale (1999), who shows that John fuses at least three prophetic passages, whose role in vv. 22-23a we print in boldface italics below.49 The first passage is Jer 25:10: ‫ֹׂשון וְ ֹ֣קול ִׂש ְמ ָ֔חה ֹ֥קול ָח ָ ֖תן וְ ֹ֣קול ַּכ ָּל֑ה ֹ֥קול ֵר ַ ֖חיִם וְ ֹ֥אור ֵנֽר׃‬ ֙ ‫וְ ַה ֲא ַב ְד ִ ּ֣תי ֵמ ֶ֗הם ֹ֤קול ָׂש‬

46

47

48

49

See discussion in Chapter One (above). For Paul’s Jewish education, see John T. Townsend, “Education (Greco-Roman),” AncBD 2, 316, 317; David Leinweber, “Ancient World, Christian Education in the,” ECE 1, 41-42. For John’s knowledge of Hebrew, see Aune, Revelation, 1009; Beale, Revelation, 77-78. Literature on Jewish education highlights instruction in the Hebrew Bible and in the Oral Torah, on which see for instance S. Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” in The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern in co-operation with D. Flusser and W.C. van Unnik, CRI I.2 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976), 945, 950, 951, 952, 953, 958-959; Eliezer Ebner, Elementary Education in Ancient Israel During the Tannaitic Period (10-220 c.e.) (New York: Bloch, 1956), 19, 22-23, 74-87; André Lemaire, “Education (Israel),” AncBD 2, 310. The Prophets might have been part of John’s schooling as a youth; or he might have studied the Prophets for himself beyond formal schooling. In either case, his frequent use of prophetic texts, including Daniel, Ezekiel and Jeremiah, is welldocumented: Aune, Revelation, 983; Moyise, The Old Testament in the New, 189-196; George Wesley Buchanan, The Book of Revelation: Its Introduction and Prophecy (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2005), 718; for their influence on 18:22-23a, see the notes below. For the extensive use of Hebrew Bible traditions in Rev 18, see for instance Royalty, Streets, 195-196; Roloff, Revelation, 204; Aune, Revelation, 975-983. John regards Hebrew Bible passages as inspired text whose prophetic claims pointed to events in the late first century, on which see Steve Moyise, The Old Testament in the New: An Introduction, 2nd ed., Revised and Expanded, ABS (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 202203, 215; Steve Moyise, The Later New Testament Writings and Scripture: The Old Testament in Acts, Hebrews, the Catholic Epistles and Revelation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012), 139-140. Regardless whether John seeks the original meaning of these biblical passages, or presents his own theology and uses biblical passages to support it (Moyise, The Old Testament in the New, 202-203), still we can determine the emotions he detects in them. Beale, Revelation, 919, 920-921: “[L]ikely included in the allusion also are Jer. 7:34 and 16:9,” and perhaps also 33:11.

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καὶ ἀπολῶ ἀπ’ αὐτῶν φωνὴν χαρᾶς καὶ φωνὴν εὐφροσύνης, φωνὴν νυµφίου καὶ φωνὴν νύµφης, ὀσµὴν µύρου50 καὶ φῶς λύχνου. 51 (Jer 25:10 LXX) Cf. καὶ φωνὴ κιθαρῳδῶν καὶ μουσικῶν καὶ αὐλητῶν καὶ σαλπιστῶν οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ πᾶς τεχνίτης πάσης τέχνης οὐ μὴ εὐρεθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ φωνὴ μύλου οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ φῶς λύχνου οὐ μὴ φάνῃ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι, καὶ φωνὴ νυμφίου καὶ νύμφης οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι · (Rev 18:22-23a) Here Revelation’s adoption of Jeremiah’s terms “sound” and “light” and of phrases like “sound of the bridegroom and the bride,” has long been recognized.52 The second passage on which Revelation draws is Ezek 26:13: καὶ καταλύσει τὸ πλῆθος τῶν μουσικῶν σου, καὶ ἡ φωνὴ τῶν ψαλτηρίων σου οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἔτι. (Ezek 26:13 LXX) Cf. καὶ φωνὴ κιθαρῳδῶν καὶ μουσικῶν καὶ αὐλητῶν καὶ σαλπιστῶν οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι … (Rev 18:22a) Elements adopted from Ezekiel are φωνὴ … μουσικῶν … οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ … ἔτι, the “sound … of minstrels” that “will be heard … no more” (Rev 18:22a).53 In addition to these two sources, a third source upon which John draws is Isa 24:8 for the phrase φωνὴ κιθαρῳδῶν, “sound of harpists”: πέπαυται εὐφροσύνη τυμπάνων, πέπαυται αὐθάδεια καὶ πλοῦτος ἀσεβῶν, πέπαυται φωνὴ κιθάρας. (Isa 24:8 LXX) 50

51 52

53

According to Aune, “The Hebrew phrase ‫ ֹ֥קול ֵר ַ ֖חיִ ם‬qôl rēhayim, ‘sound of the handmill,’ is erroneously translated ὀσµὴν µύρου, ‘smell of perfume,’ in LXX Jer 25:10, indicating that the author of Revelation is dependent on the Hebrew text.” Aune does not specify here the extent to which he believes John is employing the Greek text or Hebrew text: Revelation, 1009. “This clause [Rev 18:23a] alludes to Jer 25:10, ‘Moreover I will banish from them … the light of the lamp.’ This phrase is found only here in Jeremiah, making it certain that the allusions in Rev 18:22-23 are primarily dependent on Jer 25:10.” Ibid., 1009. Aune regards Jer 25:10 to be the primary reference, though he sees its influence begin only in Rev 18:22c (φωνὴ μύλου …): Ibid. On p. 1008 he also suggests indebtedness of Rev 18:22a to Isa 24:8. For further discussion of Jeremiah’s influence see Charles, Revelation, 107, 110111; Royalty, Streets, 195, 196; Beale, Revelation, 920. Charles, Revelation, 109 (here Charles also appears to claim that John draws on Ezekiel’s ψαλτηρίων for his term “harpists” [κιθαρῳδῶν]); cf. Beale, Revelation, 920. Maximilian Zerwick and Mary Grosvenor show the precise grammatical similarities between the LXX text of Ezek 26:13 and Rev 18:22’s aorist passive subjunctive verb (ἀκουσθῇ), in AGNT, vol. 2, 771.

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Cf. καὶ φωνὴ κιθαρῳδῶν … (Rev 18:22a)54 In short, John fuses several prophetic traditions from Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Isaiah. While in Greek terms, Rev 18:22-23a paraphrases these sources, adjusting their grammar and syntax,55 in Jewish literary terms the practice of composite citation comes close to describing this fusion work. Composite citation entails blending two or more sources in a way that is “marked as a citation in some manner.”56 In their recent work on composite citation, S.A. Adams and S.M. Ehorn comment that the practice characterized Jewish, pagan and Christian texts, and that we are only beginning to understand the range of composite citation practices.57 Because Rev 18:22-23a does not offer the explicit references to sources that characterizes composite citation, perhaps the most we can say is that John fuses or combines his sources. Be that as it may, Beale adds a helpful observation: John fuses these prophetic traditions because they all express divine anger.58 Whatever else these texts might express, they agree that God will smite wrongdoers, and they express this conviction using common images such as music and even common words (“sound” [φωνή]).59 Significantly, John fuses these passages, setting the threats of Jer 25:10 into the syntactical context of Ezek 26:13. Moreover, our reading of Rev 18:22-23a bears out Beale’s thesis: John’s fusion of Jer 25:10, Ezek 26:13 and Isa 24:860 appears to augment these prophetic threats, making them 54 55

56 57

58 59 60

Beale, Revelation, 921. On ancient paraphrase see Theon, Progymnasmata (109P-110P); Kennedy, Progymnasmata, 70-71; and Patillon, “Introduction,” cv-cvi and notes. Cf. Royalty, Streets, 194-197, esp. 195-196: “The sources are completely replaced by the final product; John’s Babylon overshadows all precursors. Revelation 18 sounds like ‘biblical’ language because it is just that – phrases, words and images taken from the Hebrew Scriptures and crafted into a new, highly rhetorical psogos or invective against Babylon/Rome.” See following note. Sean A. Adams / Seth M. Ehorn, “What is a Composite Citation? An Introduction,” in Composite Citation in Antiquity: Jewish, Greco-Roman, and Early Christian Uses, ed. Sean A. Adams / Seth M. Ehorn, LNTS 525 (London / New York: Bloomsbury, 2016), 1, 3, 13. About the kind of blending we see in Rev 18:22-23a, where there is no clear “cue” to signal John’s use of the biblical texts, Adams and Ehorn remark on p. 4: “More allusive examples of literary borrowing … must only be considered with caution.” Beale, Revelation, 919, 921: “All of these passages … emphasize the judgment of the luxurious societies of, respectively, Israel, Tyre, and the world system.” Suggested in ibid. The most that I have found said about John’s rhetorical embellishing of biblical sources comes from Blount, Revelation, 337, although he incorrectly detects evocation of pity: “[O]nce again building from prophetic references (Isa 24:8; Jer 25:10; Ezek 26:13), the mighty angel offers a poignant, poetic presentation. Using an emphatic negative (ou mē),

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as or more ominous than any one constituent verse.61 To this end four of John’s adjustments stand out. First, John extends the number of God’s coming punishments in Jer 25:10. Of all three sources, Jeremiah has enumerated the most punishments: ‫ֹׂשון וְ ֹ֣קול ִׂש ְמ ָ֔חה ֹ֥קול ָח ָ ֖תן וְ ֹ֣קול ַּכ ָּל֑ה ֹ֥קול ֵר ַ ֖חיִם וְ ֹ֥אור‬ ֙ ‫וְ ַה ֲא ַב ְד ִ ּ֣תי ֵמ ֶ֗הם ֹ֤קול ָׂש‬ ‫ ֵנֽר׃‬/ἀπολῶ ἀπ’ αὐτῶν φωνὴν χαρᾶς καὶ φωνὴν εὐφροσύνης, φωνὴν νυµφίου καὶ φωνὴν νύµφης, ὀσµὴν µύρου καὶ φῶς λύχνου (“I will banish from them the sound of mirth and the sound of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, the sound of the millstones and the light of the lamp” [Jer 25:10]). John extends this list by adding threat of the disappearance of “an artisan of any trade” (πᾶς τεχνίτης πάσης τέχνης [Rev 18:22]).62 Second, John renders Rome’s punishments more foreboding vis-à-vis Jeremiah by replacing his reference to banishing “the sound of mirth and the sound of gladness,” with Ezek 26:13’s more concrete reference to banishing “the music of your songs; the sound of your lyres shall be heard no more.” At the same time, he stretches Ezekiel’s reference into the banishing of “the sound of harpists and minstrels and of flutists and trumpeters” (Rev 18:22a) by drawing precise references to music (“timbrels … noise … lyres”) and celebration from Isa 24:8, thus producing a tone arguably more ominous than in two of his three sources.63 Third, John makes Isaiah and Jeremiah’s language more foreboding, replacing their verbs (“is stilled”; “I will banish”), with Ezek 26:13’s verbal phrase “will not be found in you again.” Here John’s use of negation and its emphatic expression from Ezek 26:13, οὐ μὴ … ἔτι, underscores the foreboding permanence of the suffering that awaits Rome.64 Finally, John repeats for emphasis verbs characterizing Rome’s suffering: While Jeremiah employs a verb only once and Ezekiel twice, John follows Isa 24:8 by repeating a verb numerous times, i.e., οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι (Rev 18:22a); οὐ μὴ εὐρεθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι (18:22b); οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι (18:22c); οὐ μὴ φάνῃ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι (18:23a); οὐ μὴ ἀκουσθῇ ἐν σοὶ ἔτι (18:23a). The point is simply this: John seems interested in the anger in his prophetic sources and he therefore fuses them. The question to pose of John’s Jewish education – that is, of the literary conventions he knew in the Prophets – is whether these prophetic traditions might simultaneously express anger and pity: Does the character of God ex-

61 62 63 64

he tenders a series of subjunctive verbs coupled with the adverb eti (no longer, no more) to build a sorrowful feeling of tragic and permanent loss.” Cf. comments by Royalty, Streets, 196. For John’s use of repetition see for instance Lilje, Last Book, 237; Satake, Offenbarung, 366. Even in his use of Isa 24:8, John extends the number of references to musical elements from three to four. For John’s effective use of οὐ μὴ … ἔτι see Blount, Revelation, 337.

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press pity and anger at one and the same time?65 From our researches, the answer is negative. To be sure, prophetic texts can draw together divine anger and sympathy. As Juliana Claassens puts it when speaking of Isaiah, we find, a multifaceted picture of God, managing to balance images that portray God’s anger and judgement with images that denote God’s love and compassion, so expressing the themes of judgement and restoration that run all through the book of Isaiah. Quite often, contrasting images for God are held together in close proximity, sometimes even a single sentence. For example, in 30:26 God is said to bind up the injuries of God’s people and to heal the wounds that God inflicted by means of God’s instruments, Assyria and Babylon.66 This point is echoed in other commentary literature.67 But it is also significant that W.P. Griffin’s content analysis of prophetic passages finds no references to divine sympathy for Israel’s opponents, the Gentiles.68 We ought to bear this point in mind vis-à-vis the angel’s stance towards Rome (Rev 18:22-23a).69 And 65

66 67

68 69

To speak of God as a character within a story or narrative is quite common in commentaries: See for instance Patricia K. Tull, “1 and 2 Samuel,” TBC, 110. I draw attention to this point because the fit with Rev 18:22-23a seems quite close: The speaker here is an angel of God (18:21; Roloff, Revelation, 208). Literature about the Prophets tends to speak of God and of the narrator (the prophet) as two distinct figures whose emotions can differ. In the Prophets, it is portrayal of God or God’s messengers in which we are interested. See for instance Leslie C. Allen, Jeremiah: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville / London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 111 and n. 75; 112; 115; Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel Chapters 25-48, trans. James D. Martin, ed. Paul D. Hanson with Leonard J. Greenspoon, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), 56; Keith W. Carley, The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, CNEB (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 68. L. Juliana Claassens, “Isaiah,” TBC, 215. On p. 219 she observes also how in Isaiah, God is portrayed as capable of sympathy to Gentiles. “Many of the prophetic texts depict the prophets announcing proclamations of salvation even in the midst of their messages of judgment and doom (Mic 2:12-13).” Carol J. Dempsey, “Themes and Perspectives in the Prophets: Truth, Tragedy, Trauma,” in The Prophets, ed. Gale A. Yee / Hugh R. Page, Jr. / Matthew J.M. Coomber, FCBSE (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 662. For study of negative and positive divine statements to Israel see also Claus Westermann, Prophetic Oracles of Salvation in the Old Testament, trans. Keith Crim (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 7-8, 13. In Jeremiah, 115, when commenting on Jeremiah 9 Allen sees the text portray in quick sequence Jeremiah’s own pity for Israel (9:1) and then God’s threatening of Israel (9:2ff.). William Paul Griffin, The God of the Prophets: An Analysis of Divine Action, JSOT.S 249 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 11, 98, 99, 231-232. Griffin, God of the Prophets, 11, 96-99, 227-232.

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most important, what we do not find is characterization of God pitying and threatening simultaneously, in one and the same utterance, as some critics have supposed of the angel in Rev 18:22-23a. In the Prophets, God might express contrasting emotions in sequence – even in quick sequence – but not in one and the same utterance. Much as in the aforementioned literature, select commentaries on the prophetic texts used in Rev 18:22-23a (Jer 25, Isa 24, Ezek 26) do not portray God expressing pity and threats simultaneously. When God threatens, God does simply that; God does not dampen or qualify threats with hints of pity. L.C. Allen’s study of Jer 25 observes God proffering “doom” and destruction against the disgraceful conduct of Israel and Gentiles.70 Brevard Childs’ study of Isa 24 similarly describes that text portraying divine disgust with human conduct and His annihilation of the world, an annihilation that leads to music “stilled” (Isa 24:8).71 And Walther Zimmerli’s commentary on Ezek 26 speaks of God condemning Tyre in similar terms.72 Granted, shortly after, in Ezek 27 (Ezek 27:1-28), God commands Ezekiel to “raise a lamentation over Tyre (27:1).” Here Zimmerli detects at points in Ezekiel’s language “almost … a gentle sorrow,” opining that “one might discern a trace of personal sympathy.”73 But he adds that “there is no hint anywhere in the text … itself that it is Yahweh who is speaking, far less who is acting,” and he guesses there might be specific historical reasons for sorrow on Ezekiel’s part.74 The implication for John’s alleged portrayal of pity in Rev 18 is negative. The Jewish prophetic tradition which John has studied and used extensively in 18:22-23a, does not juxtapose God’s anger and God’s pity. It is implausible to imagine divine pity in Rev 18:22-23a when its prophetic sources do not portray it; Revelation’s interest appears to be their divine anger.75 70

71 72 73 74 75

Allen, Jeremiah, 278, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286; for similar commentary on further passages of Jeremiah to which Revelation alludes (7:34, 16:9), see ibid., 103-104, 188-189, 190. (Regarding 16:9 Allen comments that v. 9 “predicates not merely the experience of disaster or the withdrawal of divine protection but Yahweh’s own hostile intervention.”) Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 178, 179, 181. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 2, 25, 37, 40. Ibid., 62, 56. Ibid., 56, 62: “[T]here may have been no lack of secret sympathy for the resistance of this city. Is there not perhaps here a city which can stand firm against the wicked conqueror [Babylon] who reduced Jerusalem to rubble and ashes?” If John really wanted to portray divine pity, he could far more clearly or tangibly have expressed it. I follow Frederick David Mazzaferri, The Genre of the Book of Revelation from a Source-Critical Perspective, BZNW 54 (Berlin / New York: DeGruyter, 1989), 379, in treating the text of Rev 18 as a complete, single composition, regardless of earlier sources or traditions.

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An awareness of John’s Greek education, and of his education in Jewish prophetic literature, discourages the case for his alleged expression of pity in Rev 18:22-23a. Indeed the intersection of insights from Greco-Roman and Jewish education suggest one conclusion: John portrays divine anger, not divine pity. Embracing his Greco-Roman education, John attends to propriety, arranging vv. 22-23a in a concluding position where we should expect evocation of readers’ anger. Embracing his Jewish education in the Prophets, John portrays sheer divine anger; he does not simultaneously portray divine pity. I hope that this essay’s application of educational insights demonstrates its value for addressing exegetical debates. By examining Rev 18:22-23a against the backdrop of Greek and Jewish education, we can see why we are not to pity Rome.­

Reference List

Adams, Sean A. / Seth M. Ehorn. “What is a Composite Citation? An Introduction.” In Composite Citation in Antiquity: Jewish, Greco-Roman, and Early Christian Uses. Edited by Sean A. Adams / Seth M. Ehorn. LNTS 525. London / New York: Bloomsbury, 2016, 1-16. Allen, Leslie C. Jeremiah: A Commentary, OTL. Louisville / London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. Aune, David E. Revelation 17-22. WBC 52C. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998. Beale, G.K. The Book of Revelation. NIGTC 21. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999. Blount, Brian. Revelation. NTLi. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. Bonner, Stanley F. Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny. Berkeley / Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1977. Boxall, Ian. The Revelation of Saint John. BNTC 19. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2006. Buchanan, George Wesley. The Book of Revelation: Its Introduction and Prophecy. Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2005. Burridge, Richard A. “The Gospels and Acts.” In Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period, 330 B.C. – A.D. 400. Edited by Stanley E. Porter. Leiden / New York / Cologne: Brill, 1997, 507-532. Carey, Greg. Elusive Apocalypse: Reading Authority in the Revelation to John. SABH 15. Macon: Mercer University Press, 1999. Carley, Keith W. The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel. CNEB. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press, 1974. Charles, R.H. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John. Vol­ume 2. ICC. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1920.

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Childs, Brevard S. Isaiah: A Commentary. OTL. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001. Cicero. On the Ideal Orator. Translated, with Introduction, Notes, Appendixes, Glossary and Indexes by James M. May and Jakob Wisse. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Claassens, L. Juliana. “Isaiah.” In Theological Bible Commentary. Edited by Gail R. O’Day / David L. Petersen. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009, 209-222. Collins, Adela Yarbro. Crisis & Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1984. Collins, Adele Y. “Revelation 18: Taunt Song or Dirge?” In L’Apocalypse johannique et l’apocalyptique dans le Nouveau Testament. Edited by Jan Lambrecht. BEThL 53. Gem­bloux: Duculot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1980, 185-204. Delorme, Jean / Isabelle Donegani. L’Apocalypse de Jean: Révélation pour le temps de la violence et du désir. Postscript by Jean Calloud. Volume 2, Chapters 12-22. LeDiv. Paris: Cerf, 2010. Dempsey, Carol J. “Themes and Perspectives in the Prophets: Truth, Tragedy, Trauma.” In The Prophets. Edited by Gale A. Yee / Hugh R. Page, Jr. / Matthew J.M. Coomber. FCBSE. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016, 649-672. deSilva, David A. Seeing Things John’s Way: The Rhetoric of the Book of Revelation. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009. deSilva, David A. “What has Athens to do with Patmos? Rhetorical Criticism of the Revelation of John (1980-2005).” CBR 6/2 (2008): 256-289. Downing, F. Gerald. “A bas les Aristos: The Relevance of Higher Literature for the Understanding of the Earliest Christian Writings.” NT 30/3 (1988): 212-230. Ebner, Eliezer. Elementary Education in Ancient Israel During the Tannaitic Period (10220 c.e.). New York: Bloch, 1956. Eissfeldt, Otto. The Old Testament: An Introduction. Translated by P.R. Ackroyd. New York / Evanston: Harper & Row, 1965. Fiorenza, E.S. Revelation: Vision of a Just World. ProcCom. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991. Freese, John Henry. Aristotle, The “Art” of Rhetoric. LCL 193. London: William Heine­ mann; New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1926. Glasson, Thomas F. The Revelation of John. CNEB. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965. A Greek-English Lexicon. Compiled by H.G. Liddell / R. Scott. 9th edition. With Revised Supplement. Revised and augmented throughout by Sir Henry Stuart Jones, with the assistance of Roderick McKenzie, Supplement edited by P.G.W. Glare, and with the assistance of A.A. Thompson. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Griffin, William Paul. The God of the Prophets: An Analysis of Divine Action. JSOT.S 249. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997.

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Kennedy, George A. “Introduction.” In Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric. Translated with Introductions and Notes by George A. Kennedy. SBL.WGRW 10. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2003, ix-xvi. Kennedy, George A. A New History of Classical Rhetoric: An Extensive Revision and Abridgment of The Art of Persuasion in Greece, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World and Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors, with Additional Discussion of Late Latin Rhetoric. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994. Kennedy, George A. New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984. Kiddle, Martin / M.K. Ross. The Revelation of St. John. MNTC. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1946. Kraft, Heinrich. Offenbarung des Johannes. HNT 16.1. Tübingen: Mohr, 1974. Lausberg, Heinrich. Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Study. Edited by D.E. Orton / R.D. Anderson. Translated by Matthew T. Bliss / Annemiek Jansen / David E. Orton. Leiden / Boston / Cologne: Brill, 1998. Leinweber, David. “Ancient World, Christian Education in the.” ECE 1, 40-48. Lemaire, André. “Education (Israel).” AncBD 2, 305-312. Lilje, Hans. The Last Book of the Bible. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957. Mack, Burton L. Rhetoric and the New Testament. GBS. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990. Martin, Josef. Antike Rhetorik: Technik und Methode. HAW 2.3. Munich: C.H. Beck, 1974. Mazzaferri, Frederick David. The Genre of the Book of Revelation from a Source-Critical Perspective. BZNW 54. Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989. May, James M. / Jakob Wisse. “Introduction.” In Cicero, On the Ideal Orator. Translated, with Introduction, Notes, Appendixes, Glossary and Indexes by James M. May and Jakob Wisse. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001, 3-48. Morgan, Teresa. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds. CCS. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Moyise, Steve. The Later New Testament Writings and Scripture: The Old Testament in Acts, Hebrews, the Catholic Epistles and Revelation. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012. Moyise, Steve. The Old Testament in the New: An Introduction. 2nd edition, Revised and Expanded. ABS. London: Bloomsbury, 2015. Murphy, Frederick J. Fallen is Babylon: The Revelation to John. NTCon. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998. Novum Testamentum Graece. Edited by Eberhard Nestle / Kurt Aland. 28th Revised edition. Edited by Barbara Aland et al. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012. Reprint in Nuovo Testamento Interlineare: Greco, Latino, Italiano. Edited by Marco Zappella. Milan: San Paolo, 2014.

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Patillon, Michel. “Introduction.” In Michel Patillon, Aelius Théon: Progymnasmata. Texte établit et traduit par Michel Patillon avec l’assistance, pour l’Armenien, de Giancarlo Bolognesi. CUFr. Paris : Les Belles Lettres, 1997, vii-clvii. Prigent, Piere. l’Apocalypse. LiBi. Paris: Cerf, 1998. Prigent, Pierre. l’Apocalypse de Saint Jean. 2nd edition. CNT(N) 2.14. Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1989. Quintilian. Training of an Orator. Volume 2. Translated by H.E. Butler. LCL 125. London: Heinemann, 1921. Rabe, Hugo. Hermogenes Opera. Rhetores Graeci. Volume 6. BSGRT. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1913. Roloff, Jürgen. The Revelation of John. Translated by John E. Alsup. CC. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991. Royalty, Jr., Robert M. The Streets of Heaven: The Ideology of Wealth in the Apocalypse of John. Macon: Mercer University Press, 1998. Safrai, S. “Education and the Study of the Torah.” In The Jewish People in the First Century: Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions. Edited by S. Safrai / M. Stern in co-operation with D. Flusser and W.C. van Unnik. CRI I.2. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976, 945-970. Satake, Akira. Die Offenbarung des Johannes. Edited by Thomas Witulski. KEK 16. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2008. Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes. Edited by Alfred Rahlfs. Editio Minor. Two volumes in one. ΑΤΗΝΑΙ: ΒΙΒΛΙΚΗ ΕΤΑΙΡΑ; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1935. Townsend, John T. “Education (Greco-Roman).” AncBD 2, 312-317. Tull, Patricia K. “1 and 2 Samuel.” In Theological Bible Commentary. Edited by Gail R. O’Day /David L. Petersen. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009, 101-117. von Spengel, Leonhard. Rhetores Graeci. Volume 2. BSGRT. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1854. Westermann, Claus. Prophetic Oracles of Salvation in the Old Testament. Translated by Keith Crim. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991. Witherington III, Ben. Conflict and Community at Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Com­ mentary on 1 and 2 Corinthinans. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1995. Witherington III, Ben. Revelation. NCBC. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Zimmerli, Walther. Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel Chapters 25-48. Translated by James D. Martin. Edited by Paul D. Hanson with Leonard J. Greenspoon. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983. Zerwick, Maximilian / Mary Grosvenor. Analysis of the Greek New Testament. 2 volumes. Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1979.

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Those Who Hear: The Power of Learners in 1 Timothy Mona Tokarek LaFosse

In various capacities over the last two decades, Michel Desjardins has offered me valuable guidance, and opportunities for learning, research, teaching and developing an academic career, for which I am grateful. I am honoured to contribute to this collection of essays related to teaching – and learning – in the early Christian context as part of celebrating his academic career. Given my experience of his passion for teaching and experiential learning,1 it is fitting that this project connects with my own teaching of the early Christian texts that incorporates experiential elements. Since New Testament texts are familiar to many of my undergraduate and graduate students (in a devotional or ecclesial sense, especially), I find it valuable to explore the gap between our own modern contexts as readers of the Christian Bible (and other ancient sacred texts) and the contrasting social and cultural settings in which these texts were created. Exploring this gap between “us”2 and the early Christians is an important pillar of my pedagogy. Not only does this illuminate the historical, social and cultural context of the early Christians, but it also inevitably allows us to compare and ponder our own modern contexts and identities in a new light. Experiential learning serves similarly to destabilize the familiar. To this end, a successful experiential element in my New Testament courses has been to introduce the oral and performative aspects of the texts. For example, to introduce Paul’s letters, I read aloud, with expression and gestures, relatively long portions of Pauline and deutero-Pauline letters, or even whole letters, asking students simply to listen. This experience of the text tends to be novel, since students who are familiar with the New Testament usually read it silently or hear it read aloud in short portions in church contexts. The result of hearing a 1 For example, in my class on Method and Theory in Textual Studies for my Master of Arts degree, Michel asked each student to create a visual depiction of insights drawn from our readings of a particular theorist on a fabric square that was then incorporated into a quilt. The quilt was given to the theorist as a demonstration of what we learned from her scholarship. 2 I use the word “us” with caution, recognizing that modern readers have various experiences and backgrounds they bring to their reading of the text. My own reading and ideas can only assume my own experiences and background, but I invite readers, as I do students, to compare and contrast their own experiences and backgrounds as they engage with my ideas.

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letter read is an approximation of its original oral-aural context, a sense of its rhetorical character (in translation), and an experience of the impact of a whole letter. Another example of experiential learning involves performance criticism.3 Some students opt to memorize and perform a text for the class, followed by an explanation of how their research on the text contributed to their performance. The creativity and expression of these performances draws the audience into the story or discourse, often in profound ways, as expressed in the ensuing class discussion of their experiences as observers and listeners of the performed text. This communal experience approximates another glimpse of the early Christian experience. In this paper, I consider communal and oral aspects of teaching in 1 Timothy, especially as denoted by the word διδάσκω (teach) and its cognates, but focus particularly on learners and their perceived role as recipients of teaching in the “household of God” (1 Tim 3:15). This investigation necessitates an examination of the gap between “us” and the early Christians by considering two crucial cultural elements that affect how I understand ancient learners: first, social hierarchy related to gender and age, and second, the ancient experience of hearing (rather than reading) texts. While teachers are depicted as having authority and influence over their hearers, the depiction of learners as influenced (or potentially influenced) by opposing teachings suggests that the real power of teaching was in its hearers, their embodiment of the teaching and how this manifested in group identity and the reputation of the community. I begin with a few notes about my understanding of 1 Timothy. First, given that this letter is radically different from Paul’s undisputed letters in tone, vocabulary, emphases, theology and clues to social setting, I assume that an author writing several decades after Paul’s death penned the letter to provide an authoritative voice for problems in his community in or near Ephesus (1 Tim 1:3), perhaps around 90-100 ce.4 Second, while I recognize that 1 Timothy, 2 3 Students follow the helpful suggestions and techniques of David Rhoads, whom I have been privileged to see perform in person. See David M. Rhoads, “Performance Criticism: An Emerging Methodology in Second Testament Studies,” BTB 36/3 (2006): 118-133. For helpful pedagogical suggestions using performance criticism, see Joanna Dewey, “Performance Criticism in Teaching the Gospel of Mark,” PRSt 42/1 (2015): 61-72. 4 Since the late nineteenth century, there has been debate over the authorship of 1 Timothy. The majority of scholars assume that the author wrote in Paul’s name sometime between 90 and 140 ce. These include Martin Dibelius / Hans Conzelmann, The Pastoral Epistles: A Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972); Margaret Y. MacDonald, The Pauline Churches: A Socio-Historical Study of Institutionalization in the Pauline and Deutero-Pauline Writings, MSSNTS 60 (Cambridge / New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Jerome D. Quinn / William C. Wacker, The First and Second Letters to Timothy, EEC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000). Some scholars are convinced of Pauline au-

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Timothy and Titus have distinct similarities (for example in vocabulary, themes) that suggest they are connected, I do not treat them as if they are one intertwined text. While I refer to these other two letters in comparison to 1 Timothy, I understand them to be three distinct letters. Thus, I focus on 1 Timothy rather than all three.5 Third, I conceive of 1 Timothy as doubly pseudonymous (the letter is not actually directed to the historical Timothy), and crafted as one side of a conversation between two fictive characters from a past generation:6 Paul as father/teacher (1 Tim 2:7) and Timothy as “genuine child in the faith” (1:2; cf. 1:18).7 This intimate conversation consists of a fatherly figure entrusting (6:20) his protégé with correcting those who oppose them in their teachings (1:3, 4:1-3, 6:3) and teaching what he considered to be in line with Paul (3:15, 4:6-16, 5:1-2 and so on). The purpose of the fictive letter is to name, challenge and correct what the author sees as problematic behaviour in his own real community, behaviour that is affecting the community’s identity and reputation (such as young widows flitting around different households, 5:13). The letter serves to direct the community toward behaviour that is, to his mind, more suitable for members of “the household of God” (3:15), largely conforming to social norms of the day (like young widows settling into new marriages,

thorship, for example Ceslas Spicq, Sainte Paul: Les épitres pastorales, EtB (Paris: Librarie Lecoffre, 1947); Luke Timothy Johnson, The First and Second Letters to Timothy: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AncB 35A (New York: Doubleday, 2001); Philip H. Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus, NIC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006). I. Howard Marshall suggests an earlier date (70-80 ce) so that the letter has a direct connection to Paul: See A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999). My own dating of 90-100 ce correlates with what I argue was an identity crisis as those who had been eyewitnesses and founders of the movement were no longer around. See Mona Tokarek LaFosse, “Age Matters: Age, Aging and Intergenerational Relationships in Early Christian Communities, With a Focus on 1 Timothy 5” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2011), 196-203, ProQuest (NS22265). 5 For similar views, see William A. Richards, Difference and Distance in Post-Pauline Christianity: An Epistolary Analysis of the Pastorals, StBL 44 (New York: Peter Lang, 2002); Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus, 27-30; Luke Timothy Johnson, Letters to Paul’s Delegates: 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus, NTCon (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1996), 7-8, 19-26; Jens Herzer, “Rearranging the ‘House of God’: A New Perspective on the Pastoral Epistles,” in Empsychoi Logoi – Religious Innovations in Antiquity: Studies in Honour of Pieter Willem van Der Horst, ed. Alberdina Houtman / Albert de Jong / Magda Misset-van de Weg, AJEC 73 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2008), 547-566. 6 This is an adaptation of John W. Marshall’s suggestion (which he applies to Titus) to 1 Timothy. John W. Marshall, “‘I Left You in Crete’: Narrative Deception and Social Hierarchy in the Letter to Titus,” JBL 127/4 (2008): 781-803. 7 All translations are my own, unless otherwise noted.

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childcare and household responsibilities [5:14]).8 This depiction of Paul and Timothy is in the form of advice and reminders of the teaching handed down from the fictive Paul to the fictive Timothy, and entrusted to unnamed others in the community (for example, overseers [3:2]; elders [5:17]) who had roles that would be recognizable to the original recipients of the letter. The real audience “overhears” these “reminders” in hopes that it will help with issues of their own time in the face of “other” teachings (1:3, 4:1-3, 6:3). Teaching is central to the concerns outlined in this letter. While there are a number of words that relate to teaching,9 the key term is διδάσκω, which, along with its cognates and compound forms, occurs sixteen times in this letter.10 Throughout Greek literature, this word involved more than merely conveying information. The authority of the teacher and the desired learning for the student was the basis for relationship; the student learned from the example of the teacher and the learning manifested itself in behaviour.11 The author of 1 Timothy indicates there are two kinds of teaching: teaching to embrace and teaching to avoid. Paul’s instructions begin by directing Timothy12 to combat problematic teaching: “Command some people not to teach other things [ἑτεροδιδασκαλεῖν]” (1 Tim 1:3), meaning anything “other than the

8

9 10

11 12

Annette Bourland Huizenga, Moral Education for Women in the Pastoral and Pythagorean Letters: Philosophers of the Household, NT.S 147 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 324; Margaret Y. MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion: The Power of the Hysterical Woman (Cambridge / New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 27-41; David C. Verner, The Household of God: The Social World of the Pastoral Epistles, SBL.DS 71 (Chico: Scholars Press, 1983), 134-139. Claire S. Smith, Pauline Communities as “Scholastic Communities”: A Study of the Vocabulary of “Teaching” in 1 Corinthians, 1 and 2 Timothy and Titus, WUNT 335 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012). The sixteen instances in 1 Timothy are: 2:12, 4:11, 6:2b (διδάσκω); 1:10; 4:1, 6, 13, 16; 5:17; 6:1, 3 (διδασκαλία); 2:7 (διδάσκαλος); 3:2 (διδακτικός); 1:3, 6:3 (ἑτεροδιδασκαλέω); 1:7 (νομοδι­ δάσκαλος). By comparison, there are eight instances in 2 Timothy: 2:2 (διδάσκω); 3:10, 16; 4:3 (διδασκαλία); 1:11, 4:3 (διδάσκαλος); 2:24 (διδακτικός); 4:2 (διδαχή). There are seven in Titus: 1:11 (διδάσκω); 1:9; 2:1, 7, 10 (διδασκαλία); 1:9 (διδαχή); 2:3 (καλοδιδάσκαλος). For a summary of teaching terminology in the letters to Timothy and Titus, see Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 260-262, and for a full analysis of teaching terminology in these letters (with a comparison the Corinthian correspondence), see Smith, Pauline Communities as “Scholastic Communities.” Smith, Pauline Communities as “Scholastic Communities,” 54-55; Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, “Διδάσκω,” TDNT 2, 135. For the sake of convenience, I use the terms Paul and Timothy when referring to the purported author and recipient of 1 Timothy (and 2 Timothy), by which I mean “the fictive Paul” and “the fictive Timothy.”

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healthy teaching [ἕτερον τῇ ὑγιαινούσῃ διδασκαλίᾳ]13 which opposes what is in harmony with the gospel of the glory of the blessed God (1:10-11).” The “other teaching” is characterized by pointless discussions (1 Tim 1:6) involving “myths,” “limitless genealogies” and “old women’s stories” (1:4, 4:7), a gross misunderstanding of the law and its intent (1:7-10) and divisive arguments as attempts to gain knowledge (6:4-5, 20), possibly related to wealth (6:9-10). Those who teach “other things” are said to prohibit marriage and eating certain foods (4:3), perhaps discouraging care for needy family members (5:4, 8), preying on vulnerable people like young widows (5:15), and encouraging accusations against elders (5:19) and disrespect for masters (6:1-2). In the view of the author, these teachings cause some to reject conscience, suffering “shipwreck,” turning away from the faith, and to malign and/or shame the community (1:20, 4:1-2, 5:14-15). The author contrasts the “other” teaching with the “healthy” or “noble” teaching (1 Tim 4:6). This teaching comes through “divine training that is known by faith” (1:4, NRSV; 4:7-8), with a goal of love (ἀγάπη) that comes from “a clean heart and good conscience and genuine faith” (1:5, cf. 4:12). It involves, among other things, prayer (2:1, 8; 5:5), living a quiet life (2:2) with contentment (6:8, 17), doing good and noble works (2:10; 3:1; 5:10, 25; 6:18), being respectable and hospitable (3:2-7, 5:10), sharing (6:18), caring for those in need (5:4, 8, 16), behaving honourably, and functioning as a member of “the household of God” (3:15, 5:1-2, arguably 5:3-6:2a), which includes women dressing modestly and learning quietly (2:9-11) and honouring older members of the community (5:3, 17). “Healthy teaching” leads to being saved (4:16), eternal life (6:12) and “life that is really life” (6:19, NRSV). The “healthy teaching” is central to what Paul is entrusting to Timothy (6:20). The contrast between “healthy” and “other” teaching is made clear near the close of the letter: If someone teaches other things [ἑτεροδιδασκαλεῖ] and does not hold to the healthy words [ὑγιαίνουσιν λόγοις] which are of our Lord Jesus Christ, 13

The word ὑγιαίνω literally refers to physical health, but in 1 Timothy it means the true, correct teaching or words (in the view of the author). This phrasing only appears in two instances in 1 Timothy (1:10 and 6:3), both in direct contrast with the opposing teachings. Similar phrases are used in 2 Timothy and Titus: ὑγιαινούσης διδασκαλίας (2 Tim 4:3; Titus 1:9, 2:1); ὑγιαινόντων λόγων (2 Tim 1:13); ὑγιαίνωσιν ἐν τῇ πίστει (“those who are healthy in faith” [Titus 1:13]; similarly, of older men [2:2]); λόγον ὑγιῆ (Titus 2:8). Abraham J. Malherbe, “Medical Imagery in the Pastoral Epistles,” in Texts and Testaments: Critical Essays on the Bible and Early Church Fathers, A Volume in Honour of Stuart Dickson Currie, ed. W. Eugene March (San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1980), 19-35.

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and does not hold to the teaching that is in harmony with loyalty to God and God’s order [τῇ κατ’ εὐσέβειαν διδασκαλίᾳ], he is blinded, having faith in nothing, but is ill when it comes to deliberating and fighting about words (1 Tim 6:3-4).14 The author here characterizes “Paul’s” teaching by its connection to εὐσέβεια, which I have translated with a rather long phrase “loyalty to God and God’s order.”15 In the Greek and Roman worlds, this word referred to a demeanour that honoured the gods, one’s parents and the stability of the hierarchical structure of society. It was adapted in post-Pauline texts to refer to a “profound” respect and reverence for God16 with a sense of respecting the order of the world and relationships within it as well, such as those within the household. For example, in 1 Tim 5:4, those with widowed mothers and grandmothers should “first learn to do their duty [εὐσέβεῖν] to the household” and take care of them. This is behaviour that respects and honours God’s social order, but is actually something expected as a cultural norm. To neglect this duty is, in the words of the author, to be “worse than an unbeliever” (5:8). The instructions to Timothy are summed up in the words, “so that you might know how it is necessary to behave in the household of God” which is connected to the idea that “the mystery of εὐσέβεια is great” (3:15-16). The fact that teaching is understood to be “in harmony with” εὐσέβεια illustrates the author’s concern for social hierarchy. The social hierarchy that made up the framework of the household involved gender, personal freedom (or other indicators of social status) and age. As a community conceived of as a “household of God,” the cultural expectations of teaching (and learning) in 1 Timothy were understood with this hierarchical structure in mind: Men had precedence over women, someone of higher social status had precedence over someone of lower status and older persons had precedence over younger ones.17 In other early Christian texts, gender, social 14 15

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Emphasis added. The word εὐσέβεια is often translated “godliness” (see the NRSV, NASB and NIV), but this does not capture its breadth, texture or sense of social community that it encompasses. “Piety” or “devoutness” might be alternative glosses, but modern interpretations of these words are still more individualized than the word εὐσέβεια suggests, as outlined below. For a fuller discussion see Mary Rose D’Angelo, “Εὐσέβεια: Roman Imperial Family Values and the Sexual Politics of 4 Maccabees and the Pastorals,” BibInt 11/2 (2003): 139-165. BAGD, 412-413. Social hierarchy was ubiquitous in all social situations in the late first and early second centuries. A person was expected to assess his or her position against others to determine which others were superior or inferior, and expected to act and treat others accordingly. Whether one behaved appropriately, and thus how much one contributed (or failed to

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status and age hierarchies are clearly reinforced in the household codes typical of Greek and Roman societies. In Col 3:18-4:1 and Eph 5:22-6:9,18 wives are exhorted to submit to husbands, children to obey parents and slaves to obey masters. Unique to the early Christian adaptation, the superior party is exhorted as well: Husbands should love their wives, parents should not provoke their children, and masters should treat their slaves justly.19 We find further adaptations of the codes for community relationships in 1 Timothy and Titus,20 relationships that directly relate to teaching. Slaves are expected to honour, respect and serve (δουλεύω) their masters in 1 Tim 6:1-2, and submit to their masters in Titus 2:9-10. In both cases their behaviour serves to embody “the teaching” (ἡ διδασκαλία) for others to view. In addition to the master-slave distinction, the relationship between older and younger age groups, separated by gender, replaces the husband-wife, parent-child pairs: older men, younger men, older women and younger women are addressed in turn (1 Tim 5:1-2, Titus 2:2-8). In Titus 2:2-8, the behaviours of each of these groups is explicitly outlined; Titus is to speak (λάλει) about these behaviours with them because it is consistent with “healthy teaching.” In 1 Tim 5:3-25, specific behaviours are addressed for these various groups (though not as straightforwardly)21 as the content of what Timothy is to “command and teach” (4:11) and “teach and encourage” (6:2b).22

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contribute) to her or his group’s honour, was an important cultural value. See John S. Kloppenborg, “Egalitarianism in the Myth and Rhetoric of Pauline Churches,” in Reimagining Christian Origins: A Colloquium Honoring Burton L. Mack, ed. Elizabeth A. Castelli / Hal Taussig (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1996), 247-263. On the basic cultural value of “honour” see, for example, Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Honor: Core Value in the Biblical World,” in Understanding the Social World of the New Testament, ed. Dietmar Neufeld / Richard E. DeMaris (London / New York: Routledge, 2010), 109-125. Colossians and Ephesians are purportedly written by Paul, but probably written several decades later by authors who hoped to claim Paul’s authority. See, for example, MacDonald, The Pauline Churches. James E. Crouch, The Origin and Intention of the Colossian Haustafel, FRLANT 109 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972); David L. Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in 1 Peter, SBL.MS 26 (Chico: Scholars Press, 1981). Verner, The Household of God, 23-25, 83-111. The more obvious directives include younger family members directed to care for widowed mothers and grandmothers (5:4) and elders being worthy of double honour (5:17), but I argue elsewhere that there are other less obvious directives related to age. LaFosse, “Age Matters.” Emphasis added. It is difficult to know with certainty to what “these things” in these phrases refers: “Command and teach these things [παράγγελλε ταῦτα καὶ δίδασκε]” (4:11); “Teach and encourage these things [ταῦτα δίδασκε καὶ παρακάλει]” (6:2b). I would suggest that the instructions to teach “these things” frame the climactic chapter five of the letter,

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Age is also important because Timothy is clearly portrayed as younger and less experienced than Paul,23 affectionately called Paul’s child (1 Tim 1:2, 18) and portrayed as a younger man (4:12).24 In this depiction, what Timothy has learned from Paul is part of a long-term, close relationship, couched in familial language.25 Timothy’s own position of authority and substance of the teaching is that which Paul has entrusted to him (1:3, 18; 4:6-16; 6:20) because Timothy’s teaching is the continuation of Paul’s teaching (4:6, 11; 6:2b; cf. 2 Tim 3:10).26 The author suggests that his youth may be an issue for his position (“let no one scorn your youth” [1 Tim 4:12a]), but that Timothy’s exemplary behaviour and modelling of faith (4:12b) mitigates this possibility, especially in contrast with those who “suffered shipwreck with regard to faith” (1:20). In fact, Timothy’s level of responsibility and authority at such a young age is “an exception that proves the rule” – younger people were to be deferential to their elders (4:12; cf. Ign. Magn. 3.1).27 Yet, he also is depicted as properly deferential to Paul as well to other older men (1 Tim 4:14, 5:1; cf. 1:18).28

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so that instructions for widows, elders and others found in chapter five are the important “things” that the author of the real audience is hoping to address in the letter. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 276. Similarly, Titus 2:7 implies that Titus is among the “younger men.” The mention of Timothy’s faith and sacred writings learned from childhood in 2 Timothy may also suggest youth in that letter (2 Tim 3:14-15). Timothy’s age is clearest in 1 Timothy. This depiction has historical roots, for we find in the undisputed letter from Paul to the Corinthians, that Paul says, “For this reason I sent [or am sending] you Timothy, who is my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, to remind you of my ways in Christ Jesus, as I teach them everywhere in every church” (1 Cor 4:17, NRSV); and “If Timothy comes, see that he has nothing to fear among you, for he is doing the work of the Lord just as I am; therefore let no one despise him. Send him on his way in peace, so that he may come to me; for I am expecting him with the brothers” (16:10-11, NRSV). For the author of 1 Timothy, Paul’s teaching has authority, as evidenced by Paul’s description of himself as appointed (presumably by God) as a teacher of the Gentiles (as well as a herald and apostle [2:7; cf. 2 Tim 1:11]). The core fiction of the letter is a reminder of the things Paul has taught Timothy, of Timothy’s calling and his exemplary faithfulness. Huizenga points out that the author of 1 Timothy does not suggest Timothy and his hearers are to imitate Paul (as in the undisputed letters), but to follow him: “If you place these things before the brothers and sisters, you will be a noble servant of Christ Jesus, having been trained in the words of the faith and of the noble teaching, which you have followed closely [παρηκολούθηκας]” (1 Tim 4:6). Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 269. BAGD, 767, defines παρακολουθέω as “to be closely associated w. someone viewed as an authority figure” or “to conform to someone’s belief or practice by paying special attention.” This suggests following in someone’s ways so that they become one’s own. John M.G. Barclay, “There Is Neither Old nor Young?: Early Christianity and Ancient Ideologies of Age,” NTS 53/2 (2007): 225-241. Elsewhere I argue that a problem of younger men not being properly deferential is at issue in 5:17-22. See LaFosse, “Age Matters,” 378-388; see also Frances Young, The Theology of the Pastoral Letters, NTT (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 107.

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The teaching is not just in Timothy’s hands, for it has also been transmitted by elders, who are worthy of double honour for their teaching role (1 Tim 5:17),29 and by those deemed worthy of the role of overseer,30 who should have demonstrated skill in teaching (διδακτικός [3:2; cf. 2 Tim 2:24, Titus 1:9]).31 Given that elders are (literally) older men and the overseer must be a household owner who is married and a father (1 Tim 3:4-5), teaching seems to be affirmed in older men.32 It is clearly limited among women. According to 2:12, women (or wives) are not to teach or have authority over a man (or husband). They are to be “quiet” in the sense of respecting order and authority (2:12),33 though in their quietness they are exhorted to learn (μανθάνω [2:10]).34 These are difficult verses,35 but if Titus and 2 Timothy are any indication, this does not necessarily mean that women, like exemplary widows in 5:10 and younger widows in 5:14, do not teach at all: Lois and Eunice (Timothy’s grandmother and mother) 29

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Literally, “those who grow weary in word and teaching [ἐν λόγῳ καὶ διδασκαλίᾳ]” (5:17). See Abraham J. Malherbe, “How to Treat Old Women and Old Men: The Use of Philosophical Traditions and Scripture in 1 Timothy 5,” in Scripture and Traditions: Essays on Early Judaism and Christianity in Honor of Carl R. Holladay, ed. Patrick Gray / Gail R. O’ Day, NT.S 129 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2008), 263-290. Likewise, in Titus the overseer was to be “devoted to the faithful word in accordance with the teaching [κατὰ τὴν διδαχήν] so that he might also encourage [others] in the healthy teaching [τῇ διδασκαλίᾳ τῇ ὑγιαινούσῃ] and repudiate those who contradict [it]” (Titus 1:9). There is no explicit directive in 1 Timothy to commission others to teach, though it may be implied in 3:2. Such a directive is explicit in 2 Timothy, but no specific role is assigned: Timothy is told to entrust (παρατίθημι) the things that he had heard (ἀκούω) from Paul “to faithful people, those who will be able to teach [διδάξαι] others also” (2:2). Similarly, the letter states: “The slave [δοῦλος] of the Lord” must be able to teach (διδατικός) and able to correct opponents (2:24-25). Interestingly, less overt social hierarchy is detectable in 2 Timothy, making this depiction of teaching closer to Paul’s undisputed letters (for example, 1 Cor 12:28, Rom 12:7). In her investigation of education and children, Margaret Y. MacDonald notes the primacy of older men in teaching: “It is striking how power, speech, and education converge as the prerogative of men along with the denial of these to women… The educational goal here it to imbue children, especially sons, with the perspective of the older male. The standpoint is that of the husband who must rule his household.” Margaret Y. MacDonald, The Power of Children: The Construction of Christian Families in the Greco-Roman World (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014), 136. ἡσθχία: BAGD, 440. MacDonald, The Power of Children, 134. For example, David M. Scholer, “1 Timothy 2:9-15 and the Place of Women in the Church’s Ministry,” in A Feminist Companion to the Deutero-Pauline Epistles, ed. Amy-Jill Levine / Marianne Blickenstaff, FCNT 7 (London: T&T Clark International, 2003), 98-121; Alicia J. Batten, “Neither Gold nor Braided Hair (1 Timothy 2.9; 1 Peter 3.3): Adornment, Gender and Honour in Antiquity,” NTS 55/4 (2009): 484-501; Sebastian Fuhrmann, “Saved by Childbirth: Struggling Ideologies, the Female Body and a Placing of 1 Tim 2:15a,” Neotest. 44/1 (2010): 30-46.

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are affirmed as instructing young Timothy, including in sacred writings (2 Tim 1:5, 3:15) and older women explicitly teach younger women in Titus 2:3-4 (καλοδιδάσκαλος).36 In sum, we see a desire for teaching to reflect cultural norms of social hierarchy: Timothy’s deference to Paul and other elders; teaching in the hands of young Timothy because he is affirmed by Paul and the elders; teaching also in the hands of older men; restrictions on women teaching; and the resultant honourable behaviour of all members. We have a picture of “some approved persons (almost all of whom are male) serv[ing] as teachers, whereas the bulk of the group remains in the position of learners.”37 It is to the learners that I now turn, with a focus on learning through hearing. The impact for those who hear the teaching is mentioned explicitly in 1 Timothy: if Timothy continues in the way of Paul, being mindful of himself and his teaching, the author says he will save (σῴζω) both himself and those who hear him (τοὺς ἀκούοντας [1 Tim 4:16b]).38 As a letter, 1 Timothy was meant to embody the presence of the purported letter writer with his authority and influence,39 heard and experienced by the community as the words of Paul himself.40 Those who hear, both in the fiction of the letter and in the author’s real audience, do not simply cognitively take in the aural information for individual contemplation; they embrace and embody the teaching as a community. 36

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Mona Tokarek LaFosse, “Age Hierarchy and Social Networks among Urban Women in the Roman East,” in Mediterranean Families in Antiquity: Households, Extended Families, and Domestic Space, ed. Sabine R. Huebner / Geoffrey Nathan (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017), 204-220. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 275, 294. Similarly, in 2 Timothy, Timothy is to teach with great patience (2 Tim 4:2) because of those who would reject “healthy teaching” and find other teachers who offered them what they want to hear, listening to them (ἀκοή) and turning from the truth (4:3-4). Also, Timothy is told to remind the faithful people “of [these things] and warn them before God that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good, but only ruins those who are listening (ἀκούω)” (2:14, NRSV). See Pieter J.J. Botha, Orality and Literacy in Early Christianity (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012), xvi, 60, 205, 211, 246. Psuedepigraphy makes the authorial presence more complex, but the intent is still to evoke Paul’s authority. For undisputed letters, the community listened to the one who read it, with an understanding that the reader was probably involved in the composition (p. 208). In fact, letter writing involved a complex process: “some persons combined their efforts to deliberate and ‘perform’ a letter; there was someone involved in the creation and transportation of it finally ‘recreating’ for others a presentation/performance of the ‘message’ intended for sharing (pp. 243-245).” The fact that letters often had several people involved in their composition and delivery may have been a factor in the acceptance of the deutero-Pauline letters, like 1 Timothy. Ibid., 201.

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Usually translated “hear” or “listen,” the word ἀκούω can simply denote communication (like reports about people Paul has heard, in Gal 1:13 and 1 Cor 5:1), but it can also have connotations of developing knowledge or gaining understanding, especially when it is associated with teaching in early Christian texts.41 For example, Paul reminds his communities about the message they heard (see 1 Thess 2:13 and Gal 3:5). It is clear from Rom 10 that the message is one that is delivered orally: “And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?” (10:14, NRSV) and “faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ” (10:17, NRSV).42 Hearing the message continued to be the primary mode of communication of the gospel (Col 1:16, 23; Eph 1:13, 4:20-21). The ancients would not say, “Seeing is believing”; for them, “hearing” from a credible witness43 or a disciple of an authority figure (like Timothy) was the way to belief. Written text was usually experienced by hearing it.44 It is a great irony, as Pieter J.J. Botha points out, that written texts are what we rely on to understand the early Christians.45 While writing was well-known, most people were not literate (could neither functionally read nor write, if they had any level of skill at either). Writing materials and the services of those who knew how to use them were expensive, since writing was primarily accomplished by skilled 41

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The word ἀκούω occurs almost 430 times in the New Testament, mostly in the gospels, Acts and Revelation, and ἀκοή occurs twenty-four times. Gerhard Schneider, “Ἀκούω,” in EDNT, vol. 1, 52. The Synoptic Gospels all present Jesus as teacher (διδάσκαλος [Mark 1:21, Matt 4:23, Luke 3:12]), who uses the phrase, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” (Mark 4:9, 23; 7:16; Matt 11:15, 13:9, 43; Luke 8:8, 14:35b). In Matthew, Jesus sits down to teach (διδάσκω) the crowd on the mountain, saying, “you have heard [ἀκούω] that it was said, but I say to you” (Matt 5:21, 17, 33, 38, 43). From a study of the reception history of the phrase “then faith comes from hearing” (ἄρα ἡ πίστις ἐξ ἀκοῆς)” (Rom 10:17) in the early church fathers, Adam Cooper suggests that “it consisted in the primacy accorded to the public and aural encounter with God’s word, over the private and visual encounter.” Adam G. Cooper, “Faith Comes by Hearing: A Pauline Motif in Theological Tradition,” LT J 44/2 (2010): 110. For example, Papias, an early second century historian, insists that living witnesses were more reliable than written sources: Papias fragment 3 section 4 (LCL, trans. Ehrman). A common idiom in Greek denotes the widespread practice of reading aloud: the phrase ἤκουσα [. . .] λέγοντας meant “I heard [the author of the text] say.” See Botha, Orality and Literacy, 92-93. In Revelation, those who read aloud and those who hear the prophecy are said be blessed (Rev 1:3). Hermas copies a book three times so that he, Clement and Grapte can read it aloud to their communities: Herm. Vis. 8:3 (LCL, trans. Ehrman). Botha suggests that when modern readers engage the ancient texts, “the heavy oral aspect of writing events must be emphasized. A nagging problem here is the persistent assumption [of modern readers] that oral traditions are inferior to literary traditions.” See Orality and Literacy, xiii.

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scribes.46 Writing was “a product and a commodity to be sold, not an intellectual process.”47 Thus, not writing, but oral speech and rhetorical skill were prized among the educated and elite.48 Written text was considered an “extension of speech.”49 The physical features of ancient manuscripts, such as the lack of punctuation and breaks, suggest that writings were “clearly assimilated to hearers”; those who read knew the text well, and the text was meant to be read aloud rather than seen as visual text (as our writing normally is).50 Reading usually incorporated gestures and performance of texts that were largely memorized.51 It is probable that 1 Timothy was read in such a way. Read aloud, the letter would display the fictional passion of “Paul” in “reminding” Timothy of what he taught him (orally) face-to-face. Scholars have typically classified the letter as paraenetic, which promotes teaching that is acceptable in the midst of problematic teaching and is characterized by reminders of what has been taught previously.52 The author begins 1 Timothy with a reminder of what the fictive Paul had said to Timothy: “Just as I urged you to remain in Ephesus,” so Timothy is to order certain people not to teach “other” things (1:3).53 He ends the letter with an exhortation reminding Timothy of what he has already received from Paul: “O Timothy, guard what has been entrusted to you,” along with a warning to avoid the opponents who spout “empty talk and contradictions falsely called knowledge (6:20).” Both Paul’s instruction and the activities of the opponents are depicted as decidedly oral in nature. Although he is clearly writing (γράφω) instructions to Timothy (1 Tim 3:14), many of the directives and descriptions are oral in nature.54 These include, for example, the statement that “[Jesus] was proclaimed [κηρύσσω] among the Gentiles” (3:16). The Spirit is depicted as speaking (λέγω) about “the last times” (4:1). God’s creation is made holy by God’s word (λόγος) and prayer (ἐντεύξις) (4:4). The author uses the phrase πιστὸς ὁ λόγος several times (1:15, 3:1, 4:9), indicating what is said (in the letter) is certain. 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Ibid., 14, 47, 70-73. Ibid., 199. Ibid., 86-87. Ibid., 37. Ibid., 98-99. Ibid., 14-16, 91. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 290-292. For sources on paraenesis see ibid., 291 n.2. Emphasis added. Translation from ibid., 291. MacDonald notes: “In considering the role of parental influence on learning, it is striking that the problems and the solutions in the Pastoral Epistles are often represented in terms of speech” (my emphasis). See The Power of Children, 117.

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In addition, oral aspects of the various “characters” of the letter are evident. Paul urges (παρακαλέω) Timothy to command (παραγγέλλω) certain people not to teach other things (1 Tim 1:3); he gives Timothy the command (παραγγελία), in agreement with the prophecies (προφητείαι) made previously (1:18). Paul turned two over to Satan so they may be instructed not to speak so as to malign (βλασφημέω [1:20]). Paul is a herald (κῆρυξ) and teacher (2:7). He urges (παρακαλέω) prayer (2:1) and orderly behaviour for men and women (2:8-15), including women learning in silence – the absence of speech (ἡσθχία). Various characteristics of people depicted in 1 Timothy also have a basis in orality. The first attribute of an overseer is to be above reproach (ἀνεπίλημπτος). The same word is used in 1 Tim 5:7, perhaps referring to those who do not look after their family members (5:4, 8), and in 6:14, in an exhortation for Timothy to “keep the mandate [ἐντολή]” without fault or reproach. The term has a connotation of having no reason for anyone to gossip about him.55 Deacons were not to be “insincere” (διλόγους, literally “two worded” [3:6]);56 women (female deacons or deacons’ wives) were not to be slanderous (διάβολος [3:11]). The “real widows” pray day and night (5:5), but otherwise say nothing. Widows on the list are attested only for deeds (5:9-10), not what they say, in contrast to the younger widows who are flitting about households, gossiping and saying what they should not say (5:13). The elders worthy of double honour work hard in word (λόγος, meaning preaching) and teaching (5:17). There are accusations (assumedly verbal) against them (5:19). Likewise, Timothy’s background and desired actions have oral aspects. He was given a gift through prophecy (προφητεύω [1 Tim 4:14, cf. 1:18]), and made a public acknowledgement of his allegiance (ὡμολόγησας τὴν καλὴν ὁμολογίαν [6:12]). Timothy’s faithfulness to his duty will make him a good servant of Jesus, “nourished on the words of faith and the sound teaching [he] has followed” (4:6, NRSV). He should avoid “meaningless myths and old women’s stories” (4:6-7).57 Timothy is to command (παραγγέλλω) the opponents (1:3), and to 55

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Reputation could be marred by gossip – another oral aspect of ancient society – observes Botha in Orality and Literacy, 212-234. Gossip was a “powerful and very present social mechanism in early Christian communities” that could “be a potent means of social control, a way of fine tuning social relationships” by motivating people to “keep up appearances” of moral behaviour; so Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, xv, 214 (on gossip, see pp. 212-233); Marianne Bjelland Kartzow, Gossip and Gender Othering of Speech in the Pastoral Epistles, BZNW 164 (Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2009). In Moral Education for Women, 255-256, Huizenga also discusses the communal experience of letters and the social pressure, the “social accountability,” exerted on those who “deviated.” BAGD, 251. Dennis R. MacDonald proposes that old wives’ tales were oral tales that were eventually written down in the Acts of Paul and Thecla. See The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1983).

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command (παραγγέλλω) and teach (διδάσκω) “these things” (4:11, 6:2b) to the community. He is to be an example in speech (λόγος) and conduct (4:12), devoting himself to public speech, including reading (the Scriptures), the commands (of the letter?) and the teaching (4:13). He is not to rebuke (ἐπιπλήσσω) an older man, but be conciliatory with him (παρακαλέω) as he would with a father (5:1), and, in front of everyone, shame (ἔλγχω) those who continue to sin (5:20). Finally, the opponents are depicted as carrying on with a great deal of meaningless talk.58 Anyone who does not agree with the “healthy words” of Jesus has a sick pursuit of wrangling with words (1 Tim 6:3-4). They turn away (ἐκτρέπω [1:6; 6:20]) into useless talk (ματαιολογία [1:6]) and empty chatter that is worthless (βεβήλοι κενοφωνίαι) and “falsely called knowledge” (6:20; cf. 1:9). “They do not understand what they say [λέγω] nor [have understanding] around things on which they insist [διαβεβαιόομαι] (1:7).”59 There are two important aspects of orality that emerge from this examination of 1 Timothy. First, in the fiction of the letter, the opponents are depicted as using words in ways that lead those who listen to them away from the truth, but Timothy’s use of “healthy words” leads those who listen to them to the truth. Authors and orators liked to employ antitheses in this way because it helped with memory and was easy for the audience to understand,60 but also, “virtue and vice polarities are deeply embedded in oral knowledge-storing systems.”61 Thus, the person who reads this letter aloud to the community could easily convey the contrast between good and bad teaching, that which is associated with Paul/Timothy versus that which is characteristic of the opponents. Second, the prominence of orality in the depictions of various characters reflects the primacy of oral interaction that this author is trying to influence with this letter. The author’s rhetoric suggests there are two sides, each vying for the ear and commitment of the hearers.62 What they “heard,” the author 58

59 60 61 62

The depiction of Christians found in Celsus, the second century critic of Christianity, is remarkably similar: “They say that these talk nonsense and have no understanding, and that in reality they neither know nor are able to do anything good, but are taken up with mere empty chatter.” Celsus in Origen, Cels. 3.55 (trans. Chadwick). See full quotation and comments below. Cf. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 299; Smith, Pauline Communities as “Scholastic Communities,” 85-129. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 296. Botha describes Galatians as a letter pitting Paul’s authority against that of the opponents’ oral messages, rich with antitheses of this kind: See Orality and Literacy, 208-211. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 247; cf. pp. 290-324. Similarly, Paul encountered opposition and he dissuades his audience from listening to it: “I urge you, brothers and sisters, to keep an eye on those who cause dissensions and

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suggests, would change or form their path for good or bad.63 As a written text, it invites Paul’s authority as a voice that the author hopes will influence those who hear the letter read in community. Whether the real hearers listen to the “healthy teaching” associated with Paul/Timothy or the “other teaching” of the opponents was the pressing issue.64 Similarly, in the Didache (roughly contemporary with 1 Timothy), there are instructions on how to discern good and bad teachers by their teaching, accompanied by an exhortation for the community not to listen to them: So, if anyone should come and teach [διδάξῃ] you all these things that have just been mentioned above, welcome him. But if the teacher [ὁ διδάσκων] himself goes astray and teaches [διδάσκῃ] a different teaching [ἄλλην διδαχήν] that undermines all this, do not listen to him [μὴ αὐτοῦ ἀκούσητε]. However, if his teaching contributes to righteousness and knowledge of the Lord, welcome him as you would the Lord (Did. 11:1-2 [ed. Holmes]). There are similar instructions in a speech from the famous orator Demosthenes in the fourth century bce. The kind of rhetoric that contrasts the honest and corrupt teachers is similar to what is found in early Christian writings,65 but Demosthenes says something of note about the role of the hearers:

63

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offenses, in opposition to the teaching that you have learned; avoid them. For such people do not serve our Lord Christ, but their own appetites, and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the simple-minded (Rom 16:17-18, NRSV).” Ignatius writes to the Ephesians about “those who adulterously corrupt households,” saying: “Now if those who do such things physically are put to death, how much more if by evil teaching [διδασκαλίᾳ] someone corrupts faith in God, for which Jesus Christ was crucified? Such a person, having polluted himself, will go to the unquenchable fire, as will also the one who listens [τὸ ἀκούων] to him:” Ign. Eph. 16.1-2 (ed. Holmes); emphasis added. While Smith, in Pauline Communities as “Scholastic Communities,” 84, emphasizes the transformative nature of “teaching” in the Corinthian correspondence and the letters to Timothy and Titus, the latter are more likely to reflect formation and learning over the life course: See MacDonald, The Power of Children, 76-77, 117, 137, 145. The dualistic characterization of a choice of “two ways” is elsewhere depicted as a teaching (διδαχή) of the way of light and way of darkness: Did. 1:1-5 (ed. Holmes); Barn. 18:1 (LCL, trans. Ehrman). The perception of the opponents as described by the author of 1 Timothy is difficult to unravel from what they actually taught. Likewise, the rhetoric of Paul-Timothy is difficult to unravel from the situation of the actual first recipients (perhaps around 100 ce). However, conflict between different teaching and teachers is clear. Botha, Orality and Literacy, 205.

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[W]hen you find cleverness or vocal brilliance or some similar distinction in an honest and magnanimous person, you should all share in the satisfaction and training, for it will be a common benefit to all the rest of you. But when you find this quality in a corrupt and wicked person, one who cannot resist any chance at gain, you should all shut him out and listen to him with rancor and animosity, because wickedness that has acquired in your eyes the status of authority is destructive to the city. See how much trouble plagues the city as a result of the attribute for which this man is renowned. Abilities of other kinds contain their effectiveness more or less in themselves, but the ability to speak well is foiled if you in the audience resist [ἡ δὲ τοῦ λέγειν, ἂν τὰ παρ᾽ ὑμῶν τῶν ἀκουόντων ἀντιστῇ, διακόπτεται]. So listen to him in that spirit, for he is wicked and corrupt and will never say anything true (Demosthenes, Fals. leg. 339-340 [trans. Yunis]).66 Demosthenes highlights the power of the hearers; their resistance literally cuts the ability of the speaker in two (διακόπτω)! What is striking is that the audience has the power to resist as hearers – their resistance shuts down the influence of the teacher. Granted, these were elite, educated men, who sit in stark contrast with the mix of people implied in the community of 1 Timothy, but Demosthenes nonetheless speaks to the possibility of the power of the hearers. Restricting who should teach is paramount in 1 Timothy (1 Tim 1:3, 6:3), for having the right teachers (mostly those at the top of the social hierarchy, meaning older men), meant that “healthy teaching” would be more influential than the “other teaching.” The author also exerts a significant amount of energy on discussing those who were learners, and by extension, the majority of those who would be hearing the letter – particularly those he saw as vulnerable, those expected, according to social norms, to have a posture of deference, namely women, children, young men and slaves. But in their subordinate positions, they also held a kind of power, the power to embolden those to whom they listened. The author hoped to use the fiction of the letter to influence his hearers, crafting characters in the “household of God” that resembled those in his real audience who were listening, offering guidance in the name of Paul for their time, so that they could support his version of the truth. He targets them because they are perceived as vulnerable, but also because they embody the identity and reputation of the community.

66

Greek text from Demosthenes, Fals. leg. 339-340 (LCL, trans. Vince / Vince). Emphasis added. Cited in part in Botha, Orality and Literacy, 205.

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This kind of vulnerability is clear in Celsus’ second century critique of early Christianity. For Celsus, women, children, younger men and slaves are deceived by what he sees as the problematic teaching of the early Christians. In private houses also we see wool-workers, cobblers, laundry-workers, and the most illiterate and bucolic yokels, who would not dare to say anything at all in front of their elders and more intelligent masters. But whenever they get hold of children in private and some stupid women with them, they let out some astounding statements as, for example, that they must not pay any attention to their fathers and school-teachers, but must obey them; they say that these talk nonsense and have no understanding, and that in reality they neither know nor are able to do anything good, but are taken up with mere empty chatter. But they alone, they say, know the right way to live, and if the children would believe them, they would become happy and make their home happy as well … [and] they should leave their fathers and their schoolmasters, and go along with the women and little children who are their playfellows to the wooldresser’s shop, or to the cobbler’s or the washerwoman’s shop, that they may learn perfection. And by saying this they persuade them (Celsus in Origen, Cels. 3.55 [trans. Chadwick]). Women and children are depicted as particularly gullible and vulnerable,67 since the wayward teachers “get hold” of them to convince them that the proper order of things should be rejected, namely that what they have learned from “their fathers and school-teachers” is “nonsense.”68 Instead they should “learn perfection” from them (the wayward) because they claim to know “the right way to live,” which they teach in private. These wayward teachers are described as tradespeople with no formal education, themselves foolish. Since they “would not dare to say anything at all in front of their elders and more intelligent masters,” they appear to be younger men and slaves – the young and foolish guiding the even younger (children) and more foolish (women).

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MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion, 110; MacDonald, The Power of Children, 24, 41-42. Women’s vulnerability is explicit in 2 Tim 3:6 and Titus 1:11, implying the perception of sexualized behaviour, on which see Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 263; but I agree with Huizenga that women actually acting in sexually immoral ways is unlikely. Pace Bruce W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 133. MacDonald suggests that adolescent boys are particularly targeted in The Power of Children, 78, 91.

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Perhaps because of their vulnerability, women and children, as those who were subordinate to others, embodied the reputation of the community through their behaviour. MacDonald convincingly argues that when seen in the light of the cultural context of honour and shame, how others perceived women’s behaviour brought either honour or disgrace to a community.69 Likewise, children embodied the tradition in their identity and actions as their life course unfolded. “Small, silent, but listening, children were absorbing the content of the Gospels, and they would deepen their understanding of the traditions throughout their lives.”70 The fact that outsiders like Celsus would measure the honour of the community on the basis of how subordinates behaved (embodying its reputation and tradition) demonstrates their power, albeit “illegitimate” power, especially in the face of competing interests.71 The critique of outsiders is in view for the author of 1 Timothy (1 Tim 2:2, 3:7, 5:14, 6:1), and his direction in the letter serves to channel this power into what he sees as proper behaviour in the “household of God” (3:15). Some women are too concerned about their appearance (2:9), and some live luxuriously (5:6). Younger widows are characterized as gossips, flitting from house to house, and speaking out of turn (5:13-15) – this is characterized as particularly problematic for reputation. The occurrences of μανθάνω in 1 Timothy 2:11 and 5:13 suggest that women were at least perceived as more easily or more frequently led astray.72 Old women spread (oral) “stories” (4:7), perhaps like the one we find in the Acts of Paul and Thecla,73 where young Thecla is enamoured by what she hears in Paul’s teachings (3:7) and is chastised by her mother and fiancé for her unbecoming behaviour in following him (3:8, 10). For the author of 1 Timothy, 69 70 71

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MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion. MacDonald, The Power of Children, 163. MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion, 41-47. Carolyn Osiek / Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 34. These ideas are developed with a basis in cultural anthropologists’ observations of the modern Mediterranean. See for example Jill Dubisch, Gender & Power in Rural Greece (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), and Linda Cool /  Justine McNabe, “The ‘Scheming Hag’ and the ‘Dear Old Thing’: The Anthropology of Aging Women,” in Growing Old in Different Societies: Cross-Cultural Perspectives, ed. Jay Sokolovsky (Belmont: Wadsworth, 1983), 56-71. Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 279-283. Huizenga discusses women connected to learning specifically in 1 Tim 2:11-12 (learn in quietness) and in 5:13, where younger widows are said to be “learning unproductively” (Huizenga’s translation from Ulrike Wagener, Die Ordnung des “Hauses Gottes”: der Ort von Frauen in der Ekklesiologie und Ethik der Pastoralbriefe, WUNT 65 [Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1994], 118, 205-206). Similarly, 2 Timothy speaks of “silly women” (2 Tim 3:6-7, NRSV) who are always learning but never arriving a knowledge of the truth. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle.

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ensuring women functioned within their traditional social roles would result in “reinforcing a barricade against inappropriate learning.”74 Affirmed behaviour for women included doing “good works” and caring for others (5:4, 10, 16), learning in quietness (not teaching or having authority over a man), and, depending on one’s age, childbearing (2:15, 5:14) and praying night and day (5:5). Children are featured as needing to be submissive to their fathers (3:4, 12)75 in order to demonstrate the father’s ability to manage his household (3:5).76 It is implied that they are also integral to their mothers’ managing of the household (5:10, 14) and perhaps their mother’s salvation (2:15).77 MacDonald suggests that education of children was not just about socialization,78 but was “central to the treatment of young people and the growth of the [early Christian] movement.”79 Thus, women’s and children’s learning mattered because it would manifest in the embodiment of the community’s reputation. I return to those whom Celsus implies are the wayward teachers: younger men and slaves overstepping their bounds by rebelling against those who should properly have authority over them (elders and masters). They encourage those upon whom they prey to do the same, which is to “leave their fathers and their schoolmasters.”80 Perhaps similarly, in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, Thecla’s mother declares to Thecla’s fiancé, that “all the women and young people are coming to [Paul] for instruction” (3:9), presumably abandoning their families as Thecla did. Just as women and children represent the community to outsiders, younger men and slaves also have their behaviour scrutinized as subordinate members of the community. In 1 Timothy, how slaves are to behave is clearly connected to reputation. They should honour, respect and serve (δουλεύω) their masters “so that the teaching might not be maligned” (ἡ διδασκαλία βλασφημῆται [6:1]). Young men are represented in 1 Timothy by 74 75

76 77

78 79 80

Huizenga, Moral Education for Women, 258. On reverence for parents as ideal moral behaviour, see MacDonald, The Power of Children, 75-81; Peter Balla, The Child-Parent Relationship in the New Testament and Its Environment (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2005). Ancient references are many. See for example, Aristotle, Eth. nic. 8.12.5, 9.2.8 (LCL, trans. Rackham); Philo, Spec. 2.225 (LCL, trans. Colson); Hierocles, On Duties 4.25.53 (trans. Malherbe). MacDonald, The Power of Children, 78, 127, 131. Elsewhere, the author of Ephesians suggests that children are especially vulnerable to deceit: “We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine [διδασκαλία], by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming” (Eph 4:14, NRSV). MacDonald, The Power of Children, 141. Ibid., 146. MacDonald contends that in both Celsus and the letters to Timothy and Titus, “proper education is connected with assertions of authority”: ibid., 144 (also p. 154).

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Timothy himself, who is characterized as a young man who resists problematic teaching (4:15-16, 6:11-12). The author emphasizes the embodiment of the teaching in Timothy who is to combat the problematic teachings not just with his words, but also with his behaviour: Let no one despise your youth, but set the believers an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. … Do not neglect the gift that is in you. … Put these things into practice, devote yourself to them, so that all may see your progress. Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching (1 Tim 4:12, 14-16a, NRSV; cf. Titus 2:1, 7).81 Timothy is portrayed as an example for all believers, but especially other young men, who may be among the most problematic of the author’s real audience! The “healthy” teaching would manifest itself in honouring people appropriately, especially those who deserved honour and/or care according to social status (6:1-2a) and age (be conciliatory with older men [5:1]; honour widows no longer of marrying age [5:3]; take care of widowed family members [5:4,8]; honour elders [5:17]; and do not wrongly accuse them [5:20]). The responsibilities of younger men may be particularly in view here.82 Thus, it becomes clear why teaching is so important in 1 Timothy. It is depicted as part of the public worship and community life (1 Tim 4:13; cf. 2 Tim 3:16),83 and its results are visible to outsiders through how it manifests in the behaviour of community members (1 Tim 5:1-6:2a, most clearly articulated in 6:1; cf. Titus 2:7, 10). Constant vigilance is needed in order to keep the teaching “healthy” (1 Tim 4:16), perhaps more so for the young man, like Timothy, who is in danger of being ridiculed for his youth (4:12) yet remained an exemplary pillar of faith. The author is concerned about the reputation and identity of the entire group as their behaviour embodies the teaching of those they listened to, those they heard and heeded. In their behaviour, their embodiment of the teaching, they have the power to honour or shame the community in the eyes of outsiders.

81 82 83

Emphasis added. LaFosse, “Age Matters,” 363-396. MacDonald argues that as a flexible setting, the house church in the letters to Timothy and Titus was also a house school, where the worship service incorporated teaching (forbidding women to teach in this setting [1 Tim 2:12], but also encouraging older women to teach younger women with regard to domestic duties [Titus 2:3-4]); the school provided other potential spaces for memorizing and practicing teachings: The Power of Children, 136-143.

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In sum, ancient letters were read aloud, and thus experienced as verbal: they were heard. This fact affects how we are to understand the nature of teaching and learning in early Christian contexts. To the author of 1 Timothy, both the content of teaching and the teachers themselves were seen in a dualistic sense, as either good or bad. Those who hear were perceived as associated with the teacher and, along with the teacher, as embodying the good or bad teaching. In this way, the learners, those who hear, had a kind of power within the community, power to affect the community’s reputation and power to shift the direction of communal identity. This power provided at least part of the impetus for the author of 1 Timothy to write his letter, assuming that a fictitious and one-sided “conversation” between Paul and Timothy (a teacher and hearer who in turn teaches) would help the hearers in the author’s time to align themselves with his teaching. In my experience of modern Canadian academia, learning tends among other things to emphasize visual stimuli, individual choice and success, literacy (reading and writing) and working toward accommodating diversity of learning styles, abilities and backgrounds. By contrast, the learning in 1 Timothy appears to be primarily oral and communal, desiring to mould the behaviour of the learner amid an assumed and accepted hierarchical relationship between teachers and learners. However, the rhetorical strategies of contrasting the good and “other” teachings suggest that learners had some power to influence the identity and reputation of the community. I find a worthwhile point of similarity between then and now: the experience and outcome of what is learned shapes the way the teacher operates, for the power of teaching is in those who hear, and thus learn.

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Translation Matters: The Coptic Translation of Thomas John Horman

While other articles in this volume concern Christian use of various educational traditions, our Coptic text of the Gospel of Thomas speaks rather to a discontinuity in educational practice. Egyptian Christianity made no use of the scribal traditions native to Egypt. Education among Egyptian Christians was in Greek, and confined itself to Greek models. The Coptic translator of Thomas, it appears, had no established native tradition on which to draw. In this essay, I shall argue that the Coptic translator of Thomas makes numerous errors when translating the Gospel of Thomas from Greek into the form of late Egyptian known as Coptic, errors which arose because he was fully fluent neither in Greek nor in Coptic; in other words, he makes errors attributable to poor education in these languages. Coptic is not a distinct language, but the name given to the latest written form of the ancient language of Egypt. Unlike earlier versions of the Egyptian language, it uses a modified form of the Greek alphabet, supplemented by a few extra characters.1 While Till suggests ideological reasons for Coptic’s use of a modified Greek alphabet,2 the cause may have been more banal. Writing in ancient Egypt, even in the somewhat simplified demotic form, was not for everyone. It was rather the preserve of the temple and the monarchy, used by civil servants and temple personnel. Presumably some others knew the writing well enough to get some sense from the public inscriptions, but in general Egyptian literature was for the enjoyment and edification of the scribal classes. The Ptolemies, who saw themselves primarily as Macedonians and successors to Alexander, were for the most part uninterested in local Egyptian culture, and their ambitions favoured expansion in the Greek world. Unlike the Persians, however, they used Egyptian expectations to provide for themselves a place within Egyptian religious structure by patronising Egyptian temples. Hence they allowed the Egyptians to venerate them as Egyptian kings and portray them in inscriptions as an Egyptian dynasty perpetuating an eternal order 1 Walter C. Till, Koptische Grammatik (Saïdischen Dialekt) mit Bibliographie, Lesestücken und Wörtverzeichnissen, 4th ed., LSOAS 1 (Leipzig: Verlag Enzyklopädie, 1970), 29-39. There is, however, a severe discontinuity between the Egyptian language as it appears in Coptic texts and earlier written forms of the Egyptian language. 2 Till, Koptische Grammatik, 32.

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by carrying out the ancient rituals, and they paid for the upkeep of the temples. In addition, the native Egyptian civil service was useful to pass down the decrees of the new rulers. Politically, however, Macedonian and other Greeks held the real power. Hence while knowledge of ancient Egyptian language and the ability to represent it in writing were essential for minor native bureaucrats and in the temples, it did not convey real power. Bilingualism in Egypt was asymmetrical. Greeks had no incentive to learn Egyptian, unless to satisfy antiquarian curiosity, but Egyptians had every incentive to learn Greek. Hence relatively few papyri found from this period are in the native language.3 The position of the Egyptian language deteriorated further under the Romans. First, the Romans, in their propaganda, emphasised the Egyptian-ness of Cleopatra, even though her ancestors were from Macedon. While they needed local assistance in ruling Egypt, they drew their civil service predominantly from the same Greek-speaking population who had formerly worked for the Ptolemies, and with whose language they were already familiar. The royal foundation of the library and other Greek cultural facilities in Alexandria and other major centres had allowed Greek culture to penetrate deeply into Egypt. The Romans had less at stake in Egypt. While Egypt was essential to the Ptolemies as their major economic and demographic centre, for the Romans it was almost an afterthought, added to their empire during the power struggle marking the end of the second triumvirate. Hence while the Ptolemies had every incentive to patronise the Egyptian temples, the Roman emperors did not. Royal patronage, however, had been crucial in maintaining these shrines. According to the surviving evidence, this patronage dwindled in the second century and dried up by the middle of the third.4 Hence by the third century, ability to write in the Egyptian language was no longer either socially or economically valued. Literacy in Egypt under Roman rule came to be defined as ability to read and write Greek, while those who spoke or even wrote only the Egyptian language were deemed illiterate. Egyptians whose social standing put them in contact with the larger world would want to learn Greek, but had no reason to learn to write in the Egyptian 3 See Jean Bingen, Hellenistic Egypt: Monarchs, Society, Economy, Culture, Edited with an Introduction by Roger S. Bagnall (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), esp. 215-278. While Greek officials never enjoyed permanent status under the Ptolemies, they exercised real power, while the Egyptian officials, however exalted their status, merely transmitted orders. All land was either owned or controlled by the king (p. 108) and could be reclaimed at any time. Native Egyptians, however, did the actual work. 4 This process is documented in Roger S. Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 261-268.

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language. They spoke the Egyptian language at home, since the wives of bilingual Egyptians often knew only the Egyptian language, but Greek was much more useful outside the home.5 There were, however, a few attempts, especially in magical texts, to represent the Egyptian language using Greek letters, often augmented by a few letters borrowed from Demotic writing to represent a few Egyptian consonants without Greek equivalents. Many of these letters were also used in Coptic. The Christian movement, both that part which later came to be deemed “orthodox” and other parts as well, seems to have functioned for the first two centuries mainly, perhaps even exclusively, in Greek. In Egypt, it seems to have spread first in the Greek speaking population, and for the first two and a half centuries to have been confined largely to Greek speaking individuals in the major centres. While some known personal names like Carpocrates and Origenes raise the possibility of ethnic Egyptian origins, these people also apparently wrote in Greek. Similarly, the Gospel of the Egyptians was evidently composed in Greek. An unusual feature of Christianity, apparently inherited from its Jewish roots, was its reliance on written texts.6 For earlier generations of Christians in Egypt, these texts were in Greek. Understanding the texts posed no problem, since the language of both the Christian movement and its members was Greek. Hence members could either read the documents themselves or, if unable to read, hear someone else reading them. The Egyptian language is little represented in papyri discoveries, including the collection of papyri from Oxyrhynchus, and is largely absent among the early Christian texts.7 But Coptic texts came to be needed in the late third 5

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On the status and written use of the Egyptian language see Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, 235-238. It is probable that some native Egyptian women would also have been able to read Greek, since women had a fairly strong place in traditional Egyptian society. Their position, however, deteriorated under Greek culture and Roman domination. Because it has become fashionable to discuss the supposed “oral/aural” nature of early Christianity, this fact is often overlooked. I agree, however, on this point with Larry W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2006), 24, that “early Christianity represented a religious movement in which texts played a large role.” Lincoln H. Blumell / Thomas A. Wayment, ed., Christian Oxyrhynchus: Texts, Documents and Sources (Baylor: Waco University Press, 2015), a collection of Christian texts up to the fourth century, has one text from Oxyrhynchus written in Coptic, their #100 (pp. 357-359), a hagiography describing events from the time of Severus. While Blumell and Wayment in their final section include a number of texts passed down in Coptic, these other texts are from a later period, included for their relevance to the history of Christianity in Oxyrhynchus. In The Earliest Christian Artifacts (see note above), Hurtado discusses many important aspects of these artifacts, but does not mention the paucity of Coptic material. Since

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century because new Egyptian converts required texts in their language.8 From the last quarter of the third century, and especially after Constantine, there was apparently an explosive penetration by Christianity into the native population, so that Christianity reached an estimated eighty percent of the population by 400 ce.9 This rapid growth will have presented both an educational challenge and an opportunity to the Egyptian church. It is probable that at first the “literate” (defined as able to read and write Greek) Christians would translate texts for the “illiterate” ad hoc as required. But eventually standard translated texts were needed. These would have at first included those texts most frequently used by Christian writers, especially the Gospels and the letters of Paul. Sayings from the Gospel of Matthew, for example, were very frequently quoted in the latest part of the second century and throughout the third by Christians of all sorts. So one imagines that texts were translated into Coptic at a fairly early date.10 Some translations into Coptic were done fairly carefully. While, because of various structural and lexical differences between the two languages, one could not use Coptic translations to recreate a Greek text if the original somehow went missing, they convey adequately the sense of their original. Presumably the Coptic translators, because “literate,” read Greek quite fluently, and hence were able to convey a text’s sense in their native Egyptian language. The

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the vast majority of these artifacts were found in Egypt, where even at this date the majority of the population spoke the native language, it is relevant that the local Christian group did not at first use the local language in their written texts. Some anecdotal reports of these early converts is given in Bruce M. Metzger, The Early Versions of the New Testament: Their Origins, Transmission and Limitations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), 104-108. Metzger cites a letter from Bishop Dionysius in Alexandra about persecution under the Emperor Decius. In that letter, Dionysius gives the names of a number of Christians who were investigated and in most cases executed. Two of these, he notes, had Egyptian names. Egyptian names, however, prove nothing, since Greek and Egyptian names sometimes turn up in a single family. More to the point, in his letter Dionysius names twenty-seven individuals. While he does not discuss the background of most of these individuals, five are women, one is a Libyan, and, surprisingly, four are “Egyptian,” presumably by culture and therefore probably also by language. To these we should probably add a young slave (παιδάριον) who was apprehended along with three of the Egyptians. It is as if a newspaper report of a riot in Toronto gave a list of twenty-seven prisoners and noted as an exceptional detail that five were Canadian. Presumably native Egyptians, a large majority in their own country, were a minority among Christians in Egypt. See Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.41-42 (LCL, trans. Oulton). See Bagnall, Egypt in Late Antiquity, 278-289. Since the old religion had by this time almost ceased to function, it is scarcely appropriate to speak of a power struggle. Instead a vacuum was filled. The earliest Coptic manuscripts of the New Testament are discussed in Metzger, The Early Versions of the New Testament, 108-125.

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translations in the Sahidic dialect that have come down to us have a great deal in common. Hence one supposes that they were the results of an effort by a few individuals, and that reasonable effort was taken in quality control.11 Significantly, though, this uniformity was not the result of a long tradition of systematic education in the Egyptian language. Such instruction had long been in severe decline because the temples no longer performed a useful function. This fact about education is crucial for understanding the Coptic translation of Thomas. For precisely this context of poor literate education in Coptic and Greek helps explain a number of errors by the Coptic translator of Thomas.12 Most modern interpreters of the Gospel of Thomas have taken its Coptic translation as a rather transparent representation of the Greek original. But there are numerous differences between the Greek and Coptic, and it is necessary to explain these differences. Such differences often are thought to be the result of use of a different edition of Thomas,13 while nonsense in the Coptic 11

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In The Early Versions of the New Testament, 127-132, Metzger summarizes at great length an article by R. Kasser, “Les dialectes coptes et les versions coptes bibliques,” Bib. 46/3 (1965): 287. Kasser (according to p. 130 in Metzger) thinks of an organised attempt at standardisation in the late third century. Whether this is true or not, the results are good but not flawless. For example, μίλιον somehow becomes kot in Matt 5:41, while ῥακά, apparently taken as a form of ῥήγνυμι, becomes pwH in Matt 5:22. The translation is also sometimes a little inconsistent in the use of loan words: sob@k and elaxistos are both used in Matt 5:19. While occasionally one finds references to the “Coptic” Gospel of Thomas, as if survival in the Coptic language was its essential feature, there is no reasonable doubt that it was composed and written in Greek, as is seen by the exclusive use of Greek sources and the wide use of Greek loan words. Many simple sayings in Thomas accurately translate the surviving Greek fragments or have obvious parallels in the Synoptic Gospels, although we will be disappointed if we ask for greater precision than is possible in translating from Greek into Coptic. I believe that I have adequately demonstrated in a previous work that at least one of the sources of the Gospel of Thomas was written in Greek: John Horman, A Common Written Greek Source for Mark and Thomas, SCJud 20 (Waterloo: Wilfrid ­Laurier University Press, 2011), esp. 151-154. This common source, and other sources as well, leave traces not only in the surviving Greek text, but also in the Coptic translation of shared sayings, and sometimes allow us to reconstruct a better text for Thomas. This judgement goes back to Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas,” in Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1971), 416, lightly revised from an article first published in TS 20/4 (1959): 505-560. Robert Grant / David Noel Freedman, The Secret Sayings of Jesus, with an English Translation of the Gospel of Thomas by William R. Schoedel (Garden City: Doubleday and Company, 1960), 68-73, considered the Coptic version to be a more thoroughly “gnosticised” version of a somewhat less heretical Greek text. Thomas Zöckler, Jesu Lehren in Thomasevangelium, NHMS 47 (Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 1999), 26, sees the large differences between the Greek fragments and the Coptic translation as evidence for the wide diffusion of the Gospel of Thomas in the earliest centuries. Richard

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translation where no Greek text is available is explained as a deliberate device by the author theologically to baffle the uninitiated reader.14 I shall argue, however, that numerous differences are translation errors which result from the translator’s lack of facility with Greek and Coptic.15 To be sure, we can explain some of his changes to the Greek from differences in structure between languages, and we can explain other changes from the fact the translator may not always have been working from a good Greek text, while other problems emerged from subsequent copying of the Coptic text. But often the translator’s limited Greek and Coptic competence can afford the best explanation for differences between texts.16

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Valantasis, The Gospel of Thomas, NTR (London / New York: Routledge, 1997), provides a separate theological commentary for the Greek fragments of Thomas, assuming that they represent a separate moment of theological history, for reasons which he gives on pp. 4-6. Similarly Wilfried Eisele, Welcher Thomas? Studien zur Text- und Überlieferungsgeschichte des Thomasevangeliums, WUNT 259 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 239, concludes that the Coptic text and the Greek text are separate texts, and each should be considered in its own right. Gilles Quispel, however, “The Gospel of Thomas Revisited,” in Colloque internationale sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Québec, 22-25 août 1978), ed. Bernard Barc, BCNH 1 (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval; Louvain: Éditions Peeters, 1981), 218-266, prefers the Greek fragments for a number of passages, but does not pursue the question in a systematic way. So also Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts, 34, considers it “dubious” to see the Coptic translation as “directly indicative” of a second century Greek text of Thomas. The translation by April D. DeConick, in The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation: With a Commentary and New English Translation of the Complete Gospel, LNTS 287 (London: T&T Clark International, 2006), 9-11, privileges the Greek fragments where available. I am arguing that we do not need to appeal to a radically different edition of Thomas to explain differences between the Greek and Coptic versions. See for example, Mark Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels: The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with the Synoptics (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2012), 172-192. On p. 179 he writes: “The book is constructed as a gateway text that invites the reader into a world that might sound like the world of early Christianity, but which has its own, private knowledge to be revealed only to those here represented by the character of Thomas” (see pp. 172192). The few surviving remnants of Greek text illustrate my point by presenting a more intelligible text with plausible parallels in the rest of Thomas and in other surviving Christian literature. While we shall for the most part discuss the competence of the Coptic translator of Thomas, his translation presents other problems for certain kinds of discussions. Although he sought to represent the meaning of the underlying Greek text, he did not make a servile translation. As Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas: Original Language and Influences, MSSNTS 151 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 32-34, notes, this is a problem for those who propose that some sayings in Thomas had been translated separately from Syriac or Aramaic, since a source text cannot be reconstructed from such a translation. The Coptic translator makes no attempt to standardise vocabulary. Coptic, for example, had two words to translate Greek words for

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Incompetence on the part of a translator using Greek has been shown to be an issue already in the Coptic Apocryphon of John. In their critical edition of this text, Michael Waldstein and Frederik Wisse note that our four manuscript copies of that work represent three separate, incompetent translations and two editions of the original. It is unlikely, they suggest, that any of these copies and translations were to be used as an official text. Rather, they are the work of individual monks making translations and copies for their own devotional purposes. These monks were not necessarily “heretical”; rather, they seem not to have understood very well what they were translating. Translation and copying was a devotional exercise, allowing monks to meditate on whatever meaning they derived from the text.17

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“find.” The Coptic translator uses both words, usually preferring one, but in several cases using the other, often apparently because it creates a nice internal jingle with the Coptic word for “seek.” Thus we have petaHe eqermhneia in Gos. Thom. 1, but m@ntreF^ lo @nGi pet^Sine eF^Sine SanteF^Gine in Gos. Thom. 2. In saying 2, εὕρῃ is guaranteed, since it has survived in the papyrus. While the verb underlying He in saying 1 is lost, it was probably also a form of εὑρίσκω, as also in saying 3, where it is not represented in the translation. In Gos. Thom. 77.3, He apparently translates εὑρήσεις, if we can assume that the ending of saying 30 was originally identical to saying 77.3 except for the order of the clauses. Hence while we must rely on the Coptic translation for most of Thomas, we must bear in mind that it does not intend a literal and exact reproduction of all of the features of the Greek text. See Michael Waldstein / Frederik Wisse, ed., The Apocryphon of John: Synopsis of Nag Hammadi Codices II,1; III,1, and IV,1 with BG8502,2, NHMS 33 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995), 6, 7. They write, “One cannot escape the conclusion that the Greek was often not understood. Inflection was at times misinterpreted or ignored, participles and dependent clauses were associated with the wrong noun or sentence, lists of names were scrambled, apposition and genitival constructions were misunderstood, subjects and antecedents were lost track of, etc.” This fact should diminish our confidence in the Coptic translation of Thomas. Waldstein and Wisse had at their disposal four translated copies of the Apocryphon of John. While no Greek text is available, there were enough discrepancies and difficulties among these copies to expose the problem. In the same way, our Coptic translation of Thomas does not appear to be an official one, and may have been made in similar circumstances to the translations of the Apocryphon of John. Bluntly, where the Coptic is obscure and a Greek text is available, the Greek text almost always makes better sense than the Coptic translation. While we owe the translator some gratitude for leaving us a (somewhat) complete text of Thomas, we need to take into account the full nature of the translation, including its many inadequacies, to avoid giving complicated literary or theological interpretations of mistakes, careless omissions, or our own misunderstandings of Coptic idioms and Coptic translation practice. We need not assume that the translator was competent.

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Problem Translations into Coptic

The Coptic translator of Thomas was apparently considerably less capable than the Sahidic Coptic translators of the New Testament. This is not surprising, for education is always an uneven process, and by the fourth century there was little reason to educate in the Egyptian language using the traditional script, for reasons indicated above. Thus, complex sentences such as Gos. Thom. 2 break down in Coptic translation. The Greek text had something like “Jesus said, Let one who seeks not stop seeking until one finds, and when one finds, [one will be astounded, when one has been ast]ounded, one will reign, and [when one has reigned, one will r]est.” This text not only makes better sense than the Coptic, but is supported by quotations of the same saying by Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.9.45.5 and 5.14.96.3.18 The Coptic translation, however, concludes, ambitiously, with “will be king over the All,”19 perhaps, as Ménard thinks, because the translator misread one letter.20 This reference to being “king over the All” has been understood by some as an indication of the author’s “gnostic” ideology. The Valentinians and Sethians, however, tended to ascribe royal ambitions to Jaldebaoth and his henchmen rather to themselves.21 The conclusion that “being King” implies “Gnosticism” derives from modern over-interpretations of 1 Cor 4:8, whereas the real problem is more likely the translator’s lack of facility in Greek and Coptic. 18 19

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Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.9.45.5; 5.14.96.3 (ed. Stählin / Früchtel). See Horace’s summary of the philosopher, in Ep. 1.1.106-108 (ed. Shuckburg): Ad summam: sapiens uno minor est Iove, dives, / liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum, / praecipue sanus, nisi cum pituita molestast. Philosophers more usually, however, ruled over their own passions. Neither the philosophers nor the “gnostics” nor the “orthodox” thought that they might rule over everything, nor is this idea supported anywhere else in Thomas. See J.-É. Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas, NHS 5 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1975), 79. He proposes that an H was read as an N, leading to ἀνὰ πάντα instead of ἀναπαήσεται. Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 70-75, notes that the Coptic version destroys the fine rhetorical structure of both the Greek fragment and the quotes by Clement of Alexandria. He notes on pp. 79-96 the use of anapausis in various parts of Thomas, and the absence of further reference to being “king over everything.” On p. 97, however, he argues that use of ἀνὰ πάντα to translate a form of ἀναπαύω is not easily explainable as an oversight, and suggests that ἀναπαήσεται was deemed too “gnostic.” Yet both the verb and the related noun were in fairly common use among early Christians of all sorts, as we see from specialised uses not only in Matt 11:29, but also in Matt 11:28, Heb 3:11 and Rev 14:13. If the Greek exemplar had incurred damage, ἀνὰ πάντα would be an easy conjecture. Not all interpreters ascribe the Coptic text here to “gnostic” ideology. In The Gospel of Thomas, 57-58, Valantasis postulates that “an increment in social dislocation” may lie behind the Coptic version here, but emphasizes that this suggestion is “mere speculation.” Since Thomas seems to be almost completely uninterested in social organisation, I find this suggestion unlikely.

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Another example of incompetence in Coptic translation comes in Gos. Thom. 30. Here the Coptic is very confused. If we read it literally, it claims tautologically, “where there are three gods, there are gods.” No one has been able to derive a satisfactory interpretation of these words.22 While the remains of the Greek text have unfortunately suffered severe damage, and various suggestions have been offered,23 it does not appear to have supported the translation. Yet it seems likely that this saying used to say something important about being alone. A further translation error comes right at the beginning of Thomas. I believe what is commonly called the incipit was actually, in the Greek original, a title. It apparently begins οὗτοι οἱ λόγοι οἱ, at which point our papyrus is torn, but we can conjecture ἀπόκρυφοι or the like.24 The Coptic translator erroneously inserted a copula between οὗτοι and οἱ λόγοι. This copula, however, is not justified in the remaining Greek text; we should just translate “these [hidden] sayings.” We find a similar construction in various places in the Septuagint, in three

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See ibid., 104-105, where Valantasis understands this saying as speculation about the Trinity, and sees it as a late development in the history of the text. But what would these words then actually mean? Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 154-158, proposes that the author here was using the term “gods” in the sense of judges, since this was one of the meanings of the Hebrew ‫אלהים‬. This suggests an implausible interest in Hebrew philology. The author of the Gospel of John had a chance to expound on this subject in John 10, after quoting Ps 81(82):6 in verse 34, but did not. A reconstruction of the Greek here should take into account the recurring contrast in Thomas between “one alone” and “two”; cf. Gos. Thom. 11:4. The reference to “gods” has been plausibly reconstructed by Atkinson, following Grenfell and Hunt to read εἰσὶν ἄθεοι, “they are without God”; see Harold W. Attridge, “Tractate 2: The Gospel According to Thomas; Appendix: The Greek Fragments,” in Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2-7, together with XIII.2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1), and P. Oxy. 1, 654,655., vol. 1, Gospel According to Thomas, Gospel According to Philip, Hypostases of the Archons, and Indexes, With contributions by many scholars, ed. Bentley Layton, NHS 20 (Leiden / New York / Københaven / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1989), 119. DeConick, Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 136f., objects to this reconstruction both on papyrological grounds and because it “disparages the Greek and Coptic texts,” apparently because she understands ἄθεοι to mean “without gods.” But the proposed ἄθεοι is an adjective. It is plural because it modifies the implied plural subject of εἰσίν, and not because it necessarily refers to more than one god. That is why Polycarp, according to Mart. Pol. 9.2 (LCL, trans. Lake), was perfectly willing to say αἶρε τοὺς ἀθέους, pretending to take ἄθεος to mean “without God,” not, as his inquisitor intended, without the gods, but not willing to swear by the fortune of Caesar. She would read εἰσὶν θεοί, supposing that an astonishingly incompetent translator from Hebrew to Greek mistranslated a standard Hebrew words for “God.” The original, she suggests, would have read “where there are three (people), Elohim is there.” This is what is usually, and no doubt correctly, made out of the actual οιτοιοιλογοιοι.

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places in the New Testament (Matt 1:1, Mark 1:1, Rev 1:1), and in the title of the Didache.25 Alongside these translation errors, in a few places the Coptic translator obscures the structure of the composition. For instance, the use of “Jesus said,” as I have indicated in a previous work,26 both separates and groups sayings in the Greek Gospel of Thomas. Units introduced by “Jesus said” are independent of preceding and subsequent units, but within these units, we often find that the Greek author joined sayings from a variety of sources or sayings of his own invention to shed light on one another. The Greek λέγει ̓ Ιησοῦς, probably intended as a historical present, is represented in Coptic as peJe @i@s Je. This distinction has escaped the Coptic translator. While the Greek text introduces both Gos. Thom. 26 and Gos. Thom. 27 with λέγει ̓Ιησοῦς, in saying 27 the translator left peJe @i@s Je out, as if it were a continuation of saying 26. Hence we cannot go from the presence or absence of an introductory peJe @i@s Je in the Coptic translation to make valid inferences about the original Greek text of Thomas. Similarly, the Coptic translator obscures the connection between Gos. Thom. 36 and 37.27 In the Coptic translation, Gos. Thom. 37 is presented as an independent saying, beginning with “His disciples said,” as several other sayings do, followed by “Jesus said,” peJe @i@s Je, the beginning of most sayings. In Greek we have “the disciples said to him,” suggesting a reply to what came before, answered by “he said,” with the subject of “said” understood from the context. Of all the problems with the Coptic translation, the most important are gaps and omissions in the text. These can have had various causes, but some appear to be owing to the translator’s inability properly to render some Greek statements into Coptic. This is again, likely a function of the translator’s inadequate

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The first line of the Book of Thomas provides a model for what an accurate Coptic translation of the Gospel of Thomas would have looked like: @nSaJe eqhp` naI entaFSaJe @mmau @nGi p@s@w@r: “The hidden saying which the saviour said,” where naI does not represent a separate word, but refers back to @nSaJe as the antecedent of the object of the verb in the subordinate clause. See Bk. Thom. 2 (ed. Layton). Horman, A Common Written Greek Source, 197-201. The connection is noted by Ménard in L’Évangile selon Thomas, 135-136. Ménard, however, follows Quispel quite closely in his interpretation of Gos. Thom. 37. Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 200, regards the connection between Gos. Thom. 36 and 37 as a key to understanding the Greek text.

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education.28 These omissions in the translation often obscure the relation of Thomas to other early Christian texts.29 We meet a first omission in Gos. Thom. 3. Without something like [ὃς ἂν ἑαυτὸν] γνῷ, ταύτην εὑρή[σει], with “the kingdom” as the evident antecedent for ταύτην, the words “you will know that you are children of the living father” (tetnaeime Je @ntwt@n pe @nShre @mpeiwt etonH) in Gos Thom. 3.5 come as an abrupt non-sequitur.30 In Gos. Thom. 4, the Greek had ὅτι πολλοὶ ἕσονται π[ρῶτοι ἔσχατοι καὶ] οἱ ἔσχατοι πρῶτοι , thus showing a clear literary relationship with Mark 10:31,31 with only the conjunction altered to fit the context. In our Coptic translation this relationship is obscured, since we find only Je ou@n HaH @nSorp/ na@r Hae, as if the saying was only an admonition to the powerful. Gos. Thom. 11.3, @nHoou netet@nouwm^ @mpetmoout/ netet@neire @mmoF @mpetonH, does not make sense unless we compare it with a quotation attributed to the Naassenes by Hippolytus: εἰ νεκρὰ ἐφάγετε καὶ ζῶντα ἐποιήσατε, τί, ἂν ζῶντα φάγητε, ποιήσετε.32 If we allow Hippolytus to supplement the text in this way, a rather baffling saying becomes a metaphor in which the soul 28

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While omissions of material might be due to negligence, laziness or boredom, their likelihood was increased because the Coptic translator could not understand the material. I do not think that the translator deliberately falsified the text. If he had, the modifications would have been more pointed. His omissions end up making the text more obscure, sending modern readers scurrying up blind alleys. We tend to find these omissions in complex sayings, where one or more maxims are used to explain another. See John Horman, “The Source of the Version of the Parable of the Sower in the Gospel of Thomas,” NT 21/4 (1979): esp. 336-338. Hence Goodacre, in Thomas and the Gospels, 29, rightly complains that when the Coptic text is taken as the base, literary relationships are obscured. From his discussion, we see that his interest is specifically that when the Greek fragments are pushed to one side, what he sees as clear evidence of literary dependence by Thomas on the Synoptic Gospels is obscured, and theories of oral tradition are promoted. He does not consider other possibilities, such as a shared common written source. While Goodacre says that he argues only for “familiarity with” the Synoptic Gospels, the details of his discussion, especially his section on “The plagiarist’s charter” (pp. 54-57), make it obvious that “dependence” is still his concern; hence his heavy emphasis on “verbatim agreement” (pp. 30-48), and in chapters 4-6. See Eisele’s discussion in Welcher Thomas?, 115ff. I agree with Eisele that tote ­senasouwn thne is an interpolation based on Gal 4:9 and 1 Cor 8:3, since it has no further relevance to Thomas. Eisele, however, would remove κἄκτος from the reconstruction on the grounds that the rest of Gos. Thom. 3 is all about the Kingdom as inside. This is granted for Gos. Thom. 3, but it becomes outside the individual disciples already in Gos. Thom. 5. Often what is “outside” is Jesus himself. For discussion see Horman, A Common Written Greek Source, 104-106. Hippolytus, Apost. Trad. 5.8.32. Hippolytus, Refutatio omnium haeresium, ed. Miroslav Marcovich, PTS 25 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1986).

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benefits from listening to the words of Jesus in the same way a body is nourished by eating meat. I believe that text is similarly omitted by the Coptic translation of Gos. Thom. 30. As already noted, the striking differences between the Coptic text of this saying and what remains of the first part of the Greek must be resolved in favour of the Greek (even if the reconstruction of the Greek is rather uncertain). There are also two additional sentences in saying 30 surviving in Greek: ἔγειρον τὸν λίθον, κἀκεῖ εὑρήσεις με· σχίσον τὸ ξύλον, κἀγὼ ἐκεῖ εἰμι. These sentences fit the context here because they explain how Jesus can be with someone who is alone, but they also fit the context in Gos. Thom. 77.2-3, where we find them in reverse order. In Coptic Gos. Thom. 77.1, Jesus explains his role in the cosmos, one similar to that ascribed to Christ in Col 1:15-18. Thus it is scarcely surprising that we find him there by splitting wood or lifting stones in Gos. Thom. 77.2-3. The usual explanation is that someone, either the Coptic translator or an earlier editor, has transposed these words from 30.3 to 77.2-3.33 The author often repeats sayings in different contexts, sometimes with minor variations, as for example Gos. Thom. 5.2-3/Gos. Thom. 6.5-6, Gos. Thom. 48/ Gos. Thom. 106, Gos. Thom. 55 / Gos. Thom. 101, Gos. Thom. 56/Gos. Thom. 80, and I believe that he did so here as well. There may also be a gap in the translation in Gos. Thom. 5, although most find an interpolation in the Greek text more plausible. In the second sentence in the Coptic text we find only m@n laau gar eFHhp` eFnaouwnH ebol an, with no parallel second clause. While the saying as translated fits the context, the Greek fragment, which is severely damaged, contained more. It has plausibly been restored to read [οὐ γάρ ἐσ]τιν κρυπτὸν ὃ οὐ μὴ φανε[ρὸν γενήσεται,] καὶ θεθαμμένον ὃ ο[ὐκ ἐγερθήσεται],34 a reading supported by a fifth or sixth-century funerary wrapping on which the last line appears as an independent saying.35 The Greek text here has always surprised modern interpreters, since Thomas is generally understood as having believed in the “immortality” of the soul, an idea now believed to be incompatible with physical 33 34 35

Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas, 124: “Le POxy 1 nous fournit ici la meilleure preuve que l’Évangile copte n’a pas été directement traduit sur lui; il regroupe en effet nos logia 30 et 77.” Already in Bernard Pyne Grenfell / Arthur Surridge Hunt, The Oxyrhynchi Papyri Part IV (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, Greco-Roman Branch, 1904), 8. See Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas, 85-86. Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 135, notes that κρύπτειν and κρυπτόν are somewhat ambiguous, and can refer to burial rites, and that the author may have been prompted by this ambiguity to use a form of θάπτειν in the next clause. While this train of thought is disrupted by φανε[ρὸν γενήσεται], perhaps the author used the second clause to bring out a meaning he took to be implied in the first.

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resurrection.36 Accordingly, Riley proposed a conflict between Johannine and Thomasine Christianity.37 “Immortality,” however, is an unconditional state. More accurately, the author of Thomas believed that one could survive death, but only if one understood the “hidden sayings” of Jesus (a conditional “survivability” of the soul), but he does not discuss how this might happen, and otherwise has nothing to say for or against resurrection as a method of escaping death. Both survival and resurrection are maintained by Paul (1 Cor 15:35-44 compared with 2 Cor 5:1-5). Hence Thomas could have held similar, though perhaps inconsistent, views. The most glaring omission is in Gos. Thom. 36. When we compare the Coptic and Greek texts of saying 36, we find great differences between the Coptic translation and what is left of the Greek, for the Coptic text is much shorter: “Jesus said, Do not worry from morning till evening or from evening till morning about what you will put on.” The earlier, Greek text can be translated (depending on the reconstruction used) as follows: “Jesus said, Do not worry from morning till evening or from evening till morning either about your [food], what you [will e]at, or about your ga[rment], what you will put on; [you are mu]ch bet[ter than the lil]lies, who [do not] card or sp[in], since they have n[o clo]thing. What do even you n[eed]? Who increases your stature? It is he who will [gi]ve you your clothing.”38 Here again, the Greek appears to have made 36

37

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For Zöckler, Jesu Lehren, 26f., the two versions of this saying are additional evidence that the Coptic translation represents a different edition. Grant and Freedman, The Secret Sayings of Jesus, 70, see the omission of this line in the Coptic translation as “clear evidence of gnostic removal of a reference to the resurrection.” The “gnostics,” however, or at least some of them, were not in the least opposed to references to “resurrection,” as we can see from Gos Phil. 57.9-19 (ed. Layton; trans. Isenberg). Gregory J. Riley in particular, Resurrection Reconsidered: Thomas and John in Controversy (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 127-166, insists that Thomas was opposed to the idea of resurrection. This opposition, however, is never elaborated in Thomas. On pp. 147-149, Riley interprets Gos. Thom. 71 to indicate that “this house,” meaning the body, will never be rebuilt. Unfortunately, key words are missing because of manuscript damage, compromising our ability to understand this saying. This translation assumes the following conjectures to fill out missing letters in the papyrus: “Food” is totally missing, but can be restored with some confidence because the first two letters of φά[γητε] have survived. Similarly, only the accompanying article and the first two letters of τῇ στ[ολῇ] have survived, but the restoration is very probable because of the context. In addition, the word translated as “lilies” is missing except for the case ending, and there is some dispute about what it is exactly that the lilies do not do. While my translation assumes “do not card or spin,” as in Robinson and Heil, my argument does not depend on any specific emendation, as for example whether the lilies “grow and do not spin” or “do not card or spin.” This question has been sufficiently explored by James M. Robinson and Christoph Heil beginning with “Zeugnisse eines schriftlichen, griechischen vorkanonischen Textes: Mt 6,28b!*, P. Oxy. 655 I,1-17 (Ev. Th. 36 und Q 12,27),” ZNW 89

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sense while the Coptic does not. In Coptic, we have a long preamble merely to tell the disciples not to worry about clothing without indicating why they should not be concerned.39 I suggest that a reason for the less sensible Coptic version is that the Coptic translator’s educational limitations left him unable to conceptualize the Greek text in Coptic. In the case of some of the Coptic translator’s omissions, Mark Goodacre remarks on a phenomenon in Thomas which he calls the “missing middle,” suggesting that it proves the secondary nature of Thomas. To illustrate this phenomenon, he brings forth instances where in his view the author of Thomas has left out key information when transcribing Synoptic Gospel material.40 This phenomenon exists, but stems from a number of causes. Thomas did indeed sometimes deliberately omit parts of sayings, using a part of a saying to refer to the whole.41 Sometimes this “missing middle” might not have been in Thomas’ source. The Synoptic Gospel authors, especially Mark, but perhaps also Q, sometimes padded out sayings, perhaps to compensate for the meagreness of their sources.42 Sometimes Greek text is missing because of negligence

39

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(1998): 30-44, and by counter arguments by Jens Schröter, beginning with “Vorsynoptische Überlieferung auf P. Oxy. 655? Kritische Bemerkungen zu einer erneuerten These,” ZNW 90 (1999): 265-272, as well as other later articles by both authors on the same subject. The question is important for the history and prehistory of Q, but not for the present discussion. Either way, the Greek text is much closer than the Coptic text to Q (Luke 12:22-31/ Matt 6:25-33), although there are significant differences. According to Stephen Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, FFRS (Sonoma: Polebridge Press, 1993), 139, this saying is connected with the sending out of the disciples (Mark 6:6-13/Matt 10:1-14/Luke 9:1-6 and Q 10:2-12). I find this difficult because of the almost complete lack of “biographical” details in Thomas. While Patterson sees in Thomas an example of “Wanderradikalismus” in earliest Christianity, in fact his examples are generally all material common to Q and Thomas, and hence not necessarily evidence of Thomas’ own views. Patterson treats this saying as a “synoptic sibling” (p. 75), thus one of the sayings that “do not stand up to the test for literary dependence” (p. 71). This can be done as long as one banishes the Greek version to a footnote. DeConick, The Original Gospel of Thomas, 149, who sees Gos. Thom. 36 as part of her kernel and Gos. Thom. 37 as a later accretion, proposes that the bulk of saying 36 was deliberately omitted after saying 37 was added. In her view, the part omitted “appeared contradictory since it suggested that one’s garment was a gift from God that one had to put on.” But if it is really “a gift from God,” presumably it can also be taken off whenever God wants. In addition, there still remains the problem of the actual meaning of saying 36 as given in Coptic. Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels, 109-127. See the discussions of Gos. Thom. 21.9 and 104.3 in Horman, A Common Written Greek Source, 26-29 and 79-81. In ibid., 48-52, 56-59, 95-96, 82, 113-115 and 125-127, I give examples from Gos. Thom. 9; 14.5; 20; 65; 99; and 100. We find similar padding in Thomas’ other sources. In Thomas and the Gospels, 117, Goodacre uses Gos. Thom. 26 as an example: “Jesus said, The speck that is in your brother’s (or sister’s) eye you see, but the plank that is in your own eye you do not

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of the Coptic translator or a later scribe; at other times it is missing because of the translator’s inability to render Greek concepts into Coptic. If we take the surviving Greek fragments as typical, there may be up to sixty significant omissions by the translator in Thomas as a whole. Of the 670 lines in the manuscript of our Coptic translation of Thomas, approximately sixtyfive are represented in Greek fragments. These sixty-five lines include five, possibly six omissions important enough to skew our understanding of the text.43 Since all three phenomena can be documented from our evidence – omissions by Thomas, omissions by the translator, and later padding of text within the Synoptic tradition – we need to take each example on its own merits, using what we already know or think we know about the motives and limitations of all the authors involved.44 The problems with the Coptic translation of Thomas are especially acute in Gos. Thom. 36-37. As already mentioned, the Coptic translator of Thomas has overlooked an originally intended connection between Gos. Thom. 36 and Gos. Thom. 37. In the Coptic translation of saying 37, both the question and the answer appear to be separate from saying 36: peJe neFmaqhths Je

43 44

see. Throw out the plank that is in your eye, and then you will see clearly to throw out the speck in your brother’s (or sister’s) eye.” In Thomas’ version of this saying we miss, according to Goodacre, “the necessary comic prelude to the exhortation to remove the log from one’s own eyes” as well as “the joyful absurdity of the Synoptic passage.” Is this “joyful absurdity” or later, unnecessary padding? As Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 42, says, they must pervade the entire Gospel of Thomas. In some cases, errors and omissions are not the fault of the translator, but were caused by a defective Greek manuscript tradition. The surviving Greek fragments, after all, are not without problems, beginning with the prologue, where the Greek fragment actually reads οιτοιοιλογοιοι, not οὗτοι οἱ λόγοι οἱ. We also often find αι for ε and vice versa and also ει for ι, and similar common mistakes. One also sometimes finds letters left out. One can assume, especially in the case of P.Oxy 654, that these are not the products of the best scribes. (Larry Hurtado concluded that all three were copies made privately, and are not the work of professional scribes. See Larry Hurtado, “The Greek Fragments of the Gospel of Thomas as Artefacts: Papyrological Observations on Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1, Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 654 and Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 655,” in Das Thomasevangelium: Entstehung, Rezeption, Theologie, ed. Jörg Frey / Enno Edzard Popkes / Jens Schröter, BZNW 157 [Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008], 19-32.) Nevertheless, the errors in these Greek fragments can easily be corrected. The fragments, while suffering from physical damage as well as scribal errors, provide sensible readings in many cases where the Coptic translation appears to be nonsense. Since they owe their state of preservation not to some ancient theologian trying to prove a point, but to impartial damage caused by micro-organisms and oxidation in the Oxyrhynchus town dump, they give us a random sample of the manuscript tradition of the underlying Greek text. As a corollary, whenever there is something in the Coptic translation that does not make sense, one possible explanation is that the Coptic translation is incorrect.

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followed by peJe @i@s Je. Much, however, survives from the Greek text of P.Oxy. 655 for Gos. Thom. 36, and our Greek text for Gos. Thom. 37 is complete for the question and the first part of the answer: λέγουσιν αὐτῷ οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ· πότε ἡμ{ε}ῖν ἐμφανὴς ἔσει καὶ πότε σε ὀψόμεθα; λέγει· ὅταν ἐκδύσασθε καὶ μὴ αἰσχυνθῆτε.45 Thus the question is connected to what has gone before by αὐτῷ, and the subject of λέγει is left to be understood from the context.46 Because Coptic Gos. Thom. 37 is a self-contained unit, a similar quotation handed down by Clement of Alexandria and attributed to the Gospel of the Egyptians has come to be taken as conclusive evidence for the way Thomas understood it, namely as encouragement of asceticism. Clement quotes the quotation from Egyptians as follows: διὰ τοῦτό τοι ὁ Κασσιανός φησιν· πυνθανομένης τῆς Σαλώμης πότε γνωσθήσεται τὰ περὶ ὧν ἤρετο, ἔφη ὁ κύριος, ὅταν τὸ τῆς αἰσχύνης ἔνδυμα πατήσετε καὶ ὅταν γένηται τὰ δύο ἓν καὶ τὸ ἄρρεν μετὰ τῆς θηλείας οὔτε ἄρρεν οὔτε θῆλυ.47 This saying resembles Gos. Thom. 37 in several particulars: It answers a question about something that may happen in the future; the question is directed at Jesus; the answer is directed to a group of people who will undress and trample on clothing; and shame is somehow involved.48 Because modern scholarship had heard about the Gospel of the Egyptians before Thomas was rediscovered, it was tacitly assumed by many, following Quispel, that Thomas had the saying from Egyptians, not Egyptians from Thomas.49 Since Cassian had evidently interpreted the saying in Egyptians in terms of extreme asceticism, and because Clement’s refutation of this 45 46

47

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49

Probably it continued, as in the Coptic translation, with words that could be translated as “and take your clothes off and put them under your feet,” and so on. As Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 200, notes, “Im EvThom 36-37 haben wir ein Paradebeispiel dafür, wie ohne grosse Redaktionsarbeit, allein durch Hinzufügung, Kombination und Auslassung von Sprecheinheiten innerhalb einer Spruchsammlung, eine Sinnzusammenhänge hergestellt warden.” While undoubtedly Gos. Thom. 37 was a self-contained saying before it reached the hands of the author of Thomas, he created a new context for the saying. Strom. 3.13.92.2 (ed. Stählin / Früchtel). Clement did not include quotation marks, since they had not yet been invented. Gilles Quispel, however, in Makarius, das Thomasevangelium und das Lied von der Perle, NT.S 15 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1967), 84, included quotation marks as follows: ἔφη ὁ κύριος, “ὅταν τὸ τῆς αἰσχύνης ἔνδυμα πατήσετε” καὶ “ὅταν γένηται τὰ δύο ἓν καὶ τὸ ἄρρεν μετὰ τῆς θηλείας οὔτε ἄρρεν οὔτε θῆλυ.” This punctuation supports his narrative that Gos. Thom. 21, 22 and 37 are all modified quotations from the Gospel of the Egyptians, but it is not supported by the subsequent discussion by Clement. Not everything in the saying in Egyptians is present in Gos. Thom. 37. The last part of the saying, however, ὅταν γένηται τὰ δύο ἓν καὶ τὸ ἄρρεν μετὰ τῆς θηλείας οὔτε ἄρρεν οὔτε θῆλυ, can easily be related to Gos. Thom. 22. Thus both parts of the saying as given by Clement appear somewhere in Thomas. Hence a literary relationship was proposed. For example, in Makarius, das Thomasevangelium, 82-111.

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interpretation is not convincing to modern interpreters, it was further assumed that Cassian’s explanation was correct, and that the saying really did have to be understood in terms of extreme asceticism, and that Thomas, unlike Clement, must have interpreted it and used it correctly in the same way as Cassian to convey such an ideology. This conclusion, however, is questionable, whether or not we agree with Clement’s interpretation of the saying. As given in Clement, the saying in Egyptians corresponding to Gos. Thom. 22 and Gos Thom. 37 has been conflated, since it links two quite different images: the image of trampling on one’s garment and the image of the two becoming one. Either Thomas has again torn this clearly secondary combination apart or the two images were combined, either by Clement himself, or by Cassian, or by the creator of the Gospel of the Egyptians. While Quispel suggests that Clement has conflated the two sayings, it is more likely that the creator of the Gospel of the Egyptians conflated them, since Clement’s subsequent discussion treats them as a single unit. Since the second part of the saying, ὅταν γένηται τὰ δύο ἓν καὶ τὸ ἄρρεν μετὰ τῆς θηλείας οὔτε ἄρρεν οὔτε θῆλυ, is known also from 2 Clem. 12:2, where it is given in a form evidently earlier than either Gos. Thom. 22 or the quotation in Clement of Alexandria, a common, written Greek source is more plausible. The framework in the Gospel of the Egyptians is also different from Thomas. In every case, quotations from Egyptians in Clement consist of a question by Salome and an answer by Jesus (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 3.5.45.3; 3.9.63.12; 3.9.64.1; 3.9.66.1-2; 3.13.92.2).50 Hence the framework given by Clement agrees with what little he tells us elsewhere about the Gospel of the Egyptians. Thomas, however, like the author of 2 Clement, does not refer to Salome in Gos. Thom. 22 nor does he refer to her in Gos. Thom. 37, although she is featured in Gos. Thom. 61. There are, moreover, other significant differences between Egyptians and Thomas. The Gospel of the Egyptians speaks of trampling on “the garment (singular) of shame,” while Thomas has “Whenever you strip naked and are not ashamed and take your clothes and put them under your feet like little children and tramp on them.”51 Hence in Egyptians, “shame” is a genitive of description qualifying “garment,” while in Thomas, certainly in the Greek text, 50

51

While the Gospel of the Egyptians is mentioned explicitly only in Strom. 3.9.63.1-2; 3.13.92.2 (ed. Stählin / Früchtel), these other references in Stromateis all consist of questions by Salome and answers by Jesus. We have no quotation from Egyptians that does not follow this pattern. For the last part of Gos. Thom. 37 we are dependent on the Coptic translation, since our Greek fragment ends with καὶ μὴ αἰσχυνθῆτε. Apart from the connection with the previous saying, our Coptic translation of the first part of this saying follows the Greek reasonably

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probably also in the Coptic translation, it is a verb.52 In the Gospel of the Egyptians, “garment” is a singular neuter abstract noun, ἔνδυμα, and could refer to a single article of clothing or to clothing in general or in a collective sense. The Coptic translator, however, supplies @nnet@nSthn, interpreting the term in a collective sense. While the Gospel of the Egyptians is always quoted as an encratic text, such an interpretation is not inevitable, as Clement reminds us at every step. Even if Cassian has understood the Gospel of the Egyptians correctly and if, contrary to the above indications, Thomas had these two sayings from Egyptians, carefully separating the two unrelated images while augmenting both, we need not assume that Thomas interpreted the sayings the same way that Cassian did. When we leave Cassian’s interpretation aside and read Gos. Thom. 37 in its Greek context, joined to the complete text of Gos. Thom. 36, another, perhaps more plausible interpretation emerges. Clothing can also be used as a metaphor for the body.53 In 2 Cor 5, Paul speaks of the body as an earthly tent which at time of death will be discarded. In v. 2 he talks about putting on the heavenly body, and then in v. 3, he addresses the concern that thereby we will be found naked by saying that we will not so much be taking off the earthly body as putting on the new body. Hence it could very easily be that for Thomas also, clothing is used metaphorically for the human body. This interpretation makes sense in terms of Thomas’ own thought. Thomas is, after all, about “not tasting death,” while one does not find clear references to asceticism in Thomas.54 Gos. Thom. 36-37, in this interpretation, would be about putting on this heavenly body as we discard, even trample on what Shakespeare calls “this muddy vesture of decay.” It appears that the Coptic translator by missing the Greek indications of connection between sayings 36 and 37, has missed the Greek text’s point about the body. Moreover, a plausible reason why he has missed the connection is the limitations of his Coptic education; his inability

52

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closely, and so we may hope that the rest of the saying is for the most part translated adequately. As Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 211-212, observes, the Coptic is ambiguous. @mpet@nSipe can be translated as a negative perfect (@mp et@n Sipe, “and were not ashamed”) but also as a noun following a particle indicating a direct object (@m pet@n Sipe, “strip off your shame”). I do not see, however, how the latter possibility could result from translating καὶ μὴ αἰσχυνθῆτε unless the translator was working from a defective text and was familiar with the Gospel of the Egyptians. Similarly Riley, Resurrection Reconsidered, 130-131. See Risto Uro, “Is Thomas an Encratite Gospel?”, in Thomas at The Crossroads: Essays on The Gospel of Thomas, ed. Risto Uro, SNTW (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 140-162. Thomas, like most writers of his time, probably assumed some degree of asceticism, but need not have carried it to the lengths advocated by Cassian and others. See also Eisele, Welcher Thomas?, 229-231.

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to convey in Coptic the close relationship between sayings 36 and 37 stems likely from his limited Coptic literacy. I do not wish to overstate the problems with the Coptic translation of Thomas. While the translator of Thomas evidently had difficulty translating from Greek into Coptic, he did have a modest level of competence. The majority of sayings in the Gospel of Thomas are related to sayings which can be (and usually are) fairly easily translated from Greek not only into Coptic, but into practically any language without loss of meaning, since they consist of one or two main clauses containing a subject and a predicate, or a main clause with a simple subordinate clause explaining the main clause. These include most of the sayings that are generally considered as genuine sayings of Jesus. Most such sayings seem to be handled adequately in the Coptic translation, except for Gos. Thom. 4.2. Many of them are listed by Patterson as “synoptic twins.”55 A few examples are as follows. Much of P.Oxy 1, the best preserved of the three relevant scraps of papyrus containing Greek text for Thomas, is well translated. Since it begins at the last clause of Gos. Thom. 26, we do not know whether or not the Greek text of Thomas passed on the accusation of hypocrisy or the chatty, redundant details passed down from Q in Luke 6:42a/Matt 7:4, although comparison with the practice elsewhere in Thomas and in Q suggests that it did not. But in particular, we see that the translator has lightly altered the sentence structure, subordinating the first clause of the last sentence to the second. Moreover, in the translation the speck is taken “out of” (ebol H@m) one’s brother’s eye, as in Matthew while in the Greek fragment one removes the speck “in” one’s brother’s eye, as in Luke. The translation is otherwise reliable here, although it cannot be used for small grammatical details.56 Similarly, Gos. Thom. 27 is translated accurately except that “God” is missing in the expression “kingdom of God.” We even find the syntactical peculiarities translated literally. Most remarkably, the first part of Gos. Thom. 28 is well translated.57 Turning to the other side of P.Oxy. 1, we have already noted severe difficulties with the translation of Gos. Thom. 30. In Gos. Thom. 31, the translator has translated ποιεῖ θεραπείας εἰς by @rqerapeue @n, thereby simplifying the syntax without altering the meaning. Gos. Thom. 32 was translated adequately. There is not enough left of Gos. Thom. 33 to judge the correctness of the 55 56 57

Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 18-71. Horman, “Version of the Parable of the Sower,” 336-338. While Nicholas Perrin argues that T tkas is not a correct translation for πονεῖ and therefore proves that the translation into Coptic comes directly from a supposed Syriac original and not from Greek, it is a defensible translation since there is some overlap between the meaning of the two expressions: See Nicholas Perrin, Thomas: The Other Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 89.

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translation, although one suspects a problem either with the translation or the transmission of his text.

Summary

While our Coptic translation gives us an impression of the Gospel of Thomas, its translations of individual sayings, if unsupported elsewhere in Thomas, do not necessarily represent either the intentions of the author or intentional changes by a later editor or translator. Rather, they likely represent errors by a translator whose facility with Greek and Coptic alike was mediocre, hampered by an inadequate literate education in late ancient Egypt. Thomas undoubtedly contained some sayings incompatible with other contemporary understandings of the message of Jesus, but often the peculiarity should be attributed to problems with the translation or transmission of the text. The Coptic text gives us an impression of the probable intentions of the original author, but we must always check it against what we can uncover about the Greek text. When we see where it is likely to go astray, we will be able to make judgements about the rest of the translation. As a result, differences of opinion on the interpretation of Thomas are likely not to be resolved very easily, unless a better text unexpectedly becomes available. Consequently, I am afraid that none of us will ever find a completely satisfactory interpretation of the sayings, and hence according to Gos. Thom. 1 we shall all someday “taste death.” If we really wish to understand Thomas, we will need some fairly intensive philological work, both in Coptic and in Greek. Coptic is an interesting and flexible language, but because of structural differences, it is also a fairly blunt instrument for translating Greek, especially at the hands of a translator whose motive is something other than precisely reproducing in the Coptic language the intentions of a Greek author. And our modern European languages are also fairly blunt instruments for representing the intentions of ancient authors, especially when the writings of these authors are filtered through an inexact translation into another language, one significantly less familiar than Greek to most philologists. So we need to go back again and again to the actual Greek and Coptic remains of Thomas if we want to understand what the Gospel of Thomas is about.

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Reference List

Attridge, Harold W. “Tractate 2: The Gospel According to Thomas; Appendix: The Greek Fragments.” In Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2-7, together with XIII.2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1), and P. Oxy. 1, 654,655. Volume 1, Gospel According to Thomas, Gospel According to Philip, Hypostases of the Archons, and Indexes. With contributions by many scholars. Edited by Bentley Layton. NHS 20. Leiden / New York / Københaven / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1989, 95-128. Bagnall, Roger S. Egypt in Late Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. Bingen, Jean. Hellenistic Egypt: Monarchs, Society, Economy, Culture. Edited with an Introduction by Roger S. Bagnall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007. Blumell, Lincoln H. / Thomas A. Wayment, ed. Christian Oxyrhynchus: Texts, Documents and Sources. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2015. “The Book of Thomas the Contender.” Edited by Bentley Layton. In Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2-7, together with XIII.2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1), and P. Oxy. 1, 654,655. Volume 2, On the Origin of the World, Expository Treatise on the Soul, Book of Thomas the Contender. With contributions by many scholars. Edited by Bentley Layton. NHS 21. Leiden / New York / Københaven / Köln: E. J Brill, 1989, 180-205. Clement of Alexandria. Clemens Alexandrinus. Volume 2, Stromata I-VI. Edited by Otto Stählin. 4th edition. Edited by Ludwig Früchtel. With supplements by Ursula Treu. GCS 52. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1985. DeConick, April D. The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation. With a Commentary and New English Translation of the Complete Gospel. LNTS 287. London: T &T Clark International, 2006. Eisele, Wilfried. Welcher Thomas? Studien zur Text- und Überlieferungsgeschichte des Thomasevangeliums. WUNT 259. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010. Eusebius. Ecclesiastical History. Volume 2. Translated by J.E.L. Oulton. Taken from the edition published in conjunction with H.J. Lawlor. LCL 265. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1932. Fitzmyer, Joseph A. “The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas.” In Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament. London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1971, 355-433. Fitzmyer, Joseph A. “The Oxyhrynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas.” TS 20/4 (1959): 505-560. Gathercole, Simon. The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas: Original Language and Influences. MSSNTS 151. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Goodacre, Mark. Thomas and The Gospels: The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with The Synoptics. Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2012. “The Gospel According to Philip.” Edited by Bentley Layton. Translated by Wesley W. Isenberg. In Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2-7, together with XIII.2*, Brit. Lib. Or. 4926(1),

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and P. Oxy. 1, 654,655. Volume 1, Gospel According to Thomas, Gospel According to Philip, Hypostasis of the Archons, and Indexes. With contributions by many scholars. Edited by Bentley Layton. NHS 20. Leiden / New York / Københaven / Köln: E.J. Brill, 1989, 142-215. Grant, Robert / David Noel Freedman. The Secret Sayings of Jesus. With an English Translation of the Gospel of Thomas by William R. Schoedel. Garden City: Double­ day and Company, 1960. Grenfell, Bernard Pyne / Arthur Surridge Hunt. The Oxyrhynchi Papyri Part IV. London: Egypt Exploration Fund, Greco-Roman Branch, 1904. Hippolytus, Romanus. Refutatio omnium haeresium. Edited by Miroslav Marcovich. PTS 25. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1986. Horman, John. A Common Written Greek Source for Mark and Thomas. SCJud 20. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011. Horman, John. “The Source of the Version of the Parable of the Sower in the Gospel of Thomas.” NT 21/4 (1979): 326-343. Hurtado, Larry. The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins. Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2006. Hurtado, Larry. “The Greek Fragments of the Gospel of Thomas as Artefacts: Papy­ rological Observations on Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 1, Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 654 and Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 655.” In Das Thomasevangelium: Entstehung, Rezeption, Theo­ logie. Edited by Jörg Frey / Enno Edzard Popkes / Jens Schröter. BZNW 157. Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008, 19-32. Kasser, Rodolphe. “Les dialectes coptes et les versions bibliques coptes.” Bib. 46/3 (1965): 287-310. “The Martyrdon of Polycarp.” In Apostolic Fathers. Volume 2. Translated by Kirsopp Lake. LCL 25. London: William Heinemann, 1913. Ménard, J.-É. L’Évangile selon Thomas. NHS 5. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1975. Metzger, Bruce M. The Early Versions of the New Testament: Their Origins, Transmission and Limitations. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977. Patterson, Stephen. The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus. FFRS. Sonoma: Polebridge Press, 1993. Perrin, Nicholas. Thomas: The Other Gospel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. Quispel, Gilles. Makarius, das Thomasevangelium und das Lied von der Perle. NT.S 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1967. Quispel, Gilles. “The Gospel of Thomas Revisited.” In Colloque internationale sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Québec, 22-25 août 1978). Edited by Bernard Barc. NCMH 1. Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval; Louvain: Éditions Peeters, 1981, 218-266. Riley, Gregory J. Resurrection Reconsidered: Thomas and John in Controversy. Minnea­ polis: Fortress Press, 1995.

Translation Matters

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Robinson, James M. / Christoph Heil. “Zeugnisse eines schriftlichen, griechischen vorkanonischen Textes: Mt 6,28b !*, P. Oxy. 655 I,1-17 (Ev. Th. 36 und Q 12,27).” ZNW 89 (1998): 30-44. Schröter, Jens. “Vorsynoptische Überlieferung auf P. Oxy. 655? Kritische Bemerkungen zu einer erneuerten These.” ZNW 90 (1999): 265-272. Till, Walter C. Koptische Grammatik (Saïdischen Dialekt) mit Bibliographie, Lesestücken und Wörtverzeichnissen, 4th edition. LSOAS 1. Leipzig: Verlag Enzyklopädie, 1970. Uro, Risto. “Is Thomas an Encratite Gospel?”, In Thomas at the Crossroads: Essays on the Gospel of Thomas. Edited by Uro Risto. SNTW. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998, 140-162. Valantasis, Richard. The Gospel of Thomas. NTR. London / New York: Routledge, 1997. Waldstein, Michael / Frederik Wisse, ed. The Apocryphon of John: Synopsis of Nag Hammadi Codices II,1; III,1, and IV,1 with BG80502.2. NHMS 33. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995. Zöckler, Thomas. Jesu Lehren in Thomasevangelium. NHMS 47. Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 1999.

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Pedagogy, Text and the Solitary Self in the Gospel of Thomas William Arnal

It was Michel Desjardins who first introduced me to the Gospel of Thomas almost thirty years ago, in an undergraduate class on Jesus and the Gospels. Thomas has continued to intrigue and baffle me ever since. One of the most distinctive features of this peculiar non-canonical text is that it presents its version of Jesus as a teacher, and in general shows an intense interest in pedagogy and education. Whatever else it may be, the Gospel of Thomas is a document about self-cultivation, schooling, and teaching. Consequently, an exploration of its interest in and position on these themes may serve suitably to honor the scholar who first introduced me to the academic study of Christian origins, and whose career has been defined by an overwhelming interest in the theory and practice of pedagogy. The thesis of my chapter, such as it is, is simply that the Gospel of Thomas witnesses to a shift in the locus of certain types of enculturation from collective to more isolated practices. This has the effect of directing more attention to the individual self as a primary unit of culture, or at least of some aspects of culture, without, however, fostering an anachronistic sense of individualism.1

Thomas and Solitude

Thomas is obviously a work that promotes solitude. The self-presentation of the text is oriented to the single reader, who struggles with the text more or less individually, and who thereby achieves immortality for herself. This is evident in the first two sayings of the gospel, in which the ideal reader is described in the singular. Gos. Thom. 1 promises that “whoever [singular, petahe e] discovers the interpretation of these sayings will not taste [singular, fnajitipe an] death.” Gos. Thom. 2 encourages “the one who seeks [singular, petšine], let him [singular] not stop seeking until he finds … and he will rule [singular, fnarrro] … .”

1 Cf. Risto Uro, Thomas: Seeking the Historical Context of the Gospel of Thomas (London / New York: T & T Clark, 2003), 76, who notes Thomas’s “individualism” while adding that this notion “must be separated from modern ideas about individualism.”

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Both the textual task at hand and the rewards for performing it are conceptualized and framed in singular and individual terms.2 Thomas refers clearly and directly to solitude in saying 49: “Jesus said: Blessed are the [plural] solitary [monakhos] and chosen [etcotp], for you [plural] will find the kingdom, because you are from it, and again you will return there.”3 In this case the solitary and chosen are described in the plural, but the point is still clear: it is the solitary ones, no matter how many of them there are, to whom the kingdom belongs. Again, saying 87 seems fairly straightforwardly to curse those who are not self-reliant: “Wretched is the body [sōma] that is dependent on [eiše] a [another] body, and wretched is the soul/self (psukhē) that is dependent on these two.”4 And yet again, in saying 67, attention is focused on self-cultivation, at the expense of the world around: “Jesus said: The one who knows everything, while himself suffering a lack [or: while lacking in himself], lacks entirely [or: everywhere].” Saying 61 describes a situation in which worldly links or social bonds will be dissolved, leaving people unconnected: “Jesus said: Two will rest on a bed. One will die, and one will live.” The vocabulary for being “one” or “single” is scattered throughout the document with considerable frequency. According to Thomas, making “the two” into “a single one (oua ouōt)” results in life (Gos. Thom. 4) and entry to the kingdom (22). There are also references to a “single” (ouōt) house (48) and a single pearl (76). The word “one” (oua), in addition to the above examples, also shows up in Gos. Thom. 11, 13, 30, 35, 38, 44, 47, 61, 64, 65, 106 and 107. Likewise, the goals that Thomas articulates for the reader are compatible with this isolation. Those goals include entry to the kingdom, and while the language of “kingdom” itself seems to imply a collective entity, entry to it is, as noted in saying 22, reserved for those who “make the two into a single one.” Another way Thomas expresses its goals or “pay-off” is the language of “life”; variants of the verb ōnh appear fourteen times across ten sayings. Both Jesus 2 See Uwe-Karsten Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas: Original Text with Commentary, trans. Gesine Schenke Robinson (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2008), 39: “To discover the meaning of Jesus’s words is left to the active reader. … The application of this principle – the foregoing of any interpretation – is amazingly consistent throughout the gospel.” 3 On monakhos in Thomas, see Simon J. Gathercole, The Gospel of Thomas: Introduction and Commentary, TENTS 11 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2014), 277-282. Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 127-128 suggests the blessing on solitude refers to the status of itinerant missionaries. Notwithstanding the arguments of Stephen J. Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus FFRS (Sonoma: Polebridge Press, 1993), 196-214, I do not think itinerancy forms a plausible historical context for Thomas. 4 Uro, Thomas, 58-62 addresses this saying (alongside its doublet in Gos. Thom. 112) at some length in terms of the relationship between body and soul, but does not appear to explain the first clause, in which bodily dependence on other bodies is at issue.

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and the Father are described as “Living” (etonh, ὁ ζῶν; see incipit and Gos. Thom. 3, 37); and saying 4 describes “life” or “living” as the goal of learning: “The man old in days will not hesitate to ask a small child of seven days about the place of life, and he will live.” This is all opposed to “tasting death,” which it is the goal of the reader to avoid. The reader is also understood to be seeking repose or rest (mton, anapausis). In saying 51, Jesus’s disciples ask when the “repose of the dead” (anapausis nnetmoout) will occur, and he tells them that it has already happened. In all of these cases, the goals for the reader are not ones that require collective action, nor are they imagined in collective terms. If Thomas has any sense of communal identity, it is an invisible or imaginary one, marked by practices shared among people who are not actually in direct contact with one another. Thomas recognizes this “invisible community” in Gos. Thom. 113: “The kingdom of the Father is spread out upon the earth, and people do not see it.” This all contrasts very sharply with, for example, Pauline language, in which “being one” represents a collective or community goal.5 Paul and Thomas actually have very similar language and some shared ideas: both assert that doing what they say will make you “one” and that this being “one” involves union of some sort with Jesus. But the language is used very differently. For Thomas, “being one” means overcoming metaphysical division in solitude; for Paul it means coming together as a group all the more strongly.6 For Thomas becoming Jesus-like means cultivating and transforming the self, or the mind. For Paul, becoming Jesus-like means cultivating and transforming relationships. But Thomas’s solitary single one is not the whole story. There are places in the text in which interaction among people is taken for granted or described.7 Gos. Thom. 6, for instance, seems to address concerns about communal practice:8 “His disciples asked him and said: do you want us to fast? How should we pray? Should we give alms? What diet should we keep?” It is notable, however, that Jesus’s answer redirects attention away from communal concerns, and instead focuses on inner states, being true to yourself, and, essentially, examining your conscience, and conforming your behaviour to your 5 And this remains true even if Paul’s language is more prescriptive of community identity than descriptive of a reality that actually exists, as has been persuasively suggested by Stanley Stowers, “The Concept of Community and the History of Early Christianity,” MTSR 23/3 (2011): 238-256. 6 Uro, Thomas, 76-77 also observes this contrast between Thomas and Paul. 7 Charles W. Hedrick, Unlocking the Secrets of the Gospel according to Thomas: A Radical Faith for a New Age (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2010), 11, notes in particular Gos. Thom. 25, 26, 39, 40 and 99. 8 Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 49, likewise, treats these questions as issues of communal practice.

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sentiments. “Jesus said: Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate, for everything is plain in the sight of heaven. For there is nothing hidden that will not become manifest, and nothing covered that will remain covered.” It is notable that this response represents a visible editorial transformation of the text. The original answers to these questions were given clearly and straightforwardly – although also negatively – in saying 14: “Jesus said: If you fast, you will engender sin for yourselves. If you pray, it will be judged against you. If you give alms, you will harm your spirits. Whenever you go to any place and walk about in the country, if they welcome you, eat whatever they set before you.”9 The editor or redactor of Thomas has dispersed these answers to another location in the document, and substituted the dramatically internalizing (and mystifying) answer that now appears in saying 6. There are also narrative indications of “community,” but these receive exactly the same kind of treatment as the questions in Gos. Thom. 6; that is, they are shifted in the direction of isolation or separation from the group, and the cultivation of internal transformation. For example, in Gos. Thom. 13, Jesus asks a group of disciples who he is, and each answers in turn. The scenario strongly suggests a school-like setting. Yet the account quickly changes direction when Thomas answers that he is unable to describe Jesus. Jesus then states that he is not Thomas’s teacher, thereby separating him from the other students in terms of status. Were this not clear enough, Jesus then takes Thomas away, withdraws from the others (afjitf afanakhōrei), and provides him with secret teaching.10 Finally, when Thomas comes back, he is unwilling or unable to communicate that teaching to the others. Saying 114 is very similar. Here again we have a school-like scene,11 in which a group of the disciples are with Jesus, and apparently raise a question of group membership, with Peter arguing that Mary should not belong. Jesus replies that he will transform her so that she is worthy of belonging. He will do so, apparently, as with saying 13, via personal instruction, rather than group activity. And what Mary receives from this instruction is – once again – a personal transformation, the cultivation of inner character, done in isolation from the group: “Jesus said: Behold, I myself will lead her in order to make her male, so that she too [hōōs] may become a living spirit resembling you males.” It may be worth contrasting this tendency in Thomas to what one finds in the Gospel of Mark, which also has an interest in secrecy, mystified teaching, and the communication of hidden knowledge, 9 10 11

So for instance ibid., 50, 67. Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 65, remarks on the oddity of this action. The collective element here is so strong that Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 244 refers repeatedly to the “Christian community” when discussing it.

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but which presents the segregated body of insiders more or less as a group. It also contrasts with the Gospel of John, where insider-status is clearly a communal phenomenon, buttressed by the gospel’s famous emphasis on love. There is, however, a further complication. While the sayings discussed above indicate that following Jesus’s teachings may divide one from the larger group, and lead to the cultivation of internal and especially mental characteristics, they do not actually portray completely isolated behaviour. In fact, both Thomas and Mary are receiving personal instruction from Jesus. Relationships are envisioned as part of the transformative process, but they are one-on-one relationships, rather than group activities. This is of course something of a concession to reality: even if the composer of Thomas imagined his text as being worked upon and studied in isolation, personal contact is still required to transmit the text in question; and perhaps also to set the reader on the right track interpretively. There may be some indications that Thomas recognizes this necessity. In a handful of sayings, the lofty persons whom the Gospel has reached are described as separate from the masses but as existing more or less in pairs.12 The clearest example is Gos. Thom. 23: “I will choose you, one out of a thousand, and two out of ten thousand, and they shall stand as a single one.” Saying 16 seems to do something similar; Jesus will turn people against each other and create divisions, described as “three against two and two against three.” In saying 34 there is a description, admittedly negative, which seems to reflect on personal pedagogy: “If a blind man leads a blind man, they will both fall into a pit.” Akin are the injunctions to love one’s (singular: pekson) brother and to judge fairly in sayings 25 and 26. All of these sayings are obviously subject to different interpretations, but they may at least reflect the concession that one-on-one instruction was envisioned as a factor in the absorption of Thomas’s contents.13 12 13

Thomas’s vocabularic interest in “two” (snau) is also quite marked, albeit not as strongly as its interest in “one.” The word “two” occurs fifteen times in eleven sayings: Gos. Thom. 11, 16, 22, 23, 30, 34, 47, 48, 61, 87, 106. It is also possible that saying 30 shows the same awareness. The problem is that the saying is corrupt, and the Coptic and Greek differ from one another. The fragmentary Greek probably reads: “Jesus said: Where there are three, they are without God. Where there is one alone, I say, I myself am with him.” Unfortunately the first part of this reconstruction is based on a quite fragmentary text: [ὅπ]ου ἐὰν ὦσιν [τρ]ε[ίς], ε[ἰσὶ]ν ἄθεοι. (See Harold W. Attridge, “Appendix: The Greek Fragments,” in The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices, vol. 2, gen. ed. James M. Robinson [Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 2000], 119; and Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 97-98. For discussion and critique of this reconstruction, see Gathercole, Gospel of Thomas, 339.) It is nonetheless worth noting that in the latter part of the Greek version of the saying (which is less uncertain), and indeed throughout the text, the reader is imagined not to be isolated, insofar as Jesus is his

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The imaginative presentation of Thomas’s setting as a school or as schoollike also extends to its literary genre. The text is a fairly typical example of a chreia collection,14 a form associated very strongly with the process of education, for example by Quintillian: “Aphorisms, Chriae, and Ethologiae may also be written under the grammatici, so long as the arguments are supplied, because the themes can come out of reading.”15 This indicates, to my mind, both a familiarity on the author-editor’s part with ancient teaching and learning practices, and a desire to associate his text with those practices. The rare narrative notices of Thomas tend to present Jesus as presiding over students; the genre of the text itself implies that the reader is a student as well. Yet at the same time, there is that persistent focus on the reader as solitary, and a textual mechanics that suggests that this solitude is actual and not just rhetorical. Thomas carefully uses doublets, internal self-contradictions and other techniques of obscurity and opacity to actively conceal its (rather modest) ideological content.16 Thus the collection displays an interesting tension with its own genre. On the one hand, the text is clearly intended as an instructional or teaching tool, which operates, as chreia collections did, by asking the reader to read an ethos onto the text. On the other hand, Thomas seems not to assume as much or as extensive a personal contact between reader and teacher as is the norm for ancient education. Indeed, once one has understood how the text functions, the primary task one must undergo to analyze it successfully is memorization (at least partial), since most of the document’s techniques of obfuscation depend primarily upon disjunctions in the sequence of logicallyrelated sayings (so, for instance, a reader who has come to know the text well is in a position to associate thematically or imagistically related sayings such as Gos. Thom. 7 [eating the lion], 11 [when you ate what is dead you made it living], and 60 [the Samaritan and the lamb]). The role of the teacher as both a

14 15 16

teacher. The text itself stands in the role of the absent Jesus, so that the reader, as a student, interacts imaginatively with a teacher whose presence is supplanted by the book itself. So John S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections, SAC (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 291, 301, 305-306; cf. discussion in Gathercole, Gospel of Thomas, 141-142. Inst. 1.9.3-4 (LCL, trans. Russell). A topic on which I have commented at some length elsewhere: William E. Arnal, “The Rhetoric of Social Construction: Language and Society in the Gospel of Thomas,” in Rhetoric and Reality in Early Christianities, ed. Willi Braun, SCJud 16 (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2005), 27-47; William E. Arnal, “How the Gospel of Thomas Works,” in Scribal Practices and Social Structures among Jesus Adherents: Essays in Honour of John S. Kloppenborg, ed. William Arnal et al. BEThL 285 (Leuven / Paris / Bristol: Peeters, 2016), 261-280.

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moral model and an instructor is overtaken by a textual version of Jesus, who becomes the ethical exemplar and whose words more or less self-interpret as the reader works with the document; the teacher’s presence is replaced in practice by the book. Moreover, the student/reader’s only task in Thomas is to interpret chreiai, not to compose their own. This suggests an environment which takes school-like instruction as its imaginary model, but which departs from it in practice. The most significant element of this departure seems to be the actual learning environment. The role of the instructor seems to be only to transmit the text and perhaps to provide some initial guidance; the student then takes over for himself, and works in isolation, with Jesus, as embodied in the text, as his pedagogue.

Making Social Sense of Solitary Rhetoric

This textual discussion raises the question of the kinds of social and cultural conditions in which such an emphasis on – and actual textual production of – solitude can make sense. To put it baldly, why would someone write a text like Thomas? Under what circumstances could Thomas’s cultivation of solitary reading and study be possible? Under what circumstances would it be attractive to anyone? Bureaucratization and Literacy The answer, in my view, is to be found in the massively and thoroughly imitative aspect of the Gospel of Thomas. Such an observation, in one respect, is trivial. After all, imitation is what culture is, and without it no cultural continuity of any sort would be possible.17 Pedagogy itself is simply the effort to shape and refine that imitation. But what is distinctive about Thomas is that the imitation in question crosses social lines, and is detached from the actual social bonds and connections that normally make imitation such a “natural,” unpretentious and often invisible activity.18 This kind of deliberate imitation is most obvious in Thomas’s school-like orientation. It is possible, of course, that Thomas actually was produced in a school setting. But if one takes seriously 17

18

See the observation of Marshall Sahlins, Islands of History (1985; repr., Chicago / London: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 138, who argues that transforming and reproducing culture are essentially the same things: “The transformation of a culture is a mode of its reproduction.” A similar observation is made about Justin Martyr by John S. Kloppenborg, “Literate Media in Early Christ Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture,” JECS 22/1 (Spring 2014): 42-43.

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both the injunctions of the text to solitude, and the very textual nature of its imagined pedagogy, then Thomas redirects the reader from actual collective school practices to individual meditation upon a writing. This means that the text’s use of the chreia format, its attribution of its contents via a chain from student to master, and its narrative presentations of Jesus in school situations are all deliberately intended to reproduce school practices and discourses outside of a school. There are many reasons one might wish to do this: the adoption of “schoolish”19 behaviour might be felt to convey status; or a sense of belonging; or simply might be the main or most familiar model available to Thomas’s author for the propagation of his cultural content (such as it is).20 The text is also imitative of the practice of exegeting ancient and obscure texts. What is striking about this practice in Thomas is its artificiality. The reader is not called upon to interpret a genuinely ancient and obscure text that has come to be associated with that reader’s identity (as a Jew, as a Greek, as an Egyptian, as a learned individual, and so on), but rather a modern text that has been pre-aged via a series of deliberately mystifying and obscuring techniques.21 The result is a text that, like Homer, Torah, old Latin ritual texts22 and so on, requires some measure of translation to be understood in the present (of course, where understanding is not the point, then such translation can be neglected), but that, unlike them, is not genuinely ancient.23 This sort of appropriation and use of ancient writings happened in a whole range of different ways in Thomas’s environment. Aristarchus of Samothrace (ca. 216-144 bce) and his followers (Apollodorus and Dionysius Thrax) subject19 20

21 22

23

The term “schoolish” as applied to the Gospel of Thomas was suggested to me by Ian Brown. The basic worldview that Jesus communicates in Thomas seems to be a fairly ordinary middle-Platonism, mixed with Jewish elements (and thus akin to, if not nearly so sophisticated as, the writings of Philo of Alexandria). See now Stephen J. Patterson, “Jesus Meets Plato: The Theology of the Gospel of Thomas and Middle Platonism,” in The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Origins: Essays on the Fifth Gospel, NHMS 84 (Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2013), 33-59; and Ivan Miroshnikov, “The Gospel of Thomas and Plato: A Study of the Impact of Platonism on the ‘Fifth Gospel,’” PhD Diss. (University of Helsinki, 2016). I am borrowing the concept from Willi Braun, “Schooled Intelligence, Social Interests, and the Sayings Gospel Q,” paper presented at Westar Seminar on Christian Origins (Santa Rosa, October 2007), 55, who refers to “instant-aging” of texts and traditions. See Mary Beard, “Writing and Religion,” in Religions of the Ancient World, gen. ed. Sarah Iles Johnston (Cambridge / London: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004), 131133, who argues that the preservation of archaisms in Latin ritual texts would not have been possible had these texts not been committed to writing. The best ancient analogy of which I can think is the Corpus Hermeticum, which presents itself as thousands of years older than it actually is. Like Thomas, it trades in deliberate obscurity.

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ed the Homeric texts to critical analysis, and produced critical editions of Homer, Hesiod, Pindar and others, as well as commentaries on these prestigious traditional texts.24 As Maren Neifhoff has contended, Alexandrian Jews were deeply influenced by this style of scholarship, and discussions in Philo allow us to infer that some Alexandrian exegetes exposed Torah to a similar critical analysis, including the practice of athetizing (setting aside, rejecting) dubious passages.25 Niehoff further claims that Philo, in his turn, is reacting to these exegetes with his own Platonizing and non-literal exegesis of Torah, which had the conservative effect of preserving the text, inasmuch as allegorical readings allowed the retention of otherwise obscure or problematic passages. Philo’s own acts of imitation are neither straightforward nor singular. On the one hand, he is imitating Aristarchus et al. and especially the Jewish Alexandrians who exegete Torah in this tradition. But on the other hand, he is reacting against them, doing as they do in order to refute what they do. Philo draws from non-Jewish, non-contemporary sources for his inspiration. His disagreement is not with Jews who use Greek philosophers to interpret Torah, but with Jews who use the wrong Greek philosophers to interpret Torah. Debate over the interpretation of ancestral texts also occurs from the first century forward among Christian interpreters of the Septuagint; and in the second century forward among Christians with their own distinctive texts, which they gradually stop rewriting to suit their agenda, and start reinterpreting to mesh with those agendas. A predisposing condition of the production and dissemination of a work like Thomas is not just bare literacy, but literary skills. The practices involved in composing such a text reflect the spread of a scribal culture, a culture devoted not simply to recording information in written form, but to a continuous act of “interpreting” prestigious or status-defining texts. Literacy and textualization in the first place serves to fix the form of cultural works in a way that can be communicated easily in spite of major social and cultural changes. It allows, that is, the retention of “cultural monuments” that are somehow important to who “we” are, and somehow associated with our ancestry and identity, but which are no longer transparently usable, and are detached from their original 24 25

See “Aristarchus,” OCD, s.v. See Maren R. Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). Note that the same text-critical practice was probably behind Marcion’s edition of a collection of Pauline letters, and that when his opponents accuse him of “mutilating” Paul, he is in fact athetizing passages on text-critical grounds (and according to the same logic and techniques used by other scholars for Homeric texts). See Eric W. Scherbenske, Canonizing Paul: Ancient Editorial Practice and the Corpus Paulinum (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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meaningful or communicative context (if they ever had one). A lovely example of this detachment is the Holiness Code in Leviticus (Lev 17-26); but it also occurs with any number of prestigious ancient texts: Torah as a whole, Homer, Hesiod and so on. The existence of such puzzling writings, and the high value accorded to them, requires a widespread practice of explicit and often laborious interpretation or exegesis, rather than simply transmission or recitation. Intellectual work, then, and the employment of textual artifacts, exercises not only the ability to read the written word, but also an extended set of hermeneutical skills. In short, the long-term existence of literacy in the Mediterranean has led to the development of an intellectual culture of interpreting books. This culture, moreover, has come to be prestigious and has come to link its practitioners to idealized ethnic subcultures of the past. Thomas shows awareness of Platonic exegesis of Torah, particularly of the creation account in Genesis. Elaine Pagels, Steve Davies and Arthur Droge have shown in various ways how Thomas’s understanding of the constitution and origin of the human person is a reflection on a Philo-like reading of Genesis 1-3.26 This sort of reading is then demanded of the interpreter for Thomas itself. The reader is tasked with reading a philosophically coherent system into or onto the text. But again note how different this is in circumstance from Philo or Paul or even emerging Christian exegesis of the Gospels: the author of Thomas does not actually possess a high profile ancestral text that requires interpretation. Rather, he is forced essentially to invent a quasi-ancestral text that only looks like it fails to make sense by virtue of Thomas’s own techniques of artificial obscuration and mystification. This characterization is valid, by the way, even if Thomas does use the Synoptic Gospels as sources,27 since they are evidently not valuable enough in his estimation for him to preserve and interpret; rather they are thoroughly rewritten, albeit in an imitative style.28 As 26

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Elaine H. Pagels, “Exegesis of Genesis 1 in the Gospels of Thomas and John,” JBL 118/3 (1999): 477-496; Stevan L. Davies, “The Christology and Protology of the Gospel of Thomas,” JBL 111/4 (1992): 663-682; Arthur J. Droge, “Sabbath Work/Sabbath Rest: Genesis, Thomas, John,” HR 47/2-3 (2007): 112-150. As argued most recently, for instance, by Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gos­pel of Thomas: Original Language and Influences, MSSNTS 151 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Mark Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels: The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with The Synoptics (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2012). For a critical rejoinder, see John S. Kloppenborg, “A New Synoptic Problem: Mark Goodacre and Simon Gathercole on Thomas,” JSNT 36/3 (2014): 199-239. The classic statement of Thomas’s independence from the Synoptic Gospels is Patterson, Gospel of Thomas and Jesus. In fact, I remain unconvinced by arguments for dependence, especially those that rely on identifying synoptic redaction in our text of Thomas. The difficulty for those who wish to make this kind of argument is two-fold. First, we only possess a single text (and fragments

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with his school-like practices, Thomas’s imitation, again, is divorced from the actual circumstances and conditions of the people whose cultural practices he is duplicating. All of which leads to the conclusion that Thomas is deliberately – rather than “naturally” or “reflexively” – imitative. It is a text whose purveyors are engaged in what Robert Bellah calls “serious play”29; deliberately taking on behaviours that are not “proper” to them and not part of their ordinary quotidian practice. That is, our author imitates practices in isolation from or detached from the social scaffolding or environment in which he encounters them. This means, to conclude this point, that the “individualism” of Thomas is actually a reflection of shifting social terrain. Activities rooted in specific social milieux are being imitated outside of those milieux, but these extended practices have yet to find a fixed social form of their own, have yet to reach a level of institutionalization and regularization that would allow them to be practiced in a stable social form. As a result, they come to be practiced outside and independently of any bounded and particular group setting; they become free-floating, at least temporarily. This kind of transitional situation makes sense against the backdrop of the continuing bureaucratization of urban and political life under Rome, which led to an extension of general exposure to reading and writing, and an extension of literacy to individuals who in other respects may have lacked social status, or power. The exposure of scribal culture to urban slaves, craftsmen, clerks and so on, opened an opportunity among those people to cultivate an intellectual aspect of identity, and with it the kinds of bookish and exegetical intellectual practices associated with elites. So a further predisposing condition for a writing like the Gospel of Thomas – a text that deliberately asks for its own laborious interpretation – is almost certainly to be found not simply in

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of a second for only a handful of sayings) of Thomas, and we know that ancient Christian manuscripts were corrupted by harmonization (so, emphatically, Patterson, Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 93). Second, Thomas’s sources must be more diverse than the Synoptic Gospels alone, since it includes material with no Synoptic parallel. As Hedrick, Unlocking the Secrets, 15, says: “Thomas is a collection of collections. Each saying must be individually considered and regarded as potentially independent until it can be shown to be dependent on the Synoptic Gospels.” The way around these difficulties would be to buttress a dependence-argument based on the presence of snippets of apparent synoptic redaction with one that showed an overall pattern of literary dependence. In my view, in fact, the opposite has happened: Patterson, Gospel of Thomas and Jesus has shown an overall pattern of literary independence. Robert N. Bellah, Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2011), 92.

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the existence of literacy and book culture, but in the extension of book culture in the first and second centuries to new sectors of the population. Urbanization It is notable that the practices to which Thomas attests and which its author aims to display, and the rhetoric the text uses to cultivate that display, are not localized. To be sure, there is an ethnic dimension to Thomas: given its concern with circumcision, Sabbath, diet, almsgiving, and so on, it is clearly a text influenced by and in some way laying claim to Judean ethnic identity. But the claim is not a strong one, and most of the distinctive collective practices of Judean identity are repudiated. Thomas in fact stakes its claim to an individually-enacted cosmopolitan identity shared across distance, over and against a series of markers that could be viewed as enactments of Judean identity (which, notably, could also be shared across distance). Its ideal readers are re-imagined as having their citizenship in no-place, detached even from a distant homeland, and so perhaps as having some form of belonging in any place. Such a notion of course is hardly distinctive; we encounter it in all kinds of writers from this period, including writers who, like Thomas, attest to some kind of Judean identity or background. Paul in Philippians claims for his audience a citizenship in heaven (Phil 3:20), and Philo in numerous places celebrates the wise man’s true home as in the sky: “In reality a wise man’s soul [ψυχή] ever finds heaven [οὐρανόν] to be his fatherland [πατρίδα] and earth a foreign country, and regards as his own the dwelling-place of wisdom, and that of the body as outlandish, and looks on himself as a stranger and sojourner [παρεπιδημεῖν] in it.”30 Interestingly, unlike Philo and Paul, Thomas’s repudiation of place also extends to the sky itself. In fact, the ideal readers of Thomas exist in the world, not in the sky, but are unlocalized in that world (Gos. Thom. 3): “Jesus said: If those who lead you say to you, Look, the kingdom is in the sky, then the birds of the sky will precede you … . Rather, the kingdom is inside of you, and it is outside of you. When you come to know yourselves, then you will be known, and you will realize that it is you who are the sons of the Living Father.” Likewise, saying 113 reads, in part: “The kingdom of the Father is spread out upon the earth, and men do not see it.” It is unclear whether this makes Thomas more radically utopian than Paul and Philo, insofar as he denies his readers even a heavenly homeland; or makes him more locative than they, insofar as he insists on the kingdom’s continued earthly location (albeit as spread out and invisible).31 In either case, however, the readers of Thomas are imagined to 30 31

Agr. 65 (LCL, trans. Colson / Whitaker). I am here using the typological terminology and concepts of Jonathan Z. Smith, who contrasts religious orientations toward worldly order and structure – thus, religions of

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become mobile universal citizens, carrying their enrollment as sons of the Living Father in the form of a portable book and the personal skills required to interpret that book. In this scenario, Jesus becomes something like a universal, unlocalizable ancestor. By assimilating his teaching, the reader becomes one with him, and so, like him, a Son of the Father at home both anywhere and nowhere in particular. I have described this cosmopolitanism in terms of opportunity, in terms of the expansion of cultural practices into new social terrains, and the efforts of people to lay claim to the statuses implied by practices to which they have been newly initiated. The description has been that, metaphorically, of the opening of an environmental niche and the flourishing of new colonizers of that niche. This notion of opportunity can be framed even more emphatically by contrasting it with the conclusions of Jonathan Z. Smith, whose work is invoked above in the references to “locative” and “utopian” identity. Smith argues that the appearance of typologically “apocalyptic” and “gnostic” texts in the Hellenistic period forward is a function of the loss of native kingship, and the reaction of scribal circles to that loss. I have been presenting Thomas’s solitary esotericism, by contrast, as the extension of scribal practices to those without a native court to serve as patron and rationale for those practices. The effect is very similar in both cases: the existence of a class of people with at least rudimentary literary skills, but who lack an obvious patron and a strong rationalizing ideology.32 Nonetheless, the different kinds of cosmopolitan identities imagined by Thomas, Philo and Paul, all in their own way indicate a lack as well as an opportunity: the failure, that is, of previous institutions and self-conceptions to suffice under current circumstances. They indicate the need for adaptation as well as the opportunity for it. More specifically, in all three cases, older national-ethnic identities, while still salient in many ways, are increasingly insufficient to define certain ranges of behaviour, especially intellectual practices that are unlinked to temple, homeland and native language. There are, again, any number of straightforward concrete reasons for this loss of salience, or, as

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place – with those that seek escape from the world – thus, religions of no place. Smith considers most forms of ancient apocalypticism as locative, but regards Paul as utopian in orientation. For extended discussion see Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990); and Jonathan Z. Smith, “A Pearl of Great Price and a Cargo of Yams: A Study in Situational Incongruity,” in Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (1976; repr., Chicago / London: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 90-101. An interesting modern analogue might be the extension of the North American professoriate in the decades after the Second World War.

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Smith would describe it, these incongruities.33 Among these circumstances are class mobility; geographical mobility (I think of Paul, especially); shifts in city governance; shifts in imperial governance; increases in urban size and/or diversity; movement from the country to the city; and especially large-scale dislocations of people, that is, the kind of ethnic dislocation we see clearly in the cases of Paul and Philo. For all of his local prominence, even Philo expresses an incongruity between his place and his people: “The good man, though he possesses nothing in the proper sense, not even himself, partakes of the precious things of God so far as he is capable. And that is but natural, for he is a world citizen [κοσμοπολίτης], and therefore not on the roll [ἐνεγράφη] of any city of men’s habitation, rightly so because he has received no mere piece of land [οὐ μέρος χώρος] but the whole world as his portion [κλῆρον].”34 Paul is much more negative, and more vivid: he describes his addressees as “those who are not” (τὰ μὴ ὄντα [1 Cor 1:28]); and himself as the “eliminations [περικαθάρματα] of the world, the off-wipings [περίψημα] of all things” (1 Cor 4:13). Thomas is much more muted than this, but still repudiates worldly identity-claims as obstacles to self-realization, applying this judgement specifically to ethnic markers such as circumcision: “If [circumcision] were useful, their Father would beget them already circumcised from their mother. Rather, the true circumcision in spirit has completely found profit” (Gos. Thom. 53). It is, then, a combination of circumstances, in which an extension of literacy opened the door to new social pretensions alongside a deracinating urbanization that undermined older localized identity-discourses, that gives some sense to Thomas, and that helps us understand its attention to the self in isolation, to the solitary reader pursuing solitary insight. It should be stressed, however, that all of this discussion really pertains to intellectual practices. It is only this one aspect of people’s lives that Thomas seeks to address, and therefore we cannot infer from it a general or total deprivation, flux, deracination, alienation or indeed individualism. To whatever extent older forms of ethnic identity discourses were insufficient for Thomas’s author or ideal readers, this insufficiency pertained to a very specific arena of their lives and a very specific behaviour set – that of literacy and displays of textual erudition – and the institutions and rewards that went with these practices. The people behind Thomas are aiming at an intellectual status that they think they deserve, but that there is no real social mechanism to confer upon them. The solitude and self-cultivation stressed by Thomas is stressed precisely – and apparently only – with respect to interpretive practices, knowledge and self-cultivation. Soli33 34

As, for instance, in Smith, “Pearl of Great Price.” Mos. 1.157 (LCL, trans. Colson).

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tude is linked tightly to intellectual labor, and not necessarily to other aspects of life or identity. We have no strong reason to think that the solitude expressed in Thomas either reflects or promotes isolation in daily life. One expects that the quotidian aspects of deracinated urban existence would be much more effectively handled by the kind of voluntary associations that proliferated from the third century bce onwards, and of which Paul’s ekklēsiai are a notable example.35 There is no reason to imagine that the authors of Thomas would have ignored such opportunities.

Analogies and Conclusions

There are many analogies from other periods to the kinds of processes I have just tried to describe, often corresponding to improvements or extensions of the technology of cultural dissemination. The use of these technologies opens new opportunities for cultural expression, which, because of their novelty, are not rooted in shared institutional structures or collective practices. The expressions in question thus appear as isolated, non-social, and hence as individual; and they turn the attention of their practitioners to the self in isolation. But these practices are quickly enough absorbed into new social institutions and collective identity discourses. Thus the invention and increased used of the printing press is associated, in the Reformation period, with a proliferation of ecclesiastical discourses external to the church hierarchy, and thus to an internalization or personalization of ecclesiastical belonging. Eventually, this led to the increased socio-cultural salience of “religion” as a form of identity. Centuries later, the proliferation of universal education, accompanied by an explicit stress on the internalization or personalization of socio-political identity, highlighted the salience of national forms of identity. And so likewise in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, the extension of literacy in urban environments led to a dislocation, internalization and personalization of literate cultural practices, and thus also perhaps to a perception of the self as mind; followed then by a proliferation of new institutional entities to replace especially the ancient Near Eastern priesthoods and the court scribal circles that had constituted the original institutional locus for literacy. Among such new forms we encounter the multiplication of schools, and eventually, indeed from 35

For example, Richard S. Ascough, Paul’s Macedonian Associations: The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians, WUNT 161 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Philip A. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003).

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the second century forward, a totalizing new form of non-local and non-ethnic school identity known as Christianity. One final tentative generalization about Thomas and solitary selves is possible: the experience of reading itself appears to encourage introspection. David Olsen observes that robust literacy leads to increased interest in states of mind.36 This undoubtedly happens in many ways and for many reasons. But I cannot help but note that the kind of literacy that the Gospel of Thomas invites – whether it can be described as “robust” or not – is of a meditative variety, akin to Hermetic writings or kabbalah. Like ritual, reading is an action whose main effect is concentration and extraordinary focus of attention. Such intense focus can be imagined as a deliberate and artificial manipulation of one’s brain state. Daniel Smail has argued that the very common practice of silent reading in the modern world is in fact – like coffee, alcohol, pornography, amusement parks or consumerism – part of the modern inventory of psychotropic practices.37 This sort of meditative, silent absorption into a text, it is widely recognized, was not the normal reading practice in antiquity or the Middle Ages. Thus a pre-modern text must invite and cultivate such meditation, as Thomas does, if it is to be consumed in this fashion. And so it may be worth asking whether a form of literacy (or textual appropriation) that inclines to meditation did not produce for (some of) its readers an experience of altered states of mind, much as the ingestion of alcohol, or watching horror movies, does for us today. In that case, it may be precisely the experience of the mind’s manipulability via the act of reading (in a particular way) that invited speculation and curiosity about the nature and constitution of the self.

Reference List

“Aristarchus.” OCD, s.v. Arnal, William E. “How the Gospel of Thomas Works.” In Scribal Practices and Social Structures among Jesus Adherents: Essays in Honour of John S. Kloppenborg. Edited by William Arnal et al. BEThL 285. Leuven / Paris / Bristol: Peeters, 2016, 261-280. Arnal, William E. “The Rhetoric of Social Construction: Language and Society in the Gospel of Thomas.” In Rhetoric and Reality in Early Christianities. Edited by Willi Braun. SCJud 16. Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2005, 27-47. 36 37

See David R. Olson, The World on Paper: The Conceptual and Cognitive Implications of Reading and Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 270-271. Daniel Lord Smail, On Deep History and the Brain (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008).

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Ascough, Richard S. Paul’s Macedonian Associations: The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians. WUNT 161. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. Attridge, Harold W. “Appendix: The Greek Fragments.” In The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices. Volume 2. General Editor James M. Robinson. Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 2000, 95-128. Beard, Mary. “Writing and Religion.” In Religions of the Ancient World. General Editor Sarah Iles Johnston. Cambridge / London: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004, 127-138. Bellah, Robert N. Religion in Human Evolution: From the Paleolithic to the Axial Age. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2011. Braun, Willi. “Schooled Intelligence, Social Interests, and the Sayings Gospel Q.” Paper presented at Westar Seminar on Christian Origins, Santa Rosa, October 2007. Davies, Stevan L. “The Christology and Protology of the Gospel of Thomas.” JBL 111/4 (1992): 663-682. Droge, Arthur J. “Sabbath Work/Sabbath Rest: Genesis, Thomas, John.” HR 47/2-3 (2007): 112-150. Gathercole, Simon J. The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas: Original Language and Influences. MSSNTS 151. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Gathercole, Simon J. The Gospel of Thomas: Introduction and Commentary. TENTS 11. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2014. Goodacre, Mark. Thomas and the Gospels: The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with The Synoptics. Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2012. Harland, Philip A. Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003. Hedrick, Charles W. Unlocking the Secrets of the Gospel According to Thomas: A Radical Faith for a New Age. Eugene: Cascade Books, 2010. Kloppenborg, John S. The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections. SAC. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987. Kloppenborg, John S. “Literate Media in Early Christ Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture.” JECS 22/1 (2014): 21-59. Kloppenborg, John S. “A New Synoptic Problem: Mark Goodacre and Simon Gathercole on Thomas.” JSNT 36/3 (2014): 199-239. Miroshnikov, Ivan. “The Gospel of Thomas and Plato: A Study of the Impact of Platonism on the ‘Fifth Gospel’.” PhD Dissertation, University of Helsinki, 2016. Niehoff, Maren R. Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Olson, David R. The World on Paper: The Conceptual and Cognitive Implications of Read­ ing and Writing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Pagels, Elaine H. “Exegesis of Genesis 1 in the Gospels of Thomas and John.” JBL 118/3 (1999): 477-496.

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Patterson, Stephen J. The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus. FFRS. Sonoma, Polebridge Press, 1993. Patterson, Stephen J. “Jesus Meets Plato: The Theology of the Gospel of Thomas and Middle Platonism.” In The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Origins: Essays on the Fifth Gospel. NHMS 84. Leiden / Boston: Brill, 2013, 33-59. Philo. On Abraham. On Joseph. On Moses. Translated by F.H. Colson. LCL 289. Cam­ bridge: Harvard University Press, 1935. Philo. On the Unchangeableness of God. On Husbandry. Concerning Noah’s Work as a Planter. On Drunkenness. On Sobriety. Translated by F.H. Colson / G.H. Whitaker. LCL 247. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1930. Plisch, Uwe-Karsten. The Gospel of Thomas: Original Text with Commentary. Translated by Gesine Schenke Robinson. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2008. Quintilian. The Orator’s Education. Volume 1. Translated by Donald A. Russell. LCL 124. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002. Sahlins, Marshall. Islands of History. 1985. Reprint, Chicago / London: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Scherbenske, Eric W. Canonizing Paul: Ancient Editorial Practice and the Corpus Paulinum. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Smail, Daniel Lord. On Deep History and the Brain. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. Smith, Jonathan Z. Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990. Smith, Jonathan Z. “A Pearl of Great Price and a Cargo of Yams: A Study in Situational Incongruity.” In Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown. 1976. Reprint, Chi­ cago / London: University of Chicago Press, 1982, 90-101. Stowers, Stanley. “The Concept of Community and the History of Early Christianity.” MTSR 23/3 (2011): 238-256. Uro, Risto. Thomas: Seeking the Historical Context of the Gospel of Thomas. London / New York: T & T Clark, 2003.

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Praises and Rebukes in the Gnostic Revelation Dialogues Michael Kaler

In literature commonly considered “gnostic” we find many examples of dialogues carried on between the (often, though not exclusively, post-resurrection) Saviour and one or more of his disciples. Such dialogues are found in the Apocryphon of James, the Apocryphon of John, the Sophia of Jesus Christ, the Dialogue of the Saviour, and the Gospel of Judas, to name only a few. As will be seen below, these revelation dialogues have often been understood as being particularly formulaic literary products, whose almost exclusive purpose is to serve as a means – traditional and authoritative – for transmission of the esoteric information that they contain. Scholars have noted that rebukes or praises of the disciples’ behaviour are often found within these dialogues, whether delivered by the Saviour or presented by the author in the narrative, but they have not devoted a great deal of attention to such rebukes or praises in themselves. Often such assessments and critiques are passed over; often too, scholars leap quickly to the conclusion that they can read praises and rebukes as representing, in thinly veiled disguise, the author’s own point of view on the various groups within Christianity of his or her day. So for example Peter can be seen as a stand-in for the proto-orthodox church, and a critique of him may thus be read as an authorial critique of that form of Christianity; Mary may be seen as representing a suppressed proto-feminist form of gnosticism, and praise of her may be read as authorial support for that form of Christianity. I shall argue that there is more to be said on the issue. First of all, I shall argue that these praises and rebukes, or assessments of character, are common enough to be legitimately included as fundamental generic elements of the revelation dialogues in which they are found, rather than being simply authorial tools or conduits, and that, accordingly, their general and generic function must be taken into consideration along with the specific use made of them by individual authors. Second, I shall argue that these praises and rebukes show that the moulding of the reader’s character is an essential function of these dialogues; in other words, that the revelation dialogues, through their praises and rebukes, have an eminently if little appreciated, pedagogical function. Finally, I shall comment on the value of these dialogues for reconstructing the self-image of the communities which produced them.

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Praises and Rebukes in the Revelation Dialogues

As the name suggests, works of this dialogue genre feature dialogues between the Saviour and various of his disciples.1 Its description as a literary genre has been particularly associated with two scholars, namely Kurt Rudolph, whose foundational article appeared in 1968, and Pheme Perkins, whose book on the revelation dialogues was published in 1980.2 Rudolph associated this genre of dialogue with erotapokriseis literature, the catechetical and formulaic collections of “questions and answers” that were a popular means of discussing issues related to high-status literature. In his opinion, the gnostic dialogues were not “real” dialogues such as those found in philosophical writings; the sole purpose of them, including their frame stories and the interaction between characters (who are cardboard figures, “without flesh and blood,” in his view3) was to provide an excuse for the presentation of their doctrinal content. In the wake of enthusiasm for morphological analysis of early Christian and Jewish writings in the late 1970s, Pheme Perkins undertook to describe the genre following the example of Collins et al. in their work on apocalyptic literature. In her section on the narrative setting of these dialogues, she discusses typical geographical and temporal settings, the recipients, their initial mental state, the appearance of the Redeemer, his initial address, questions directed to him by the disciples, the Redeemer’s commissioning of the disciples, his ascension and any narrative finale elements that may be present.4 Although she does deal with the dialogues’ frame stories in considerable depth, bringing out their strong associations with the New Testament Gospel accounts, for Perkins as for Rudolph the frame stories, and thus also the characters and their interactions in works of this sort, are very standard and clichéd. The real focus of these works is implicitly or explicitly taken to be the transmission of esoteric information; the frame story (including the activities, opinions and states of mind of the disciples) is merely the means by which this transmission is accomplished.5 1 The reader seeking a more complete discussion of the history of research is directed to the first section of Judith Hartenstein, Die Zweite Lehre: Erscheinungen des Auferstandenen als Rahmenerzählungen frühchristlicher Dialoge, TU 146 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000). 2 Kurt Rudolph, “Der gnostische ‘Dialog’ als literarisches Genus,” in Probleme der koptischen Literatur, ed. Peter Nagel, WBUH (Halle-Wittenberg: Martin Luther Universität HalleWittenberg, 1968), 85-107; Pheme Perkins, The Gnostic Dialogue: The Early Church and the Crisis of Gnosticism (New York: Paulist Press, 1980). 3 Rudolph, “Dialog,” 87. 4 See her chapter 3, “The Narrative Setting of the Gnostic Dialogue,” in Dialogue, 37-58. 5 Ibid.

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I should note that at least one early researcher, Helmut Koester, shows a more sympathetic attitude towards the frame stories, when he notes that the initial dismay of the disciples is shown so as to provide the problem for which the Saviour’s teachings will provide the solution.6 In other words, he sees that the frame stories are leavened with rhetorical considerations. Koester’s insight was correct: even a quick glance at the dialogues shows that we need to take more account of specific exchanges between Jesus and his disciples that concern, not salvific knowledge, but right conduct. These exchanges we may call praises and rebukes. My point is that the dialogues contain numerous sections, far more numerous than has been yet acknowledged, of Jesus clearly praising and rebuking his disciples’ conduct.7 The presence of such praises, rebukes and critiques has been noted before. But there has been a tendency to dismiss the importance of these for our understanding of the literary genre. Pheme Perkins, for example, gave rebukes of the disciples a place in her morphology,8 but they were combined with the Revealer’s angelic appearance and “I Am” proclamations as incidental motifs derived from Judeo-Christian apocalyptic tradition, not as really constitutive elements of the dialogues. Often too, as I indicated above, they are treated as examples of the authorial voice breaking into the generic frame, and are thus seen as the expressions of views held by the author regarding the situation in her contemporary period.9 Let us begin with the Apocryphon of James, the first narrative found in Nag Hammadi Codex I (preceded only by the Prayer of the Apostle Paul, a brief prayer inside the codex’s flyleaf that can be seen as a benediction for the codex, or even for the three-volume set of codices I-XI-VII10).11 The Apocryphon 6 7 8 9

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Helmut Koester, “Dialog und Spruchüberlieferung in den gnostischen Texten von Nag Hammadi,” EvTh 39 (1979): 532-556. That is, these praises and rebukes are not interested in salvific knowledge. They concern the disciples’ conduct. Perkins, Dialogue, 52-55. It seems to me that this point of view ultimately derives from two assumptions, namely (i) that the essential purpose of these dialogues as a genre is to convey esoteric information through a very conventional and static frame story, and (ii) that the praises and rebukes are features that have been added to this generic frame story in order to advance authorial polemics. I am not sure, however, that either of these assumptions is completely correct. See on this Louis Painchaud / Michael Kaler, “From the Prayer of the Apostle Paul to the Three Steles of Seth: Codices I, XI, and VII from Nag Hammadi Viewed as a Collection,” VC 61/4 (2008): 445-469. References to Nag Hammadi texts and quotations from them, are drawn from James ­Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library in English, 3rd ed. (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988).

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of James presents itself as a letter written by the apostle James, telling of secret instruction that the resurrected Jesus revealed to James and Peter alone of the disciples. The content of this instruction is paradoxical and ambiguous, consisting mainly of Jesus’s mingled exhortations and rebukes, with changes in topic typically signaled by questions from James and Peter. At the end of the dialogue, Jesus ascends into the heavens while James and Peter gaze after him. The letter ends with James encouraging his readers to surpass him in enlightenment and faith. Significantly, this text focuses almost exclusively on evaluation of the behaviour of the disciples, rather than the transmission of mythological, cosmological or any other esoteric doctrinal sort of knowledge.12 Throughout this text, Jesus issues instructions about how James and Peter are to behave and the proper mental state that they are to adopt. They must desire to be full (Ap. James 3.10); they must desire to be sober (3.8); they must not be in want in a bad way (4.8-10); they must cease loving the flesh and fearing suffering (5.6-9); they must strive to be better than Jesus (7.14); they must hasten to be saved without being urged (7.10-14); and so on. Throughout, the importance of developing independence of thought is emphasized, as is the necessity of freeing oneself from excessive attachment to bodily desires and coming to know one’s real self. And the Apocryphon of James is far from unique among revelation dialogues in its concern with the disciples’ behaviour and attitudes. The Letter of Peter to Philip is a revelation dialogue from Nag Hammadi Codex VIII in which the disciples as a group gather together and receive a vision of the risen Christ: In this vision, Christ speaks as a voice from the light, beginning by critiquing the disciples for their lack of belief. In the subsequent discussion, the flaws in the creation itself are implicitly ascribed by Christ to the character flaws of the heavenly powers. The mother is disobedient and foolish; the Arrogant One is proud and envious; and the powers are ignorant (Ep. Pet. Phil. 135.3-136.15). Christ’s initial critique of the disciples’ mental state, then, is set in a context in which improper attitude is presented as being extremely significant, in fact responsible for the all the ills of the world, and the very existence of the world itself. This puts a high value indeed on proper conduct. Perhaps the best-known revelation dialogue is the Apocryphon of John, which we possess in two different versions, with two recensions of each.13 In 12 13

This is not to say that there is no such material in the text; it is present very explicitly at the end, and much can be implicitly recovered from Jesus’s teaching. But it is not the focus: rather, the focus is on James’s and Peter’s characters. See Michael Waldstein / Frederik Wisse, ed., The Apocryphon of John: Synopsis of Nag Hammadi Codices II,1; III,1; and IV,1 with BG 8502,2, NHMS 33 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995).

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this work, John the brother of James flees from a Pharisee’s criticism of Jesus, running off by himself, at which point he has a vision of the risen Saviour. There is indeed a great deal of esoteric information imparted by the Saviour in all the versions of this work, but there is more: If we look at the long question and answer interchange that begins at Ap. John 25.16 in the Nag Hammadi Codex II version, we note that John is repeatedly praised for his facility in comprehending what the Saviour teaches him and his ability to pose relevant questions that reveal his understanding. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this point. At 25.18-23, the Saviour responds to John’s question by noting approvingly that “Great things have arisen in your mind.” At 26.25, the Saviour smiles, apparently as a symbol of his appreciation of the question that John has just asked. The Saviour’s pleasure in John’s acute interrogation bursts forth at Ap. John 27.14-17, where “he [the Saviour] rejoiced when I asked him this, and he said to me, ‘Truly you are blessed, for you have understood!’” Here we see a graphic depiction, timelessly apt, of the teacher’s pleasure in the student’s perceptive questions. Also, the presentation of such a scene would, one imagines, have been a powerful stimulus inspiring the reader to try to merit the same praise for her/himself. The Book of Thomas, from Nag Hammadi codex II, tells of a conversation between Judas Thomas and the (not yet crucified) Saviour, as recorded by one Matthias. Beginning at Bk. Thom. 142.3ff., there is a very interesting exchange between Jesus and Thomas as they are travelling. After Thomas asks a question, Jesus responds by saying: “What is your own opinion?” and Thomas then says, “It is you, Lord, whom it befits to speak, and me to listen.” This seems meant to be read as a model of correctly modest response for a disciple, as it does not otherwise advance the plot or the revelations that make up the majority of the dialogue. After Jesus’s response to Thomas’s question, Thomas again is shown as the ideal disciple, and made to declare that “You have certainly persuaded us, Lord. We realize in our hearts, and it is obvious, that this is so.” The use of the first person plural, rather than the singular, as would be appropriate to the narrative context, is a sign pointing outside of the dialogue to the reader and inviting her/him to join Thomas’s display of apostolic faith and propriety. The Book of Thomas is especially significant for our purposes, since as John Turner has shown, it is doctrinally a gnosticized and Christianized presentation of Platonic teaching, presented as revelatory information from Jesus.14 In 14

John D. Turner, “The Book of Thomas and the Platonic Jesus,” in Colloque international “L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi” (Québec 29-31 mai 2003), ed. Louis

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other words, the Book of Thomas is a marvellously clear example of the actualization of the classic understanding of the creation of revelation dialogues, according to which the dialogic frame and narrative setting were simply intended to clothe the esoteric teachings that were the real point of these writings. It demonstrates, more precisely than any other case with the exception of the Sophia of Jesus Christ/Eugnostos, that our theories as to the origins of these works are not merely hypothetical.15 Its author had esoteric, in this case Platonic, information that (s)he wanted to expose (ironically enough, material originally presented by Plato in dialogues, although perhaps received by the author in the form of an epitome, as Turner suggests16), and (s)he did so by presenting it as revelations of the Saviour, in the process grafting a stereotypical narrative frame onto it, complete with many of the characteristics of the genre – the setting, the characters and so on. The Book of Thomas, then, is almost an ideal revelation dialogue, in the older understanding of the term. And this makes it all the more significant that even here, we see the strong concern for proper behaviour and responses on the part of the disciple and the readers manifested within the frame story – not to mention the fact that here, as with the Apocryphon of James, the esoteric information itself is strongly concerned with issues of this-worldly conduct. Then there is the infamous Gospel of Judas, a work from Codex Tchacos, whose meaning and significance have been the subject of not just scholarly, but also popular debate over the decade since its publication. In this work, the carrot is definitely and conclusively exchanged for the stick, and significantly the disciples are repeatedly criticized by Jesus for their tendency to be disturbed, or shaken when presented with new information – whether this information is presented by Jesus, or in dreams.17 The disciples, as we are repeatedly told amidst the enigmatic esoteric teachings, do not learn well (Gos. Jud. 42.68); they become emotionally disturbed too easily (34.18-26); they do wrong things (33.26-34.6); and they are unable to stand before him (35.2-9). In short, their characters are unsatisfactory.

15

16 17

Painchaud / Paul-Hubert Poirier, BCNH 8 (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval; Louvain / Paris: Éditions Peeters, 2007), 599-634. The Sophia of Jesus Christ (Nag Hammadi Codex III,4, and BG8592,3) is a revelation dialogue that presents material clearly related to the sources of the work known as Eugnostos (Nag Hammadi Codex III,3 and V,1), thus showing that the doctrinal content and the narrative frame of such works were separable. Turner, “Book of Thomas,” 632. References from Lance Jenott, The Gospel of Judas: Coptic Text, Translation, and Historical Interpretation of the ‘Betrayer’s Gospel,’ STAC 64 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011).

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We looked at several examples above; the list could easily be extended. For example, we find such critiques of attitude and behaviour at the very start of the Dialogue of the Saviour in Nag Hammadi Codex III and apparently elsewhere in the work as well (although the work’s lacunous state makes certainty impossible). For instance, disciples are to cease laboring and stand at rest (Dial. Sav. 120.2-5); they are to rid themselves of jealousy (138.16-19); they must truly understand what is being taught and not merely take it on faith (142.11-15). Let us note the way that this work has Mary represent the ideal model for readers to follow; she is described as one who has “understood completely” (139.12), and her acuity “makes clear the abundance of the Revealer” (140.17-18). In the first Apocalypse of James in Nag Hammadi codex V,18 James is repeatedly shown exposing his mental state and attitudes to the Lord, and receiving the Lord’s approval (1 Apoc. Jas. 28.5-29.8; 31.2-32.8), thus again modeling correct behaviour for readers of the work. Turning back to Nag Hammadi codex V and the Apocalypse of Paul, it is far from certain that this brief work ought to be counted as one of the classic revelation dialogues. Although there is of course a dialogue between Paul and his guiding Spirit before they ascend into heaven, there is no indication in the text that this Spirit is to be identified with Christ or the Saviour. However, as it does share certain characteristics of this category of text, it is relevant here to note that the Spirit’s two revelations of esoteric information both seem immediately to follow exhortations to Paul to awaken or raise his mind (Apoc. Paul 18.22-23, lacunous; 19.10-11). The Apocalypse of Paul teaches us that the unawakened or improperly directed mind cannot take in radically new information. And, finally, let us note as well that a surprisingly high number of the sayings found in the Gospel of Thomas in Nag Hammadi Codex II (which is at least related to the “full blown” revelation dialogues) have specifically to do with the proper attitudes or behaviours that the disciples of Jesus are to adopt, if they are to make themselves perfect: they must seek diligently (Gos. Thom. 32.1419), they must ask questions (33.5-8), they must not lie or do what they hate (33.18-19), and so on. Indeed, we can read the famous introduction to this gospel (“Whoever finds the interpretation of these sayings will not experience death”) as the proclamation of a quest, one with extravagant rewards, and one that must be conducted in a certain manner if one hopes to succeed.

18

The third and fourth texts in this codex have the same title: the Apocalypse of James. For convenience, modern scholars have identified them as the “first” and “second” Apocalypses of James.

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In all of these numerous cases, the authors of the revelation dialogues show a strong concern, through praises and rebukes, for the behaviour of the disciples. Without denying the importance of the transmission of esoteric doctrinal material, these examples show that this is not the sole concern of the authors of works of this genre. We should also note that the behaviour under discussion very often has to do with the attitudes and reactions of the disciples in the face of challenges delivered by or on account of the Saviour, and their success or failure at assimilating new information. In other words, it is their behaviour as students and followers of their great teacher that concerns the authors of the various works. The traditional understanding of the facile, transparent nature of the narrative frames for the revelation dialogues needs reassessment. The narrative frames, with their praises and rebukes, are not just means to an end; they have their own significance and their own lessons to teach the reader. As these examples make clear, a very common aspect of works of this genre is the use of the disciples as models of correct or incorrect behaviour, sometimes highlighted through the praises and rebukes of the Saviour, and also and typically brought out in the course of the narration. In other words, the divine Revealer and the authors of the given texts are concerned not just with what the disciples learn, but also with how they behave. Typically, these critiques or assessments have to do with the way in which the disciples receive new information, or react to new situations as they arise in their interactions with the Saviour. What is the significance of such frequent appearances of praise and rebuke? As becomes apparent when one carefully examines the dialogues, these critiques of behaviour are frequent enough that they ought to be considered as belonging to the formal elements of works of this genre. Their ubiquity argues strongly in favour of the conclusion that they are to be expected in works of this type; they are neither exceptional, nor purely authorial interventions. While the specifics of course vary from text to text, the presentation of critiques of the disciples’ behaviour seem to be part of the revelation dialogue genre, as typical of it as the presence of Jesus or his disciples. They are universal and generic, and by reading them solely as authorial interventions, we miss part of their significance and misunderstand the genre.

The Pedagogy of Praise and Rebuke

If these assessments and critiques are indeed formal elements of the dialogues, as their pervasiveness strongly argues, then there are definite advantages to be

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gained from adjusting our habitual way of looking at them; we might recognize that they have an important aim. In order to illustrate why, allow me to jump from these characteristic products of late antique esotericism to some characteristic products of modern popular literature, namely the murder mystery. Let us say that you are reading a murder mystery in which one of the characters is an obsequious, yet somehow sinister, butler. If you do not understand that the figure of the sneaky butler is a formal and entirely predictable element of this genre, then you might be led to link the inclusion of the butler in this story too strongly to authorial intentionality, since you will be seeing it as coming exclusively from the author. You might derive all sorts of theories about how the author includes this figure as a comment on class relationships, for example – perhaps the author is strongly “right wing,” and the butler should be read as an example of the untrustworthiness of the working classes. Or perhaps the author is strongly “left wing,” and the butler should be read as a class warrior. But your point of view changes, and consequently so does your interpretation of the purpose of this figure, if you recognize that the butler is in fact a stereotypical or recognized generic aspect that the author has used in his/her own way. Seeing things this way, you come to understand the butler and the role he plays in terms of the interaction between the author and the formal characteristics of the genre, rather than just a pure expression of the author. You are able to put the butler in an interpretive context that includes the characteristics of the genre, the general communicative purpose of the genre, and the horizon of expectations that works of this genre arouse in the reader. Your appreciation for the purpose and significance of this figure – as a specific manifestation of an aspect of its generic context – expands. And similarly so, I would argue, with the presentations or assessments of the behaviour of the disciples in revelation dialogues. The function of the generic coding of information is to first arouse, and then to satisfy, certain interpretive expectations on the part of the audience by enabling them to organize and contextualize the material that they encounter. Consequently, when we move away from reading the assessments of the behaviour of the disciples simply as authorial interjections, and read them also as formal elements of this genre of literature that the author is taking up, we are then led to ask how these assessments fit into the overall function of the revelation dialogue literary genre, in addition to asking how they fit into the author’s worldview. We ask what these assessments do within their literary contexts, and how they enlighten us as to that context, rather than reading them solely as the means whereby the author can comment in lightly veiled terms on the Christian scene of her day.

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It would seem that in addition to the transmission of esoteric information, part of the very function of the revelation dialogue is to critique and thereby to mould character. In other words, in addition to passing on alleged facts about the universe, its rulers and so on, these works also seek to improve the characters of their audiences through object lessons, using the disciples as models demonstrating appropriate and inappropriate behaviour in the context of Christian life. Thus the disciples should not be seen as merely stand-ins for Christian groups of the author’s day, although they can be that as well, of course. They must be understood as models for readers to assess and understand, models demonstrating virtues or faults in discipleship. They are meant to show readers how they should behave, as well as to tell them what they should know. This concern for conduct, for actual patterns of behaviour in the here-andnow, certainly does not fit in with older stereotypes of gnostic libertinism, antinomianism and general unruly bohemianism. It is also striking to note the degree to which this concern for behaviour is focused on matters of education and, linked with that, religious conduct. These texts are frequently concerned with teaching their readers how to fulfil their religious imperatives by becoming better students of the Saviour. In these works, we learn how to learn, and we learn how to behave so as to advance in this religious/educational milieu. In other words, what we see in these works is an understanding of education that puts it at the heart of religion. For these authors, one’s Christian duty is to learn, rather than, say, to suffer. The praises and rebukes have a pedagogical function.19

Ideals as Reflections of Authors and Readers

This leads into another issue, the last that I will address here. If the behaviour of the disciples, and the critiques and assessments of that behaviour, do reflect 19

Such an educational focus wreaks havoc with some older ideas of gnosticism. If the point of gnosticism is instant enlightenment, as some would have it, then what does the gradual process of learning have to do with anything? If this enlightenment is essentially a revelation and realization of that which you already essentially are, again as some would have it, why the importance of the painstaking educational and character-building process? Let us remember the simple humanity of the readers of gnostic literature. These people were not mythical beings, pernicious agents of theological decay or enlightened supermen; they were humans just like us. Like us, they loved books and literature and education; like us, they also were willing to make long-term commitments to the pursuit of their educational goals; perhaps like us, they understood this pursuit as being central to their religious lives.

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the ideals of the authors of the works; and if, by the fact that the works were copied, read and preserved, we can assume that their later readers to some degree shared these ideals; then it follows that by examining these ideals, we can move a step closer to understanding how these people saw themselves, or their potential selves, and what characteristics they valued. I would still argue that we can look at the ideals presented in these works as reflections. These are not necessarily reflections of the readers or authors of this sort of literature as they were, but rather of the readers and authors as they wanted to be, or sometimes as they did not want to be. If so, then through examination of the critiques and ideals presented in the Nag Hammadi revelation dialogues we come that much closer to understanding the people who read these works, and who assembled the Nag Hammadi collection, which contains so many of them. I would like to point out again the degree to which these assessments of character aim towards teaching their readers how to become good students. As we have seen, they teach the importance of asking good questions, of taking responsibility to ensure that one properly grasps the material being presented, of not allowing one’s emotions to interfere with one’s learning, of critically examining source material, and so on – all lessons that would apply in any scholastic context. The educational aspect of esoteric study was obviously very important for the collectors of this material; and this is evident not just from the revelation dialogues, but also from a beautiful passage in Gos. Truth 19.18 (and following), where we find a presentation of Christ as both the instructor, or pedagogue, and as himself being the model of proper character development. The author writes that “he [Christ] became an instructor, at peace and occupied with classrooms.” This is the ideal state for a gnostic student, or indeed any student; the perfect contrast to the unstable tendency to be disturbed or shaken by new information, a tendency that is vehemently denounced in Gos. Jud. 34.18-26 and elsewhere in gnostic literature.20 In other words, part of Christ’s pedagogical duties involved modelling proper behaviour for his students. The link between proper character and learning could not be more clearly expressed, though it receives considerable elaboration in the revelation dialogues, as we have seen. The Gospel of Thomas for instance promises the most extravagant of rewards for the solution to the problem that the Saviour sets his students; in the Gospel of Judas, disciples are reproved for their inappropriate responses as learners; the Apocryphon of James is almost single-mindedly concerned with teaching its readers the proper way to learn; the Book of Thomas piously 20

See on this Michael Allen Williams, The Immovable Race: A Gnostic Designation and the Theme of Stability in Late Antiquity, NHS 29 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985).

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presents us with a protagonist who is an ideal student; the praise of Mary in the Dialogue of the Saviour is based on her talents as a pupil; in the Apocalypse of Paul, Paul’s education depends on his ability to awaken his mind and become receptive to the teachings he is given; and so on and on. When we speak of the Nag Hammadi collectors, we are clearly dealing with a community that valued learning and self-improvement. For these people, a significant part of Christ’s teaching, even of his salvific activity, had to do with instruction in becoming a better student and a better person. This puts a high value on education! Perhaps some – then and now – would consider the Nag Hammadi collectors to be heretics and nihilists, but whatever the truth of that designation, we see here evidence that they were also scholars and students who appreciated these pedagogical guides in narrative form, the praises and rebukes within the revelation dialogues.

Summary

In this discussion, I have not intended to present anything entirely new, any radical discoveries. Instead, I shall be satisfied if I have done no more than expose a somewhat different way of looking at these familiar revelation dialogues. I hope, first of all, to have made a persuasive case for an expansion of our understanding of the genre, so as to include the praises and rebukes (along with exhortations, assessments and other behavioural concerns along with the stereotypical setting and esoteric teachings), as formal elements of the genre. Such an expansion would be advantageous in two ways. On the one hand, it would align our scholarly concerns more closely with the concerns of the authors and readers of these texts; on the other hand, it would permit us to view them as unities, rather than as all-important esoteric teachings surrounded by narrative filler. Second, form and function being closely allied, I would also hope that this expansion of the form of this sort of literature might lead us to consider its function in a different light. Perhaps these dialogues are not only concerned with passing on esoteric information; perhaps they, like their New Testament and philosophical models, are concerned as well with moulding the character of their readers. Finally, a desire to mould character suggests the existence of an ideal, a goal towards which one’s efforts are to be directed. And this goal, in turn, has the potential to inform us about the values and aspirations of the authors who composed these texts, and the readers who valued, preserved and read them. In examining these values and aspirations as they are revealed through the

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revelation dialogues – a job, needless to say, for another day – I hope that we will become at least a little better informed as to what the original readers and authors of these texts were like, and who they hoped to become.21

Reference List

Hartenstein, Judith. Die Zweite Lehre: Erscheinungen des Auferstandenen als Rahmen­ erzählungen frühchristlicher Dialoge. TU 146. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000. Jenott, Lance. The Gospel of Judas: Coptic Text, Translation, and Historical Interpretation of the ‘Betrayer’s Gospel.’ STAC 64. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Koester, Helmut. “Dialog und Spruchüberlieferung in den gnostischen Texten von Nag Hammadi.” EvTh 39 (1979): 532-556. Painchaud, Louis / Michael Kaler. “From the Prayer of the Apostle Paul to the Three Steles of Seth: Codices I, XI, and VII from Nag Hammadi Viewed as a Collection.” VC 61/4 (2008): 445-469. Perkins, Pheme. The Gnostic Dialogue: The Early Church and the Crisis of Gnosticism. New York: Paulist Press, 1980. Robinson, James M., ed. The Nag Hammadi Library in English. 3rd edition. San Fran­ cisco: Harper and Row, 1988. Rudolph, Kurt. “Der gnostische ‘Dialog’ als literarisches Genus.” In Probleme der koptischen Literatur. Edited by Peter Nagel. WBUH. Halle-Wittenberg: Martin Luther Universität Halle-Wittenberg, 1968, 85-107. Turner, John D. “The Book of Thomas and the Platonic Jesus.” In Colloque international “L’Évangile selon Thomas et les textes de Nag Hammadi” (Québec 29-31 mai 2003). Edited by Louis Painchaud / Paul-Hubert Poirer. BCNH 8. Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval; Louvain / Paris: Éditions Peeters, 2007, 599-634. Waldstein, Michael / Frederik Wisse, ed. The Apocryphon of John: Synopsis of Nag Hammadi Codices II,1; III,1; and IV,1 with BG 8502,2. NHMS 33. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995. Williams, Michael Allen. The Immovable Race: A Gnostic Designation and the Theme of Stability in Late Antiquity. NHS 29. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1985. 21

In this paper, I have used a lowercase g in the spelling of gnosticism. I do this because spelling Gnosticism with a capital G strongly suggests that we are speaking of a singular, well-defined and bounded phenomenon, which we are not - such a phenomenon never existed. Instead, we are speaking of a modern designation for a loose collection of intellectual/literary/exegetical traditions, and hence the use of lowercase g is appropriate.

of Ancient Index OfIndex Ancient Sources Sources

225

Index of Ancient Sources 1. Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Gen 1-3

203

Exod 12:1-28 12:43-50 23:18 23:19 23:25 30:10 34:16 34:26

94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29

Lev 1:1-9 1:14-17 3:1-5 4:27-31 7:1-8 11:29-35 11:31-32 11:36 12:1-8 12:32 13:1-14:53 15:1-5 15:4-6 15:9-11 15:13 15:16 15:19-30 15:19-27 15:31 17-26 17:1-34 18:19 19:23-25 20:18 21:13-15 22:6-7 27:30-31

94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 100 203 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29

Num 9:1-4 15:17-21 18:13 18:21-24 19:14-15 23:7 29:7-11 31:23

94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 34 94n29 94n29

Deut 7:3-4 14:29 17:1-8 24:8 26:1-11 26:12-15

94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29 94n29

Josh 7:34 9:26 16:9 24:9 33:11

137n49, 142n70 96n31 137n49, 142n70 34 137n49

Ezra 9:1-2 9:15

94n29 94n29

Neh 7:5 13:23-27

96n31 94n29

Job 5:17-27 27:1 29:1

49n32 34 34

Ps 1-51 81 (82)

16n79 179n22

Prov 1-7

29, 31-34

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_012

226 Prov (cont.) 1:1-6 1:1 1:2-3 1:4 1:5 1:6 1:8-19 2 2:1-11 2:1-4 2:5-19 2:5-8 2:9-11 2:12-22 2:12-15 2:16-19 2:20-22 3:21-25 4:10-19 4:20-27 5:1-23 5:15-18 5:15-18a 5:18b-20 6:16-19 6:19 6:20-35 6:27-29 7:1-27 7:6-23 10-31 10:1-22:16 10:1 10:15 11:1 11:13 11:22 12:9 12:11 13:1b 13:5 13:7 13:14 14:4a 14:12 14:15a 14:16

Index Of Ancient Sources 29 29 29 29 29 34, 48, 48n27, 49 34 32-34 33 33 32 33 33 33 33 33 33 34 34 34 34 34 48 48 48 49n32 34 34 34 34, 48 46n25 34, 34n9 44 44 51 44 50 41 43 39 46, 46n25, 47 36-37 45 38, 38n15 43 39 43



14:20 14:27 15:1 15:13a 15:17 15:20 15:23 15:33 16:2 16:8 16:16 16:18 16:25 16:32 17:4 17:7 17:16 17:22 17:26 18:11 18:12 19:2 19:5 19:9 19:10 19:13b 19:20 19:22b 20:10 20:14 20:18 20:19 21:2 21:19 21:27 22:1a 22:3 22:6 22:17-24:22 23:6-8 23:9 23:22-23 23:24-25 23:31-35 24:12 24:23-34 24:23 24:30-34

36-37 45 37 40, 43 42 44 40 45 43 42 41 44 43 41 35n10 41 39 40 41 44 44-45 40 43 44 41 39 35 40 51 37 35n10 35n10, 44 43 42 40 40 43 35 29, 34 36 35 36 36 36 40 34 43 48

227

Index Of Ancient Sources

25-29 25:6-7 25:13 25:13a-b 25:14 25:15b 25:19 25:25 25:27 26 26:1 26:4-5 26:11 26:14 26:15 26:17 26:27 27:1 27:5 27:6 27:7b 27:23-24 28:12 28:19 28:21 28:28 29:5 30 30:5-16 30:18-19 30:21-23 30:24-28 30:29-31

34, 34n9 35 39 39 50 39 39 39 40 45-46 37 45-46 37 37-39, 39n18 39 37-38 40 35 42 47 39 35 43 43 43 43 38, 38n15 48 48 48-49, 49n32 48 48 48

Qoh 7:1 7:2a-b 7:3

42 42 42-43

Song 4:12 4:15

48 48

Isa 14:4 24 24:8

34 142 138, 138n52, 139, 139n60, 140, 142



30:26 40:3

141 67n34

Jer 9 9:1 9:2ff. 25 25:10

141n67 141n67 141n67 142 137-138, 138nn50-51, 139, 139n60, 140, 140n63

Ezek 17:2 25-48 26 26:13 27 27:1-28 27:1 44:22

34 141 142 138, 138n53, 139, 139n60, 140 142 142 142 94n29

Hos 6:2

48

Amos 1-2

48

Mic 2:12-13 5:4 5:5

141n67 48 48

Sir 25:7-11 26:5-6 26:6-9 26:28-29 39:3 50:25-26 50:26

49n32 49n32 49n32 49n32 49n35 49n32 49n32

2. Dead Sea Scrolls 1QS (Community Rule) 1 58n13 1:1-6a 68, 70 1:4-5 68 1:5 68

228 1QS (cont.) 1:7b-9a 1:8 1:8b-9a 1:11-14 1:11b-12 2:19-25 3:13-4:26 5-10 5 5:1-7 5:1-4a 5:1b-4a 5:3-5 5:7-8 5:8-10 5:8b-9a 5:10b-11a 5:23-25 6 6:2-4 6:3-8a 6:7b-8a 6:8b-25 6:8b-23 6:8b-10a 6:8b 6:13b-16a 6:14-23 7:3-4 7:19b-25 8 8:6 8:10b-16a 8:12b-16a 9:6-9

Index Of Ancient Sources 59 68 68 69 64 65 69 68 58n13 64 65 60, 60n17 68 68 69 61 60n17 68 66 68 64-65 69 65 64 65-66 65 60 68 68 64, 66 58n13 69 64 67 69

3. Rabbinic Literature m. Bik.

94n29

m. Hal.

94n29

m. Kelim 1:1-5 1:1 1:2 1:3

94n29 95, 95n30, 98, 100 95n30 95n30 95n30



1:4 1:5 1:6-9a 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:9a

95n30 95n30 91, 94 91 91-92 92 93

m. Ma’aś

94n29

m. Ma’aś. S.

94n29

m. Mid.

94n29

m. Miqw.

94n29

m. Neg.

94n29

m. Nid.

94n29

m. Pesah.

94n29

m. Qidd. 4:1-8 4:1 4:2

94n29 96, 96n31 96n31, 97 96n31

m. T. Yom

94n29

m. Tehar.

94n29

m. Yad. 4

94n29 99

m. Yoma

94n29

m. Zabim

94n29

m. Zebah.

94n29

4. New Testament Q 10:2-12 12:27

184n39 183n38

Matthew 1:1

180

229

Index Of Ancient Sources

4:23 5:17 5:19 5:21 5:22 5:33 5:38 5:41 5:43 6:25-33 7:4 10:1-14 11:15 11:28 11:29 13:9 13:43 19:16-26

157n41 157n41 175 157n41 175 157n41 157n41 175 157n41 183n38 189 184n39 157n41 178n20 178n20 157n41 157n41 122

Mark 1:1 1:21 4:9 4:23 6:6-13 7:16 10:31

180 157n41 157n41 157n41 184n39 157n41 181

Luke 1:1 3:12 6:42a 8:8 9:1-6 12:22-31 14:35b

180 157n41 189 157n41 184n39 183n38 157n41

John 3:16 3:17-19 5:31-40 5:45 8:40 8:44 9:39 12:10 14:13-14 14:16

113n19 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114



14:26 15:16 15:26 16:23-26 18:37

114 114 114 114 114

Acts 13:1 17:29 18:3 19:24 19:28

11 107n1 107n1 107n1 107n1

Rom 10:14 10:17 12:7 16:17-18

157 157, 157n42 155n31 160n62

1 Cor 1:28 4:8 4:13 4:17 5:1 8:3 12:28 15:35-44 16:10-11

207 178 207 154n25 157 181n30 11, 155n31 183 154n25

2 Cor 3 3:7 5 5:1-5 5:2 5:3

122 122 188 183 188 188

Gal 1:13 3:5 4:9 5-6 5:22-23

157 157 181n30 123 123

Eph 1:13 4:14

157 165n77

230

Index Of Ancient Sources

Eph (cont.) 4:20-21 5:22-6:9 5:33-6:9 6:4

157 153 123, 123n41 13n62

Phil 3:20

205

Col 1:15-18 1:16 1:23 3:18-4:1

182 157 157 123, 153

1 Thess 2:13

157

1 Tim 1:2 1:3 1:4 1:5 1:6 1:7-10 1:7 1:9 1:10-11 1:10 1:15 1:18 1:20 2:1 2:2 2:7 2:8-15 2:8 2:9-15 2:9-11 2:9 2:10 2:11-12 2:11 2:12 2:15 2:15a 3:1

149, 154 148-150, 150n10, 154, 158, 159, 162 151 151 151, 160 151 150n10, 160 160 150-151 150, 151n13 158 149, 154, 159 151, 154, 159 151, 159 151, 164 149, 150n10, 154n26, 159 159 151 155n33 151 155n35, 164 151, 155 164n72 164 150n10, 155, 166n83 165 155n35 151, 158



3:2-7 3:2 3:4-5 3:4 3:5 3:6 3:7 3:11 3:12 3:14 3:15-16 3:15 3:16 4:1-3 4:1-2 4:1 4:3 4:4 4:6-16 4:6-7 4:6 4:7-8 4:7 4:9 4:11 4:12 4:12a 4:12b 4:13 4:14-16a 4:14 4:15-16 4:16 4:16b 5 5:1-2 5:1 5:3-6:2a 5:3-25 5:3 5:4 5:5 5:6 5:8 5:10 5:13-15 5:13

151 150, 150n10, 155, 155n31 155 165 165 159 164 159 165 158 152 148-149, 151, 164 158 149-150 151 150n10, 158 151 158-159 149, 154 159 150n10, 151, 154, 154n26, 159 151 151, 154 158 150n10, 153, 153n22, 154, 160 151, 154, 160, 166 154 154 150n10 166 154 165-166 150n10, 151, 166 156 153n22, 155n29 149, 151, 153 154, 166 151 153 151, 166 151-152, 153n21, 159, 165-166 151, 159, 165 164 151-152, 159, 166 151, 155, 165 164 149, 159, 164, 164n72

231

Index Of Ancient Sources

5:14-15 5:14 5:15 5:16 5:17-22 5:17 5:19 5:20 5:25 6:1-2a 6:1-2 6:1 6:2b 6:3-4 6:3 6:4-5 6:8 6:9-10 6:11-12 6:12 6:14 6:17 6:18 6:19 6:20

151 150, 155, 164-165 151 151, 165 154n28 150, 150n10, 151, 153n21, 155, 155n29, 159, 166 151, 159 166 151 166 151, 153 150n10, 164-166 150n10, 153, 153n22, 154, 160 151-152, 152nn15-16, 160 149, 150, 150n10, 151n13, 162 151 151 151 165-166 151, 159 159 151 151 151 149, 151, 154, 158, 160

2 Tim 1:5 1:11 1:13 2:2 2:14 2:24-25 2:24 3:6-7 3:6 3:10 3:14-15 3:15 3:16 4:2 4:3 4:3-4

155-156 150n10, 154n26 151n13 150n10, 155n31 156n38 155n31 150n10, 155 164n72 163n67 150n10, 154 154n24 155-156 13, 150n10, 166 150n10, 156n38 150n10, 151n13 156n38

Titus 1:9 1:11

150n10, 151n13, 155, 155n30 150n10, 163n67



1:13 2:1 2:2-8 2:2 2:3-4 2:3 2:7 2:8 2:9-10 2:10

151n13 150n10, 151n13, 166 153 151n13 155-156, 166n83 150n10 150n10, 154n24, 166 151n13 153 150n10, 166

Heb 2:14 3:1 3:11 4:14 5:10 6:20 7:24 7:25 7:27 8:1 9:14 9:15 9:24 9:26 9:28 10:21 11:10 12:5 12:7 12:8 12:11 12:24 13:12

114 114 178n20 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 114 107n1 13n62 13n62 13n62 13n62 114 114

1 Pet 3:1-7 3:3

123 155n35

1 John 2:1 3:23

114 114

Rev 1:1 1:3 2:9

180 157n44 136

232 Rev (cont.) 12-22 14:13 17-22 18 18:1-3 18:4-20 18:9-20 18:9-19 18:21-24 18:21-23 18:21 18:22-23 18:22-23b 18:22-23a 18:22 18:22a 18:22b 18:22c 18:23 18:23a 18:23b-24 21:5

Index Of Ancient Sources 132n28 178n20 128n5 128, 128n6, 129, 129n9, 130n14, 134, 134n36, 134n38, 137n47, 142, 142n75 128, 129n12 128 129n9, 129n12 129n12, 130n14 127-128, 132n26, 133n28, 133n32, 134, 134n34, 135 129n12, 130n13 141n65 138n51 128n6 22, 127-129, 129n9, 129n11, 130-133, 133n28, 136-137, 137n47, 138-139, 139n57, 141, 141n65, 142-143 107n1, 132, 138, 138n53, 140 138, 138n52, 139-140 140 138n52, 140 132 138n51, 140 129, 132 115n24

5. Apostolic Fathers Barn. 18:1

161n6

2 Clem. 12:2

187

Did. Incipit 1:1-5 11:1-2

180 161n63 161

Diogn. 3:5 4:1

87n23 90n27

Herm Vis. 8:3

157n44

Ign. Eph. 16.1-2

160n62

Ign. Magn. 3.1

154

Mart. Pol. 9.2

179n23

Papias fragment 3 section 4

157n43

6. Nag Hammadi Literature Ap. Jas. 3.8 3.10 4.8-10 5.6-9 7.10-14 7.14

215 215 215 215 215 215

Gos. Thom. Incipit 1 2 3 3.5 3.37 4 4.2 5 6 7 9 11 11.3 11.4 13 14 14.5 16 20 21

179, 179n24, 185n44 176n16, 190 176n16, 178, 178n28, 194 176n16, 181, 181n30, 205 181 196 181, 195-196 189 181n20, 182, 182nn35-36 196-197 199 184n42 195, 198n12, 199 181 179n23 195, 197 197 184n42 198, 198n12 184n42 186n47

233

Index Of Ancient Sources

21.9 22 23 25 26-27 26 27 28 30 31 32.14-19 33 33.5-8 33.18-19 34 35 36-37 36 37 38 39 40 44 47 48 49 51 53 60 61 64 65 67 71 76 77.1 77.2-3 77.3 87

184n41 186nn47-48, 187, 195, 198, 198n12 198, 198n12 196n7, 198 22-23 180, 184n42, 189, 196n7, 198 180, 189 189, 189n57 176n16, 179, 179nn22-23, 182, 182n33, 189, 195, 198, 198nn12-13 189 189, 218 189-190 189, 218 218 179n22, 198, 198n12 195 22-23, 185-186, 186nn45-46, 188-189 180, 180n27, 183, 183n38, 184, 184n39, 185-186, 186nn45-46, 188-189 180, 180n27, 184, 184n39, 185-186, 186n45, 186n48, 187, 187n51, 188, 188n52, 189 195 196n7 196n7 195 195, 198, 198n12 195, 198, 198n12 195 196 207 199 195, 198, 198n12 195 184n42, 195 195 183n37 195 182, 182n33 182, 182n33 176n16 195, 198, 198n12



99 100 104.3 106 107 112 113 114

184n42 184n42 184n41 195, 198, 198n12 195 195n4 196 197

Gos. Phil. 57.9-19

183n37

Bk. Thom. 2 142.3ff.

180n25 216

Dial. Sav. 120.2-5 138.16-19 139.12 140.17-18 142.11-15

218 218 218 218 218

Ap. John 25.16 25.18-23 26.25 27.14-17

216 216 216 216

Apoc. Paul 18.22-23 19.10-11

218 218

1 Apoc. Jas. 28.5-29.8 31.2-32.8

218 218

Ep. Pet. Phil. 135.3-136.15 215

7. Codex Tchacos Gos. Jud. 33.26-34.6 34.18-26 35.2-9 42.6-8

217 217, 222 217 217

234

Index Of Ancient Sources

8. New Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Acts Paul 3:7 3:8 3:9 3:10

164 164 165 164

9. Other Ancient Literature Apuleius, Metam. 11 5n19 11.5 5n19 11.6 5n19 11.7 5n19 11.15 5n19 11.19 5n19 11.21-22 5n19 11.22-23 5 11.24 5n19 11.27-28 5n19 Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 7 123-124, 124n42 8.12.5 165n75 9.2.8 165n75



3.9.64.1 3.9.66.1-2 3.13.92.2 5.14.96.3

187 187 186n47, 187 178

Demosthenes, Fals. leg. 339-340 162, 162n66 Diogenes, Lives 6.40 111n12 Epicrates fragments 2.287 111n12 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.41-42 174 Hermogenes, Progymnasmata 7-8 135n42 9-10 135n42 11-14 135n42 11 135n42 14-18 135n42 19-20 135n42 26-27 135n42 Hierocles, On Duties 4.25.53 165n75

Aristotle, Rhet. 3.19.3 129n8

Hippolytus, Apost. Trad. 16-20 15

Augustine, Conf. 1-8 15n74

Hippolytus, Refut. 5.8.32 181, 181n32

Cicero, De or. 2.332

134n39

Horace, Ep. 1.1.106-108 178n19

Cicero, Inv. 1.55 1.106

133n30 129n8

Josephus, A.J. 14 97n32 14.223-267 90n27

Cicero, Nat. de. 1.19 119, 119n34

Origen, Cels. 3.55

160n58, 163

Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 2.9.45.5 178, 178n18 3.5.45.3 187 3.9.63.1-2 187, 187n50

Plato, Alc. I 108d 125d 128b

109 109 109

235

Index Of Ancient Sources Plato, Apol. 20b

110n10

Plato, Symp. 202e

109

Plato, Crat. 423d

109

Plato, Theaet. 210b

109

Philo, Agr. 65

205

Philo, Mos. 1.157

207

Philo, Spec. 2.225

165n75

Plato, Euthyd. 290b 109 291e 109 Plato, Euthyphr. 14e 109 Plato, Gorg. 500e 501a 517e

109-110 109-110 109-110

Plato, Leg. 892b

109

Plato, Phaedr. 261a 109 Plato, Pol. 258 259e 260c 264d 267b 268e 300e 311c

112n14 109 109 112n14 109 116n26 109 112

Plato, Prot. 357b

109

Plato, Soph. 219a-d 219c-d 219c 265a 265e

111n13 111 109 109 111

Quintilian, Inst. 1.9.3-4 199 6 133n30 6.1.9-10 135n40 6.1.12-20 135n40 6.1.21-35 135n40 6.1.50 135n40 Regula Magistri (RM) c. 2 117-118 Theon, Progymnasmata 2.60 4n15, 5n16 2.65 135n42 2.76-78 135m42 2.93-94 135n42 2.103 4n15 2.106-109 135n42 2.109-112 135n42 2.113 135n42 2.116-118 135n42 2.120-128 135n42 2.128-130 135n42 100P-101P 135n42 109P-110P 139n55 111P-112P 135n42

236

Index of Modern Authors

Index Of Modern Authors

Index of Modern Authors Adams, Sean A. 9n44 Adams, Seth 139, 139n57 Agamben, Giorgio 121n39 Allen, Leslie C.  141n65, 141n67, 142n70 Alston, William P.  83n14 Alter, Robert 50n38 Arnal, William 23, 94-211, 199n16 Ascough, Richard S. 208n35 Atrridge, Harold W.  179n23, 198n13 Aune, David E.  128nn5-6, 129n12, 134n34, 137nn46-47, 138nn50-52 Bagnall, Roger S.  172n4, 173n5, 174n9 Balch, David L.  153n19 Balla, Peter 165n75  Barclay, John M.G.  154n27 Barclay, William 11, 12n54, 12n56, 15n77, 18n91 Batten, Alicia J.  154n35 Beale, G.K.  131n22, 136, 136n44, 137, 137n49, 138nn52-53, 139nn58-59 Beard, Mary 201n22 Bellah, Robert N.  204n29 Berger, Peter L.  80, 80n9, 82n13 Bertram, Georg 2n6, 10nn46-47, 11, 12n54, 12n56, 13, 13n65 Binzen, Jean 172n3 Bird, Frederick B.  84-85, 85n19 Blount, Brian 133, 133n28, 139n60, 139n64 Blumell, Lincoln H.  173n7 Bonner, Stanley F.  9n40, 10n51, 13n60, 67n35, 131n18, 134n39, 135n40 Botha, Peter J.J.  156n39, 157nn44-45, 158nn46-51, 159n55, 160n60, 161n65, 162n66 Boxall, Ian 133, 133n28, 131n34 Braun, Willi 201n21 Brooke, George J.  67n34 Brownlee, William H. 59n15 Buchanan, George W.  137n47 Burridge, Richard A. 131n21 Byrskog, Samuel  12n59, 13n67 Cargill, Robert 58n13, 63n28 Carley, Keith W.  141n65

Casey, Edward 56n6, 57n7, 62n21, 63, 63n24, 65n31, 66, 66n33, 67 Charles, R.H.  128n5, 129n9, 133, 133n33, 138nn52-53 Charlesworth, James H. 67n34 Childs, Brevard 142n71 Christes, Johannes 2n6, 3n8, 3n10, 10n47, 10n49, 11nn52-53, 12nn54-56, 13n62, 13n67, 15nn75-76, 17n84 Civil, Miguel 2n3 Claassens, Juliana 141n66 Clifford, Richard J. 46n25 Cloke, Jillian 14n70 Cohen, Shaye D.  61, 61n18, 62n23 Collins, Adela Y.  128n4, 129n9, 130nn14-15, 133n28, 134n34, 136n43 Conzelmann, Hans 148n4 Cool, Linda 164n71 Cooper, Adam G.  157n42 Crenshaw, James L.  6n22, 6nn24-25, 7, 7n27, 7n30, 7nn32-33, 8, 8n34, 8n39, 30, 30n5, 48nn28-29, 49n34, 50n36 Cresswell, Tim 56n6, 62, 62n22, 63, 63n25, 63nn27-28, 66n32 Cromhout, Markus 82n13 Crossan, John Dominic 18, 18n92 Crouch, James E.  153n19 Damm, Alex  1-30, 11n52, 14n68, 19n93, 22, 127-146 D’Angelo, Mary Rose 152n15 Davies, Stevan L.  203n26 DeConick, April D.  175n13, 179n23, 184n39 Delorme, Jean 133n28, 134n34 Dempsey, Carol J. 141n67 DeSilva, David A 127, 127nn1-2, 128, 128n4, 129, 129nn7-12, 130, 130nn15-17, 131, 131nn18-21, 132, 132nn24-26, 133nn28-30, 134n35, 134nn37-38, 136n43 Desjardins, Michel  1, 19-20, 20nn95-96, 21, 21n97 Des Places, Édouard 108, 108nn3-5 Dibelius, Martin  148n4 De Vos, J. Cornelis 62n23

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_013

237

Index Of Modern Authors Dewey, Joanna 148n3 Dieni, Mario  65, 65n30 Dimitrovsky, Haim Z.  6n25, 7n28, 7nn30-31, 7n33, 8n36 Donegani, Isabelle 133n28, 134n34 Douglas, Mary  80, 80n10, 88n24, 90n26 Downing, F. Gerald 131nn21-22 Droge, Arthur K. 203n26 Droogers, André 83n14 Dubisch, Jill 164n71 Dutch, Robert  4n11, 9n93 Eberle, Luke 118n31 Ebner, Eliezer 137n47 Ego, Beata 3n8, 6n23 Ehorn, Seth 139n57 Eisele, Wilfred 175n13, 178n20, 179n22, 180n27, 181n30, 182n35, 185n43, 186n46, 188nn52-54 Ellingworth, Paul 114n22 Entriken, J. Nicholas 57n10 Evans-Pritchard, E.E.  80n10, 82n13 Fee, Gordon 124n43 Ferguson, Everett 2, 2n6, 3n8, 10nn47-48, 11n53, 12n55, 13n62, 13n67, 14n72, 15n73, 15n75, 15n77, 16n80, 17n84, 18n90 Fishbane, Simcha 85n20 Fitzmyer, Joseph A.  175n13 Fox, Michael V.  46n28, 47n26 Franzmann, Majella 17n86, 18nn88-89 Freedman, David Noel 175n13, 183n36 Fuhrmann, Sebastian 155n35 Gardiner, Iain 17n86, 18n88 Gathercole, Simon J. 176n16, 195n3, 199n14, 203n27 Geertz, Clifford 80, 80n10, 81, 81n11, 82n13, 84n17, 88n24 Gemeinhardt, Peter 6n23 Gerhardsson, Birger 10n46, 12, 12n56, 12n59 Gill, Sam  57n10 Goldin, Judah 8n38 Golka, Friedemann 7n33 Goodacre, Mark  176n14, 181n29, 184, 184n40, 203n27 Goodenough, Erwin R.  76n2, 77n4 Grant, Frederick C.  2n6, 10n47

Grant, Robert 175n13, 183n36 Grenfell, Bernard Pyne 182n34 Griffin, Paul. W.  141, 141nn68-69 Grimes, Ronald L.  57n10 Grosvenor, Mary  138n53 Günther, Sebastian 6n23 Haines-Eitzen, Kim 16, 16n82 Hammond, Caroline 15n74 Harland, Philip A. 208n35 Hart, Trevor 14n70 Hartenstein, Judith 213n1 Hatch, Edwin 12n54 Hayden, Dolores 66n33 Hedrick, Charles W.  196n7, 203n28 Heil, Christoph 183n38 Heim, Knut Martin 43n21, 45n22, 46n25 Hempel, Charlotte 61n19 Herzer, Jens 149n5 Hezser, Catherine 6n22, 8, 8n37, 9nn40-41 Hock, Ronald F.  9n40, 9n44, 12n57, 13n60 Horman, John 171-193, 175n12, 180n26, 181n29, 181n31, 184nn41-42, 189n56 Hoskins, Gareth 63, 63n25, 63nn27-28, 66n32 Huizenga, Annette Bourland 150nn8-10, 154n23, 154n26, 156n37, 158nn52-53, 159n55, 160nn59-61, 163n67, 164n72, 165n74 Hunt, Arthur Surridge 182n34 Hurtado, Larry W. 173n6, 175n13, 185n44 Irwin, Terence 110, 110nn9-10 Jaeger, Werner 11, 11n52, 12n54, 14, 14n69 Jenott, Lance 217n7 Johnson, Luke Timothy 148n4, 149n5 Kaler, Michael 23, 212-224, 214n10 Kartzow, Marianne Bjelland 159n55 Kasser, R.  175n11 Kennedy, George A. 4n15, 10n51, 11n52, 13n61, 130n17, 131n19, 131n21, 132n24, 133n28, 134n36, 134n39, 135nn41-42 Kloppenborg, John S. 152n17, 199n14, 200n18, 203n27 Knibb, Michael 60n16 Koester, Helmut 214, 214n6 Kraft, Heinrich 128n5, 130n13, 133n28, 133n33

238 Lausberg, Heinrich 129n8, 132n24, 133n29, 134nn38-39, 135nn40-42, 136n45 Lawson, Thomas E.  83n14 Lefevre, Henri 57n10 Leinweber, David 11n52, 12n55, 16n80, 137n46 Lemaire, André 2n5, 6n21, 6n25, 7nn26-31, 7n33, 8n35, 9, 9nn42-43, 137n47 Lightstone, Jack N. 21-22, 76-106, 79n7, 84-85, 85nn19-20, 93n28 Lilje, Hans 133, 133n27, 140n62 Lincoln, Andrew T.  113n30 Luckmann, Thomas 80, 80n9, 82n13 MacDonald, Dennis R. 18-19, 19n93, 159n57, 164n73 MacDonald, Margaret Y. 148n4, 150n8, 153n18, 154nn32-34, 158n54, 161n63, 163nn67-68, 164nn69-71, 165nn75-76, 165nn78-80, 166n83 Mack, Burton L.  130n17, 131n18, 134n36, 134n39 Malherbe, Abraham J. 151n13, 155n29 Malpas, Jeff E.  56n6, 62n21 Manson, T.W.  12n59 Marrou, Henri I.  2n6, 4n12, 9, 9n44, 10, 10n47, 10nn49-51, 11, 11nn52-53, 12n58, 13n60, 13n62, 13nn66-67, 14, 14n72, 15n77, 16nn80-81, 17n84, 19n94, 67n35 Marshall, I. Howard 148n4 Marshall, John W.  149n6 Massey, Doreen 58n11, 62n20, 66 May, James M.  134n36, 134n39 Mazzaferri, Frederick David 142n75 McCready, Wayne O. 21, 55-75, 58n12, 59n14, 81, 82n12 McLaughlin, John L. 21, 29-54, 49n32  McNabe, Justine 164n71 Ménard, J.-É. 176n20, 180n27, 182n33, 182n35 Merkel, Helmut 3n8, 6n23 Metso, Sarianna 60n16, 61n19 Metzger, Bruce M.  174n8, 174n10, 175n11 Miller, Stuart S.  78n6 Miroshnikov, Ivan 201n20 Moffatt, James 114n22 Moore, George Foote 77, 77nn3-5, 78 Morgan, Teresa 3n10, 6n21, 10n51, 67n35, 131n22

Index Of Modern Authors Moyise, Steve 137nn47-48 Muirhead, Ian A. 10n46, 11-12, 12n54, 12n59, 13, 13nn63-64, 13nn66-67, 14n70 Müller, Hans-Peter 50n36 Murphy, Frederick J.  129n9, 136n43 Murphy, Roland E. 48n29, 49n34 Nel, Philip Johannes 35n10, 48n28, 49n34 Neusner, Jacob 77n5, 78 Niehoff, Maren 202n25 Nongbri, Brett 1-2, 2n2 Novak, Joseph A.  22, 107-126, 113n16 O’Donnell, Hugh C.M. 12n54 Olson, David R. 209,  209n36 Osiek, Carolyn 164n71 Otto, Eckhart 4n15 Padilla, Osvaldo 11n52 Pagels, Elaine H.  203n26 Painchaud, Louis 214n10 Patterson, Stephen J.  184n39, 189, 189n55, 195n3, 201n20, 203nn27-28 Patillon, Michel  131n21, 139n55 Perrin, Nicholas 189n57 Plisch, Uwe-Karsten 195nn2-3, 196n8, 197nn9-11 Pred, Allan  64n29 Prigent, Pierre 130n13 Quinn, Jerome 148n4 Quispel, Gilles 175n13, 186n47, 186n49, 187 Reinhartz, Adele 81, 82n12 Relph, Edward 57n10 Rengstorf, Karl H.  150n11 Rhoads, David M.  148n3 Richards, William A.  149n5 Riley, Gregory J.  183, 183n37, 188n53 Robinson, James M.  183n28, 214n11 Rohrbaugh, Richard L. 152n17 Roloff, Jürgen 128nn4-5, 129n9, 133n33, 137n47, 141n65 Roochnik, David 109, 109n7, 110, 110nn9-11 Roth, Wolfgang M.W.  48nn30-31 Royalty Jr., Robert M.  128nn4-5, 129n11, 130n14, 133, 133n28, 133nn31-32, 134n34, 137n47, 138n52, 139n55, 140n61

239

Index Of Modern Authors Rudolph, Kurt 17nn86-87, 18n88, 213, 213nn2-3 Sack, Robert David 56n6, 62n21 Safrai, S.  6n25, 7n28, 7n31, 8n38, 137n47 Sahlins, Marshall  200n17 Sanders, E.P.  12n56, 57n9, 76, 76n1, 77, 77n5, 78-81, 82n12, 87, 102 Satake, Akira 129n12, 133, 133n28, 134n34, 140n62 Sauer, Georg 48n30 Sayre, Kenneth 111n12 Scherbenske, Eric W.  202n25 Schmeller, Thomas  14n68 Schneider, Gerhard 157n41 Schnelle, Udo 10, 10n45, 13-14, 14n68, 16-17, 17n83 Scholer, David M.  154n35 Schröter, Jens 183n38 Scott, Ian W.  57n8 Scott, R.B.Y.  38, 38nn13-15, 39, 39n19, 40, 49n33 Seaman, David 63, 63n29 Shorey, Paul  111n12 Skehan, Patrick  33nn7-8 Smail, Daniel Lord  209n37 Smith, Claire S.  150nn9-11, 160n59, 161n63 Smith, Morton  61, 61n18 Smith, Jonathan Z.  57n10, 80, 80n10, 82n13, 205n31, 206, 207n33 Snell, Daniel C.  43n21, 45n22 Snyder, H. Gregory 3n7, 14n71, 18n91 Soja, Edward W. 57n10 Stemberger, Günther 9n43 Stowers, Stanley 80, 80n8, 102, 102nn35-36, 106n5 Talmon, Shemaryahu 62n23 Thom, Johan C. 4, 4nn13-14 Till, Walter C.  171, 171nn1-2

Tokarek LaFosse, Mona 22, 147-170, 148n4, 153n21, 154n28, 156n36, 166n82 Torczyner, Harry 50n37 Towner, Philip H.  148n4, 149n5 Townsend, John T.  8nn38-39, 9nn40-41, 10nn50-51, 12n55, 12n58, 137n46 Tropper, Veronika 14n68 Tuan, Yi-Fu 57n10 Tull, Patricia K.  141n65 Turcan, Robert 5n18 Turner, John D.  216, 216n14, 217, 217n16 Tweed, Thomas 21, 55, 55nn1-2, 56, 56nn3-5, 57, 69 Uro, Risto 188n54, 194n1, 195n4, 196n6 Valantasis, Richard 175n13, 178n21, 179n22 Van Ruiten, Jacques 62n23 Vermes, Geza 59n15, 61n19 Verner, David  150n8, 153n20 Wacker, William C. 148n4 Wagener, Ulrike 164n72 Waldstein, Michael 177, 177n17, 215, 215n13 Wayment, Thomas A. 173n7 Westermann, Claus 141n67 Williams, Michael Allen 222n20 Wilson, Bryan C.  83n13, 83n15 Winter, Bruce W.  163n67 Wisse, Frederik 177, 177n15, 215, 215n13 Wisse, Jakob 134n36, 134n39 Witherington III, Ben 130n14, 133n28, 134n34, 136n43, 136n45 Young, Frances 16nn78-79, 154n28 Zerwick, Maximilian 138n53 Zimmerli, Walther 34n9, 141n65, 142, 142nn72-74 Zöckler, Thomas 175n13, 183n36

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Index of Names and Subjects Alexandria 15-16 allegory 16, 48, 202 anger  135-136, 139-143 antinomianism 121-122 Apocalypse of James, First 218, 218n18 Apocalypse of James, Second 218, 218n18 Apocalypse of Paul 218, 223 Apocalypse of Peter 20 Apocryphon of James 212, 214-215, 222 Apocryphon of John 177, 212, 215-216 Apuleius 5, 5n19 ars; ars sancta 117-121 See also techne asceticism 186-188 Augustine, St.  15 Bible (Hebrew Bible and/or New Testament) 7, 8, 8n38, 11-12, 16, 21-22, 29-54, 87, 87n22, 88-102, 107-143, 147-170 See also New Testament; Torah Book of Revelation 127-146 Book of Thomas the Contender 216-217, 222 Cassian, John 186-188 Catholic Christianity 17, 22, 107-170, 173-174 See also religion (Christianity) catechesis 13, 15 Celsus 163 children 149-153, 155-156, 159-160, 162-167 chreia  4, 8n38, 13, 199-200 Christian origins See Bible; Catholic Christianity; Jesus; New Testament; education (Christian; Christian origins); education and religion (Christian, Gnosticism); Gnosticism; religion (Christianity) Christianity, late ancient See Catholic Christianity; education (Christian; Christianity, late ancient); education and religion (Christian, Gnosticism); Gnosticism; religion (Christianity) cleanness/uncleanness 91-101

Clement of Alexandria, St. 186, 186n47, 187-188 Cicero 119, 129n8, 133n30, 134n36, 134n39 Community Rule (1QS) 58-70 See also Dead Sea Scrolls composite citation 139 Coptic language 22-23, 171-193 See also education, Coptic Corpus Hermeticum 201n23 covenant 59, 60-61, 68, 91-99 Dead Sea Scrolls 21, 55-75, 79, 89, 99 See also Community Rule; Qumran Desjardins, Michel 1, 17, 19-21, 147, 194 Dialogue of the Saviour 212, 218, 223 Didache 13, 15, 161, 180 didako (to teach) 13, 148, 150-152, 161 education absence of 22-23, 112-116, 171, 174-177, 180-190 Ancient Near Eastern/Egyptian 6, 171-173 applications of, to address historical, religious or social issues 18-19, 76-106 (esp. 79, 103), 127-146 (esp. 127, 130, 136, 143) aurality/orality and 22, 147-170 (esp. 148, 156-163, 166-167), 173n6 Christian (i.e., religious education) 9-17, 22-24, 107, 117-121, 147-170 (esp. 148, 150ff., 165-167), 194-209, 212-214, 219, 221-224 Christian origins and 9-14, 127-146, 194-211 Coptic 171-190 Greco-Roman 8-9, 9n40, 10-12, 22, 107ff., 124, 127, 130-136, 143, 163, 171, 174-177, 178ff., 190, 199 Hellenism and  8, 107-126, 199 introduction/definitions  2-3, 67, 67n35, 68 Jesus and 11n52, 12, 14n68, 18, 20, 23, 114-115, 121-123, 178, 180-191, 194, 199, 212-224 Judaism/Jewish education 6-9, 12, 21-22, 58-62, 64-70, 130, 136-143

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004384613_014

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Index Of Names And Subjects late ancient Christianity and 14-19, 171-190, 194-224 memorization 12, 199 methods/techniques of 21, 23, 29-54 (esp. 31, 34, 36-52), 68-69, 107, 110-112, 117-121, 124, 212, 214, 219, 221-224 midrash  8, 8n38 Mishnah and 79, 91, 103 monastic 117-121 mûsār (education) 7 of the individual 194-200 paideia (education) 2-3, 10, 13, 171-172 Paul and 12, 122-123, 157, 196, 202n25, 203 pedagogy 21, 29-52, 194ff., 199-200 philosophical 107, 110-113, 123-124, 149ff., 167, 199, 202-203, 212 praises and rebukes  23, 212-224 (esp. 214ff.) rabbinic 8, 76-106 religion and See education and religion; religion (education) rhetorical 13, 15, 22, 127, 130-137, 167, 176n20, 194-200, 205 sacrospace and  70 school(s) 4, 7-9, 11-12, 14-18, 197, 199-202, 204, 208-209 solitary learning 23, 194-200ff. See also learning, literacy; students; teaching; teachers education and religion 1-30 Ancient Near East/Egypt 6, 171ff. Christianity 9-19, 22-24, 117-124, 127, 143, 147-167 (esp. 148ff.), 171ff., 194-211 (esp. 194, 208-209), 212-224 (esp. 212, 214, 219, 221-224) ethical education 68-69, 107, 110-112, 117-124, 149ff., 158-167, 212-224 (esp. 214, 219, 221-224) Gnosticism/Gnostic Christianity 17-18, 23-24, 171ff., 190, 212-224 ideals of 21, 68 in Book of Proverbs 31-52 Judaism 6-9, 12, 21-22, 29-52, 55-75 material place and 60-61 purposes/qualities of 19 related/relationships between 4-6, 51-52, 67-70, 103, 110ff., 127, 143, 194

See also Greek language; literacy; religion (education) Egypt 171, 193 Christian growth in 174 eusebeia 2, 152 exegesis 16, 61, 68-69, 201-205 See also education Ezekiel 138, 140, 142 figures (literary) 48-49 First Letter to Timothy 22 Gnostic revelation dialogues 212-224 as window on communities 212, 221-224 praises and rebukes in 212-224 (esp. 214, 219-224) Gnosticism/Gnostic Christianity 17-18, 22-24, 171ff., 175-178, 175n13, 176n14, 178nn19-21, 183n36, 206, 212-224 God 13, 22, 29, 31, 59, 64, 70, 96, 100-101, 114, 116, 119, 152, 179, 179n23, 189, 198n13 Gospels, canonical 13, 18-19, 22-23, 113-114, 174, 175n12 Gospel of the Egyptians 186, 186nn47-48, 187, 187n50, 188 Gospel of Judas  212, 217, 222 Gospel of Thomas  22-23, 171-211, 218, 222 context of 204-208 education of individual in 194-201, 204, 208-209 obscurity in 180, 201, 201nn21-23, 202-204 omissions in  180-189 Gospel of Truth 222  Greek language 8, 10-14, 22-23, 134, 171-193 (esp. 173-177) Hebrew 8, 32-33, 136 hierarchy gender   152-156, 159, 162-167 social 152-156, 159, 162, 164-167 holiness 91-94, 96, 100-101, 103 Homer  10, 13, 19, 202 household codes 122-123, 153 individual study  194-209 (esp. 208-209) instruction genre, Egyptian 29, 31-32, 48 intellectual activity, growth of 204-209 See also exegesis; mimesis

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Isaiah 138-142 Israel  91-92, 94-97, 101

Origen 15-16 Oxyrhynchus 173, 175n13, 182n34

Jeremiah 137-138, 140, 142 Jerusalem 79, 81, 83, 86, 88-90, 92-94, 99, 101-103 Jesus  11n52, 12, 16-18, 23, 114-116, 121-124, 151, 180, 182-183, 186-190, 194ff., 205-206, 212-224 John (prophet) 127, 131-143 Judaism  6-9, 29-106, 122, 137-143, 202 as religio-cultural system 76, 78-83, 88-103 Late Second Temple 76-82, 86-103 law and 121-122 rabbinic 76-77 varieties of  78 See also religion (Judaism)

papyrus 173ff., 179n23, 182-183, 183n38, 185n44, 186, 189 paraphrase 139 pathos (emotion)  134-136 Paul 12, 14, 122-123, 174, 202n25, 203, 205, 207-208, 218, 223 pedagogy See education peroratio (conclusion) 133-136 Pharisees 98-99 Philo 201n20, 202-203, 205, 207 philosophy 4-5, 14, 16, 18 See also religion pity 127-130, 134-137, 140-143 place and place studies defined 70 importance to Judaism 58-70 materiality  63, 70 materiality and fluidity 64-66 meaning in  63, 70 See also sacrospace Plato  22, 107-126, 201n20, 202, 216-217 theory of forms 115 Polycarp 179n23 progymnasmata 4, 131, 131n21 Prophets, Jewish 127, 137-143 Proverbs, Book of 21, 29-54 educational methods in 31, 34, 36-47, 48-54 figures in  48-49 instruction genre in 32-34 proverb genre in 34-47 riddles in  49-51 See also wisdom proverbs, Near Eastern 29 Ptolemies 171-172 purity  88, 92, 94, 97-101

learning 3, 147-170 (esp. 150, 155-67), 171-190 See also education Letter of Peter to Philip 215 Letter to the Hebrews 114-115 literacy 5-7, 11-15, 17, 22, 157-158, 171-193 (esp. 172-190), 202-209 See also education Manichaeism See Gnosticism Martyr, Justin 200n18 Mary  197-198, 218, 223 memorization  12, 199 mimesis (imitation) 18-19, 200-201, 203-204 Mishnah 8, 22, 76-106 as source for delineating Second Temple Judaism 79, 87-103 See also education (Mishnah) mission, Christian 14, 174 New Testament 10, 20-23, 87, 89, 98-99, 106-107, 112-116, 121-124, 127-170, 174, 174n8, 180, 208-209 gospel of John 113-114 grace in 124 justification in 113-116, 121-122, 124 See also evangelists; gospels; Jesus; Paul; names of specific texts

Qoheleth  42-43, 52 Quintilian 133n30, 135n48, 199 Qumran 21, 55-75, 79, 89, 99, 103 as place 55-75 (esp. 58-70) development in 59-60 multiple locations 59n13 physical space and 60

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Index Of Names And Subjects relationships in  58-59 variety within 59, 61-62 See also Dead Sea Scrolls religion ancient terminology 1-2 Christianity 9-19, 103, 171ff., 208-209, 212 definitions/method and theory 83-88 education and  1-30 Greco-Roman 4-6, 107-126, 202 Judaism 6-9, 29-106, 122, 137-143, 202 related/relationships between 4-6, 51-52, 67-70, 79, 91, 103, 110ff., 124, 127, 137n47, 143, 171ff., 190, 194, 205, 208-209, 212, 214ff., 219, 221-224 religion within a “cultural system” 80-83, 87-103 “religions of exchange” 80, 102 sacrospace and 55-75 “thick description” of  83-89 See also education and religion; names of specific religions resurrection 183 rhetoric See education (rhetorical) Rome, Romans 127-130, 136, 139-141, 172, 204-205 Rule of St. Benedict 117, 120-121 Rule of the Master 117-121 sacrospace 55-75 education and  70 replacing material place 68-70 See also place scribes 202-206, 208 Social Movement theory 65 Socrates 110 Sophia of Jesus Christ/Eugnostos 212, 217, 217n15

status (social) 206-208 See also hierarchy students/learners 147-170 style, literary 132-133 teachers, Christian 14-15, 22, 159-167, 199-200 teaching 3, 150, 153-156, 159-167, 212ff., 219-221 “healthy teaching” 151-153, 160-162 techne (craft) 22, 107-110, 117-121, 124 definition 110-112 early monasticism and 117-121 not in New Testament canon 112-116 See also ars Temple in Jerusalem 79, 87-88, 92-97, 100, 103 Thecla 164-165 Theon of Alexandria 4-5, 5n15, 6n16 Thomas, disciple of Jesus 216 topoi (topics) 132 Torah 7, 8, 8n38, 11-12, 29-54, 88-102, 136-143, 202-203 See also Bible; names of specific texts translation  171, 174-190 errors 178-180, 190 obscurities  180 omissions  180-189 urbanization 205-208 Wanderradikalismus 184n39 wisdom, Wisdom literature 29-54 distinctiveness 29-31 educational method 31, 34, 36-54 See also education (methods); Proverbs, Book of women 149-153, 155-156, 159-160, 162-167